It only made me trust him more and fall even more deeply in love with him. There was really no doubt about what message I would give him, and I pressed my hips up toward the hand that had so far only teased me.
“Please,” I whispered. It was pretty clear, I thought, and he seemed to agree. I could sense his pleasure, even with my eyes being covered, and as soon as I said the one word, I could feel the rustle of his movements.
First, he slid off the little pair of panties that I had put on with the teddy, and raised the skirt up so my ass was bare. The warm air of the room hit my skin, making it exquisitely sensitive and inciting a low moan.
The first time, well, it had been the first time I’d ever had anything like that happen. I’d been nervous—terrified even. Not this time. I knew more what to expect, and I looked forward to the daze of pleasure I knew he could give me.
“David, please,” I repeated, and I felt him move away. It briefly confused me, but then he was back and I felt the kiss of leather over my body and down my back as he drew what was obviously a flogger over me.
Moaning, I let myself fall into it. The sensation wasn’t quite pain, but could have been with slightly more force. I was soon pushing my hips up to meet each stroke of the flogger, and I heard David’s slightly sinister laughter as I rocked my body toward him.
“Mmm, my pretty girl,” he murmured, and we both knew it was true. I was his with everything in me, but I knew he also belonged to me.
The flogger stopped and I found myself actually whimpering with protest. Once more, I heard David step away, but he was back a few seconds later, adjusting my body, drawing my hands up to the head of the bed, and cuffing me there.
He was tying me up. Restraining me. And all I could think about was how perfect it was—how I wanted to be completely and utterly helpless for him. The thought made me moan, shiver, and tug at the bonds—not to try to get, away but just to prove to myself I couldn’t.
Soft, silken rope wrapped around my ankles, spreading my legs wide as he attached one foot to each bottom corner of the bed. I was completely restrained, and even when I squirmed, I could barely move at all.
“Now you’re really mine,” he whispered, and no one else in the world could say such a thing to me. If anyone had tried—if anyone had even suggested they would tie me up like this—I would have screamed bloody murder.
With him, though, I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of it. I tugged harder, twisting my wrists and my ankles, and delighting in my helplessness.
“David,” I moaned, the juices of desire running down my thighs. My husband got me going pretty easily, but I could swear I had never been so desperate for him, or anyone, in my entire life. I clenched my thighs tightly, trying to give my eager pussy some stimulation.
He touched me, but with his hand this time, not the flogger. The sound of the loud spank echoed through the room, as did my gasp of delight. Again, he hit me, and I moaned this time, pushing my ass up as close to his hand as my bonds allowed me.
The blindfold made it impossible to see anything, so I had to focus on the sting and on the warmth which radiated through my ass, instead of what I could see. It made it all so much more vivid, so real, and I slipped into it without effort.
I was already into it when I felt the touch of fingers as they glided over my sopping wet pussy lips.
David stopped spanking me so he could grope me instead, and my legs were flung so wide open and held there that he could easily find my clit and rub his fingers over it.
As worked up as I was, pleasure started to build inside me quite quickly. Just as I was gasping and moaning, about to be flung over the edge, he withdrew his hand and started to spank me again.
Over and over again, he tormented me. He would get me so close, and each time, I would be positive it would be the time he finally gave me what I needed. Each time, he took his hand away right when I was just at the point of no return, and I actually started to hurt with need to come.
“David, God, David, please.” I heard the sound of my voice without being aware I was going to speak at all. It was as though the arousal had taken my whole body over and I had no control anymore. David had all the control, and it only made me want and need him more.
“What do you need, pretty girl?” David whispered, and he pushed a finger inside my needy channel, fucking me slowly with it. It was good, so damn good, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. “Tell me what you need from me. Beg for it. Beg me for what you want. Desire. Crave.”
Normally, maybe such a thing would have been degrading to a woman. Not with fire racing through my veins, though, and I whimpered and tried to find the right words—the ones which would have me filled by something much bigger and thicker than the finger he slowly fucked me with as he kept spanking me.
