Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
She has no fucking clue.
I’ve long since given up any flirtation with normalcy. I like control. I like pain. I fuck hard, often, and without regret, and when I do, I want my woman beneath me, submissive, and begging.
Her delicate lips meld with mine, sweet and decadent like strawberries and cream. Gently, I explore the fullness of her lips with my tongue before I take her lower lip between my teeth and bite down. She bucks and gasps then moans when I reach for her back and unfasten her bra, still holding my mouth over hers.
I palm her full breasts and work my fingers over her nipples.
“You like that, detka?” I ask. “Do you, baby?” She can’t answer pinned beneath me. When I take her mouth again, she moans into my mouth, filling me with her essence. She wants this so damn bad she doesn’t even bother trying to resist me.
I work her nipples until she squirms and moans, then drive one of my fingers between her legs, pushing them apart. I release her mouth and kiss her jaw, her neck, the sweet valley between her breasts until I reach the fullness of her breast and her peaked nipple, fluttering whispers of adoration to this beautiful goddess of a woman.
“Prosit.”
Beg.
She shakes her head, biting her lip to keep from crying out. I crash my palm on the fullest part of her thigh which makes her cringe and whimper, but she still shakes her head.
I will have her obey me if we need to travel the road of deep pain and contrition before I have her where I want her. I will have her deferring to me.
“No?” I ask, pulling away just long enough to fix her with a stern glare. She winces as if I struck her, then shakes her head again.
“Never,” she whispers. “I won’t beg you.”
There’s the girl I was after. There’s the feisty one I wanted.
I shake my head with mock regret. “Baby, if you don’t learn to beg, you’ll never learn the pleasure that could be yours.” I tsk under my breath. “And I’ll also be forced to punish you.”
I’m pushing off the bed when she protests, her voice shrill and nervous. “Punish me! Like I’m a prisoner or a child. I’m neither, Tomas. I’m your wife. And need I remind you that you’re only setting me up so that you have a reason to punish me!”
“I am well aware of who you are, Caroline.” I push off the bed and take a step toward the little bedside table, to my tools. “However, I’m not exactly sure you yet know who I am.” I point my finger to her. “Stay in that bed until I come back to you or your ass feels my whip.” I don’t address her accusation. I won’t deny it. I’m so eager to punish her my mouth is dry at the prospect.
And I mean every word. I’m fully prepared to strap her if I need to.
She watches me with curious, angry eyes, lying so still I wonder if she’s breathing. Removing a pair of handcuffs from the drawer beside the bed, I go back to her and quickly fasten her wrists. “Here we go again,” she mutters. “Just like last night.”
I ignore her protest. If she won’t cooperate, I’ll have to force her, and the prospect excites me. “No, not quite. This won’t be like last night. Last night, you were given the opportunity to sleep when cuffed. This time, the restraints will hold you still for punishment.” Her eyes flicker with fear, and she doesn’t move when I open the door of the closet and look at the tools I have at my disposal. Tonight, will be a reminder and a warning. Foreplay. There will likely come a time when she needs more intensity, but tonight I’ll choose the lesser implement. With a smile, I remove a feather-tipped riding crop. The tamest of the lot. I don’t want her marked and wincing before our reception tonight, but a good taste of a lash will keep her tongue in check. Plus, the alternating sensation will keep her on her toes.
Her eyes follow the solid black in my hand, from the feather tip to the little square strip of leather at the bottom.
“How original,” she quips. “A riding crop?”
“You know what this is?” I ask her, dragging it from her shoulder down her side, the leather traveling over her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“A crop,” she says. “Thought we established that.”
“A crop designed for impact and sensation play,” I tell her. I quickly unfasten the cuffs, lift her up, and place her chest-down on the bed. Positioning her hands on the headboard, I cuff her to the rings I have there. The bed bounces a little with the force, and I step back to admire how gorgeous she is. Her beautiful breasts swing free, her ass barely covered by thin panties and pushed prominently in the air, the quick movement making her full hair bounce in fragrant raves. Over her shoulder she shoots me a look that dares me to let the crop fly.