Friday, June 09, 2017

First Chapter Friday: ONLY HIM (An Obsessed Novella) by Jeanne St. James #BDSM #EroticRomance

Only Him (An Obsessed Novella)
By Jeanne St. James
Genre: Erotic Romance, Erotica, BDSM, Contemporary

Available NOW for 99¢ or FREE on Kindle Unlimited for a limited time!

This is not just a love story, it’s an obsession…


Never in my life did I think my high school obsession would move right next door. I’ve never wanted anyone but him. Reid Turner is my ultimate fantasy. And I still want him. Badly. When he watches me through my bedroom window taking matters into my own hands, things suddenly take a turn…

And now that I have him, I’m not letting him go.


I never knew she existed and now I can’t get enough of her. She consumes me. When this night ends, there may not be anything left of me, she may own me completely. She my master and I her slave. In one way or another I will atone for never noticing her all throughout high school. I will gladly grovel at her feet to make up for what a fool I was.

Besides, who can turn down that luscious body of hers? Curves in all the right places, a mouth that could make a grown man cry, super responsive during sex, and none of my twisted desires so far have made her bat an eye. And did I mention? She lives right next door. She may be the perfect woman for me.

Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.

Chapter One - Sydney
Holy fuck.
I peer around the curtain at the man carrying boxes from a rented box truck into the house next door.
My jaw shuts like a trap. What kind of fucking karma is this?
My fingers tremble as they grip the curtain. I must be dreaming. Never in my life did I think my high school crush would move… Right. Next. Door.
Right fucking next door!
My stomach churns and my pussy clenches.
I want to call someone. I want to run through the house screaming.
Reid Fucking Turner is moving next door!
Fucking pinch me.
I haven’t seen him in eons. Hell, not since graduation. And that was so, so long ago.
But I know it’s him. There's no doubt about it.
Every fiber of my being knows because I spent too many of my teenage years stalking­—err, watching—him. I would recognize him anywhere.
His gait. His hair (though, it’s cut much shorter now). His shoulders (much broader than high school—the boy has matured into a man). Those thick thighs (they’ve always been muscular, due to him being a jock).
It has to be him.
My heart stops as he glances toward my window. I drop the curtain like it’s on fire and pin my back against the wall. My heartbeat goes from zero to sixty in one second flat.
Holy crap, did he see me peeking?
The pulse in my neck throbs and it may jump right out of my throat at any moment. I clutch my hand to my chest while I try to slow my breathing.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It’ll be okay.
The guy never knew I existed in high school, so he probably wouldn’t recognize me now anyway.
I’ve changed. Matured.
My thin, flat-chested body has definitely improved. My breasts might be bigger and heavier than I’d like and my hips curvy enough I can no longer squeeze into skinny jeans, but I’ve had no problem attracting men. No problem at all.
They seem to prefer something to grab onto when they’re pounding into me, sweating all over me, grunting and groaning, and unfortunately, most of the time, leaving me unsatisfied and wanting.
And, most of the time, I can’t wait for them to fucking put their clothes back on and leave.
Breakfast? No thanks. I’m on a diet.
But back to the subject at hand.
Reid Fucking Turner.
I peek out the front window again and wonder why he’s moving his stuff by himself. I should head over and offer to help, shouldn't I?
Then I see them. A whole slew of buff, hot guys marching in and out of the house in a line like an army of ants.
Where does he find his friends? Studs ‘R’ Us?
Maybe they’re all gay porn stars. I mean, our classmates did vote Reid most likely to succeed in high school. Porn stars are considered successful, right? They’re stars after all.
I swipe at the bit of saliva gathering at the corner of my lip. Fuck. Gay or not, that is one hell of a man buffet. But how disappointing would that be? To find out my teenage crush turned out to dislike women?
Not only disappointing, but devastating.
I glance up at the ceiling and ask any deity listening, “Oh please, don’t let that be true.”
Reid has been my ultimate fantasy, my constant masturbation material, since the ninth grade when I first laid eyes on him.
Well, more like the day I bumped into him. The first time it happened by accident. The other dozen or so times over the course of our high school years were not so accidental. And one time I even accidentally brushed against the front of his jeans.
He felt warm and soft. But that night, I fantasized about him being hot and hard. And all mine. That ended up being a good night and I might have sprained a finger.
But no matter how many times I threw myself in front of Reid Turner, he never seemed to notice me. I had no cleavage, no shape. And I certainly wasn’t a cheerleader, or even on the booster team or squad, or whatever the fuck it was called.
