Driftwood Deeds

Driftwood Deeds

by Laila Blake

 Breaking in Waves (#1)

Driftwood Deeds
Trading Tides
Saltwater Skin
or the Breaking in Waves Collection

Length: 90 pages / 28.000 words

Genre: Literary Erotica / BDSM Erotica /Erotic Romance

Tags: Love, Sex, Beach, Ocean, BDSM, D/s, spanking, Age Difference

 Print Version of the Complete Breaking in Waves Collection $ 19.99

 E-Book Version $ FREE

When journalist Iris Ellis visits a sleepy seaside town to interview recluse screenwriter Paul Archer, he offers her insights into never acted upon fantasies of dominance and submission. Too curious to deny herself a taste of them, Iris gives herself up to Paul’s gentle guidance, but when she realizes that a taste can never be enough, she must find the courage to ask for what she needs or risk losing it all.

Called a “gem for fans of BDSM romance and the perfect starting point for readers new to the genre” by RT Book Reviews, Driftwood Deeds is a novella of sexual awakening as well as consent and communication in bdsm.

Driftwood Deeds is a 28.000 words erotic novella, covering adult themes and bdsm. It is the first installment in the Breaking in Waves trilogy.

Excerpt – Chapter III


“So you think I like broken things?” I asked after a long time, voice warm and tinged in this quiet, restful moment. Paul Archer looked at me over the rim of his cup, which he held in both hands as though it was an Asian bowl.

“I think you understand them, notice them,” he corrected, then tilted his head, put the cup down and pulled his glasses from his face. It made him look strangely characterless while he wiped the hot water condensation from the lenses before resetting the glasses on his nose in that charming gesture. “And maybe, you feel drawn to them, too.”

There was something in his eyes, a shadow maybe or a sense of foreboding, and I looked away. I realized too late that my heart was thrumming in my chest with the speed of a runaway train. I cleared my throat and looked at the table. My eyes focused on a small collection of shark teeth, small and gray around a single huge one: a tooth that might lodge itself in a limb with the strength of an industrial claw. He seemed to understand my need for retreat; and didn’t speak again for a long time. I, in turn, didn’t look at him until I could control my senses. And maybe that was just what he wanted, to let me feel safe just for a few minutes.

“Can I call you Iris?” he asked out of the blue and my eyes were dragged back up to his face. He was smiling—possibly with an apology edged into his features.

For as long as it took me to inhale far too much air for a simple answer, I wondered what would happen if I said no. I could have fetched my tape recorder and my notebook and we could have done this interview. There was still time, and afterwards I’d have called a late taxi to that B&B and in the morning, I would have taken the first train home.

But I didn’t say no. I nodded.

“Iris,” he repeated and the old-fashioned name I hardly ever had any true emotional bond with, suddenly sounded warm and colorful.

“I did not ask you here because I wanted to sleep with you, but I do now.”

I had time to appreciate the cliché of my reaction when my jaw dropped. His words traveled through my entire body at the speed of lightning, leaving it sore and tingling, fearing and longing for the fire to come back. I couldn’t take credit for not stuttering something in return though. He didn’t give me much time to collect myself before he pulled his glasses off again in a deprecating gesture and continued. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you. I just believe it’s best to be honest about these things. I know that puts you in a difficult position but I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think there might be a possibility you’d feel the same.”

A pause. I still didn’t know what to say.

“I am not an asshole, Iris and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to wonder what will happen to your career if you tell me off. I won’t hold it against you, Iris, not in any way. You don’t even have to say no, if you’re too nice or polite or… British.”

I can’t claim much memory of these moments past his words and his eyes that were gentle and kind and yet, at the same time, seemed to bore themselves deeply into my head, stirring secret centers of pleasure where I’d never even thought to look for any. Warm shivers ran down my spine and it was as though every hair follicle was turning into a raw nerve that tingled in the open air.

“I will excuse myself into the kitchen,” he went on, still smiling a non-threatening smile. “And if, when I come back, you are sitting here with a notepad or a laptop, I will give you an interview that your editor won’t find any less than deeply insightful.” He gave me a crooked grin at that, before his face grew surprisingly earnest again. “But if you sit here, like you are, with your palms on the table, then we will go on with our evening as two people who just met and want to know more about one another without an audience in mind.” He paused and raised his eyebrows.

