 by Helen Hardt.jpg)
Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
The ultra-luxe Black Rose Underground Club used to be Mary Sandusky’s favorite place to play. She was happy to slip into her role as seasoned submissive Blossom and relinquish control to an expert Dom. But when a scene gets out of hand, she can no longer trust her own dark appetites. She’s ready to walk away from Black Rose for good...until she meets a hot Highlander who pushes all the right buttons.
Nothing makes Ronan O’Connor’s blood heat more than commanding a submissive in a scene, but forming a relationship outside the club was an urge lost long ago. The closer people get, the more damage they can do. But when he meets the alluring Mary, her beauty—and her obedience—captivate him, and he's determined to make her his.
Every Dom has firm rules, and Ronan is no exception. So he’ll make her an offer—one that will push her boundaries of pleasure and submission even as it challenges the line that separates Mary and Blossom. But neither of them is prepared for where his plans take them...
Each book in the Black Rose series is STANDALONE:
* Blush
* Bloom
* Blossom
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Mary
He meets me outside the club, gives me a temporary collar for the evening, and then leads me to his reserved suite. After he closes the door, I shed my black trench coat and display my candy-apple-red panties…and nothing else. I wait a split second for his reaction to my nudity, but it doesn’t come.
I walk to the bed in the corner and lie down on my side—my seductive pose that all the Doms seem to love. My hair tickles my shoulders.
“Hello, my dark prince,” I say.
He doesn’t reply.
He doesn’t want to talk, and that’s fine. I understand.
I’m here for him, to do what he wants. I’m a good sub.
But I’m not his sub.
I don’t belong to anyone, and that’s how I like it.
He will keep me safe while we share a scene together. Once we’re outside the club, we’ll go our separate ways. Perhaps we’ll play again.
Perhaps we won’t.
I watch him. I always watch my Dom, especially when it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk. He gathers some leather rope, glides his fingers over it. This particular Dom likes leather rope, which is good. Leather is safer than silk or cotton. It can be untied more quickly in case any problems—which are rare—arise.
He removes his jacket. He’s wearing only black jeans.
He’s gorgeous, with tanned skin, muscled abs and arms, thick sandy-blond hair, and beautiful hazel eyes.
“Kneel before me,” he says gruffly.
He doesn’t ask for a kiss.
Good thing. I won’t give him one. I don’t kiss my Doms. It’s not a hard limit for me, but it’s something I prefer to avoid.
Kissing is too personal, and that’s not why either of us is here.
We’re here for a scene. To play together. To dominate and submit for each of our pleasures.
I amble off the bed—not too quickly—and drop to my knees before him, my head bowed.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Thank you for trusting me this evening. Thank you for agreeing to do a scene with me.”
I nod, my gaze still on the floor. I won’t look into his eyes until he commands me to do so. It’s a sign of respect to my Dominant during a scene.
My flesh ignites. Submitting is empowering to me. I learned long ago that giving up my control in a sexual setting frees me, allows me to let go of my ego and put someone else’s desires before my own. It also allows me to explore my own limits with Doms I trust to see to my needs and safety. Since becoming a member of Black Rose Underground, I’ve learned to trust—something I never learned growing up or in the one BDSM relationship I’ve had outside of the club.
I’ve played with this Dom several times in the past. He’s powerful yet calming, and he’s damned good at pleasing a woman. We have mutual respect for each other. He doesn’t let emotion get involved. I try not to, but how can I not? I like some Doms better than others. I enjoy some scenes more than others.
This Dom, though… He’s here for one thing. A scene. Sexual gratification.
“Rise,” he says.
I obey and hold out my arms. He binds my wrists with the leather, and then he leads me to the pole in the center of the room and fastens my wrists to the top so I’m standing, arms elevated, tied to the pole.
He turns away from me then, and because I’m bound, I know better than to look over my shoulder to see what he’s doing. No doubt he’s choosing a toy for my flogging.
I love being spanked, flogged, and whipped. Something about the warmth of a riding crop coming down on my ass, sizzling through my body and arrowing straight between my legs… It never fails to get me going.
Snap—
I hold back a gasp. He’s using a whip this time. Odd. This Dom has only used a whip one other time in a scene with me—the night I experienced one of the most intense orgasms ever.
So I’m down.
Snap. Again. Snap. Again.
The pain. The beautiful, tingling pain. It surges through me, around me, arousing me not just in my pussy but in my tingling nipples, my burning flesh.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
He’s being harsher than usual tonight, but I can handle it. I crave the pain, for it morphs into pleasure as the release I desire surges through me like lightning. I close my eyes, succumb to the pain, the transcendence, the freedom—
Until I gasp.
My skin. It’s broken. I’m bleeding, and—
“Tesla!” I shout.
My safe word. The car I love that I’ll probably never be able to afford.
The first time I’ve had to use it.
But he doesn’t stop.
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
Tesla! Tesla! Tesla!
But my lips don’t move. My larynx makes no sound. I’m falling, falling, falling…
Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding…
Snap! Snap! Snap!
And—
I jerk upward in bed, my heart thundering against my chest.