Southern Submission (Southern Submission (A Southern BDSM erotic romance)) Read online

  Southern Submission

  by

  Bellatrix Turner

  ***

  Southern Submission

  © 2012 by Bellatrix Turner

  ***

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author!

  Here’s an excerpt from the story:

  I sighed. I refused to look at him; refused to let myself be drawn in by whatever tragically sad look he had on his face. The situation was just too weird, but I felt like maybe I’d freaked him out somehow and I should try to make amends. “Tad. Look,” I sighed. “I was talking to a friend of mine about you, and I said I wasn’t sure if I wanted to date somebody –” deep breath! “– as preppy as you are. And she said that she’d heard you aren’t as preppy as you look, and that you like it rough. And that’s when I agreed to this date.” I could feel my face heating up. I’d just accused my date of being preppy – true or not, them’s fightin’ words among the people I usually run with – and I’d promptly followed that up with a roundabout admission that I liked rough sex. I was mortified.

  I heard footsteps behind me. “Alex…” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I do have a temper, and I hate all the gossip in this town, and maybe I overreacted.” A firm hand on my shoulder directed me to turn around.

  I was still blushing, still staring straight ahead. When I’d turned, “straight ahead” changed from a view of the bridge to a view of Tad’s chest. Then a view of an arm, as his hand moved from my shoulder to my chin, and for the second time that night he was lifting my chin. His thumb brushed against my lower lip, parting them slightly, as he bent and kissed me again.

  He kissed me like he wanted to devour me, like a feral animal inhaling a meal. I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling my body spring back to life. I was dizzy and aching and my knees were wobbly as he ran his hands down my back to cup my ass. Without breaking the kiss, he suddenly grabbed my ass and picked me up off the ground. He spun us a quarter turn and then set me down on the railing of the balcony.

  The ground behind me was not a sheer rocky cliff, but it was a remarkably steep hill, almost a hundred feet down to Riverside Drive below. My stomach fluttered and I instinctively wrapped my legs around Tad’s waist. He broke the kiss and nuzzled my neck, murmuring, “I won’t let you fall, Alex.” His breath in my ear sent cold shivers through me, and I groaned and pulled him closer with my arms and legs.

  I could feel his hard member pulsing between us. My thin skirt and soaking wet panties were barely obstacles, not like the bulk of his khaki pants. I was panting as I unwrapped an arm from his neck and reached down between us, and I groaned when one of his hands caught my arm.

  “No, Alex.” His other hand came up and caught the back of my head, pressing our foreheads together. He groaned and his cock throbbed between us, but his left arm returned my hand to the back of his neck. “I need you to do what I say, ok?”

  I tried to get my scattered brain back together. It wasn’t like I was going to have sex with this guy, on what was essentially our first date, in a park downtown, right? “Yes,” I panted. “Yes. Ok. Yes.” I was talking more to myself than to Tad, but he took it as an answer to his question.

  “Hold on, beautiful,” he murmured, then his lips closed against mine again. The hand on my arm slid down toward me, then over to my throbbing breast. I gasped and sucked some of the breath from his lungs as his hand first cupped my breast, then slowly, relentlessly, started squeezing my nipple.

  I was writhing, moaning helplessly against his mouth, when his other hand started moving. The arm that had been wrapped against my back, keeping me safe from the edge of the cliff, suddenly trailed down my back and around to the front of my hip. He pulled back from me again to say, “Don’t let go of me, Alex, hold on for me.”

  Then his fingers found their way under the bunched-up edge of my skirt. His hand, so hard and hot, wrapped around my pubic bone and pressed my panties against me. The wet cotton was raspy against my sensitive nub, but it felt exquisite. I bucked against his hands, against the mingled pain and pleasure from my nipple and the so-close feeling of his fingers outside of my panties. “Oh please, oh please, oh Tad,” I begged.

