Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Me: Who the hell do you think you are sending your henchmen to my school?!
Son of Satan: I expect you to dress appropriately.
Me: You have some nerve, you know that? I don’t take orders from anyone!
Son of Satan: The red lipstick is also a requirement.
The nerve!
Me: Fat chance. Have fun waiting…
Son of Satan: See you soon, Ms. Stone.
Who the hell does this guy think he—
“Is there a problem, Ms. Stone?”
I whip my head up, noticing Ms. Phillips, along with half the class, staring at me. Shit! “Uh, no, sorry.”
I drop the phone back in my purse, jam my pen in my hand, and give my complete focus to the overhead screen. I do my best to listen and take in Ms. Phillips’ words about Ivan and his dog, but I have a battle going on in my head. While I try to learn about the Russian Scientist and his pet training, my mind wants to dissect those messages and murder the person who sent them, all while wondering what kind of clothing he sent me this time. I assume it’s clothing. The elegant box with the Bloomingdales logo on it basically gives it away. I’m not a dress-up kind of girl. My wardrobe is basic, and I like it that way. I would rather spend my money on a band t-shirt than a fancy anything.
But that dress the other night…after fighting with myself over refusing to give in and put it on, it felt…I felt beautiful in it. The material slid down my back, fitting perfectly as if it were made just for me. I hated myself for even thinking it since it all sounded super fairytale-ish, which my situation was far from.
In reality, I was being blackmailed by one blackmailer to please my other blackmailer. Damien Cross was a no-good jerk who apparently needed to force women to be with him. Which shocks me since he’s an attractive man. Maybe attractive isn’t the right word. His presence takes my breath away. He stole it the first time I saw him, then again in his office, even though that may have been caused by scaring me half to death. But last night, the way he looked at me, the way his breath hit my skin…the excitement that rushed through my body each time he asked me to explain every carnal visual before me.
A part of me was freaked out by my reaction. How was something so lewd turning me on? It was wrong to be watching a private moment between two people, or three. Standing there, watching all those lascivious things happen, catching myself fighting not to squeeze my thighs together. I was turned on. Ashamed that I couldn’t look away. And intrigued. I wanted to know how it felt to have the thin fur whip against my skin. Fear the sudden rush of pain but be rewarded by the sexual release. The woman’s face was filled with emotion. Need, pain, lust. Watching her release was…hot, beautiful, disturbing, confusing. This was all new to me. I went from being inexperienced in all things male species to level bazillion in sexual knowledge. I was in the minors, who barely knew much about third base, but there I was watching someone pitch for the major leagues, taking notes.
When we entered the final room, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. The number of objects hanging before me. My walls immediately went up. Watching was one thing. Participating? I decided in that moment it was not something I wanted to do. I was going to tell him the deal was off. No way was I going to get whipped and tied up. I had respect for myself. But my words failed me when I found myself bent over the bed, fulfilling my curiosity. The touch of the whip felt even better then what I imagined. The rush every time it flicked against my clit. I could feel the rush of wetness between my legs proving how aroused I was. Embarrassed by my response to it all, but I was becoming too far gone to care. I couldn’t even explain how turned on I was. It was intense. New to me. I wanted it to stop. I wanted it never to end. But then he did stop. I wanted to cry. Take my hand to myself and rub roughly until whatever he had built inside me freed.
I left his office close to dawn having had two of the best orgasms of my life. Strangely none of them due to us actually having sex. I wasn’t terribly disappointed. I mean, from what I felt, I’m not sure I would enjoy him and his large gun up my stuff anyway. I’m a small person, not made for large objects. But then again, I wondered why he never even attempted. Not once did he force me, or coerce me to do anything to him. I left wobbly and light on my feet, whereas he, he looked so on edge he was going to go slay a whole colony.