Something Real Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Something Real

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-938-1

  ©Copyright Abigail Grey 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2015

  Edited by Jamie D. Rose

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

  More Than Something

  SOMETHING REAL

  Abigail Grey

  Book one in the More Than Something series

  Marcy is hesitant to give her kink life a fresh start after an accident, but a triple-caramel cupcake may hold the answer.

  Marcy Townsend is the new girl in town, according to the book club she’s joined. The friendships she has formed are growing, her new job is fulfilling and the new house is beginning to feel like home. Those new friends, though, don’t know what brought Marcy here. An accident that left Marcy injured—maybe permanently—has kept her from opening up to this new crowd. When the blind dates start, Marcy smiles and goes along, not expecting to be attracted to a man she meets on one.

  Aaron Derrick lost his submissive to ambition. In the months since she left to find bigger things in her career, Aaron has fallen off the radar and kept to himself. But after he meets a mystery woman in a café, Aaron finds himself wondering if he could be missing out on something by avoiding the friendships he had before.

  At the Sanctuary, a play space for the local kink community, Aaron and Marcy discover the wide web woven between them. Among friends, old and new, they try to discover if the two of them, despite their pasts, can develop something real.

  Dedication

  Thank you:

  To my own personal rope gurus, LordThomas and Angel L’Amoure,

  To the ladies and gents of the West Michigan Erotic Book Club,

  To Mr. Wolf

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Jeep: FCA US LLC

  Lycra: Invista North America S.A.R.L. Corporation

  Chippendales: Chippendales USA LLC

  Wrangler: FCA US LLC

  Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen

  Sherlock Holmes: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  Great Expectations: Charles Dickens

  Chapter One

  Marcy Townsend smiled tightly, holding her cell phone to her ear. “I swear, Jen, if you’ve set me up with another of those guys you talked to at some event you were at…”

  On the other end, she heard the exasperated sigh. “Marcy, you never come out with us. How else are you supposed to meet people?”

  Taking a deep, reviving breath, Marcy reminded her friend, “Jen, I work with people. I work for people. I have our book club. I have volunteer work. I am not lacking for people.”

  “Then why did you say ‘yes’, Marce?”

  Marcy’s perpetually pursed lips made their appearance as she bit the inside of her lower lip. She really hated Jen Brannon sometimes. The woman was far too insightful for her own good. The leader of their women’s literature book club was a self-admitted caretaker, and it seemed to come naturally. Marcy could have hated her if the tone had been anything but soft and caring. Jen had the talent of hitting hard with the tough questions but the compassion to not push the issue.

  Marcy turned, pacing the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. “At least tell me he doesn’t have a computer screen tan.”

  “I can’t promise that, Marce. You know how it is. Summer break doesn’t exist for grown-ups.” Jen chuckled. “He has better hair than the last one, though. I promise.”

  Marcy groaned. “Oh, God, Jen. Could it have been worse?” At the silence on the end of the line, Marcy stopped dead. “You mean it could have been worse? You seriously considered worse?” Marcy shuddered at the thought of what would have trumped the permed mullet from Jen’s last matchmaking attempt.

  “I didn’t say I considered it,” Jen hedged. “And Troy was a perfectly nice guy. Great hands.”

  “He took me to get chili dogs, Jen. I wore a dress. And heels. He was so obviously not my type.” Marcy sighed, followed by silence on both ends. Marcy cringed, feeling Jen’s disappointment through the phone line.

  “Jen, I need to go. He’s probably inside and I’m standing out here like an idiot. What was his name again?”

  “Nathan. And you wore the cute blue dress, right? I told him you’d be wearing blue.” Jen sounded truly hopeful, so Marcy confirmed she was, only feeling a little guilty as she looked down at the modest blue blouse she wore with her pencil skirt and pumps. She said goodbye, taking a few more deep breaths as she hung up her cell phone, carefully placing it into the dedicated pocket of her attaché-sized purse.

  Jen couldn’t help her optimism. Having found the man she would marry when she was in college, she wanted the same kind of love and enjoyment they still got from each other, almost twenty years later, for everyone…everywhere…that she had ever met. Whether she met them at events for her gallery or at the bi-weekly book club meetings or, like Marcy, in the checkout lane at their local grocery. Marcy knew, from her own experience, that the relationship Jen and her husband had was a one-in-a-million chance. After watching marriages from every side of her fall apart—from her best friends’ to her co-workers’ to her parents’—she had resigned herself to the theory that things like open communication, true love and complete monogamy were things of legend and myth.

