If you haven’t read False Pretenses, my domestic discipline erotic romance, you might want to skip this blog, because it will spoil the story if you ever do read it. If you have read it, here’s a little treat…a secret new scene! This snippet was cut from the original manuscript during editing. My editor at Loose Id wanted me to eliminate all points of view other than that of Emma Dupree and Dan Tanner, the heroine and hero, so this one that shows how Emma’s Sentinel story got published ended up on the cutting room floor.
Please note this scene is UNEDITED. My editor did not work her magic on this section.
To recap what occurs just before this part…Emma has just “deleted” her Rod and Cane story on her computer when Ron Franklin, her ex, shows up unexpectedly. While they’re arguing, Dan calls her. She takes the phone out onto the patio to talk, leaving a jealous Ron alone in the house…
Through the closed door, Emma’s voice hummed. Though he couldn’t make out individual words, Ron heard the tenor switch from irritated to happy, husky like she and Flower Boy were engaging in phone sex. She probably was telling him how much she wanted blow him.
Ron itched to sweep the flowers off the coffee table.
Cohabitating with Emma had been a real pain in the ass. So what if he called in sick to work occasionally? Everybody did that. And he was rarely late to work — only a couple of times a week max. He was good employee. Had been a good employee, he amended bitterly.
What did she know about busting her ass? All she did was push papers at an insurance company, and write some stupid a monthly column. Driving a truck was real work. Or it was. His boss had fired him for no good reason. So he missed a few freakin’ deliveries, big deal.
Good riddance. Hell, his boss had done him a favor by firing him. He was as much a pain in the ass as Emma.
He heard a growl and looked up to find Emma’s nasty ass cat hissing at him from atop his scratch post.
“Fuck you too.” Ron glared at the cat.
Emma hadn’t always been such a bitch. But she had changed. Listening to her tape opened his eyes! He couldn’t believe it when he heard women talking about how much they loved to be spanked — and then the big shocker — Emma agreeing with them, saying she wanted a husband who would assume control and discipline her when she needed it.
No wonder she’d kicked him out. She didn’t want a normal guy. She probably met Flower Boy on some internet dating site catering to kink, e-Perverts or something like that.
Ron eyed Emma’s laptop. Had she emailed him and told him how she wanted to blow him, to fuck him? He shifted his gaze to Emma perched on the wide arm of a teak patio chair, swinging one leg. Her back was to the door, and she had one hand cupped around the telephone receiver. She laughed, and happiness rang out in her tone. She’d never sounded like that with him. Cunt.
Ron focused on the computer. It wouldn’t hurt to see what she’d been up to. He lifted the lid. A dialog box popped up asking for a password to wake the machine. Emma wasn’t very security conscious. She’d use something familiar.
Thanks,” he said, and pecked at the keys. J-I-N-X.
Another pop-up appeared. ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE THIS EMAIL?
“Good place to start,” he muttered, and clicked cancel. He opened the message.
My column on the secret men’s organization that advocates spanking wives to maintain discipline is ready to go… So that’s what this was all about! Ron checked on Emma. She was still talking. Still laughing.
He read the attached article and whistled quietly. This would shake up the city. Everybody would be talking about the article and would clamor to read Emma’s next one.
So why delete it?
Ron closed out the attachment. He glanced at Emma. Still oblivious.
He checked her Sent mail, but found nothing that raised any flags. She had one unsent email in her Drafts folder. He clicked on it.
I am not going to be able to meet my commitment on the column about the Rod and Cane Society, the organization of men who spank their wives. I have personal reasons I can’t share that have impacted my decision. I know this leaves you with a hole to fill, so I am writing another column to plug into that Sunday slot.
The email ended there. Ron cracked his knuckles. So Emma had decided to kill her own column for “personal reasons.” Interesting.
He closed out the unfinished draft message. An open file icon at the bottom of the screen caught his attention. He clicked on it, a photo popped up, and he nearly fell off the sofa.
Sonofabitch! He knew it! Ron stifled his triumphant hoot at the image of Emma wearing nothing but trashy stockings and hooker heels, her bare ass reddened like she had a bad case of diaper rash. He clicked through the photos of Emma in various poses and some close-ups of her ass. She acted so holier-than-thou, and she was nothing but a perv.
Personal reasons. Hypocritical bitch. Now he knew why she’d decided to kill her story.
He glanced at her, smiling and giggling. She had tossed him out like he was yesterday’s garbage. If he was into kink, he’d lay a hand to her ass right now. He minimized the photos and re-opened the message Emma had intended to delete.
Absently he stroked a week’s growth of whiskers as he pondered the impact the story would have on Emma if it ran.
There was one way to find out. Ron clicked Send.
He closed the dialog box alerting the message had been sent, shut the lid of Emma’s laptop, and replaced the computer on her coffee table. With a jaunt in his step and a grin on his face, Ron departed.