Myth: Kinky sex is all about fantasy and escapism.

Fact: Kinky sex brings you more deeply into the real than anything else.

This is not where the story really ends, dear reader, but it’s where we drop you off and say our goodbyes. We’ve come a long way, you, me and Nora. Many stories. Some of them sweeter than others, for sure.

Do you want to know what becomes of Nora and I? Does she get restless and cheat on me and leave me heartbroken? Do we finally run out of steam and become the boring, cynical parents with nothing in common anymore? Maybe you’re wondering if we became more extravagant with time, making our fantasies and ‘trips’ ever more elaborate.

Well, in a way, all of these things happen.

Nora had been telling me for months that she knew that the two of us were destined for something else. That she loved me enough for twenty thousand lifetimes. That she didn’t care what we did, as long as we did it together. And you know, when I trusted her and finally let go, I began to see what she meant.

One month on, one week off. Never the same moment twice. Never the same bodies, never the same smiles, or the same touches. Perhaps it will sound strange to you, but it was only on this endless carousel of novelty that I could start to finally see Nora’s solid, stable form. The media still occasionally brought it up here and there. One of the most famous women in America was an ex-dominatrix with a sordid, checkered past – how tacky!

But they only saw the tip of the iceberg I was beginning to understand she was. One month we were ‘normal’. She worked, I worked, we cared for our daughter and had dinner parties and took trips to the museum with Angelica and Maeve. And then for one week, Nora and I got to play. Alone. In whatever world we wanted to create for one another. She could be the clueless virgin, or the lonely single mom, or the naughty nun, or the free love hippy in a tent in the 60s. I could be a pervy school principle or a Bond villain or a pro athlete or an escaped circus performer from Russia who’s roaming the country using old gypsy magic and hypnosis to corrupt the womenfolk. You get the picture.

Nothing was off limits.

Nothing.

If she wanted to be dominating, then I was happy to submit. If she needed to submit, I easily took on the role of dominating her. We had played the same kinky game over and over until the natural conclusion was to begin toying with the game itself. It was a competition: who could come up with the best scenario, the most titillating script, the most realistic costumes? How deep into each roleplay could we go? So far that we both started to believe that it was real?

Yes.

Many times.

We got married and divorced countless times. Sometimes we had children, sometimes not. Mistress Morgan made an appearance once or twice, but there was so, so much more to work with these days. One trip, one I won’t tell you about in too much detail out of respect for her, involved a sinking car in a flood, a gun, and a promise. We haven’t spoken much about the things we did on that trip, but I suspect that when she’s ready, Nora will hand me another script and tell me precisely what she needs. And I’ll be there, 100% committed to bringing it to life for her.

“Binky no!” came the small voice.

Little Matilda, unlike her mother, wasn’t much of a talker. She had delicate fingers, though, and a slender frame, and I liked to tell myself that one day she’d be a dancer or a gymnast.

“What’s Binky doing now?” I said, and opened the doll house to peer inside.

“Binky’s being naughty again?” said Nora, who was sitting on the rug with us and helping Matilda and I play out the never-ending drama of Binky, Barbie and the plastic crocodile.

“Yes,” said Matilda and reached into the plastic living room to prop Binky up. Afternoons like this, with just Nora and Matilda and I, were like solid gold to me. “Crocodile’s gonna eat him!” she said.

“What! Again?” said Nora, who nevertheless found the crocodile, opened the dollhouse door with its snout and pretended to march it through the rooms, looking for Binky, naturally.

“I think it’s time Binky and crocodile made friends, actually,” I said as I looked on. But Matilda was already in the throes of making poor Binky and crocodile thrash it out in kitchen, knocking over the little pink chairs.

“Binky’s dead now,” she said, and plopped him down so his little teddy bear eyes stared straight up.

“Oh my. That’s so sad. Sorry Binky,” Nora said, and cast me an amused look.

I reached for her hand and pulled her closer in to me. I loved it when she curled up in my arms like this, big spoon and little spoon. I watched her as she watched Matilda, and we passed a few moments like these, my arms held firmly round that perfect waist of hers, my face nestled into her sweet-smelling neck.

We had just returned from Hawaii and, as was usually the case, Nora was calm and blissed out from our most recent game. With her leaning back against me, she idly stroked my forearms. Her bare toes buried into the carpet. It was late afternoon.

“Have you thought about what you want to wear to the party?” she said at last.

Ah. The anniversary celebration we were throwing.

“Uh… clothes?”

She playfully took a bite out of my forearm.