  Southern Submission

  I’d been thinking about a hot piece of meat all day, but not the kind that walks on two legs. I was busy tending the fire for my world championship BBQ team, the Smokin’ Butts. We were one of two all-women teams at the Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest that year, and we were definitely the best. The Baby’s Got Back girls were strictly partiers, not serious chefs.

  I wasn’t paying much attention to the group of men who’d just come in. Lisa, our hostess, was plying them with beer and a sausage and cheese plate. I’d opened up the rib smoker to add more of our top-secret dry rub, and as I turned to grab the big Tupperware container from the table to my left, I missed. I don’t know why; it just wasn’t where my hand seemed to think it should be. The rib rub container went skittering for the edge of the table and total calamity. I lunged for it, but another hand snapped out and caught it before gravity could win.

  “Holy crap, that was close. Thank you so much!” My hand closed over his, a second after he’d saved the rub.

  “Glad I could help,” a deep voice rumbled. I looked up and caught my breath. Green eyes, with a hint of hazel in the depths. Reddish-brown hair flopping down near his eyebrows, still looking perky in the sweltering tent. Sharp cheekbones over a jawline covered with red stubble. Wow, what a looker!

  “Um,” I said. What can I say? I have a silver tongue.

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I reached out with my other hand, grabbed the side of the spice mix, and pried my fingers off of his. The auburn haired man slowly released the container.

  “Are you gonna tell me your secret spice mix?” he asked.

  “A little sugar, some herbs, and a lot of hotness. Anything more than that is top secret, mister. You’d have to beat it out of me.” What had just come out of my mouth? It was like my brain had gone offline or something.

  The grin widened. “We could arrange that if you’d like.”

  This conversation has gone totally off the rails, I thought, blushing. “I’m gonna have to check my schedule and get back to you on that.” With a mental effort, I turned and went back to work before all the heat escaped from the rib smoker.

  Lisa cornered me after they’d wandered off. “Oh mah gawd, do you know who you were talking to? That was Tad Marshall!”

  “Who?”

  “Just the son of the biggest developer in Shelby County!” Lisa was not a barbecue chef. In fact, she could barely microwave a frozen dinner. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t an integral part of our team – she handled all our “people interactions.”

  The Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Contest is a hotly contested and very serious barbecue cooking competition, but it’s also the biggest social event of the year in Memphis. We’d formed the team two years ago to win the competition, but also to make sure we had the right kind of exposure to the right kind of people. The five cooks on the team were terrible at schmoozing, but Lisa lived for it. She was taller than me at 5’4”, but she weighed at least twenty pounds less than me. Her tasteful blonde hair always looked perfect, and her makeup never smeared. She would ha
ve been totally insufferable if she wasn’t such a genuinely nice person too.

  On the other hand, I was short, curvy, and cursed by a mane of unruly black curls that always wanted to frizz in our abundant humidity. I stuck to the lightest possible amount of makeup – a 55 gallon barbecue smoker will defeat any manufacturer’s claims. I filled out our team tee-shirts nicely, but the constant smudges and splashes defeated the purpose.

  “Oh, so I should talk to him? Maybe he wants to open a restaurant, needs a head chef?” I was playing dumb, but I didn’t think it was working.

  Lisa smirked at me. “I don’t think he wanted to talk business with you, sugar. Wouldn’t he be a nice change from your usual broke bartenders?”

  I blushed again. “Whatever!”

  “Just keep it in mind when he comes back! Cause he’s gonna come back, mark my words!”

  ***

  Sure enough, he was back the next day. I’d actually managed to get away from the riverside park where the festival is held long enough to shower and change clothes, but my fresh and clean appearance fell apart in the time it took me to get from my air-conditioned car back to our tent.

  We’d done quite well in the rib judging, earning our first top ten finish, and we had high hopes for the shoulder judging. By the time the judges left at 2 pm, we were all exhausted emotionally and physically. All six of us were slumped at the big table in our tent, nursing beers, when Tad appeared again.

  He stuck his head in the tent and grinned when he saw me. “Mind if I come in, ladies?”

