Deborah Murnay has a life most women would die for. She has a loving wife of four years who gives her anything she wants. But, Deborah hides a dark secret. Her wife Genevieve not only enjoys kinky, dangerous sex, but is insanely jealous and possessive. When a violent argument between the two leaves Deborah bruised and battered, she has no other choice but to run away.

Through some intricate planning on Deborah’s part, she’s able to trick Genevieve into thinking she’s dead. Deborah becomes Sharon Wade and ends up hundreds of miles away in the small town of Woodberry Creek where she can start over again, even though she lives in fear that Genevieve will find her and kill her.

When grade school teacher Bridgette Woodberry notices her new neighbor, she quickly figures out Woodberry Creek’s new resident is hiding something. Deborah knows she can’t have a future with Bridgette, but finds herself attractive to the kindhearted redhead whose kisses and warm embrace makes her feel protected.

As Deborah turns to Bridgette to help heal her scars, Genevieve is waiting for the right moment to take back her wife and make her pay for deceiving her.

The howling of the coyote in the distance gave Deborah Murnay a chill. She wrapped a towel around her body after rubbing in the vanilla-scented lotion her wife had ordered special for her from Paris. Deborah could barely stand the smell of vanilla any longer, but since Genevieve enjoyed the scent, and always took time out of her busy day to kiss a part of her body covered in the lotion, Deborah wore it nevertheless.

Ignoring the howl of another—or possibly the same—coyote, Deborah walked out of her bathroom and into her bedroom where lying on her king-sized bed was the short gold dress she planned to wear for the season opener of the Peyote Springs Opera House. The opera always started the year with a performance of Giuseppe Verdi’s 1853 La Traviata. The first time Deborah had seen the tragic opera, she cried. The second time she was overcome by the beauty of the music. Now, her fifth time, she was bored. Even though Genevieve hired a tutor to teach her Italian, Deborah could barely understand a word of it. Genevieve loved going to the opera, which they tended to do every three months. Deborah would rather see something more modern, like a Broadway show, but since her wife found popular musicals gauche, Deborah kept her mouth shut.. Genevieve would expect it no other way.

The clock on the far wall released a soft melodic ping. Deborah had less than a half hour to get dressed before they had to leave. Sighing, she pulled a comb through her damp highlighted blond hair that would dry soon enough in the Nevada heat. At six in the evening, it was still a stifling ninety degrees. Her dress was perfect for tonight, and for the after party that always followed. They always attended, since Genevieve was one of the opera’s generous patrons. Deborah hoped Genevieve wouldn’t be upset by her wearing gold instead of the standard white she wore on Sundays.

Pulling open a drawer, she found her beige thong. Her lips curved as she almost decided to go buff; a small surprise for Genevieve in case she wanted to play with her under her skirt. But she wasn’t that outrageous, so she concealed herself with the small scrap of fabric. Searching through the pile of underwear and socks, she found the small shiny box she planned to give Genevieve before they left. Inside lay a silver locket with her picture in it—even though she purchased the jewelry with Genevieve’s money—in celebration of their anniversary tonight.

I can’t believe I’ve been with the same woman for so long. Deborah turned her diamond-covered wedding band around her finger and took a moment to reflect as the blazing orange sun dipped below the horizon.

The bedroom door opened and in walked Genevieve, wearing a short tight black dress complete with a choker and high-heeled sandals that added even more height to her five foot eight inches. Deborah held her breath, stunned by Genevieve’s beauty.

Genevieve held a small box wrapped in silver and left it on the dresser as she rested her hands on Deborah’s shoulders and smiled. Deborah smiled softly, her heart speeding as it did whenever she was in Genevieve’s presence. Her wife’s straight, copper-toned hair falling down past her shoulders complemented her wonderful dark tan. Unfortunately for Deborah, she didn’t tan as well as Genevieve, even with the smattering of Native America blood that had been diluted centuries ago.

“Dearling, why aren’t you ready yet?” Gen pursed her lips, tilting her head to the left as she examined her.

Deborah stopped herself from wincing. She hated when Gen called her dearling. She’d rather be called ‘my sexy nurse’, as Gen sometimes said. It reminded her who she was and where she came from.

