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)
“I’m well aware of who I am,” he says to me, and I swear the bastard chuckles. “But I think perhaps you’ve forgotten who I am.”
I open my mouth to respond when I feel something wet and sensual slip between my legs and I clamp my mouth shut. There’s nothing he won’t stop at, apparently, because the next thing I know there’s something… vibrating in me. Oh my God. He’s stuck some kind of sex toy in me.
“Beg,” he reminds me as the toy hums, sending bolts of electricity shooting through my limbs, my clit pulsing.
“My God,” I say without even realizing I’ve spoken.
“Not him,” he quips. “Beg me. Your husband. The man you took your vows to. The one who owns you.”
As he speaks, he expertly teases me, making me grind against his hand. I’ve never felt anything like this before. The pain he inflicted somehow heightened my senses, making me even more aroused than ever when he teases and tortures me.
Another stroke, then another, and I’m right on the edge of coming, so close I can taste it, rainbow color already exploding behind my closed eyes, I can taste the sweet, delectable taste of bliss right there on the very edge.
But I won’t cave. There is no way I will let this man own me the way he says he will. I won’t be the little fuck toy he wants. I won’t obey his every whim as if he’s majesty of this castle, no matter who else bows to him under his authority and command. I won’t.
He can’t have me that easily.
If I don’t beg him, he won’t let me come and I need to.
Then he stops. He stops.
Noooo.
“Tomas,” I whisper. My voice shaking. I’m so close to begging I’m ashamed.
Stroke. Pleasure. Vibration. Pulsing, throbbing, coursing through me, ready to explode and I want this, I need this. I want to come so badly my mouth is dry, I can’t even breathe or swallow or blink.
“You know what I’ve told you to do,” he says, before he punctuates his words with another stroke of the paddle. And damn him.
It feels good. The solid smack sends pleasure right to my clit. He’s done this on purpose, manipulated me, and I hate him for it.
I clamp my lips together. I’m more stubborn than he thinks.
Smack.
I gasp.
Smack.
I’m moaning.
Smack.
I think another stroke of his paddle and I’m going to come. I didn’t know I was the kind of girl who got aroused like this, but he’s a master of pleasurable pain. He knows exactly how to dance between pleasure and pain so that both are irrevocably intertwined.
One more gentle stroke of his fingers, then another, and he stops, resting his hand on my inner thigh.
“Please,” I say before I can stop the word. As soon as I do, I wish I could take it back, grab it out of the air between us where it hangs and shove it away out of sight. I’m ashamed of myself that I caved like that. I didn’t mean to.
“Good girl,” he says approvingly, and then he does the unthinkable. He moves to the side and stares down at me, unbuttons his pants, and removes his cock. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t!
But he fucking does, stands right beside me and strokes himself. I’m impossibly more aroused watching his thick cock in his palm, the way he throws his head back in ecstasy before he climaxes, hot come splashing on my back. Oh my God. He didn’t.
“You’ll keep this in mind tonight at the reception,” he says casually, placing his cock back in his pants and turning away from me.
“Wait! I did what you said!” I protest. The stupid thing he put in me still vibrates, and I could almost come just from that alone, but I’m too in my head to get to the point of release.
“You did. Good girl. I don’t need to spank you anymore for now.” He slides open the drawer beside the bed and replaces the paddle, then walks to the large bathroom on the other side of the room. I close my eyes, trying to mentally take myself to a place far away from here, but my only focus is the bundle of nerves between my thighs, the vibration that ricochets through my body, his come on my back.
When he returns he has a towel and washcloth. Quickly, efficiently, he cleans me off.
“No shower,” he says. “I want the traces of me to scent you tonight, to fill your pores and your memory of how you belong to no one but me.” Weaving his fingers through my hair, he yanks my head back. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. I hate him. How could I have ever even entertained the thought that this asshole was anything more than a sadistic monster bent on his own pleasure? He didn’t defend me because he cares about me. He only did so because he got bent over someone touching what was his.