Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  He handled my body with an almost detached air. There were no lingering touches, no reassuring strokes of his fingertips along my skin. He didn't even touch me with violent hands. Even that would have been preferable to the methodical way he captured my wrists and secured them with black leather cuffs.

  I tried to push up off the bench, even knowing that I couldn't free my hands. He didn't make a sound as he buckled a thick strap around my waistline, pinning me down against the padded surface. I almost wished he'd click his tongue at me in disapproval. Now, that seemed like almost an affectionate act. This man who so callously arranged my body for torment made my insides quake.

  I couldn't stop cussing. I wasn't sure if I was even insulting him directly anymore. A stream of curse words tumbled from my lips in nonsensical, half-formed sentences.

  He grasped my legs and guided them apart, securing them with another set of leather cuffs. I was bent over and spread wide, my sex and asshole fully on display and at his mercy.

  But I suspected he didn't have any mercy for me.

  "Fu—" My final f-bomb was abruptly smothered when something rubbery pressed deep into my mouth, pushing my tongue down as it settled between my lips. He buckled the ball gag closed at the back of my head. I thrashed, as though I could somehow push it out of my mouth.

  He gripped my hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling back sharply. My shocked cry caught against the rubber ball as pain lit up my scalp, commanding my attention.

  My head was bowed back, my neck stretched to the point where breathing was difficult. I focused on sucking in air through my nose, my impotent rage and fear finally muffled by the imperative to obtain enough oxygen.

  His black eyes stared down into mine, and my mind went oddly blank. I couldn't fight, I couldn't shout obscenities at him. I couldn't do anything but draw in shallow, careful breaths.

  "That's better," he said softly, trailing his fingers over my lips, tracing the line of them where they surrounded the red rubber ball that filled my mouth. "Very pretty," he praised.

  A fine tremor raced across my skin as a strange sense of relief settled over me. He was looking at me again, touching me. He wasn't treating me like an object. The impersonal way he'd been handling me had scared me more than Cristian's knife cutting into me. The Andrés who held me and promised to protect me in his own messed up way was back, and I was relieved to see him. Fresh tears pooled in my eyes as my toxic fear leaked out of me.

  "You're so beautiful when you cry," he murmured, stroking the wetness on my cheeks almost reverently. "Don't you feel better now? You don't have to yell. You don't have to fight. Your Master is in control, and you don't have to pretend otherwise. Not when you're strapped down and spread wide for me to play with. All you have to do is submit. All you can do is submit."

  Keeping his grip on my hair, he held my face in place as he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss against my forehead.

  "Time for your punishment, gatita," he said, his soft lips brushing across my skin. "You've more than earned it."

  I shivered, but not entirely out of fear. A shadow of it resurfaced, but I couldn't be terrified anymore. There was no point. As he'd said, I wasn't capable of fighting him in my current predicament. Surrendering was so much easier than panicking, especially when panicking was pointless.

  He won't harm me, I reminded myself, playing it over and over again in my head like a soothing mantra. He won't harm me.

  I'd survived his spankings, his violations. Whatever he had planned for me, I'd survive this, too.

  He finally released my hair, and my head dropped forward, my cheek resting meekly against the padded bench.

  His palm skimmed across my lower back, the heat of his body sinking into mine.

  "Good girl. I'll be right back." He said it like the sweetest reassurance, almost as though he was reluctant to leave my side.

  Or maybe I was just delusional, and I was hearing what I needed to hear in order to cope with what was happening to me.

  He disappeared behind me, his heat receding. I tried to crane my head back to watch him, but he had walked outside my range of sight. Bound as I was, I could only move my head so far.

  Giving up, I settled my cheek back against the smooth leather and closed my eyes. The darkness behind my lids was peaceful. Far preferable to examining the torture chamber that surrounded me.

  Silence enfolded me. I couldn't hear Andrés moving, but I could practically feel his eyes on me. My skin prickled with awareness, but my body remained limp against the bench. I breathed in deeply through my nose, taking in long draws of oxygen.

