Enter your mobile number or email address below and we'll send you a link to download the free Kindle App. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required.
To get the free app, enter your mobile phone number.
Vanilla Paperback – February 24, 2015
|Special Shipping Information: This product may not be available for 1 or 2 day shipping due to federal regulations that require it to ship via ground ship methods only. This product can only be shipped within the 48 contiguous states.|
Eau de Toilette or Eau de Parfum? The difference lies in the volume of perfume oil. While Eau de Toilette contains 5-9%, Eau de Parfum contains more, usually 8-14%. Eau de Parfums therefore last longer and smell more intense.
Top 20 lists in Books
View the top 20 best sellers of all time, the most reviewed books of all time and some of our editors' favorite picks. Learn more
Frequently bought together
Customers who bought this item also bought
About the Author
Megan Hart is the award-winning and multi-published author of more than thirty novels, novellas and short stories. Her work has been published in almost every genre, including contemporary women’s fiction, historical romance, romantic suspense and erotica. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods of Pennsylvania with her husband and children, and is currently working on her next novel for MIRA Books. You can contact Megan through her website at www.MeganHart.com.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
There's something so lovely in the curve of a man's spine when he is on his knees, head bowed, hands behind his back. The back of his neck, vulnerable and exposed. The splay of his toes pressed to the hotel carpet that rubbed at his knees and would scrub them briefly red. I would leave my own marks on him, careful to be sure they'd fade as fast as the rug burns. I couldn't leave anything permanent on him. We'd agreed on that from the first.
I didn't want to hurt him much anyway. That had never been my game. A little sting, here or there. The slap of leather on his bare skin. The press of my teeth or scrape of my fingernailsthose were things to make him shudder and moan. I would always rather get what I wanted by promising pleasure instead of pain. That was what worked for us.
Esteban had been waiting for me in that position when I came into the hotel room. The lamps off, late-evening sunshine glimmering through the mostly drawn curtain providing the only illumination. He would've been willing to do the things we did with the curtains open wide, every piece of both of us exposed and nothing soft about it. I was the one who liked the lighting to be dim, unfocused. Dreamy. I found myself more easily that way.
"I brought you a present," I said as I shrugged my shoulder bag onto the desk. It clinked heavily, as I'd meant it to, so that he'd wonder what on earth I had for him inside itand maybe be a little nervous.
Esteban was not facing me, and he didn't turn while I unpacked my bag, even though I could tell by the strain of his muscles that he wanted to. Desperately. I laid out all the presents I'd brought. Sometimes I had a plan for how things were going to go on our monthly dates. Carefully constructed scenes I worked out thoroughly in my head so I could be sure to get it all right. Not today, though. Today I felt ripe with possibilities I'd not yet even considered.
With a hand behind my back to hide what I held, I took a seat in the chair in front of him. I let my skirt ride up a tiny bit to tease him with the glimpse of stockings beneath. I put one high heel between his knees, my shin grazing his inner thigh.
He smiled, but didn't move. His mouth was a little wet from where he'd licked his lips. I leaned and cupped his cheek, and he nuzzled into my palm.
"My good boy," I murmured. I held out the small box that had once held a bracelet. "Open."
He took the box from me and sat back on his heels to pull off the lid. Inside, a coiled black ribbon. He shivered a little when he took the satin from the box, letting it trail over his hands and wrists. He looked at me, and I tugged the end of the ribbon to wrap it around his wrists, now crossed in front of him, not too snug. There was enough ribbon to go loosely around his neck, too, and to loop down around his already hard cock.
"I thought it would be something tighter," he said in that delightful accent that never failed to trigger a shiver of my own. "So I couldn't get away."
"If I need more than this to bind you, then I might as well go home right now," I said.
Esteban shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opened them, his gaze had gone dreamy and dark. Several beads of sweat had gathered on his upper lip, and his tongue dipped out to taste them.
I loved seeing how my simple words affected him. I leaned to nuzzle the corner of his mouth, close enough for intimacy, though we never kissed each other on the lips. It was another of our rules, this one unspoken but never broken. I stroked a hand over his dark hair and let it linger on the back of his neck, feeling the muscles bunch and pull at my touch. I let my mouth travel along his jaw to his ear.