  Lisa and I jumped to our feet. She introduced him to the rest of the girls while I grabbed another beer from the cooler. As I returned, she finished by saying, “And I think you’ve met Alex, right? Alexa Arnott, this is Tad Marshall.”

  Tad’s eyes sparkled as he grinned at me. “Sure have. I was hoping to get an introduction this time. Thanks, Lisa!”

  I passed the tall man the beer with my left hand and shook his right. “Nice to meet you, Tad. You enjoying the festival?”

  “Enjoying it more once I met you! How did the judging go?”

  “Well, we moved up with our ribs this year and got seventh, but I think they didn’t like what we did with the shoulder. Might’ve had a little too much bark and the meat was a tad bit dry, but we’re constantly learning.” I sighed and took a long pull on my beer. “I’m always excited to compete in these things, but by the end I’m just glad it’s over!”

  Tad hooked a plastic chair with his foot and dragged it near mine and we sat down. “I can only imagine. So you’re not a barbecue chef for your day job?”

  “No, I’m a pizza cook in Midtown. We’re all in food service, but none of us are ‘cue pros. It’s kind of a strength, but it’s a weakness too. Personally, I think if I did this seven days a week, I’d lose my fresh approach. Cooking every couple of months for a competition gives me a little distance to think about things.”

  The conversation flowed easily for the rest of the night, and before I knew it, we’d made tentative plans to “stay in touch.” But I’ve heard that before, and honestly, I’ve changed my mind about pursuing a guy, too. I tried to put Tad’s lean good looks out of my mind as I started my normal work week. He was way too preppy, way too normal for me. I dated long-haired tattooed bartenders and scruffy underemployed musicians, not rich East Memphis developers’ sons!

  ***

  We were just beginning to put the kitchen back together after the Friday night rush when John, the gangly teenager who ran the register, stuck his head back in the kitchen. “Hey Alex. Some dude here to see you.”

  I was carrying a stack of empty pizza sauce lexans back to the sinks. I called out, “Be up in a minute!”

  I carefully balanced my load on the mountain of dirty dishes, washed my hands, and wondered who it was. Not Tad, surely? He was so not my type, and I hadn’t heard from him all week. Just in case, I ducked in the manager’s office and snagged a clean Pizza Perfecto! shirt from the box under the desk. They were supposed to be for new hires, but the one I was wearing looked like one of those ink-blot psych tests, except done in pizza sauce.

  Sure enough, it was Tad. He was leaning against the front door, wearing a dove-grey shirt and a sport coat over jeans. He flashed a very predatory grin when he saw me. “Hey, Alex.”

  “Hey, Tad. What brings you out this way?” Inwardly, I cursed. Obviously, the man wasn’t dropping by to pick up a pie. It’s a wonder I ever hooked up, as bad as I am at small talk.

  “Boring dinner party at Le Chardonnay. Work stuff. I ducked out and I was hoping I’d catch you here.”

  Ok, Alex, turn on the flirt. “Well, I guess you caught me,” I said.

  “Oh, not yet, but I’m hoping to.” He ignored my immediate blush. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Working til ten. All the boring restaurants will be closed by then.” The rush of heat was moving from my face down between my legs. Getting caught by this guy seemed like a better and better idea.

  “I’ll be here at nine fifty. I’ll take you somewhere that’s not boring.” His green eyes were boring into me.

  I laughed. “Oh will you? You may be the bossiest thing I’ve ever met, Tad Marshall.”

  “But you’ll go,” he said. Confidently, not questioningly. Definitely cocky. Time to bail before I screwed it all up!

  “We’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?” I shot back, then turned and walked back behind the counter. John was glaring at Tad, and I briefly wondered if John had a crush on me.

  ***

  I called Lisa as soon as I woke up the next day.

  “Hey, babe!” she chirped.

  “Tad. Beans. Spill!” I demanded.

  She squealed. “Ooh, did he call you?”

