“And I’ll want my gun back,” I said.
He aimed a sarcastic little salute at me before turning away.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over me. I buried my hands in Nomad’s white hair and pulled him close. “Take me home?”
“Of course, honey. I can’t let you sleep, though, I’m sorry. Not after you hit your head.”
I watched the reflection of the flames dancing in his eyes. I kissed him, softly, feeling the heat of the fire echoing in my chest. His eyes were still closed when I sat back. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble keeping me awake.”
Thanks for reading!
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Bondage Beneath the Big Top
Daisy is a dancer in Maxwell's Spectacular, a traveling carnival in the early 20th century. Arthur is the show's new strongman, and the most handsome one any of the other performers have ever seen. He's a quiet and mysterious man, but when Daisy feels a spark between them, she feels she has no choice but to explore it.
Will the dangers of traveling carnival life come between them? Will her outspoken nature push him away, or will the storm of his desires bring her willingly to her knees?
Warning: This 14,500 word short contains explicit language and graphic adult content, including first time BDSM experiences, bondage, spanking, whipping, and various sex acts between two carnival performers.
Excerpt:
Daisy walked towards their show tent, intending to stretch and practice on the stage while it was free and empty, but her feet carried her beyond the main tent and out amongst the wagons.
She found Arthur’s easily - the tall, red one, that appeared to be sagging on its wheels. Determined to stop being a coward, set aside her silly feelings, and stop avoiding him, she marched up and knocked on the door.
“It’s open.” He didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard - it was booming enough on its own. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
Arthur had his own wagon because it would have been impossible to fit another bed inside. There wasn’t even room for a chair, though he had a small table the back, covered in books. His strongman costumes dangled from a curtain rod above it.
He was lying on his back on his bed, reading. The book looked oddly tiny in his huge hands. If she’d stumbled upon the scene at another time, she’d find it almost comical. Now, she straightened her back. He glanced up from the book, then back down.
Not good. He wasn’t happy to see her. “I never properly thanked you for chasing that creep away the other night,” she said.
“You didn’t.”
“Well, I’m thanking you, now.”
He looked up, raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t so grateful then.”
“Well you were rude.” She put her hands on her hips. “Nobody talks to me that way, not ever.”
He closed his book and studied her for a moment, then rose to his feet. He stood directly in front of her, looming so she had to tilt her head back, even lean a little, just to see his face. She stood her ground, but felt the fight leaving her. Suddenly, she felt very small. “What I mean to say is, I... I...” she stammered.
“What you meant to say is, I was right.” He was so close she could smell him - sweat from practicing in the morning, hay from being near the horses, a faint hint of cigar smoke. Her knees trembled. What was wrong with her?
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said, annoyed at herself for sounding less confident, “You made some good points, but-”
“I was right. You made a poor choice to flit out of that tent unescorted, and you brought your friend into danger with you.”
“When you put it like that-”
“You were bad.” He growled the last word, and it sent a thrill through her, straight down between her legs. Again? she thought. How did he manage to have such an effect on her? Who was he, to call her “bad”? Yet in some strange way, it felt right.
“I was bad,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. He leaned forward, planting his palms to either side of her, against the wall and the door. She felt crowded, trapped. Helpless. The huge man was frightening, but not in a "run for your life" way. More like "what is he going to do to me, and please do it now."
“I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson.” The tone of his voice - part threatening, part teasing - made her heart race. His face was so close. His green eyes bore into her, as if seeking something inside of her, something even she couldn’t see.
“I can be good,” she said, squirming beneath the gaze, clamping her legs tight against the moisture gathering there.
He took a loose lock of her hair between two fingers, twirled it around. She imagined those hands elsewhere on her, how warm, how encompassing they would be, and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, and he smirked.
“No,” he said, and released the hair. “I don’t believe you. Girls like you only learn from punishment.”
Punishment? What on earth was he talking about? Did it mean he would touch her? She abandoned all worries about what the other girls or Leonard or anyone else would think if they found out she'd come alone to Arthur's wagon. It made no difference if they found out what was happening, though she didn't know what it was herself. All she wanted was whatever Arthur wanted in that moment. And to have his hands on her.
“What did you have in mind?” It came out like a squeak. That sort of question suggested acquiescence. A small grin touched just the corners of his mouth.
“Go to the back. Put your hands and elbows on the table.”
She obeyed without hesitation, though her mind race. Did this mean he was going to fuck her? It seemed pretty sudden. They hadn’t even kissed just once. Despite her brain’s objections, her body followed the instructions with alarming haste. She had to shove a few books aside, which in turn knocked more books off the table, but Arthur didn’t comment. She positioned herself over the desk as he’d demanded, and waited in silence.
Crack! His hand came down on her ass. She yelped in surprise. The impact shocked her more than it hurt, though her backside heated where he’d struck. A part of her wanted to turn and snarl at him, scream at him or hit him back, but something held her hands firmly on the table. Something bowed her head and raised her ass, ready for the next assault. He’d awakened something unknown, something a little scary deep inside her that she’d always buried, ignored.
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