"Open," I said again, not meaning a box this time.
Esteban opened his mouth at once. Obedient. Willing. Delicious and beautiful and, for the moment, mine.
I slipped my first finger into his mouth. He bit playfully; I took him hard by the chin to make him go still. He gave a soft sigh-moan, so I gripped him a little harder. I pulled his face toward me, teasing him with the promise of a kiss we both knew would never comebut that was part of what worked for us. That promise, that denial.
I ran my wet finger down his chest and circled the head of his erection, which was tapping his belly. When he strained toward me with a small growl, I gripped him tight and said into his ear, "Hush."
He did at once, my good boy, his cock throbbing in my hand. I put my fingers in his mouth again, and this time he didn't bite but instead wet them eagerly for me. I stroked his ribbon-bound cock again with slick fingers, slowly, then moved my hand down to cup his balls.
"Tell me what you want." Sometimes I made him send me a list of things he fantasized about beforehand, though I hadn't this time. And I asked without any intention of giving him what he wanted, which we both knew. Yet today, without a plan, restless and feeling caged by work and family and life, I was curious to see if what he asked me for was something I would give.
"I want to kiss you," he told me, "there."
"Here," I replied, easing up my skirt to show him a hint of lace panties. I pressed my fingertips between my legs and raised an eyebrow.
"Please," he added.
"Maybe." I laughed at his frustrated expression. I leaned to take his face in my hands, looking into his eyes. "You are adorable."
He tilted his head, his eyes half closing for a moment. "I want to please you."
"I know you do. And I want your mouth on me" I laughed softly again at his shudder. "But not just yet. Get on the bed."
Esteban blinked a few times, not responding immediately. I was ready for that, my hand already grabbing the ribbon tangled around his cock and tugging in sharp command. The tug wouldn't hurt him as much as my disapproval at how long it took him to get to his feet.
If you've ever tried to get up from your knees with your hands bound without pushing off from anything, you know how awkward and graceless it can be. Far from impossible, especially when the binding was mostly decorative. But still, he hated to be clumsy, which was part of the reason I yanked again, urging him to get up faster without taking the time to balance himself. We ended up standing face-to-face, my fingers still curled in the ribbon. In my heels I was an inch or so taller than he was, the perfect height to look down instead of straight on. I'd done that on purpose, too.
"Do you need me to repeat myself, Esteban?"
"Tell me again what you want," I said. "I want to please you."
Fuck, how I loved the shiver in his voice. Later, I would make him say it to me in Spanish. I would make him teach me how to reply, and we would both laugh at how I butchered the words. In this moment, though, there was no laughter.
I stepped away from him, and his body rocked forward as I pulled the ribbon free and let it fall to the floor. It had been a whim, something pretty to start off with. I'd seen it on sale at the craft supply store while on an errand for my mother and had thought of Esteban immediately. I'd caught myself thinking of him more and more often in the times between our dates. I didn't want to consider the reasons why.
"I want you on your back," I told him.
He took a step backward, then another, before turning to crawl up onto the bed. He'd stripped the comforter off before I arrived, and I took a moment to enjoy the view of a beautiful, obedient male sprawled out on crisp white sheets before going to the array of things I'd already set out on the desk.
I'd picked up the ribbon because it had been a little playful, and the thought of making a gift of him to myself had pleased me. The sleek, smooth object I had in my hand, however, had not been an impulse purchase. I'd taken a long time to research it, making sure I picked the right one. Molded of heavy tempered glass, the heft of it was enough to cause serious damage if you dropped it on your foot or your balls. It didn't look like a sex toy as much as some sort of avant-garde sculpture, clear glass swirled with blue, red and orange. Cool to the touch, it would warm nicely to body temperature. You could wash it in the dishwasher, according to the product description, though the idea of that made me shake my head. I had a similar toy at home, longer and a little thicker, but the curve of this one had been designed to perfectly caress the prostate. This toy was not for me.
With the glass plug in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other, I knelt on the bed between Esteban's legs. "I brought you another present."
He pushed up on his elbows to look and grinned. "What is this?"
"You know what this is." I put the lube on the bed and ran my hand up the inside of his thigh. He shaved his chest and his balls, but here the fine black hairs tickled my knuckles. I stroked my fingertip along his cock, then lower.
