Pearl on Cherry

Read Pearl on Cherry Storyline:

Clarissa Stone never thought she had a chance to make it on stage, but a strike in 1907 at the music hall in New York City opens up a door, and she races to it. The path isn't easy, and especially not after catching the eye of William Berling Ferrismore III. Money and power have gone to his head, and he uses that to his advantage, sating his sexual appetite with the women on stage. Clarissa won't be caught so easy, but William doesn't play by the rules. How can she prove her worth as an actress with his defaming ways? “Quiet. Wait ‘til I have you in the motorcar, then you may speak freely,” he told her, helping her into his vehicle. “Do you even know how to drive?” she asked when he was at her side. “I drive this motorcar the way you drive me mad—with precision and a punishing force.” She gulped and took to holding her wobbling knees. “Tell me now—you will not leave, will you? Once I have you in my home, you will not desert me?” “Why would I? Unless you mean to massacre me.” She chuckled, and it was nervous sounding. Probably because the butterflies dancing in her stomach had taken to other parts of her body. “I mean to devour you, lick you in the basest places and dig my fingers into you. I think you can withstand it—my cherry girl is built for my onslaught.” She sucked in a tight breath, her abdomen caving in with the action. “What if I taste wretched and am unflattering on the tongue?” He laughed, and it was unsettling how free he sounded over these vulgar things they were discussing. And why did she want more of this type of talk? “Oh, little cherry, how you amuse me. Have you forgotten so soon I have already had your cream on my taste buds? It still lingers and drives me to distraction. I want that flavor coated on my cock.” “Oh, almighty Jesus,” she whispered under her failing breath. “Oh, yes, I shall have it, too. Before you sleep this night, you shall do exactly what I say.” She gripped her knees harder. They were close to shaking—her hands were not much steadier. “I shall not request your obedience—I shall earn it and demand it. In return, you shall have unending adoration flung at your feet as I worship your gorgeous body built for my hands to explore. I shall respect you, find every way possible to keep you happy, but you will be mine, and you will submit,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His voice was hoarse, and his hands clung to the steering wheel. The pulse at his neck was visibly racing. “When you say these things to me—do you expect me to respond?” “Yes, but not with words. Those are unnecessary. I already know how you feel. I can taste it in the air surrounding me. I can hear it in your exaggerated breathing and in the grip on your legs. You are ready to drip at my command. And I can barely wait to give that order.” He turned to look at her, and she froze. “You may use words right now if you wish, though. So, say it . . .” “Say what?” “Say you are afraid of me. That you think me an unholy bastard. That you want to run right this instant and flee my wicked presence and salty tongue.” He turned his head back to the road, but she could still feel him watching her out of the side of his eye. “If I said any of those things, would you believe them? And would it even matter? It is not as if you would take me back home,” she said. The car jolted to a stop. He turned at the waist and braced her with his grip on her shoulders. “I will never take you against your will. Never. I am not about that. I want you to want this, too. I want your body vibrating with excitement and unadulterated bliss. I will find a way to get those reactions from you if it forces me to rip my bones out of my body. That is how committed I am to you.” She dropped her gaze at his lap. She did not mean to. Her eyes just went there to his prominent bulge. “Do you desire me that much?” She kept staring. “I desire you more than a man should. You”—he swallowed hard—“will be my unending addiction I sh