Call Me, Maybe: Sexual Caresses at an Airport

What if you tested your ability to dominate a woman in public, a woman you just met, only to find that she became more to you than just a test subject? In this very short erotic romance, told completely from a man's point of view, Jonathan's theory of why women like to be humiliated turns up some surprising results. This erotic romance, "Call Me, Maybe," has some elicit language so hot it will steam your glasses if you wear glasses. If you don’t wear glasses, turn off the fire alarm. Just in case. For mature readers. “I was pleasantly surprised with how much I enjoyed this short read! With the (previous) title of Sexual Caresses at an Airport, I was expecting erotica, but what I got was a unique story about a student researching how far you could test a woman’s tolerance to being dominated in a public place.” —Vicki, reviewer on Goodreads “Call Me, Maybe is a fun short story. Liz Adams has created a wonderful story that will ensnare you. You'll wonder about the interactions between two people attracted to each other. What draws them to each other? What makes them act they way they do? What makes them act on those desires? Even if they just met! This is a great story! While it is a short-story, it’s packed with some amazing passion.” —Lee Anne Garland, writer at My Secret Romance Book Reviews EXCERPT “Okay. Good. Now Alina, I’m going to stand behind you and touch your shoulders, okay?” Her jaw dropped and she looked at me. “I’m going to need you to keep looking at the logo.” She turned to her friends. I wondered why. Maybe to see if they would stop her? Maybe to see if they were going to intervene? Maybe to get their permission? Whatever the reason, her friends were smiling. They were probably wondering the same thing I was. Just how far would she let me go? She returned her focus on the logo. I stood behind her, the waist-high line-guiding ribbon between us, and placed my hands on her shoulders. I noticed there were twenty-three minutes left before the attendants returned to start checking in luggage. That would completely interrupt my goal. “What city are you from, Alina?” I started to massage her shoulders. “Utrecht.” Her voice was soft and beautiful. “Just south of Amsterdam.” She glanced at her friends, they were still smiling. As if anticipating my instruction, she returned her gaze upon the logo. I pressed my thumbs into the muscles above her shoulder blades. She was quiet, but by her uneven breathing it seemed like she was having a hard time staying quiet to my touches. I repositioned my thumbs to the back of her neck, massaging the top of her spine. “You mentioned that you’re working on your Communications degree, but it sounded like you weren’t very passionate about getting a job in it. What are you passionate about?” She was silent for a moment, letting my fingers connect with her. “Graphic design.” “Graphic design. There’s a lot of demand for that these days, considering all those authors out there self-publishing and needing good covers for their books.” I moved to her forearms, massaging with rolling fingers. The next part would be tricky. “So you’re doing really well, Alina. Though it may not seem so, you’re helping me a lot.” I wondered if that sounded too condescending. And if women who liked BDSM enjoyed being talked to that way. “What I need next is for you to describe the logo you’re looking at while I massage you in front. Use your graphical design eye to describe it. Do you think you can do that?” “Just describe the picture? Like the shapes and colors?” “Yes. While I touch you in front. Do you think you can do that?” “I guess so.” “Great. Go ahead.” “It says KLM in light blue, and shows a crown using circles, a rectangle, and a plus sign.” I reached from behind her, under her shoulders and stroked the edges of her bra beneath her small breasts.