She’s feisty, gorgeous, impossible.
Submissive.
And all mine.
I don’t do half-assed relationships. When I set my sights on the most headstrong, tenacious submissive I’ve ever met, I’m all in. I’ll show her the dark, sensual world she craves, dominate her, and leave her begging for more. But when her safety’s endangered, she needs more than a dom: she needs a safeguard.
Submissive.
And all mine.
I don’t do half-assed relationships. When I set my sights on the most headstrong, tenacious submissive I’ve ever met, I’m all in. I’ll show her the dark, sensual world she craves, dominate her, and leave her begging for more. But when her safety’s endangered, she needs more than a dom: she needs a safeguard.
I hear the clink of metal behind me, and I know I’m in trouble this time. There is no escaping what’s going to happen. I’m like a cornered animal, nowhere to go, and the feeling both exhilarates and terrifies me all at once.
“Hands on the wall.” His voice, at once sharp and commanding, stops my heart in my chest. Trembling, I do as he says, placing my hands on the wall in front of me. I stare at my small, oval-shaped nails, painted a vibrant crimson, a sharp contrast to the vivid, brilliant white wall underneath my hands and for one brief minute, I let myself feel the panic.
He’s taking me to prison.
*He’s going to cuff you, and frisk you, and haul your ass to jail.
I shiver as he approaches me, feeling his presence before I actually see him.
“You knew this would happen,” he scolds in a warning tone, the whisper of his voice tickling my skin. “You knew the price you’d pay for breaking the law.” A low growl makes a shiver course through me. “Do not move those hands.” The click of metal against metal reaches my ears, my eyes shut tight as I fully experience my situation, then cold grazes my skin, the slightest warning before my wrists are shackled. I do as he says, frozen in place.
My wrists secured above my head, I brace myself for whatever he’ll do next. I’m at his mercy now.
I’m wearing nothing but a thin tank top and shorts despite the chilly fall air, and he makes good use of my bared skin. He begins at my shoulders, strong fingers probing me, slightly painful yet soothing, like a deep tissue massage. He moves over my shoulders, down my back, a shudder of anticipation weaves its way through me. When he reaches my hips, his hands anchor on either side of me, spanning my taut frame. One hand lifts off my right side and whack! With a resounding slap, his palm spanks my ass.
“Such a naughty girl,” he says with a cluck of his tongue. “Such wicked things she’s done. Things that she knew would get her punished.” Even though I can’t see him, I can imagine him shaking his head behind me. “What should I do with a bad girl like you?”
I don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question. If I speak, he’ll punish me. The last time I spoke before he allowed it, he took his belt to my ass. Tonight, I don’t know what he’s capable of. When he pushed me up against the wall, he had a gleam in his eyes, a look I’ve learned to both crave and fear.
In silence, I shiver in anticipation. Without warning, he squeezes my ass so hard it hurts, but I only hiss out a breath.
“Very good,” he breathes. He shoves his hand between my legs, but doesn’t touch where I need him to, his fingers grazing my inner thighs. “I bet we could find a way for you to pay,” he says. “To make retribution for breaking the law.” A pinch to my ass has me gasping out loud. “Answer me.”
“Hands on the wall.” His voice, at once sharp and commanding, stops my heart in my chest. Trembling, I do as he says, placing my hands on the wall in front of me. I stare at my small, oval-shaped nails, painted a vibrant crimson, a sharp contrast to the vivid, brilliant white wall underneath my hands and for one brief minute, I let myself feel the panic.
He’s taking me to prison.
*He’s going to cuff you, and frisk you, and haul your ass to jail.
I shiver as he approaches me, feeling his presence before I actually see him.
“You knew this would happen,” he scolds in a warning tone, the whisper of his voice tickling my skin. “You knew the price you’d pay for breaking the law.” A low growl makes a shiver course through me. “Do not move those hands.” The click of metal against metal reaches my ears, my eyes shut tight as I fully experience my situation, then cold grazes my skin, the slightest warning before my wrists are shackled. I do as he says, frozen in place.
My wrists secured above my head, I brace myself for whatever he’ll do next. I’m at his mercy now.
I’m wearing nothing but a thin tank top and shorts despite the chilly fall air, and he makes good use of my bared skin. He begins at my shoulders, strong fingers probing me, slightly painful yet soothing, like a deep tissue massage. He moves over my shoulders, down my back, a shudder of anticipation weaves its way through me. When he reaches my hips, his hands anchor on either side of me, spanning my taut frame. One hand lifts off my right side and whack! With a resounding slap, his palm spanks my ass.
“Such a naughty girl,” he says with a cluck of his tongue. “Such wicked things she’s done. Things that she knew would get her punished.” Even though I can’t see him, I can imagine him shaking his head behind me. “What should I do with a bad girl like you?”
I don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question. If I speak, he’ll punish me. The last time I spoke before he allowed it, he took his belt to my ass. Tonight, I don’t know what he’s capable of. When he pushed me up against the wall, he had a gleam in his eyes, a look I’ve learned to both crave and fear.
In silence, I shiver in anticipation. Without warning, he squeezes my ass so hard it hurts, but I only hiss out a breath.
“Very good,” he breathes. He shoves his hand between my legs, but doesn’t touch where I need him to, his fingers grazing my inner thighs. “I bet we could find a way for you to pay,” he says. “To make retribution for breaking the law.” A pinch to my ass has me gasping out loud. “Answer me.”
USA Today Bestselling author Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.
No comments:
Post a Comment