  “Nope. He showed up in person last night and asked me out. Now tell me, is he just another boring rich boy?”

  “Oh lord no, Alex. I know what you like, and this is definitely the kind of guy you should be dating. I am soooo sick of seeing you with trashy drunks!”

  Lisa and I have been friends for ten years. She went to my high school for a year, while her parents were getting divorced, then transferred to a private school after the custody battle settled. We were unlikely besties, but we’d stuck together through thick and thin.

  “Lisa,” I sighed. “You know I don’t go for the preppy types. I like bad boys!”

  “Trust me, Alexa Arnott. I know what you like better than you do. I don’t have any first-hand knowledge, but I have heard that this boy likes it rough. And he’s actually got enough money to buy dinner, instead of mooching free pizzas. Are you getting any tinglies from him?”

  I laughed. “Well, yeah…”

  “Then trust me. Give him a shot, ok?”

  ***

  At a quarter til ten the next night, I gratefully handed the reins over to Caroline. She was another Smokin’ Hams competitor, and she squealed with delight when I told her I had a date with Tad after work. We got a flurry of orders as I was clocking out, but when I hesitated, Caroline shooed me out. “We’ve got this! You go, have a normal date for once! And tell me all about it tomorrow!”

  “Okay, okay!” I laughed and headed to the office to change.

  I couldn’t do much about the smell of oregano and tomato sauce that clung to me, but I had stashed a change of clothes in the office. I slipped into a flippy floral skirt and a sparkly white tank top with a pair of sandals, shook my hair out and redid my ponytail, and escaped the building before any pizza sauce leapt out of the shadows to get me.

  Tad was parked in the fire lane in front of the building, leaning against his black sports car. He smiled as he straightened himself, and I smiled back. He was wearing slacks and a dress shirt again, and I was glad I’d changed into something a little fancier. He took my hand as I approached, and the touch of his thumb grazing my knuckles brought a little flutter to my stomach. This guy was way too sophisticated and sexy for the likes of me!

  We exchanged greetings as he opened my door and h
elped me into his car. It was one of those two-seater BMWs, with grey leather seats and gadgets everywhere. I settled back into the bucket seat with a blissful sigh.

  “So where are you taking me?” I asked as Tad whipped an illegal U-turn and roared off toward downtown.

  “Have you eaten? I thought we could grab some food, maybe take a carriage tour of downtown?” he asked.

  “I ate before work, but I could do with a bite,” I replied.

  “Gus’s Fried Chicken sound good?” he asked.

  “There’s never a time in my life when I don’t want Gus’s!” I exclaimed. The tiny chicken shack on the edge of downtown is one of Memphis’s best-kept secrets, with the world’s juiciest, most flavorful chicken and cold 40s of malt liquor. If you want side dishes or chicken tenders or microbrews, you have to look elsewhere. Gus’s, like a good barbecue restaurant, knows what it does best and sticks to it.

  We worked through the getting-to-know-you chat on the drive over. Tad grew up in the suburbs east of Memphis, went to a private high school, and worked for his dad. I grew up in the city, went to a good city school, and worked food service, but we had several friends in common. Memphis might have nearly a million citizens, but it’s a surprisingly small town nonetheless.

  ***

  After a deliciously greasy feast, Tad drove us back to downtown proper and dropped the car at a hotel’s valet parking. He led me around the building to where a row of horse-drawn carriages waited.

  “Aren’t these… tourist things?” I waved off Tad’s hand and climbed into the horse-drawn carriage by myself. I’m all in favor of men holding doors for me, but I could easily get myself up the teeny little fold-down step.

  Tad climbed in beside me on the overstuffed red velvet seat. “They don’t check for out-of-state IDs.”

  He asked the driver for the usual tour and then draped his arm on the seat behind me. I settled back as the carriage rolled off with a lurch. I could feel the heat coming off of Tad’s lean body, and I wondered if he felt the same from me. I turned my head to look up at him.