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About the author:
When not writing erotic romances, Layla enjoys watching entire seasons of old television series on Amazon Prime while eating homemade vegan pizza, followed by dark chocolate.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Like many secrets, mine began innocently.
I was rather surprised to find a store like Secrets as I drove through Sunny Harbor, a sleepy South Florida neighborhood of retirees. Yet I found myself drawn into the small shopping plaza toward Secrets’ seductively lit storefront display.
I entered the shop and was immediately dismayed to find a man behind the counter. I would have felt far more comfortable with a woman. The front of the store was filled with intimate garments, but I’d never seen lingerie like this before. It made Victoria’s Secret look like a Sears catalog as far as being interesting or racy.
Most of the clothes at Secrets were made of either leather or completely sheer fabric, and covered with studs or rhinestones. The garments were designed with openings conveniently located anywhere you might want a part of your body exposed. In fact, you wouldn’t have to remove a single item of clothing to complete any bodily function while wearing one of these outfits.
I wanted to take a closer look, but I felt uncomfortable with the guy at the desk watching my every move. I slid past the clothing to the back room where the videos and adult toys were located. My self-consciousness deepened. Two men were browsing the DVDs. Glancing at the cover jackets on the boxes confirmed my suspicions that none of these titles would be available at Target or Walmart. Off in a corner of the room, a woman looked at the poster collection. I casually wandered over to browse the display of items on the opposite wall.
I was amazed to find that sex toys came in such a wide variety of sizes, colors, shapes, and functions. Although I could only guess at the uses of some of the merchandise, the display held plenty of toys that sent my imagination racing into overdrive. It occurred to me that this would be a fun place to explore with a lover.
I wanted to take a closer look, but I was afraid to touch anything. Glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone was looking, I found myself alone in the room. I knew the storeowner was observing me via the surveillance camera mounted in the corner, so I examined the selection from a respectable distance. There were not many items in the price range I was willing to spend, but I did have my choice of color, size, and density.
I finally got up the courage to grab a box off the wall and bring it to the counter at the front of the store. I avoided eye contact. I wanted to pay and get out of there.
“Do you need batteries?”
Oh, my God! I had not even considered that. I managed to stammer out a no, but he got me thinking. What size battery? Do I have any at home?
Purchase completed, I escaped to my car and drove away. When I stopped at a light, I removed my new toy from the discreet, plain paper bag. Reading the fine print on the box, I was relieved to confirm that I did have the required size batteries. I discovered another bonus in the bag—the man had given me a discount coupon toward my next purchase. I transferred the coupon to the zippered pocket in my purse.
When I returned home, I faced new dilemmas. Where would I keep my secret purchase from being discovered by my husband? And where could I hide the product’s box until Tuesday, garbage day?
Once I located appropriate hiding spots, it was time to try out my purchase. After all, it wasn’t something you can try on for size at the store. I had to see if I’d gotten my money’s worth, although I knew I’d never ask for an exchange or refund.
I undressed and slid between the smooth sheets of my bed. Being naked by myself in the middle of the day felt a bit naughty. I thought about getting up and closing the blinds, but decided against it. The whole reason I bought the vibrator was about doing something outrageous and pushing myself out of the boring, comfortable box my life had become.
After twenty-two years of marriage, my sex life was in the dumps, not that it ever would have been considered Mt. Everest. Certainly not by the standards I was reading about in my new favorite literary genre—erotica. I know it’s fiction, and probably exaggerated, but my real-life experiences don’t hold a candle to the heat that burns in those stories.
My husband, Mark, was my first and my only. He popped my cherry during my freshman year of college, and we got married when I became pregnant two years later. I’ve never even had oral sex with anyone else. Mark was my first boyfriend, and then I married him. There was never time nor opportunity for me to meet or be with anyone else.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but Mark is not a creative guy. He’s an accountant, and he likes things neat and orderly. If he ever wanted to switch careers, he could easily start a business as an organizer. He hangs his clothes methodically in the closet, light colors in front and dark in the back. His drawers could pass military inspection.
He is fastidious about his personal appearance as well. He works out three mornings a week at a gym, so he maintains a muscular, trim build. He still has all his dark, straight hair, although flecks of gray have begun to show at the temples and in his mustache. He is good-looking, if not handsome, with a straight nose, strong chin, and gray-blue eyes framed in thick, black lashes.
A creature of habit, Mark devises routines and systems for everything he does, from his professional work to how he maintains the outside of the house and our cars. He loves schedules and spreadsheets.
Our sex life is pretty much the same—planned and predictable. On Saturday nights, we shower and go out for dinner. We have a drink before leaving home to save money and order a bottle of wine at the restaurant. We come home, change into night clothes, get into bed, and kiss briefly. After he wets his finger with his tongue, he rubs my clit for a couple of minutes, and then sticks his finger in and out of me until I’m wet. Once he feels my juice, he gets on top of me and pushes it in.
It’s over in about three minutes.
My nightgown never hits the floor. It’s just raised up a bit to accommodate the act. When we were younger, there had been lots more kissing and touching, but it’s been years since our weekly sex has been more than a perfunctory act.
I wanted—no, I needed—some excitement in my life. And that’s how I came to be naked in our bed and about to be naughty all by myself.