“Be serious. And you should write a speech. Nothing huge, just a few words or something, just in case.”

“A speech? You write it for me,” I said, and picked up the plastic crocodile.

“Dummy, that’s not how it works. Just say something sweet.”

“Like how we met?”

“No, leave all of that out.”

“Ok. Shall I tell them what you did recently on our little Kauai holiday?”

“Not if you value your life,” she said playfully. “Say something about marriage. Your mom will be there. My family will be there. They’re putting so much effort into the party, I think we owe it to them to act normal for just a day. …”

“Normal? Pffft. A kink too far, my dear.”

It appeared that Binky was alive and well again and heading back into the same bedroom where he was likely to encounter his nemesis the plastic crocodile, again. Maybe little Matilda was more like her mom than I gave her credit for.

“Say how you absolutely adore me and couldn’t live without me, and what you’ve learnt in the, oh, five or so years we’ve known each other.”

“What! It’s only been five years? Feels like at least four hundred,” I said, and she was swift with another bite to my arm.

“Pipe down,” she said when I protested.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said and gave her a wink. I knew she hated it when I called her that, but I couldn’t resist. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell them all the secret to a long, happy relationship.”

“Excellent. What will you say?”

I thought for a moment.

“That a happy relationship is not one thing… but many.”

She raised her eyebrows at me.

“Is that so, oh wise one?”

I smiled.

It was so. I had never had to doubt or renew or strengthen or reconsider my commitment to Nora because it was constantly being refreshed, constantly being made new again. I never grew tired of Nora because I never quite got done getting to know her. It was the eternal honeymoon period everyone told us would soon be over, even though we always felt like we were at the beginning again.

Matilda got up and raced to the kitchen, muttering to herself, and Nora and I were left alone on the rug, folded in one another’s arms.

“Being serious though… do you really care about this anniversary party? You really want a speech?”

“Not in the least,” she said breezily. “But you can play the part for a few hours, just for the family. It’s been a while since we all were together like that.”

I nodded and squeezed her closer.

‘Ok. I’ll come up with something.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to give me a kiss?” I said and peered over her shoulder. Her neck smelt like cotton on a washing line on a sunny day, and happiness. She twisted round and reached up to plant her careful, sweet lips onto mine, and we lingered there for a moment in the silence.

All love stories are the same. All people in love are the same. Stories begin and sadly, they end, but what I had in Nora was not just a fleeting love story or a momentary lover to do it with. Nora was an eternal companion to come with me through those stories, no matter where they took us. Right through to the end and back again, because we weren’t afraid, and because we loved each other, so what did it matter if one of us was the bad guy one day, and the good guy the next?

No, we weren’t ‘normal’. But when I held her in my arms like this, nothing but a sweet kiss and deep, unspoken knowing between us, I thought of how normal was just one of the many dates I’d take her on, just one of the ways of living and loving that we could shake off the next morning, as easily as you shake off a wig or peel off a pair of stockings.

The path Nora and I had travelled had been filled with distress. There were days when I was sure we couldn’t survive as a couple, where I couldn’t believe that the person I loved could cause me so much pain. But how else do you learn to shrug pain off except to go dead through the center of it? Because everything awful that can happen to threaten the love between two people – well, those are all just stories, too. Who was Nora? I don’t know. A woman unafraid to abandon herself, to be somebody different.

I pulled back from our kiss and stroked away the hair from her face. Today, her hair was fiery red and long enough to tumble down over her shoulders. Tomorrow it might be a different color. And a few months later, she’d likely change it again. Much, much later, it would be grey. Nora would make a brilliant grandmother, and I knew she’d age not only with grace but with heaping doses of sass as well. I wasn’t one bit afraid of the adventures we’d go on together in the next life, if there was one. What was one more trip? Any backdrop is as good as the other, if you have someone to look back at you the way she was looking back at me now.

I’m surprised as anyone that I turned out to be a big, sappy romantic, believe me. But don’t judge me too harshly – you too might one day wake up and wonder when the story of your life suddenly changed forever. I promise you, it can happen. All these thoughts whizzed through my mind as we exchanged a simple smile for just a simple moment.

“I love you, Nora.”

“I love you too,” she said and nuzzled back into my arms.

“You’re my whole world.”

She shot a look up at me.

“That’s what I’ll say at the party,” I added, and I could feel her giggling in my arms.

With over half a million words of steamy, romantic fiction, and over 1000 five-star reviews across Amazon and Goodreads, this limited edition omnibus will provide over 100 hours of reading!