“Say it,” he insisted, and I moaned and started to speak, unable to think about the perfect words any more.
“Fuck me, David,” I whispered, and even though I rarely said that word, it didn’t bother me to say it. It felt deliciously naughty, if anything, and I knew without needing to see that it aroused David as well. So I kept going. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard, David. Take me. Show me who it is I belong to. Show me who my one and only Master is. Please, please, don’t leave me this way. In torturous need of your fat cock planted deeply into my soaking wet cunt that aches for only you, my Master.”
I heard his groan, soft as it was, and I could easily picture what his face would look like, had I been able to see it. I had seen how he got when I really managed to turn him on, and my begging had done it.
A sense of power flowed through me. Yes, he had control over me and my body was at his mercy, but I could still spur him on, just with my words. So I kept talking, pleading, and begging him to push inside me. I would keep doing it until he slid his large cock inside me—until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Fuck, Kaye, I love you,” David whispered, and I smiled. Even when I was tied up and at his dubious mercy, he would tell me those three sweet words. He would remind me of his love, and I felt safe with him because of it.
“Please,” I whispered once more, using the only word I could get out. His fingering wasn’t enough, but it was getting me distractingly close. Just a tiny bit more, a little more, and I would explode around his finger …
He pulled it out of me, and I cried out. I was so tense and worked up, right on the edge of pleasure which had been building for a long time at this point. It was going to be good—so damn good. I was already breathless with the force of it, but he wouldn’t give me the last little bit of what I needed.
“David,” I moaned, intensely frustrated, and I heard his chuckle, knowing he knew exactly what he was doing. He was driving me utterly insane on purpose and it was working. He was playing me as though my body was a musical instrument and his deft fingers knew exactly what to do.
Just when I knew I couldn’t take it anymore, when my muscles were tensed and I was tugging on my bonds as though I would break them any second, I felt David’s weight on me and then he was pushing inside of me in one deep, hard, claiming thrust. Oh, yes! His cock was there, filling me like nothing else could. No dildo on Earth could match what his flesh and blood cock did for me.
It was perfect.
It was everything I had needed and then some. He filled me up completely, stretching me wide in the best way possible. We fit together flawlessly, two parts of one greater whole, and I shoved my body up to try to get him even deeper inside of myself.
“David …David,” I moaned, and he leaned in and kissed me. I had no warning it was going to happen because of the blindfold, which only made it so much more amazing for me.
“Kaye, come for me,” he whispered, and he didn’t have to say anything more. Those words were all it took. I clenched around him, writhed, and cried out over and over as I came hard for him.
One orgasm built to the next, and I devolved into nothing more than a mass of sensations, each peak of pleasure only the launching place for the next
, flinging me up into the stratosphere. My internal muscles gripped him tightly, and I rocked with him—no longer Kaye, no longer truly myself, but part of the unit of Kaye and David.
Finally, one last, shuddering, wracking surge of pleasure jolted through my body, and at the same time, I felt him tighten and convulse. Hot jets of his cum bathed my feminine channel. He gave a hoarse, sexy little cry of his own as he filled me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, when I could speak again. He tenderly untied me, and then we were wrapped up on each other, coated in sweat and both of us gasping for breath.
“No, Kaye. God, no. Thank you. For everything.”
I smiled at him and rested my head on his damp chest, closing my eyes with satisfaction. There wasn’t a moment, or any unit of time even in its smaller measure, when I regretted staying with him.
He was the love of my live, and I knew I was his too. It had been nothing short of flawless, and I knew it would only get better.
David and I had made it through something most wouldn’t have. We had done it. Out of revenge came love. Out of revenge came a marriage. Out of revenge came a family that we both adored in a way neither of us knew possible.
It all came out of revenge. His seduction of me was vengeful. That was true. But the love that came from it was anything but that.