“I wanted to take the extra time to look perfect for you tonight.” Deborah wrapped her arms around Gen, lifted up on her toes, and kissed her under her ear. Gen shivered and tightened her hold. Deborah closed her eyes and inhaled Gen’s scent—a combination of aloe and papaya. They stayed like that until Gen’s hand went under her towel and caressed her bottom, her thumb drifting into her thong and brushing in between her ass cheeks. Deborah stiffened and almost clenched down on her wife’s roaming finger.

Gen released a husky laugh and stepped away. She removed her hands and wagged a finger in front of Deborah’s face. “If we had another hour to spare, I’d lay you out on our bed and rim you until you screamed, but you’re running late.”

Deborah blinked at the crude words Genevieve used to explain the intimate act she enjoyed doing. And the emphasis on how she was late, and not we, had been noticed as well.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be already to go,” Deborah said and dropped her towel, contemplating whether or not she needed to wear a bra. Genevieve observed her openly through the mirror as she fluffed her hair.

Before she could pick up her dress, Gen walked over and held out the box. “I know you’ve wanted to open this since I came in the room. Happy fourth anniversary, dearest.”

Genevieve gave her a kiss and her tongue went deep into Deborah’s mouth, licking the inside of her cheeks and eliciting a moan. Deborah almost fell back onto the bed when Gen tweaked her nipples and rolled the hard nubs with her thumbs. When she went to slip her hand inside Gen’s bodice, Gen backed away, breaking the kiss. She patted Deborah’s mouth with her manicured hand and laughed.

“Open your gift,” Gen urged and Deborah slowly untied the bow when all she wanted to do was rip it apart.
She took her time, building up the anticipation, and when she pulled off the lid, her jaw dropped at what she saw on lying on a red satin pillow.

“Oh, it’s breathtaking.” Deborah lifted up the fragile gold strand with a small diamond in the middle.

“It’s not a necklace, but a belly chain. Knowing this will be tied around you would please me immensely.”

“Like a collar?” Deborah joked weakly.

“You can call it that if you’d like.” Gen took the chain from her and latched it around her waist.

Deborah stood in front of the mirror admiring her gift. Gen fingered the chain and dipped lower, cupping her mound and pressing her fingers in deep.

“Thank you. I love it as much as I love you,” Deborah said in a husky whisper and spread her legs apart, hoping Gen would push aside her panties and play with her clit for a minute or two.

Gen laughed again and backed away, leaving Deborah hot and frustrated. She loves teasing me. Hiding her irritation, Deborah went over to the dresser to give Gen her gift.

“Before I forget, I have your—” Deborah turned around, finding herself alone. Her beautiful gold dress was missing, and when she glanced over at the walk-in closet, Gen came out holding a silky white tank top that gaped low in the bodice, and a matching miniskirt. Deborah had only worn it once when she and Gen had gone to Las Vegas for a weekend getaway. This type of ensemble was suited for a dance club or a casino, but would be very out of place at the opera.

“Did you forget it’s Sunday, dearling?” Gen asked, placing the outfit on the bed.

Deborah’s pulse increased. “I thought I’d shake things up a bit. I bought the gold dress to impress you. I know how much you love the color.” Deborah flicked her anniversary gift for emphasis.

Gen gave her an easy smile, although irritation lurked in her eyes. “You’re sweet, but I prefer we stick to protocol. Don’t you agree? We can’t have you going back to wearing ratty T-shirts or those horrible-colored scrubs you once wore.”

Deborah shut her eyes for a moment to stop from saying something that would lead to an argument. Those scrubs Gen always denigrated were what Deborah had worn when she worked as a nurse for her sick mother.

She opened her eyes and gave Gen a remorseful smile. “Sorry. I hate disappointing you.” She looked down at the bright white, very expensive outfit. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That’s perfectly okay. We all make mistakes,” Gen responded and gave her a delicate kiss, gently rubbing over her small brown mole near the right corner of her mouth. “How about I help you with your makeup?”

Deborah gave Gen a full smile. She loved when Gen did her makeup. “Oh yes, please.”

Gen pulled her by the hand and into their bathroom where not only did Gen make her look beautiful, but also well loved and pleasured since they did have five extra minutes to spare.