Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I tell myself not to fall for it. I tell myself he doesn't mean it. I tell myself that this is only part of the whole game.
But it doesn't matter. Nothing I tell myself makes my body respond any differently.
I melt into him. My pulse raises. My breasts feel fuller and tingly, and I want to feel anything, literally anything, against my nipples and the underside of my breasts. The pressure between my legs is unbearable.
I can handle the spanking. I can handle his anger. But the way he praises me unravels me. I fall to pieces like a deck of cards. And he knows this, fuck it.
I wish I had better control of my emotions. But I can't control my reaction any more than I can control my heart beating or my eyes blinking. It's instinctual, inexplicable. In my entire life, no one has ever spoken to me the way he does, and even though a very small part of me feels that this is just part of the game, and he doesn't actually mean a word of it, I don't care. It feels so good, I’ll take even this parody of affection.
Harsh direction, cruel words, brutal punishment… They are my bread and butter. They were my daily diet. I don't like being punished, but long ago I learned how to steel myself against it. This, however? This… praise? Gentleness? Whatever it's called… It's so foreign to me I'm completely taken off guard.
"Open your legs, beautiful," he says to me, and even that feels so good it makes me want to cry. Mama told me that I'm beautiful, yes. My nannies did too, as did my extended family. But there's something about the way he calls me beautiful, as if it's a term of endearment, that it sinks into my skin and warms me from the inside out.
I do exactly what he says. I lie prone over his lap as if I'm part of him. My naked skin is on fire and my heart beats so fast I feel dizzy. I close my eyes as if that will help me withstand the torrent of emotion, but it doesn't do much good. No. I don't stand a chance against this.
Flames lick at my body, warming me to the point of pain. I half expect he’ll make me come like this, right over his lap, and I won’t stop him. But no. That would be too simple. He releases me on his lap, reaches down, then lifts me and cradles me to his chest.
Aw, Christ, I love how that feels though.
"I've never seen anyone more beautiful in my life," he says. "When they told me what my job was, I thought I was the luckiest man alive.” He’s playing me, he has to be, but why does it seem like he’s sincere? “I’ll take a gorgeous woman like you into custody anytime.” He shakes his head from side to side. “And I didn't even know the half of it. Tip your head back, lovely. Just relax, let your head fall back.”
When I do as he says, he makes a low, male groan of approval. Oh, he likes it when I obey him. Dario has a strong sadistic streak, that much is clear. Lucky for him I'm a pretty damn good match.
“What a good girl. Look at you, you’re doing so good.”
His praise makes my heart beat faster, and I feel as if I’m wrapped in a silken cocoon of utter bliss. I feel blissfully happy, and my heart sings as I bask in his praise. I silence the inner censor that tells me not to trust him, that this is only an act, that this is a—
Oh, hell.
My mind becomes a blissful chasm of nothingness when he bends his mouth to me and kisses the valley between my breasts. He continues to praise me, his words igniting a need in me so ferocious I can’t control it. Every word is an adulation, every sentiment pays homage and I forgive his sins with the benevolence of a saint. “Look at that perfect body,” he moans. His lips are fire against my skin, and every time his eyes meet mine, as his tongue circles my nipple, he kisses the swell of my breast, the slight pain of teeth against the hardened buds, my heart turns over in response.
He looks at me as if he wants to remember me, like he’s painting a portrait in his mind he’ll hang where he can worship it every day. His mouth softens when his gaze slides down my body to my curves. “Damn, woman,” he growls. “You’re fucking amazing. Say my name, Vivia. I love it when you say my name.” His gaze bores into mine in expectation, and my heart jolts. A tingling warmth spreads to every part of me until my nerves are fire.