David and I had found our happily ever after. And we both knew we’d live that way forever.
The End.
Untamed
A Single Dad Virgin Romance
Rockstar Bodhi Creed is blindsided when his ex-girlfriend, Gemma, turns up with a six-year-old son, Tim, and tells Bodhi that it’s his turn to play house with his son. Completely out of his depth, he none-the-less tries his best to juggle his superstar career with his paternal duties, but his son is reluctant to bond with him.
Sailor King is working as an assistant to a Hollywood agent, Maurice Winston, unhappily. Her boss is a leach and a creep, and the day he gropes her, she retaliates by slapping him. To her horror, the incident is witnessed by the incredulous Bodhi, who, to her surprise, backs her up and fires Maurice as his agent. Maurice vows to destroy Bodhi’s career and tells Sailor she’ll never work in Hollywood again. She shoots back that that would suit her fine. Bodhi tells them both Sailor has already got herself hired by him.
Chicago, Illinois
January
Bodhi Creed breathed in the scent of the crowd; sweat, excitement, almost frenzied adoration. He stood at the front of the stage, taking in the love of his fans as he finished his song, putting everything into the final few chords. His voice soaring and dipping with perfect pitch. He knew he could make people shiver with the sound of his voice. He finished the song and took his final bow, taking his time to wave to the crowd as he left the stage, his whole system flooding with adrenaline. Who needed drugs when performing could make you feel like this? He grinned to his crew and his band as he walked back to his dressing room, thanking each of them personally.
There was a reason people loved Bodhi Creed. It wasn’t just that he had pulled himself out of a hellish path from a drug-fueled death during his early career or that his face could sell anything as much as his singing voice. It was that he was genuinely a humble man, offstage and on. He had his demons, what rock god didn’t? But now, nearing forty, he still appealed to fans of all ages.
Bodhi walked back to his dressing room, pushed the door open and almost choked. Poppy, his personal assistant of two months, had been ‘cleansing’ his space again, burning sage and wafting it around the windowless room. She grinned at him. “Hey, boss.”
She had bright pink hair, tattoos up and down her arms, and wore clothes that would make a fetishist blush. She looked like a real rock goddess, Bodhi smiled fondly at her more than he ever did.
God, he was tired. This had been the last date of the tour that had lasted well over a year, and he was exhausted, drained, ready for some down time. Bodhi knew himself, it was times like these he would have, back in the day, reached for the bottle or the white stuff. The thought of cocaine now made him feel sick. Jimi Hendrix, Layne Staley, Scott Weiland, Shannon Hoon, he used their names as a mantra to stay away from drugs now, even when he was depressed.
Now as he ran his hand through his dark curls and slumped down onto the sofa, a cold soda in hand, he looked for respite in other ways. His good friend, Claudio Fonseca, an artist, had invited him to go stay at his farmhouse in the Tuscan hills for the summer, picking olives and chilling out. Bodhi couldn’t wait. Two months of Italian sun, wine, food and relaxation in the company of good friends. He could see his mom at her home in Florence. Bodhi longed to go back to Italy. His American father had brought the family over to America just after Bodhi had been born, and growing up in Seattle, Bodhi had longed to know the place he had come from. When his dad died, his mom sold her house and went back, begging Bodhi to go with her. But by then, he was a star, and he needed to be in Los Angeles for his career.
He looked up as the door opened and Franklin, the theater manager, stuck his head in.
“Sorry to interrupt, Bodhi, but there’s a kid out here to see you.”
Bodhi was surprised. A kid? Usually, his groupies were nubile young women. “Show them in, please. Thanks, Frank.” He always, always took the time to talk with his fans, despite how tired he was, without them, he was nothing.
A kid with dark curls, not older than ten, pushed shyly into the room, and Bodhi got up to greet him. “Hey there, what’s your name, kiddo?”
The kid blinked his huge green eyes up at Bodhi, seeming dumbstruck. Bodhi didn’t see the woman who had entered behind the child until she spoke softly.