  I tried not to think, but my brain began firing again, wondering what he was going to do to me. Several horrible possibilities occurred to me at once, terrible images of torment flickering across my mind.

  Just as I began to tense with mounting anxiety, something cool and smooth tickled my spine. My shocked yelp was muffled by the gag, and my eyes flew open to assess what was happening to me.

  Andrés stood behind me, looming over my helpless form. His black eyes glinted in the eerie crimson light as he studied my reaction. He held a flogger in one hand, allowing its multitude of thin black leather falls to kiss my back.

  My eyes widened, and I squirmed in my restraints.

  I wasn't entirely trying to get away. I'd been curious to know what it would feel like to be flogged. I'd fantasized about it more than a few times.

  But this wasn't the scenario I'd envisioned. For one, Dex had always played the hero in my mind. The man standing behind me was no hero. He was my own personal villain.

  And he was staring at me as though I was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

  "You know what this is?" he asked, trailing the leather falls down the length of my spine.

  A small whimper slipped past the gag as my nerve endings crackled to life. I managed a slight nod in response to his question, never even considering refusing to answer. I couldn’t have any secrets from Andrés when I was like this: stripped bare and put on display for him. I couldn't hide from him. He wouldn't allow it.

  "But no one has ever flogged you before," he said. It wasn't a question. He already knew how innocent I was.

  "Kinky little virgin," he mused. "When I decide to allow you to speak again, you'll tell me every depraved thought you've ever had." He smiled down at me with genuine pleasure. "I knew we'd get along."

  He took a step back and swung the flogger down in a slow arc. The falls slapped against my bottom, but it didn't hurt. He was going slow with me, watching me with the careful, focused attention of a predator as he monitored my reactions. The heavy strips of leather slid down over my cheeks. They were cool and smooth against my heated skin.

  "This is going to hurt," he warned. "It's supposed to hurt. One day, I'll show you how good it can feel. But not tonight."

  I couldn't do anything but shiver and wait for him to begin. The fantasy I'd harbored for so long—Dex lovingly giving me a hit of pain to drive me into a blissful headspace—faded away. This wouldn't bring me to subspace. That was attained through trust and honest surrender. It was something I’d longed for, and it had never been farther from my grasp.

  I had to surrender to Andrés, but he wasn't giving me a choice. The restraints around my body weren't part of a kinky game, designed to help me let go of my inhibitions. They were punitive, a means of subjugating me, just as the collar had been. Everything I'd ever secretly longed for was being twisted. As perverted as it was to fantasize about my best friend tying me down and whipping me, that fantasy was sweet and practically vanilla compared to my horrific reality.

  I didn't have a safe word. I couldn't do anything to stop this.

  When the first hit landed, I shrieked into the gag, my entire body jerking against my restraints in an instinctive effort to move away. The cuffs held fast, and the belt around my waist kept me trapped against the bench.

  I stared back at him, silently pleading.

  Don't. Not again. I don't like this.


  The initial sting of the falls striking my bottom was morphing into a deeper burn, leaving my skin smarting.

  "Your eyes are so lovely," he said, studying me with purely masculine appreciation. My wide, shining eyes did nothing to dissuade him. If anything, he was getting turned on. His cock began to stiffen as I shook my head, my pleas muffled by the gag.

  A hash cry tore from my throat when he brought the flogger down twice in rapid succession, hitting one cheek and then the other, leaving a scorching path where the thin leather falls raked across my skin.

  He paused as I heaved out a sob, but he wasn't looking at my face anymore. He studied my bottom, lightly running his fingertips over my enflamed skin. The contact tingled and stung, and I whined in protest.

  "So pretty and red," he observed. He gripped my cheek hard, his fingers digging into my tender flesh. I tried to wriggle away, but there was nowhere to go. "I want to see my fingerprints on your ass tomorrow," he said, as though explaining his actions made them rational. "The bruises from the flogger will remind you of your punishment, but this marks you as mine." He increased the pressure of his cruel hold, and my breath stuttered as tears began to stream down my face.

