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Of Being Yours by Anna Martin Audiobook

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Of Being Yours by Anna Martin Audiobook

Book Info

About the Author
Anna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the south west of England. After spending most of her childhood making up stories (early versions of her illustrated tales starring her stuffed animals should be available on eBay shortly), she studied English Literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.

Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, she is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theatre (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), travelling, learning to play the ukulele, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Although her most recent work is in the LGBT Adult Fiction genre, in the past Anna has worked on a variety of different projects including short stories, drabbles, flash fiction, fan fiction, plays for both children and adults, and poetry. She has written novels in the Teen/ Young Adult genre, Romance, and Fantasy novels.

Anna is, by her own admission, almost unhealthily obsessed with books. The library she has amassed is both large and diverse; "My favourite books," she says, "are 'The Moonstone' by Wilkie Collins, 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee and 'Oryx and Crake' by Margaret Atwood." She also owns multiple copies of Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park books and re-reads the Harry Potter novels with almost startling regularity.
Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading and creative ass-kicking provided by her closest friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept any responsibility for anything Anna has written.
Publication Date
September 01, 2012
230 pages, 7 hours 38 minutes
Narrated by Brad Langer
Chapter One

THREE years down the line, and he was still my everything.

And I was still his.

Things had changed, of course; he’d quit his job at his father’s firm in order to pursue his own career, on his own terms, where the name Anderson would only mean Will and his own achievements, not those of his father before him. His new role was developing software for emerging communication devices, mostly for the military. It often meant signing nondisclosure agreements—he couldn’t tell me about his contracts, and I just had to accept that sometimes he was stressed and couldn’t tell me why.

I had completed my MA in history in just over two years, during which I’d lived off my sponsorship and a scholarship and worked like a madman to finish in as short a time as possible. I was motivated by the knowledge that my funding wouldn’t last forever. In my graduating class, I was one of the lucky ones: I took my interest in modern history and used it to secure a job at Seattle’s EMP Museum. Although I started off right at the bottom of the career ladder, I had a fantastic boss who encouraged me to take on my own responsibilities, and slowly but surely, I managed to creep my way up in the museum’s hierarchy.

It was sometimes a point of contention between us—how much time we both spent at work. I was used to fairly regular shifts at the museum except when a project took over my life, and Will had to work weekends when the company demanded it of him. Things started to settle down after the screaming, plate-smashing argument we had a year ago. Sometimes little things like lunch together on Fridays, or neither of us working on Sundays unless it was really, really important, helped maintain a happy equilibrium. We also stuck a calendar to the fridge where we could mark important dates; that way there was no comeback to the argument “I told you about it!” “No you didn’t!”

We talked and talked and talked about moving away from Seattle to a bigger city, one where we could pursue something different…. To New York, where I could take the next steps in my career, or to Washington, DC, where Will could further his. But Seattle was our home, where we’d fallen in love and where his family was. So we stayed.

We held hands in public from time to time and dealt with the inevitable consequences of that choice. People invited us to family gatherings—weddings, barbeques, parties—as a couple. I called his mother Mom. She called me “that pain in the ass who eats all the food in my house.” I loved her to bits.

Will’s father had a harder time coming to terms with our relationship than Cara. Although he still loved his son, it took some adjusting for him to rearrange his expectations of Will’s future. I respected that, just as I did him as a man. I wouldn’t have blamed him for resenting me, but he never did. He was stern but fair and, with time, came to accept me as Cara had.

We took rather infrequent trips down to Georgia to see my big annoying fucked-up family, the infrequency mostly due to the fact that they were fucking crazy and drove me crazy every time I saw them. As expected, Will was never “Jesse’s partner” or “Jesse’s boyfriend” in polite company. He was my companion, or my housemate, or (the best one yet), when we introduced him to my eighty-five-year-old grandmother, my “man friend.” Will had to excuse himself after that one to go outside and die laughing.

It always amused me how unequipped Will was to deal with the heat in my home state. I purposely timed our previous visits around the cooler holidays: Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving. Fourth of July weekend was going to be a challenge for him, but he had agreed that this year, we’d spend that particular holiday down south. I, for one, was looking forward to it. He looked incredible in a tight T-shirt and shorts.

One of the best things that had developed in our relationship was that Will had become quite the horny little bottom. It was really adorable, actually; he would fuck me into oblivion, so hard it would hurt for days, but when he bottomed for me, he liked it to be sweet and slow and romantic.

I always knew when he wanted me to make love to him. He’d grow quieter, almost as if he was scared of asking me for what he wanted. Not that I ever said no.

Some of the best moments in our relationship were when I’d gently lay him down on the bed, our lips fused together and moving slowly, my hands roaming over his skin as he unbuttoned my shirt, kissing my neck and throat as we rocked together.

