It's Write-Along Wednesday!!

Each Wednesday I will post the beginning of a scene, then each of you can leave a comment to continue the story from there. Be sure to read all of the comments before posting as they will build on each other. Only rule is to keep the comments PG rated. Let's see where the story takes us!!

Lissa—my business partner, self-appointed therapist and de facto sister—was going to suffer a death worthy of a Shakespearean play.

Dreaming up ways to torture her got me through the rest of our appetizer, but the expectant look on my blind-date-from-Hell’s face told me my glorious reprieve was about to end. Damn my inner moral compass. Anyone else would have ditched after the full-kiss-on-the-lips greeting.

“My wife, Belisama, is going to love you,” he purred, topping off my glass of cheap red wine.

I choked on the breadstick I’d been nibbling, my eyes darting around the room in horror. “Is she here?”

“You’ll meet her tonight. You two are going to be bedmates.”

His wolfish grin shot my heart into overdrive. The only thing preventing a full out panic attack was the fact we were in a crowded restaurant. “Don’t ever call me again,” I snapped, digging in my wallet for a $20 to cover my meal. “I don’t know what kind of meds you’re on, but they’re not working.”

When I glanced down to zip my purse he lunged forward, lacing some kind of black silk around my wrist. My whole body turned rigid as iron. Slowly he reached across and took my left hand, tying it securely to my right before placing both of my hands underneath the table.

“With Keizon’s rope I bind thee,” he whispered, his luminescent, enchanted eyes locked on mine. The ribbon ignited in an eerie black fire, burning into my flesh until it completely dissolved. Raising my arms like a debutant, he showcased the intricate black weavings that now decorated my wrists, spidering all the way up past my elbows.

“I have never taken someone so young before, but in time you will learn to serve me well. I shall call you Qandisa, in honor of the Goddess of lust. From now on that is the only name you will answer to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.” The words tumbled out of my mouth on their own accord.

“Come. Belisama has much work to do to prepare you for our wedding.”

As we exited the restaurant, hand-in-hand, an attractive young executive brushed past us carrying a dozen white roses—the flowers I was supposed to use to identify my date.