  Finally, he released my cheek. I didn't have time to sag in relief before he brought the flogger down on me again, swift and merciless.

  I threw back my head and screamed into the gag, but I couldn't do anything to stop him. He spread the burn of the stinging falls across my bottom and down my upper thighs, painting my flesh with hot red pain.

  My entire body began to quiver as my muscles started to give out. I'd been twisting and tugging against my restraints on animal instinct, but I couldn't keep up even that much resistance. I went limp against the bench, trembling.

  "Good girl," he said, his voice deeper than I'd ever heard it. "Accept your punishment. You know you've earned it."

  My tears came faster. I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve anything that was happening to me.

  But the gag kept my protest locked inside. I couldn't do anything but surrender.

  I drew in a shuddering breath, submitting to the pain. As soon as I did, my mind entered a quiet, resigned space. Each blow still stung, but I noticed the heavy thud permeating deeper into my flesh. It was rhythmic. Hypnotic. My breathing began to even out as I focused solely on the sensation of harsh leather hitting my burning skin, the whoosh and smack of the flogger moving through the air before making contact. Everything else faded: thought, worry, emotion.

  I barely registered when the blows stopped. I'd retreated to a protective place in some deep corner of my mind I'd never found before. My rapid-fire thoughts and volatile emotions couldn't touch me here.

  I was dimly aware of Andrés' deep voice murmuring a soothing litany in Spanish as his calloused hands traced the contours of my motionless body.

  The gag slipped from my mouth and the restraints fell away, but I didn't try to get up. I couldn't have moved a muscle, even if I wanted to. And resistance didn't even occur to me. That defiant line of thinking had been thoroughly obliterated.

  He lifted me up and tucked me against his chest. My tears wet his skin as he carried me away from the bench where I'd been bound and whipped.

  I was too exhausted and wrung-out to even register relief. I passed out in his arms before we made it back to the bed.

  Chapter 10

  I rolled onto my back and jolted awake with a gasp when my bottom throbbed. Wincing, I immediately positioned myself on my side. Something tugged at my neck as I moved. I reached up and touched my throat, finding smooth leather beneath my fingertips. Andrés had collared me again. I must have been totally passed out not to have woken up when he was locking around my neck.

  I don’t have to keep you collared and chained to trap you here. I just like it. I like knowing you’re naked in my bed, waiting for me.

  His sick words played through my mind as I remembered our terrifying encounter in the middle of the night. I closed my eyes as the full shame and horror of everything he'd done to me washed over me. He'd toyed with me, allowing me to try to escape just so he could punish me for it. He'd taken me to that awful room, strapped me down, gagged me; he'd rendered me completely powerless and flogged my helpless body.

  Gingerly, I touched my bottom and winced again as pain flared. I twisted my head back so I could look down at myself. My breath caught at the sight of mottled purple bruises marring my pale skin. Five smaller marks formed a rough circular pattern on my left cheek.

  I want to see my fingerprints on your ass tomorrow, he'd said. The bruises from the flogger will remind you of your punishment, but this marks you as mine.

  I cringed and tore my eyes away from the brand he'd left behind. I didn't need the physical reminder of the pain for the punishment to be burned into my mind.

  I wouldn't try to use the elevator again.

  It would be stupid and pointless, anyway. If I had access to a computer, I could hack into the building's security system and override the thumbprint recognition, no problem. But without technology, I was powerless. Andrés had made it painfully clear that I wasn't cut out to be a field agent. Months of training in hand-to-hand combat hadn't helped me at all when it came to facing him.

  He hadn't needed to collar me and chain me to his bed to keep me from trying to access the elevator. Even though I was alone in the bedroom, I wouldn't have tried to escape that way in his absence. The security system probably logged failed attempts to press the call button. He’d know if I touched it without him here to witness my transgression. I didn't want to risk another punishment for nothing.

  My stomach rumbled, rousing me from my dejected state.

  Survive, my body reminded me.

