Southern Submission (Southern Submission (A Southern BDSM erotic romance)) by Bellatrix Turner Page A

me.  The
wet cotton was raspy against my sensitive nub, but it felt exquisite.  I
bucked against his hands, against the mingled pain and pleasure from my nipple
and the so-close feeling of his fingers outside of my panties.  “Oh
please, oh please, oh Tad,” I begged.
     
    Southern
Submission
    I’d been thinking about
a hot piece of meat all day, but not the kind that walks on two legs.  I
was busy tending the fire for my world championship BBQ team, the Smokin’
Butts. We were one of two all-women teams at the Memphis in May World Championship
Barbecue Cooking Contest that year, and we were definitely the best.  The
Baby’s Got Back girls were strictly partiers, not serious chefs. 
    I wasn’t paying much
attention to the group of men who’d just come in.  Lisa, our hostess, was
plying them with beer and a sausage and cheese plate.  I’d opened up the
rib smoker to add more of our top-secret dry rub, and as I turned to grab the
big Tupperware container from the table to my left, I missed.  I don’t
know why; it just wasn’t where my hand seemed to think it should be.  The
rib rub container went skittering for the edge of the table and total
calamity.  I lunged for it, but another hand snapped out and caught it
before gravity could win.
    “Holy crap , that
was close.  Thank you so much!”  My hand closed over his, a second
after he’d saved the rub. 
    “Glad I could help,” a
deep voice rumbled.  I looked up and caught my breath.  Green eyes,
with a hint of hazel in the depths.  Reddish-brown hair flopping down near
his eyebrows, still looking perky in the sweltering tent.  Sharp
cheekbones over a jawline covered with red stubble.  Wow, what a looker!
    “Um,” I said. 
What can I say?  I have a silver tongue.
    He gave me a lopsided
grin.  “Hi.”
    “Hi.”  I reached
out with my other hand, grabbed the side of the spice mix, and pried my fingers
off of his.  The auburn haired man slowly released the container.
     “Are you gonna
tell me your secret spice mix?” he asked.   
    “A little sugar, some
herbs, and a lot of hotness.  Anything more than that is top secret,
mister.  You’d have to beat it out of me.”  What had just come out of
my mouth?  It was like my brain had gone offline or something.
    The grin widened. 
“We could arrange that if you’d like.”
    This conversation
has gone totally off the rails , I thought, blushing.  “I’m gonna have to check my
schedule and get back to you on that.”  With a mental effort, I turned and
went back to work before all the heat escaped from the rib smoker.
    Lisa cornered me after
they’d wandered off.  “Oh mah gawd, do you know who you were talking
to?  That was Tad Marshall!”
    “Who?”
    “Just the son of the
biggest developer in Shelby County!”  Lisa was not a barbecue chef. 
In fact, she could barely microwave a frozen dinner. That didn’t mean that she
wasn’t an integral part of our team – she handled all our “people
interactions.” 
    The Memphis in May
World Championship Barbecue Contest is a hotly contested and very serious
barbecue cooking competition, but it’s also the biggest social event of the
year in Memphis.  We’d formed the team two years ago to win the
competition, but also to make sure we had the right kind of exposure to the
right kind of people.  The five cooks on the team were terrible at
schmoozing, but Lisa lived for it.  She was taller than me at 5’4”, but
she weighed at least twenty pounds less than me.  Her tasteful blonde hair
always looked perfect, and her makeup never smeared.  She would have been
totally insufferable if she wasn’t such a genuinely nice person too. 
    On the other hand, I
was short, curvy, and cursed by a mane of unruly black curls that always wanted
to frizz in our abundant humidity.  I stuck to the lightest possible
amount of makeup – a 55 gallon barbecue smoker will defeat any
manufacturer’s claims.  I filled out our team