His knees fell open at once, giving me access to his body. When I cupped his balls, Esteban gave another of those delicious, low gasps. His hips rolled.
"Look at your pretty cock, already leaking for me." I circled a finger around the head of it, drawing the slick precome onto my fingertip and holding it up. Locking his gaze to mine, I licked it away. It was a bit of a show for him, to trigger another of those noises, but no lie, the fact that he was so hard, so aroused that he dripped for me before I'd barely touched him, never failed to set me on fire.
"Tell me what you want," I demanded again, but soft and low, my voice a caress and not a slap.
Esteban shifted on the bed, his feet going flat on it as the space between his knees widened. His fists gripped the sheets, but he knew better than to reach for me. For a second I wished he'd tryI would never truly hurt him, but discipline him? Oh, yes. We could do that.
"I want to see you," he said.
I pretended to consider it, holding up the glass plug while I used the other hand to play with the buttons on my blouse. One, two, exposing a hint of nipple. The beauty of small breasts is being able to go without a bra, something which Esteban had once admitted to me drove him wild with lust. I stopped. He groaned. I laughed, and so did he. I put my free hand on his belly and the one holding the plug on the bed to support myself as I leaned over him, letting my mouth brush his chin before I nipped him.
"No," I told him. "You haven't earned it yet today."
He did reach for me then. His hands moved over my thighs and hips, bunching my skirt. He kissed my cheek then my jaw, and found my throat where he nibbled and sucked the way I loved it.
"I can convince you?" he asked into my ear, stroking his hand upward to cup my breasts. Thumbing my nipples through the thin fabric of my blouse, he moaned softly when they hardened at his caress. "So much easier to touch you "
I slapped his face lightly and gripped his chin, digging the blunt tips of my nails into his flesh. Esteban's eyes closed immediately. His body tensed. His arms went over his head, fingers linking his hands.
I almost came, then and there, his reaction a better aphrodisiac than anything in the world.
"You will touch me when I say you may touch me." My voice low. Dangerous. Stern.
"Yes, my goddess."
"Fuck, I love it when you say that." My fingers loosed their grip, leaving a few marks I soothed quickly with my tongue. I sat back. "Look at me."
I shifted between his legs then straddled one of his thighs to press my pussy against him. I was wet through the lace. I held up the lube and the glass toy.
His cock jumped. So did the muscles on his inner thighs. And, a moment later when I pressed a slick finger against his tight hole, so did the muscles there.
It wasn't the first time I'd ever played with his ass. One of the first things we'd talked about when we started this relationship was turn-ons and -offs. Limits, hard and soft. Expectations. Safe words. We'd been practical about it, making lists. Our agreement wasn't anything that would stand up in court, but it was one we'd worked on carefully to be sure it suited us both. Realistic, maybe to a fault.
This was not a love affair.
It was, however, the first time I'd ever used an object on him instead of only fingers or tongue. Esteban had told me his fantasies about being taken that way, and though on the surface what we had together might appear to be all about what I wanted, it was truly about satisfaction for both of us. He wanted to please me; I got off on being pleased. But more than that, I reveled in the way the smallest things I did to him got him hard. Made him ache. I loved making him come for me, his orgasms like a tribute. Something he owed me and I deserved.
I warmed the toy's chilly glass against my hot flesh while I ran my nails, scratching, up the insides of his thighs. Tickling over his balls and the shaft of his cock. I dripped lube on his prick and stroked him, though when he began to move into my closed fist, I laughed and stopped.
Esteban's laugh broke with a gasp. "Please."
"Not please." I pinched his nipple, not hard enough to hurt but definitely hard enough. "You know I shamelessly fetishize you speaking Spanish to me."
His hips had bucked when I pinched him, and he gasped again. "Compláceme, por favor."
Spread open for me, unbound but not moving because I hadn't given him permission, Esteban nevertheless gave me a wicked grin. He fucked upward, getting a few thrusts in before I gripped his cock tight at the base to keep him still. His eyes twinkled as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip and said something else in Spanish. I didn't know what it was. I didn't really have to. He could be reciting his grocery list or a poem. My Spanish was limited to ordering off the menu at a Mexican restaurant. It was the sound of him speaking his native language that worked me up, and he knew it.