  She opened the door of the café, making her way to the counter to order. She schooled herself to look solely at the menu or the décor and not look curiously around for the man she was scheduled to meet.

  The café seemed clean—something she was pleasantly surprised by. This area near the college in town was notorious for dark storefronts, kept that way to disguise the owners’ disdain for cleanliness. The clientele in those delis
and bars seemed to echo their surroundings. The unwashed hair and torn jeans set was such a contrast to the crowd of professionals that were currently populating the tables around her.

  Marcy reached the counter and placed an order for a decadent-sounding espresso drink. She looked longingly at the pastries displayed under glass domes on the counter. Cupcakes, scones and cookies of delicious varieties beckoned her. She asked the girl entering orders, “Excuse me, but could you tell me what type of cupcakes these are?”

  The girl smiled, increasing her similarity to a sorority cheerleader type. “Well, we have our lemon champagne cake topped with strawberry lemonade buttercream. The dark cake is an espresso chocolate topped with a cherry cordial frosting, and the caramel-colored with caramel icing is made with three types of caramel and topped with sea salt.” After the recitation, she tipped her head with a practiced gesture that seemed to bring a few of the other customers to attention. Marcy suddenly understood that it wasn’t only the coffee and treats that brought the mostly male clientele in. She leaned closer to the salted caramel cupcake, debating if she should—

  “Can I package one for you, ma’am?”

  Marcy felt her eyes widen and she had to consciously keep her lip from curling into a sneer at the labeling by the younger girl. “No, thank you,” she replied, turning away from the delicacies on display, only to hear both men in line behind her order several pastries from the coed.

  She absently watched the barista make the beverages as the line crept toward the register. As she reached for her wallet, aware that she would be called next, the forward movement from the corner of her vision caught her attention.

  A man walked toward her. Marcy evaluated him critically, a tactic she now employed with every new person she encountered. He was dressed well, if a little casually for a professional in the way Jen had described. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, but at least he’d tucked the shirt into the well-fitting jeans. His shoes were quality, as was the leather belt. His path wove between chairs and tables and something about his gait made Marcy note that he wasn’t able to take full strides in the crowded shop. Marcy idly realized Jen was right. He did have better hair than her last disastrous date. She could tell the dark blond, nearly brown hair, was just a little longer than he was used to when he ran his fingers over it. Marcy looked away from his nervous gesture, preparing to pay the staff for her drink.

  A light touch rested on her elbow briefly before she jerked away, looking at the offending hand. She looked up…and up…to the eyes of the man who had approached. She made the mental note that he was easily a foot taller than her, had she not been wearing heels.

  Holding his hand up, apologetically pulling it away, he smiled gently. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but may I buy your coffee for you?” The corners of his blue eyes crinkled attractively behind the lenses of glasses.

  Marcy furrowed her brow. The choice should have been easy. A simple yes and a thank you came to her mind. Instead, though, she found herself pursing her lips, biting the inside of her cheek and replying, “No, thank you. I’ve got it.”

  He returned his wallet to his back pocket with a nod. “Well, would you care to join me when you do?” he asked, gesturing to the table he had come from.

  Marcy nodded. “Sure. I’ll be right there.” She saw him turn to maneuver through the maze of tables again. After paying for her latte and taking a first bracing sip, she turned to make her way to the table he had indicated.

  Another movement caught her attention, accompanied by the sound of a rustling newspaper. Marcy’s eyes went wide when she realized the man reading the newspaper fit the description Jen had given her. He did have the lack of sun indicative of working indoors during the day, an intelligent look about him and the slightly scruffy look that Jen found appealing. Marcy vowed to kill her friend when she realized that better hair meant none, à la Bruce Willis or Vin Diesel.

  After a pause, she continued on her way to the table of the stranger who had approached her. She stood at the chair he would have offered, noting that he had a book open on the table, and Marcy smiled at him. She idly began to deliberately misquote a poem mentally that had been read to her book club weeks ago—Date a man who reads. He looked up from the page and moved to unfold his tall frame from the chair. Marcy held up her hand to stop him.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t join you,” she began. As his expression began to change, she felt the need to explain. “I’m meeting someone and when you approached me, I made an incorrect assumption that you were, in fact, that person. I’ve realized my error.”

  He chuckled. “I understand. And of course it would be rude to stand up your date.”

  “Yes, it would. My friend would never let me live it down.” Marcy smiled. “Thank you for understanding and for the offer.”

