The Shame Game by Hannah Murray
General Release Date: 1st June 2021
Word Count: 50,362
Book Length: NOVEL
BONDAGE AND BDSM
James and Amanda have been together for fourteen happy, playful kinky years. That’s the way they both like it, and neither feels there’s anything missing, until one day, a typical scene morphs into something atypical—humiliation play.
They’ve never played with this kink before, but it was shockingly hot, and satisfying in a way their more playful scenes aren’t. They’re both excited to try something new after so many years together, but James is leading his beloved wife and submissive into uncharted territory where their comfort zone will be stretched and their bond tested…
It will take all the love and trust they’ve built over fourteen years to survive The Shame Game.
James Douglass walked through the front door of his home and sighed with relief. “Thank Christ that’s over.”
Behind him, his wife let out a snorting laugh and shut the door. “You say that every year.”
“I mean it every year.” He turned to watch her slip out of her coat, the soft faux fur he’d given her for Christmas gleaming under the light of the foyer chandelier. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”
Amanda smiled as she hung up her coat, then held out a hand for his. “I like your mother.”
He dropped the bags he held and shrugged out of his overcoat. “It’d just be nice to be able to spend one New Year’s somewhere else.”
“Well, that’s your fault for being born one minute past midnight on January first.” Laughter colored her voice, deepening the Texas accent that still lingered more than a decade after she’d left the Lone Star State. “If you’d stayed put for another week like you were supposed to…”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault for being born early?” He raised an eyebrow, wondering if his wife of twelve years would respond with sass or respect. He figured the odds were about seventy-thirty in favor of sass.
She took his coat with a wink. “Pretty much.”
“Insolent wench,” he muttered, and stifled a grin when she rolled her eyes. Sass it is, then.
“You could always tell your mom no when she invites us,” she pointed out.
He sighed and bent to pick up the bags. “No, I can’t.”
“I know.” She closed the closet with a snap and crossed to him, her bootheels clicking on the tile, and rose on her toes to plant a smacking kiss on his chin. “That’s because you’re a big old softie.”
The eyebrow went up again, almost of its own volition this time. “What was that?”
“Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all, her dimples popping out even as she lowered her eyes respectfully. “You’re a big old softie, sir.”
“Better,” he allowed, fighting a smile of his own. “But you’re lucky my hands are full.”
She glanced down at the bags he still held, then back up at him, her brown eyes dancing. “Oh, yes. Thank goodness for those two duffel bags, otherwise I’d be in so much trouble.”
James gave a bark of laughter. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one tired of being on his best behavior for the last couple of days. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking for trouble.”
She walked past him, her dimples still winking. “Well, then it’s a good thing you know better, isn’t it? Besides,” she continued, her voice drifting back to him as she moved toward the curved staircase. “Even if I was, it’s not like you could do anything about it.”
She paused on the first stair, her hand resting lightly on the banister, and looked back at him. They’d been together fourteen years, and still she took his breath away. Soft dark hair, a little tousled from the nap she’d taken on the drive home. Sparkling dark eyes, full of mischief and promise and affection. Her dimples flashed again, pulling his attention to her soft, full lips, curved in the faintest of smiles. That mouth had given him a jolt at their first meeting all those years ago, and its impact hadn’t lessened over time. If anything, it had only grown stronger, because now he knew just what those lush lips were capable of. He knew just how swollen and red they grew from his kisses, how they looked wrapped around his cock. And how she bit them when she was in pain, or in pleasure.
Then those lips spread in an impish grin, bringing him back to the present, and the game she was trying to tempt him into playing. “It’s not like you could chase me up these stairs or catch me even if you did. You’re fifty-one now. An old man.”
He growled because he knew she wanted him to, and with a rollicking laugh, she ran up the stairs.
He stayed where he was, enjoying the view. The yoga pants she’d worn for comfort on the drive home curved over rounded hips and a rounder ass, the soft sweater in misty green—another Christmas gift—covering bouncing breasts. He’d seen her dress that morning in a pretty lacy bra, the kind built for maximum visual effect rather than physical activity, so there was a lot of bounce.
It was pretty fucking hot.
About the Author
Hannah has been reading romance novels since she was young enough to have to hide them from her mother. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband—former Special Forces and an OR nurse who writes sci-fi fantasy and acts as In-House Expert on matters pertaining to weapons, tactics, the military, medical conditions and How Dudes Think—and their daughter, who takes after her father.
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