I would light candles sometimes, and the flickering light made strange shadows dance over our skin and the walls. Or sometimes it would be late in the afternoon when the sun had turned the sky pink and orange—just enough light to see by.

His fingertips—oh fuck, his fingertips. I could, and would, watch his hands for hours, but when I made love to him, he would trail just the very tips of his fingers all over my skin, but particularly up and down my sides, and look up into my eyes with a vulnerability that was real only in that moment. Will was still the least vulnerable man I had ever known. But when he was underneath me, with his wide brown eyes so open and honest and loving, I had the power to break him.

Instead, I loved him.

When we made love with my chest to his back, my cock buried deeply inside him and his face in a pillow to muffle his cries, I’d take both his hands in mine and hold them tightly. I would kiss the back of his neck, his shoulders, lick from the first bump of his spine as far down as I could, arching my own back upward until the pain of not being pressed up against every inch of his skin was too much.

What I liked best was having his ankles over my shoulders when he was on his back, or his feet braced against my chest as I bent him in half, the position spreading his cheeks wide for me. When we made love like that, I could see him. See all of him. He was the most beautiful thing in my world when he lifted his hips to my thrusts, never able to be the passive lover. Never submissive.

Like that, I could watch my name fall from his lips when he came, his throat bared to my teeth, his eyes screwed tightly shut from the deep, intense emotion that threatened to overwhelm us both. He would grip my biceps as he came, gasping and sobbing. I had moments where I almost lost my own orgasm while I was so absorbed in him; it would throb through me in gentle pulses that went on and on and on instead of one hot burst of pleasure.

“Will,” I would whisper over and over again, as if it were the answer to everything. “Will.”

Sometimes, it was.
Sequel to Another Way.

It's been three years since Jesse Ross had to choose between his master and his girlfriend - three years he's spent living in a loving relationship with Will, his dom, and finally being open about his sexuality. To the outside eye, Jesse and Will's relationship is settled, solid, and romantic: people expect them to settle down, get married, and have a family. It takes a car crash to expose the papered-over cracks in their life together.

Traumatized by the crash, Will finds his confidence shattered. After unintentionally causing Jesse pain during the accident, Will finds it impossible to hurt him in the bedroom, and suddenly he has to reassess his ability to be Jesse's dom. The emotional and physical deadlock leaves Jesse struggling to hold the pieces of their tattered relationship together. The physical scars may heal with time, but the emotional trauma has left more damage than either man could have anticipated....

Editor reviews

1 reviews

Lots of Potential – Not All Obtained
(Updated: February 07, 2016)
I have neither read nor listened to the first book, and this one takes place three years later.  While there were obviously references to and subtleties that might be clearer for having read the first, I did not feel that I was missing enough information to affect the overall quality of this book.  Brad Langer is an excellent narrator, and once I became accustomed to his voice and inflection, I was able to sit back and enjoy his reading.
I am very much an aficionado of BDSM books and am a member of the lifestyle, so I thoroughly enjoy the dynamic.  That being said, I have mixed feelings on this book as a whole.  This book starts off with a whiz-bang, but fairly quickly devolves into muddy waters.  A beautiful submission scene occurs in chapter one (see the excerpt on Dreamspinner Press) that I thought was going to demonstrate the direction of the book.  That did not occur.  Rather, there was instead such a heavy focus placed repeatedly on a secondary set of characters so as to completely pull the attention off of Will and Jesse in several spots.  
Will and Jesse’s love and affection for one another is crystal clear in the beginning of the book, but a traumatic event alters the course of their lives and leaves the heretofore solid and secure Dom floundering.  PTSD is clear in the aftermath and not at all unexpected, but (and I’m trying to do this without giving away the plot), Will’s ability to step into the Dom mindset/role for another character while emphatically denying the same to his own long-term sub is confusing at best.  Having spent three years topping the submissive Jesse, there is no reason for Will to suddenly withdraw all of the emotional support that he has consistently provided up to now and leave his supposedly beloved boyfriend/sub in a tailspin.  References in the book to Will’s ability to simply assume the mantle and subs fall in line contradict the author’s direction for the character.
The character development is fairly stagnant through most of the book, but then picks up again toward the end.  The plot is choppy because of the secondary characters’ subplot, so that affects the flow of the main story.  I did very much appreciate, however, that the ending was done with such care and didn’t rush to an “everything’s perfect” conclusion.  It showed a depth of character to allow Will and Jesse to remain flawed individuals still working toward their forever happiness.  Ms. Martin’s writing style is quite nice, and her ability to write D/s scenes is beautiful.  Therefore, while I’m not entirely happy with this particular book, I still enjoyed it enough that I rate it at 3.5 stars, and I am certainly willing to try her other work.  
Audio file was provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review through Divine Magazine.

**Same worded review will appear on Audible, Goodreads, and**
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