  His smile shifted from genuine to a slightly wistful smirk. “Blind date, huh? Well, enjoy it.”

  Marcy was taken aback, a little curious at his tone. “Thank you. Enjoy your book.” Looking back at it, she recognized a name and soon the story. “It’s a good one, one of my favorites.”

  She walked away, weaving her way to the other table while she worried her lower lip between her teeth. A man who towered over her would normally make her feel vulnerable and fragile. Something about his manner, though, was calming. And he reads.

  Shaking off the encounter, she approached the man she now correctly assumed to be Nathan. Seeing her approach, he folded his paper and stood. She gave him points for the gentlemanly behavior, but felt her heart sink as she realized he stood inches shorter than she would have been flat-footed.

  She smiled, trying to be friendly as they shook hands. She put her purse down, feeling like she had to scale the bar stool at the high-top table he had chosen. As she settled herself, the perky counter girl approached her with a plate.

  “Here’s your cupcake, ma’am.”

  Marcy looked up at Nathan, the shock apparent in her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said to the girl. “I didn’t order that.”

  “Oh, I know,” she replied. “Someone bought it for you. He just left, though. I can package it to go if you like?”

  Behind Nathan, in the café’s large display windows, Marcy saw the stranger walking briskly, with full long-legged strides, down the street.

  She nodded. “I would, please. If you don’t mind.”

  The girl bounced away, returning shortly with a bag for the salted caramel confection, bought for her by a stranger.

  Chapter Two

  Aaron Derrick slid into the chair of his desk, starting up the programs he would continue tweaking for clients. His software management skills served their customers well and complemented the team’s specialty of debugging and maintaining network security. He rolled the chair forward, barking a loud curse as his knees hit the pencil drawer of the desk.

  “David!” he shouted. The loud laughter from the direction of their supervisor’s office made Aaron grind his teeth as he readjusted his chair. His team liked pranks, liked to ease the stress or boredom or quiet or chaos—any situation, really—with juvenile attempts to rile each other up. Aaron assumed he was a favorite target because he didn’t participate in the practice.

  Positioning himself at his computer, Aaron allowed himself a moment to dwell on his coffee break. The girl—no, the woman—had had such an expressive face. He had thought her older when he’d caught the glimpse of her pacing out front. Her posture had been too good, her bearing almost regal as she’d carried on her conversation over the phone. Her frustration had been apparent, but she had not allowed herself to convey more than restrained exasperation. So many others in the environment of corporate involvement would see the conversation degenerate into a screaming match. It wasn’t until he’d seen her enter the building that he’d realized she was nearer to his age than he’d thought.

  His musings were interrupted by a chiming email notification and, adjusting his wire-framed glasses, he threw himself into the job. The remote into the client’s s
erver went easily. He was reminded of the spectrum of users they dealt with. The Internet era did not mean every person was well-versed.

  The cacophony from the hall permeated his focus. The rest of the team must have gone to lunch together today. Aaron had enjoyed the restful atmosphere, but he knew the time would go quicker with the background noise of everyone else completing projects and work orders.

  The squeak of the chair behind him was an alert that David had finished the most recent meeting with the management staff. Aaron turned slightly to gauge the mood of the older man.

  “Don’t ask, kid,” David grumbled.

  “Marcus Janowski again?” Aaron asked sympathetically.

  “That fucking guy is going to make me lose my damn mind,” the senior admin growled. The account in question had a habit of calling in multiple times a day, complaining of software and hardware issues that usually amounted to user errors. When David was away from his terminal, unable to respond to emails and calls immediately, the owner of the company was quick to contact the supervisory staff. Naturally this call had to be followed up on each time, with most responses finding David at lunch or with another account.

  “Hey, I offered,” Aaron reminded David. “My account load is pretty easy right now, and I could take it over if you need out.”

  David looked over with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes. “Right… And have someone throw me under the bus when you don’t answer their calls?”

  Aaron scowled and turned away. “Sure, David, because I’m the guy who would do that. Forget it.” He reopened a work ticket and slipped earbuds in while he worked through the network for a new client.

  He heard the muffled sound behind him as David said something else softly. With a sigh, he put his mind to a more pleasant distraction—the woman from the café. Half his mind was occupied with collecting and organizing the data related to the client’s software, the other half dwelled on the shape of her from behind as she’d stood in line. Her figure was not the svelte, chic, statuesque type that was celebrated in the magazines and movies. She didn’t dress in a way that shouted that her purpose there was to hook up and draw attention.