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    A Shimmer of Silk
    A Shimmer of Silk
    A Shimmer of Silk
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    A Shimmer of Silk

    By Raven McAllan

    2.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Deborah may not know the full truth about her childhood, but she knows she needs to find her soul. During one of her performances at Silk Street, she attracts the attention of Oliver, Lord Craster. Known for his extreme tastes, he sensed a kindred soul in Deborah.

    Persuading her that their needs mesh proves a challenge, even to a man of his experience. Will Oliver be the man she needs to unlock her secrets? Or will his dominance scare her too much to even try?

    Be Warned: BDSM, spanking, sex toys, anal sex.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEvernight Publishing
    Release dateJan 27, 2013
    ISBN9781771302517
    A Shimmer of Silk
    Author

    Raven McAllan

    After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled. With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list. Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cros stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit. Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

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      Book preview

      A Shimmer of Silk - Raven McAllan

      Published by Evernight Publishing at Smashwords

      www.evernightpublishing.com

      Copyright© 2013 Raven McAllan

      ISBN: 978-1-77130-251-7

      Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

      Editor: Melissa Hosack

      ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

      WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      DEDICATION

      To Doris. No one could have a better friend. Thanks D, without you this book would not have been written.

      To Paul for putting up with me, it can't be easy.

      A SHIMMER OF SILK

      The House on Silk Street, 2

      Raven McAllan

      Copyright © 2013

      Chapter One

      Deborah adjusted her mask and checked that her costume was in place. The tiny strips of silver silk both covered and disclosed her body, slithering and sliding over her contours. Only she knew how little they revealed, and how much they did not.

      You have the salve and the unguent? she asked. The cloths? Try as she might to stop it, her voice quivered.

      Luc smiled grimly as he showed her the jars, and the large soft linen torn into useful sized strips.

      Then let us go. The customers are waiting. A steady rumble of excited male voices could be heard from the other side of the curtain.

      He took her arm. Deborah, why do you do it, if you hate it so? I see it in your eyes, the contempt and, yes, the fear? Why put yourself through this? Come with me. We can go to France, go anywhere you like, and put this behind us. Put everything from us, be free.

      She took his face in her hands and kissed him. There was no passion; it was a kiss for a brother not a lover.

      Luc, dear Luc, we are on a mission. We cannot give up. Too much is at stake. You need to find your lover. And I? I need to find my soul. With a smile, she felt sure did not reach her eyes, she walked in front of the curtain. Did she even know what her soul was? She thought not. Those awful, fearful years in France had shown her that.

      The cheers were tumultuous. With a slight bow she acknowledged them before she held her hands out for silence. Although her English was fluent, her accent was as pure as any gentleman present. She knew her audience. They expected a Frenchwoman, therefore that was what they would get.

      My dear Messieurs. Her accent was put on; the tremor in her voice was not.

      Kind sirs, we pray for your indulgence. Monsieur Jean-Luc needs silence for his act, and I? I Jeanne-Louise? I need your encouragement. What we do is dangerous, life threatening even, and I for one do not want to end my days just yet. Nor before… She smiled and raised one eyebrow in an exaggerated manner. The audience went wild. Behind the curtain, Luc gave her a positive wave; they were eating out of her hands.

      Deborah held those hands up to quell the noise. The room fell silent, apart from the shuffle of feet, a cough, and a quip, quickly smothered. It was as if she then had gagged each and every one of the fifty or so gentlemen present. She nodded.

      So, first, may I introduce to you to Monsieur Jean-Luc Dalmain? It wasn't his name, however, that didn't matter. It worked.

      Luc walked toward her, his throwing knives in his hand. Without breaking his step he launched one, then the other, toward her. Deborah turned, and caught each of them by the hilt as they came within her arms length, and threw them back.

      The room, the audience, any noise faded away. All she could hear was the soft whoosh, as the knives flew toward her.

      She bent and spun round. The silver ties of her dress shimmered as they twisted out around her. With a glint and a flash, they were chopped ever shorter with delicate precision by the flying knives, before she once more grabbed the hilts and returned them.

      The cheers erupted, but still Deborah ignored the noise. Minus them, their performance wouldn't work; with them, the adrenalin kicked in, was acknowledged, and then ruthlessly suppressed. Nothing must penetrate their concentration.

      Without breaking the routine, Deborah walked backwards and stood against a backboard. With a brief nod to show Luc she was ready, she stretched her arms and legs out, and steadied herself.

      The knives flew to enclose her in a cocoon of metal. One above her head. One under each arm. Another between her legs, so so close to her cunt, that, if she had been aware, she would have absorbed and accepted the universal gasp of the audience. Yet some more pierced the wood around her feet. Luc was a master. Each knife landed exactly where he intended. In fact, Deborah thought, as she followed their routine in her mind, he could probably do it all blindfold, not just the finale. She moved her hips and the remains of the silken ties shimmered and swirled around her body.

      She narrowed her eyes, as with a flourish, Luc prepared his final knife.

      The audience was quiet now; the proverbial pin could have been dropped and heard. Something in the air perhaps warned them that

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