I realized that I hadn’t said anything and he was looking for a sign that I had understood. I nodded; he smiled and walked out of the room. It came as a relief and an aching lack at the same time. I could breathe again, deeply into that calming region in my lower stomach, and I could move and brush a strand of hair out of my face.

He had been right. I did feel a sense of hesitation against saying no—but the same fear of saying yes. Maybe a greater one and that was the fear he hadn’t alleviated—the fear that made no sense at all. Because if he’d think badly of me for wanting to sleep with him too, what exactly would that make him?

I took a deep, shaking breath and got to my feet—just to see if I still could. It wasn’t difficult at all, they felt a bit tired from the walk but the socks were soft and giving and I could easily have walked down the hallway, made narrow by book cases, and fetched my bag. I even saw it through the door he had left open, lying there at the bottom of his driftwood coat-rack.

I sat back down and placed my palms onto the glass. They were shaking a little, puckering around the joints and warm enough to leave a trace of moist condensation. I heard his footsteps before I could question the positioning at all, and my hands were the first place his eyes landed on. He smiled, then he walked around me and just like that I could feel my cunt pulse against the leather ottoman.

“Why did you put your hands on the table?” he asked quietly and I stared at them too. Because he had said so. The realization made me quiver, my mouth opened but no sound escaped. Paul Archer squatted down next to me. He ran a finger along my jaw and smiled.

This novella is a gem for fans of BDSM romance and is the perfect starting point for readers new to the genre. Iris’ curiosity blossoms into a beautiful, wicked eagerness to submit with the help of Paul’s patient guidance. Paul’s penchant for humiliation play is a kink made even hotter by Iris’ positive emotional and physical response. Although Iris and Paul’s brief time together is bittersweet, the story’s ending is both realistic and filled with hope.

RT Book Reviews


Driftwood Deeds, the focus is on a budding BDSM-style romance between a female journalist with latent submissive tendencies and a middle-age screenwriter. The sexual scenarios depicted between them are well-developed, sensual and delightfully erotic. They have the feel of realistic liaisons as opposed to the bigger-than-life intense encounters often found in BDSM erotica. This is simply a well-written BDSM-themed story without literary pretensions.

Jim Lyon, for SeattlePi


The descriptive power of [Laila Blake’s] narrative is captivating, the ability to describe feelings and space many go to in submission is IMO accurate, if enhanced by fiction, and has placed me in a place where I want to be when reading BDSM scenes. The novella has a flow, a rhythm, its almost like stroking a canvas with a smooth oval brush while listening to your favorite tunes. I could have closed my eyes and been there with these two people; I walked the narrow hallway, made narrow by bookstacks on both sides, I walked along the beach and picked up stray objects, I heard the old tape-recorder in the background and I felt the sting, the space and the aftermath. It was outstanding.

Mistik Ink


Paul is a Dom and he sees something in the fragile Iris that he can’t help but want to explore. As he systematically breaks down her defenses and awakens her body’s reactions, the book travels down a path that for me was not unlike a religious experience. It sounds odd and is I suppose as the book even mentions the act of becoming submissive to another human being can sometimes be looked at that way. No–in this instance it was the author’s prose that did it for me. The intricate bits of reaction, emotion and sheer intimacy that frankly left me breathless and wanting more. I loved it. The pain, the pleasure. All of it.

– Thistledown, for Long and Short Reviews


Every word, scene and even the setting are woven together for the whole story. And the last book in the series, Saltwater Skin is told from Paul’s POV and its the perfect ending to the series.  Don’t let the theme of the book put you off.  I have a new author to read after reading this series. I fell in love with Ms. Blake’s voice, writing and most of all her characters.  There is so much to be said about a “character” book and getting to know Iris and Paul was a dream come true for me.

Harley Williams, author


I absolutely loved the setting where this book took place, a small dilapidated fishing village off the coast of England. Ms. Blake does a stellar job transporting her reader into this picturesque and antiquated village where you settled in Paul’s home. This book is executed in such a way that each word, scene, nuance has a purpose. For me, nothing was wasted or superfluous. […] I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed Driftwoods Deeds. I can honestly state that it is one of the better short novellas that I have read.

– Lisa, at Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews


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