I was a nobody. Just another body moo-ving down a narrow, crowded hallway, going in and out of classrooms like herded cattle.
I’m not saying I never garnered any interest. Just not from Reid Turner and his ilk. Oh, I got kissed and fingered, and eventually my cherry popped, but none of it was worth writing home about.
And every time I found myself in some closet, the backseat of a car, the bedroom of some boy’s house whose parents went out to dinner, I’d close my eyes and picture Reid.
That’s how I had my first orgasm (one without doing it myself). If I’d squeeze my eyes shut really hard and pretend the guy was Reid, then I’d… Yeah. And the poor schmuck probably thought he had skills and most likely disappointed the next girl he fumble-fucked. And if he did, not my problem.
However, that ended up screwing me, too. Because no guy was ever good enough for me.
None of them were Reid Turner.
The fucker ruined me for any other man. And he never once even touched me.
Not. Once.
Whether he knows it or not (I’m pretty sure he doesn’t), the man owes me a mind-blowing orgasm.
I snort as I imagine stomping over to his house to demand he make me climax. Wouldn’t he shit a brick.
Though… Maybe I should give that some serious thought.
He may call the cops. Possibly apply for a restraining order. Damn.
I tap my finger on my chin as I contemplate all the ways I can approach him without getting myself arrested.
Then it hits me. He won't call the police. It’s not because he’s a criminal and wants to avoid the men in blue.
No, it’s because he is the police. I forgot he’s a cop. Hot damn. How could I forget that juicy piece of information?
I remember hearing about his career choice when I was at our lame five-year class reunion. The one I attended just to see him. Though, he never showed. And he never came to our tenth either. It was at that joyous occasion when I found out he had married his main squeeze in high school, Pamela Johnson. Head cheerleader, prom queen, voted most popular. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blech.
So, that meant he wasn’t gay. Or did that bitch turn him?
My eyes rake over the man meat carrying the heavy boxes and random pieces of furniture. No sign of her.
But that doesn’t mean they aren’t still together. Though, that might fuck with my fantasies.
Damn it.
And of course, his life choices are all about me. Right?
I pace my living room, wanting to know everything about his life right now. He leaves me no choice.
I’ll have to do some recon.
* * * *
I actually question my own life choices when I sneak around the outside of his house after dark. What have I been reduced to? I feel like I’m a high school stalker—err, student—all over again.
All those times I attended his wrestling matches, his baseball games, I’d sit in the bleachers and root him on. Not that he ever noticed, even though I was his biggest supporter. The ultimate fan.
But hell, at least he chose two sports where he wore tight outfits. Both, that snug onesie thing he wore in wrestling and those tight baseball stretchy pants. His round, muscular ass looked spectacular in both. But that unitard… No, I remember being scolded at one match by someone sitting nearby. It wasn’t called a unitard, they called it a singlet. Didn’t matter though, at least in that outfit he didn’t wear a cup. I think all the females, including the mothers, noticed the healthy-sized Kielbasa link in his singlet. You couldn’t miss it. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt a few of our classmates’ mothers hit on him. And possibly even scored. What teenage boy didn’t want to fuck a MILF?
Anyway, now fifteen years later (give or take a year), I’m skulking around my neighbor’s house like a freaking peeping Tom.
All because Reid Fucking Turner moved next door.
This isn’t high school anymore, though. No. At thirty-one years old, I’m now dead serious about getting a piece of Reid. Especially since he owes me.
When I step on a stick, it cracks loudly under my foot and my heart, once again, goes into warp speed. I slam myself against the side of his house.
Holy fuck, if any of my other neighbors see me…
Screw them. This is all about me.
And Reid, of course.
I blow out a breath when I realize I might be a good candidate for the loony bin. I shake my head to clear it. I’m a freaking adult. What the hell am I doing?
How can the sight of this man reduce me to this crazy-assed behavior?
I drag myself back into the house, my head hanging in disgrace. I should be ashamed of myself. Maybe I should go over, knock on the door, and apologize for my bad behavior. Welcome him to the neighborhood. Invite him over for some sweaty sex.
I lock my front door and sit in my dark living room totally sickened by my actions.
Then I run upstairs.

Author Bio:
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a Best-Selling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.

She has a few new releases coming up in 2017. So keep an eye on her website at or sign up for her newsletter:

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