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The Boy Next Door--Secrets 27

Secrets 27 – OUT OF PRINT

As of July 2020, Secrets 27 is out of print. However, I’ll be self-publishing my story, The Boy Next Door, in early 2021. Check back for updates!

Isabella Carelli isn’t just looking for Mr. Right, she’s looking for Mr. Tie Me Up And Do Me Right. In all the wrong places. Fortunately, the right place is right next door. And the boy next door is just about ready to make his move...

Read Excerpt | Behind the Book



It’s no secret among those who know me well that I think kinky is fun.  Despite that, I didn’t have much experience with bondage, so when I wanted to write a story with some hot tie-me-up, tie-me-down action, I went to the experts over at TwistedMonk.com.  And then I had to research. In fact, I had to research over, and over, and over again! *sigh* A writer’s work is never done.

While the “hands on” research was absolutely the most enjoyable part of writing this story, I also needed some help with the logistics of the ties I wanted to describe (it can be really hard to pay attention to details during research), and for that I used a book called Bondage for Sex Volume 1 by Chanta Rose. It’s a great how to, with excellent photography and clear, concise instructions. It was my manual when I was working out the details of the bondage scenes you’ll find in The Boy Next Door.

The other significant thing about this story for me? I really feel like it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written, and it thrills me that it’s going to be in a Secrets anthology. All my books are my babies, of course, but this one has a special place in my heart. I hope you all like it as much as I do.


Jacob walked toward her and took the rope from her hands. He released the knot on the bundle with a flick of his wrist, the rope spilling out to dangle from his fingertips, the ends pooling on the floor as it unraveled. She watched, transfixed, as he gathered it up again, running it through his fingers in a way that dried up all the spit in her mouth.

“It’s mine,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You have some?”

“Ah…” She swallowed, forcing her eyes away from the way his hands kept stroking the rope and up to his face. Then she wished she hadn’t—her happy, kind, humor filled neighbor was looking at her with a quiet intensity she’d never expected to see from him. “Yeah.”

“Hemp rope, like this?”

She nodded. “It’s even the same color.”

His mouth twitched slightly, but the display of humor didn’t detract from his intensity one bit, a feat that was making her increasingly nervous.

“Well, look at that. We have similar tastes.” Her hand was still outstretched between them, palm up. He let the rope he was running through his hands trail over her wrist, raising goose bumps, and she shivered. He smiled slightly and did it again, then casually looped the rope around her wrist.

She swallowed heavily, her free hand coming up to hover between them, palm out as though she meant to keep him at arm’s length. “What’re you doing?”

Her voice quivered, and the slight smile on his face kicked up a notch. “Just playing with the rope,” he said, his voice low. “I like to do that, you know. Play with rope.”

“You do?” she managed. She knew she was breathing too fast, and tried to slow it down, but when she did that it only made her pulse thunder in her ears and she missed what he said. “What?”

“Yes,” he repeated, “I do.” He looped the rope around her other wrist, slowly, watching her face carefully, and she realized he was giving her the chance to protest. And she meant to, she really did. And she would. In a minute.

“I play with rope a lot,” he continued, his emerald gaze so intent on her face she barely noticed when he looped the rope around both wrists again. “I like the feel of it.”

Isa had to clear her throat twice before her voice would work. “Me too,” she finally squeaked out, and he smiled.

“I thought you might,” he drawled, the southern in his voice making her go over in gooseflesh. He’d stopped twining the rope around her wrists and was holding the ends between her hands, but she was so riveted by his voice she barely noticed. “Last night, hearing you talk about your fantasies? It was all I could do not to run home, grab my rope, and spend the whole night making all of them come true.”

Holy shit! “Really?”

“Really.” His eyes had gone darker, the sparkling green turning to a dark mossy shade. She had the slightly uncomfortable feeling that he could see past all her defenses and right into the heart of her. “Do you remember what you told me last night?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

One eyebrow went up, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What did you tell me, Isabella? What did you say your fantasy was?”

Oh my God, he wants me to say it out loud! “I… I said I wanted to be tied up.”

“Yes. And you told me why, do you remember that?”

She nodded. “Because it makes me feel out of control.”

“And you like that, don’t you?” His voice had gone low and soft, so soft she almost had to strain to hear him. “You like feeling out of control, like anything could happen and you’d be powerless to stop it.”

Isa’s heart was beating so hard she was half afraid it would pound right out of her chest and land with a splat at his feet.

Yes,” she whispered, so overwhelmingly turned on she could barely breathe.

“Are you attracted to me, Isa?” His hands were moving again as he spoke, passing the ends of the rope over and around the lines that connected her wrists once, twice, before tying them off in a knot.

She gulped. “Yes,” she said, and looked down, away from the intensity in his gaze. Her eyes lit on her bound hands and she jolted at the sight. Her wrists were turned in, palms facing as though she was getting ready to clap, and the rope glowed bright red against her skin. She twisted her wrists experimentally. She could move with surprising ease, the rope shifting and pulling with her movements and yet still holding her snugly.

He gave the end of the rope he still held a tug, bringing her gaze flying back to his. He had one eyebrow raised, whether in expectation or question she wasn’t sure.

“It’s lovely, you know.”

Her confusion must have shown on her face, and he elaborated. “Your skin, your hands, caught up in my rope.” He tugged the line again, making her breath catch in her throat as her pulse quickened and her mouth went dry. He caught the quick dart of her tongue coming out to wet her lips, and the corners of his own mouth turned up in a slight smile that did nothing to quiet the hammer of her heart.

“How does it look to you, Isa?”

She didn’t pretend not to understand what he meant. “Strange,” she admitted, her voice a dark rasp. “I’m not used to it.”
His gaze turned curious. “Not used to it how?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve been tied up before. But my hands were behind my back, or over my head. I’ve never… seen myself. You know?”

He hummed an agreement, his eyes never leaving hers. “How does it make you feel? Seeing yourself bound.”


Both eyebrows went up at that. “Tight?”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “My chest, my stomach. Everything feels… tight.”

“Ah.” His face cleared, the confusion replaced with satisfaction. “Like you’re wound up, waiting for something?”

She nodded, her breath easing out on a sigh of relief that he understood. The breath caught in her throat a moment later as he stepped closer, his feet bracketing hers and his torso pushing against chest. She instinctively moved back, then froze when she came up against the table.

Her eyes felt wide as saucers as she looked up at him, the slight, knowing smile on his face making the coil of tension in her abdomen wind even tighter. “There’s nowhere to go, Isa,” he whispered. His head came down alongside hers so he whispered right in her ear. “Nowhere to go,” he repeated, his warm breath washing over her skin and making her shiver, “unless you want to.” He paused for a moment, the only sound in the room the ragged sound of her breathing. “Do you want to go, Isa?”

She shook her head so violently she almost knocked into him. He pulled back slightly so she could see his eyes, the lust in their dark green depths filling her whole vision. “Say it, Isa,” he commanded, his voice rough and unyielding. “Tell me you don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” she said.

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