  I had to keep going, keep fit. I'd never get out of here if I let myself waste away into weakness. I needed to keep my calorie count up and stay hydrated in case an opportunity to escape did present itself.

  I sat up in bed and hissed when my weight settled on my bruises. Even the soft mattress was almost too hard to bear.

  Grimacing, I glanced around the room. As I'd hoped, the food cart was waiting for me, the fancy platter covered to keep my meal warm.

  I wasn't sure how long I'd been alone, but when I removed the cover, the bacon beneath was still warm, at least. I glanced out the windows and noted that the sun was up pretty high. Was that like, ten AM?

  I wasn't sure. I wasn't exactly a nature girl, and surviving in the wild with the sun as my only clock wasn't a skill I'd ever had to acquire.

  Even the nearly obsolete grandfather clock in the sitting room would have been preferable, but the bedroom door was closed again. Hell, I'd settle for a freaking sundial at this point.

  Sighing, I bit into a particularly crispy piece of bacon. I nearly moaned at the rich, salty flavor.

  Andrés might be a sadistic madman, but he was a sadistic madman with a great chef.

  I tore my way through five strips of bacon before moving on to the most delicious spicy sausage I'd ever tasted. The breakfast was protein-heavy, and I wondered if Andrés had remembered what I'd said about being a meat lover.

  Or maybe he was just trying to keep me slow and sleepy with all this heavy, salty food, because by the time I'd devoured everything and downed a jug of water, I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

  I was so tired, my brain weirdly fuzzy and slow. My thoughts were still firing, but not in as many directions as usual. My emotions—which should have been spinning in response to my dire predicament—were oddly subdued.

  Idly, I wondered if Andrés had decided to drug the food, but I didn't believe he'd do that. No, he much preferred physically demonstrating my helplessness. As he'd said, he didn't need to use drugs to keep me compliant.

  I wasn't sure how long I lay there, stray thoughts gliding across my mind from time to time as I settled into a state on the edge of sleep.

  The click of the bedroom door opening roused me, and I sat bolt upright. I let out a little yelp at the sudden weight on m
y bottom, and I scrambled to cover my body with the sheet when I saw Lauren standing at the threshold.

  "I just had breakfast," I said when I saw the cart she was pushing into the room. "I'm not hungry."

  "I'm not here to bring you food," she said, her voice a hollow monotone. She was looking right at me, but her deep green eyes didn't spark with any emotion whatsoever. I might as well have been a statue she was talking to rather than another woman. She wasn't here to help me, even if she was a victim. She worked for my captor, regardless of whether or not she'd been brutalized and broken.

  "Then what's that?" I asked warily, eyeing the items on the cart. There was a small silver pot and a stack of cloth strips, as well as what looked like cleansing wipes. I had no idea what I was looking at.

  "Wax," she replied.

  "Wax?" I repeated, still not following. Why would she have wax?

  Something sparked in her eyes for the briefest moment. My stomach twisted when I registered it as pity.

  "For your pussy," she replied bluntly.

  I pulled the sheet all the way up to my chin and squeezed my thighs together, ignoring the flare of pain as I shifted my weight.

  "No," I refused, sharp and immediate.

  "I'm really good at it," she said, something like kindness softening her tone. "It will barely hurt. I do it all the time."

  "Nope. Uh-uh. Not happening. You can leave now."

  Her brow furrowed. "I can't do that."

  "You totally can. Because I'm not getting my... I'm not getting waxed down there."

  "You mean your pussy," she said, eyeing me strangely.

  "I mean my lady parts, yes," I replied, my voice higher than usual. "They're not getting waxed. So you can go now, and take that shit with you." I gestured at the cart.

  "Master Andrés doesn't like cussing," she said, setting the cart next to the bed.

  "I know," I said bitterly, shifting my weight off my aching bottom. Something awful occurred to me. If Lauren wasn't my ally, was she my enemy? "You won't tell him, will you?" I asked desperately. I didn't want him to take me back into that scary room and hurt me again.