“His name is Tim, Bodhi.”
Bodhi, recognizing the voice immediately, looked up, and a shock ran through him.
“Gemma?”
The blonde woman smiled at him. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Bodhi stared at her, still stunned to see his former lover. She was Bodhi’s senior by five years, had not dulled her beauty, but there was a haunted, desperate look in her eyes.
“Must be about ten yea…” Bodhi broke off, realization dawning, and he gazed down at the young boy standing between them. Dark hair, bright green eyes. Bodhi’s eyes. There really was no question.
Gemma looked at him, her eyes filling with tears as she watched him put the pieces together. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Bodhi…I really am. But I’m not doing so well. I need to go away for a while, alone. And I thought it’s time. It’s time for Tim to know his daddy.”
Bodhi’s whole body felt as if he’d been hit by a sledgehammer as he gazed down into the face of his son.
Miami, Florida
Sailor King followed her minder through the mall. It was cool, almost chilly, inside the spacious building, but Sailor didn’t mind. Even January in Florida was too hot for her. Her dark hair stuck to her forehead and to the back of her neck. Monica, her minder, gave her an annoyed look.
“What’s wrong with you today? You know Bartholomew will punish me if we’re more than two hours. We haven’t even found your wedding dress yet.”
Sailor stared back at Monica blankly. She felt so tired lately, so hopeless that she had stopped taking the anti-depressant tablets they had given her all her life, and now she felt as if her brain would go mad. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to be married to a man more than twice her age. She knew within the ranks of the organization that she was ‘lucky.' Other girls were clamoring to be partnered with Bart Foy, their leader, their captain.
But Bart had chosen her. She had known the unease of his lascivious gaze on her body; her curves, her flat belly, her full breasts since she was a teenager. He had held her face in his hands when she was just fourteen, an entire decade ago. It had been decreed, she would be his new wife when she reached the age of womanhood, in their ideology, it would be her twenty-fifth birthday, which was in a few weeks.
Bart Foy had been married twice before. His first wife was Tamsin, about whom nobody knew much.
They had been married before Bart formed the ‘Children of Love’ commune, deep in the Florida Everglades. His wife had left him after refusing to join him in his ‘mission.’ Bart’s second wife, Clotilde, was a beautiful, loving, Frenchwoman with dark brown hair tumbling down her back and a sweet nature. She had joined the group as a teacher for the children and Sailor had been one of her wards. She had been particularly close to Clotilde, Tilly to those who loved her, and when, one shocking, horrific night, Tilly had been found dead, Sailor had been devastated.
Bart made them all walk past Tilly’s body, laid out on the shrine in their temple. “I want you to look, children. Look what sin can bring.”
Sailor had always wondered what he meant. When she found out, from hushed whispers in the schoolyard, that Tilly had been having an affair with another man, and that she had been stabbed to death, at around eleven, Sailor knew what that meant.
The terror when Bart had chosen her for his next wife had been all-encompassing, but she had buried her head in the sand, thinking the day would never come. Then three months ago, he had summoned her.
“My dearest Sailor, your womanhood is fast approaching, and to me, it seems the perfect time for us to become one. Your birthday will serve as our wedding day, do you understand?”
She nodded, the fear inside overwhelming her ability to speak. Bart smiled and touched her cheek. “Good. Now, I’m afraid we have to deal with a little unpleasantness before you go. As you know, I take my role here very seriously, and in choosing you as my wife, I need you to be an ambassador for us all.” He paused, studying her. “You were very close to Clotilde, I know. She betrayed all of us, Sailor. All of us. Her punishment…well…”
He picked up a folder and handed it to her. “I’m going to leave you alone here for a few minutes to study what’s in that folder. When I return, this matter will be closed. This is what happens when my women betray me, Sailor, understand? That’s the only reason why I’m showing you these photographs.”
No Promises: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 46