Butterfly Unpinned

Whew! We made it! Laura Bacchi and I started BUTTERFLY UNPINNED well over a year ago now. Maybe more I can't even remember. And we're so happy to see it finally published. I knew Laura had more experience than I did writing BDSM stories so I approached her to ask if she'd be interested in collaborating on a story idea I had. Butterfly is the result and it’s available at Samhain now.

Here's the storyline:
Butterfly chose slavery, but now it's time for her to fly free.

Butterfly wants kink. But she wants the kind of hardcore, edgy kink that will completely change her life. And she gets it…with the wrong guy.

Navajo woodworker Bryan Lapahie can’t believe his luck when a wealthy photographer hires him to create sculptures for a mansion beyond his wildest dreams. Once inside, Bryan finds his new boss is a man of many possessions, including a woman who has given herself to a Master whose extreme BDSM lifestyle makes Bryan doubt his own Dominant tendencies. As he and the slave known as Butterfly learn more about each other, their relationship grows until Bryan has but one thought—to rescue her from the life she’s chosen.

Freeing Butterfly from her Master is only the beginning of the journey. A trip home to the reservation Bryan had left behind brings the couple even closer together as they learn to let go of the past and become the people they choose to be.

And here's a tame excerpt:
Butterfly had wiped every last smear from the full-length oval mirror in the hallway. She’d polished every inch of the ornate gold frame, even detailing it with a Q-tip, but still she continued to rub and polish, as one minute after another slipped by. She couldn’t take her eyes from the reflection of the giant working in the other room. The mirror was angled to show the study where he carved one of the large pillars. When he stepped back to study it, his face and entire body were reflected in the glass, but he was so intent on his work, he didn’t seem aware of her working quietly in the hallway and watching him. The man was less intimidating at a distance, where she could study him at her leisure.

The way his big hands handled the tools was fascinating. As the carving grew finer, the chisels he chose were smaller and he handled them even more delicately, shaving off tiny shreds of wood. There was a frown of concentration furrowing his thick, dark eyebrows. He leaned in to blow away a bit of wood from the carving, and his full lips pursed slightly. A shiver ran through her as she imagined what those lips might feel like pressed against hers.

Leaning back, he regarded his work, impatiently pushing his hair away from his face. Today it wasn’t secured, but flowed long and loose down his back. What would it feel like to stroke? Soft and smooth as the raven’s feathers it resembled or coarse and thick? And what was she doing imagining such things or even looking at the stranger?

She turned back to her work, rubbing hard at a little fleck on the surface of the glass. There was no reason for her to be here any longer. The mirror was as clean as brand new. Butterfly looked at herself in the glass: wide eyes, flushed pink cheeks, lips parted and damp from her tongue running over them. She looked feverish and hungry, like a woman anticipating sex. This was wrong. It wasn’t what Master had meant when he told her to make the carpenter comfortable and please him in any way he desired. She was meant to fulfill those duties with non-attachment, as one of her owner’s dictates, not with lust and longing in her heart. But she couldn’t deny arousal and sexual curiosity were exactly what she felt when she looked at the woodworker. When Jasmine had taken her place serving the handsome stranger his food yesterday, she’d wanted to storm in there and pull the girl out of the room by her hair. Today Butterfly would make sure she was the one to supply his afternoon break.

Once more she glanced in the mirror—just to see if the man looked like he might be ready for a snack. He was staring back at her, his dark eyes focused on her reflection in the mirror.

She froze, the dust cloth clenched in one fist and her gaze locked with his. What did she look like to him? Long, straight brown hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were too large for her face, her chin and nose too pointed. She must look like a little mouse to him.

Master had taught her well that demurely downcast eyes best illustrated subservience, but somehow it was impossible for her to look away from the man in the mirror.

He smiled at her, strong, white teeth flashing against his dark face, and lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey,” he called from the other room.

Instinctively, she raised her hand in return, waving at him through the safe remove of the mirror.

“Want to come see what I’m working on?” His voice was low and cajoling, the timbre as warm as banked coals. When she hesitated, he said, “Come on.”

She couldn’t disobey a direct order. Dropping her rag on the floor, she turned from the mirror and crossed the hall to enter the study. Now that she faced him, she could no longer hold his gaze. She examined the floor, the draped desk, the toes of his big boots. She raised her head slightly higher and took in his jeans up to where they met the hem of his T-shirt. “May I get you something to eat or drink, sir?”

“No, thanks. I have my water here.” He gestured to a bottle sitting on one of the bookshelves. “I don’t need anything else. I just wondered if you’d like to see your portrait. And if you wouldn’t mind not calling me ‘sir’.” He laughed. “Makes me feel old.”

She started to explain that it was meant to show respect, but her eyes shot to the column he’d been working on instead. “Me?”

“This one is. The rest have roughed in shapes of the other women on them. I was going to save yours for last, but I was inspired to work on it today.” He shifted closer, more of him filling her view. “Are you… Do you, uh, work for Mr. Sanderson?”

“I serve him.”

“Like a maid or housekeeper or something?” Ducking his head, he tried to move his face into her line of sight. She caught a hint of a teasing grin curving his generous mouth. He had to know what she was, especially after meeting Jasmine. The girl would’ve told him, flaunted it even.

She turned away, gazing at his artwork rather than at him. “He’s my Master. I belong to him.”

“Huh.” The man didn’t say anything for a moment, and her stomach tightened as she thought how strange it must sound to an outsider, someone who didn’t understand. “That’s what that girl Jasmine said. I thought maybe she was kidding, that it was some kind of game.”

“No.” Moving closer to the mahogany column, she examined the freshly carved surface. Butterfly’s features were carefully rendered in the wooden woman, but none of her inner flaws were recorded. The artist’s version was pure and angelic, not unworthy as she knew herself to be.

“So all these women living here seriously consider themselves slaves?”

She took a quick, deep breath. Here goes. “We’ve each entered into a contract with our Master. We’re his by choice.” She wondered if she’d spoken too much. It was hard to know how much she was allowed to reveal to this man. Master hadn’t really told her.

“I’m not quite sure how to respond to that.” He moved up behind her to study the carving, too, and changed the subject. “I haven’t got this quite right. If you could pose for me, it would help.”

She felt the heat his big body radiated from inches away and glanced sideways at him, her gaze lifting no higher than his waist. The hard bulge of an erection was visible at the fly of his blue jeans.

Master had told her to please him in every way. “The man is doing some beautiful work,” he’d said. “I want to show him my appreciation and hospitality. Food, drink, sex, whatever he needs, you supply. Got it?”

Butterfly gestured to his crotch. “May I service you?” Her voice was low, barely a whisper. Even after all these years she had trouble offering sexual favors to Master’s friends or business associates. She would do anything to please him, but offering her body to strangers was still terribly difficult. With this man, however, it was not so hard. Not when curiosity made her want to see what lay behind his fly.

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