In response to his naughty teasing, I pressed a slick finger to his asshole, making him gasp. "You want this?"
"Oh yes. Please, please, please Por favor!"
Top customer reviews
There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.
We are introduced to Elise, Esteban, and Niall.
Elise is holding on to a ghost (ex) of the past and living day after day is clinging to a piece of hope, the “maybe” which no longer exist. She discovers a coping mechanism; sets the rules and shields her emotions. We're taken on a journey through Elise’s life.
Every experience and decision that factored into her present life and unveiling the truth surrounding her family secrets.
Elise has and enjoys an alternative lifestyle and is not ashamed. Niall enters her life, and Elise must decide whether to bargain with the strongholds and fears of the past or choose to move forward with taking a chance on Niall.
Elise is a strong woman but crippled by a weakness from her past which affects the power struggle with Niall.
We discover Esteban has his hidden secrets.
“You know what people do when they have to face something uncomfortable? They blame the thing that makes them feel bad, even if it’s not that thing’s fault.
When we love an individual, you want the best for them to live a happy life even if it's not with you.
“I’m trying to say that maybe is a selfish f****** thing to do to someone. Sometimes, just because you love someone, that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to end up together. You learn more from the things that end,” Alex said. “I don’t know what that guy thought or felt. But when you love someone, you want them to be happy, even if it’s not with you. You deserve better than maybe.”
Hart takes her readers right along with every turn of the page with the characters and their personal journey. The reader can feel every emotion, personal victory and tragedy they have endured. As the storyline evolves, each character has forgone their metamorphosis into a beautiful butterfly flaws and all. The author writes about real life topics and situations. Learning how to forgive ourselves, accepting the changes, removing the toxic (ex’s) relationships from the past and move forth because the Universe always has something greater for us.
In some way, we all may relate to this story.
“So you reach this moment where finally, finally, it all shifts, you find a way to open up your hands and let go. When what used to matter stops breaking you so f****** hard; when you accept that empty place in your heart will always be there because only one person can fill it, and you get up anyway because g*****n it, one person who does not love you enough should never make you incapable of moving forward. I knew what I should feel and think. I should stop being stupid, holding on to what didn’t serve me. No more maybes. No more clinging to the past.”
“In the end, only three things matter. How much you loved, how gently you lived and how gracefully you let go of that which is not meant for you.”
“You learn more from the things that end.”
“I’d learned so much from everything that had ended.”
In my opinion, as a reader, patience, and imagination is the key to capturing the real essence of an author with a brilliant mind intends to communicate through every word written in a story.
Hart’s storyline conveys a hidden message, a life changing one; embrace it with open arms.
Dialogue is realistic; character development is perfection.
Without reservation, I wholeheartedly recommend this brilliant read.
ARC provided by the publisher.
Pre-ordered on Amazon and Audible.
The true test of love is not always ‘Will you fight for it?’ The real test of true love is often ‘Are you willing to give it up?~ #TiffanyReisz
Also, if you're looking for actual kink, pass on this book. Vanilla is definitely an apropos title. The heat factor on this book is mild at best. The h is a domme, but only in the sense that she likes to initiate sex and literally be on top. Other than that, the kinkiest thing that happened in the book was a butt plug. There's barely even any dirty talk in this book and if the sex scenes were a movie, they'd be montages with lots of jump cuts with the implication that sex has happened.
One of the things I did appreciate about the book was that when the H said he didn't want to be a sub, he meant it and he didn't let the h sway him over. So many romance novels give a no means yes/ try harder message that sets my teeth on edge. While they did end up having a discussion of what boundaries could be pushed to satisfy both, he didn't end up on her leash at a club. He was allowed to stay within the sexual boundaries he felt safe exploring, rather than capitulating simply to make her happy as many bdsm-themed books have subs do for their dom(me).
In the end, Vanilla didn't engage me like Dirty, Broken, and Stranger did. I think I went in expecting something the author didn't intend to promise or deliver. The book definitely has some intriguing characters (I liked William!), but mostly left me scratching my head as to what the point of the story was.
Most recent customer reviews
Elise is a complicated character who likes to be in charge in the...Read more