Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
This feels so damn good to have him standing over me while I’m in this submissive position. Something in me warms with satisfaction, like slipping into a warm bath.
“I’m going to teach you how to do this properly,” he says, his voice gravelly but calm. In control. So very much in control. Reaching for my hair, he weaves his fingers through the thick, dark mass of it and coils it around his fingers. Instinctively, I close my eyes and sigh into the pull. This. This is what I want. “Back straight, little girl,” he says, tapping firm fingers with his other hand along my spine, sending shudders through my body. I straighten my spine and look to him for further instruction. “Very good,” he approves, fingers releasing the firm grip and massaging my scalp before he walks behind me. My pulse races as he inspects me in silence.
Standing behind me, I feel him bend down, his heat cascading over me like sunshine. “Bottom on your feet, just like this,” he instructs, positioning my ass on the hells of my feet. “Good girl. And lay your hands in your lap. That’s right. Now cast your eyes downward in submission.”
Every instruction, given in his firm, strong voice, makes my pulse race faster. My panties are damp, and he hasn’t even done anything sexual.
Or has he? Is this willful exchange of power innocent? I can’t deny the erotic current that pulses between us.
I shouldn’t do this. We have a past that we’ve buried. We’re not the same people we were back then. I’m no longer the virginal, sheltered girl and he’s no longer the man struggling for purity and piety by purging his sins with denial. Now, we’re willfully giving into this, our deepest, darkest cravings. Ones we began exploring so long ago.
But I don’t answer to my past anymore. I don’t answer to the expectations set on me in my youth, and I have nothing left to lose but my pride. And hell, if laying down my pride means fulfilling my primal desires, I won’t stop now. If I do, I’ll always regret opportunity lost.
And this is Noah. My Noah. The man who loved me, no longer bound by vows of celibacy and obedience.
Now the only call to obedience is my will bowing to his.
“Stay right there, Chandra. If I come back and find you’ve moved, I’ll punish you.”
The words punish you echo in my ears, travel down my spine, and throb between my legs, as I feel him walk away from me. Where’s he going? What’s he doing? I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel this moment so I can store it in my memory. My mind flutters with thoughts and questions about what he’ll do to me, what he’ll demand of me, but I will my mind to quiet. It serves no purpose to focus on what may happen. I need to live in the moment.
I’ve always been bad at that.
I stifle the desire to fidget by imagining my weight sinking into my heels. As I sit here in this submissive posture, my mind begins to quiet. I no longer hear the noise of the past or the whispers of the future but only his footsteps as he walks about the room gathering what he needs. I swallow the dryness in my throat and open my eyes when I hear him approaching me again.
Shrouded in light from the overhead fixture, I see nothing but his tall, muscular frame, all control and strength, strolling toward me with purpose in his eyes. In one hand he holds what looks like a single leather cuff. In another he holds a length of rope.
I shiver. I can’t remember if I’m allowed to look at him or not so to be safe, I cast my gaze downward.
“Eyes on me,” he directs, answering my question. I look at his eyes and imagine they’re filled with warmth, but I dismiss that thought. We’re role-playing. This isn’t real. And this is research. I’ll take what I learn here and weave it in my books for authenticity.
“Before we begin,” he says, coming to a stop in front of me, “we talk hard limits.”
I swallow.
Crap, he knows what he’s doing. This is like a scene taken right out of one of my novels, and I can’t help but shiver in delight and anticipation.
“Okay,” I say tentatively.
“I say what I want to do, and you say green or red. Red means a hard no.”
I nod. I can do this. It’s easy enough.
His eyes grow molten. “Spanking.”
I swallow. “Green.”
His lips twitch.
“Whipping.”
My heart rate spikes. I clear my throat. “Green.”
He laces his fingers behind his back and stands, tall and powerful, over me.
“Nipple clamps.”
“Green.”
“Anal plugs.”
My voice is choked. “Green.”
“Medical play,” he says and I give him a curious look so he tips his head to a table that looks like it belongs in my OB’s office.