Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Mark’s cock swelled painfully at the realization he was about to see her breasts for the first time—the first time in real life, that was. She’d bared them for the world in Heart Thief, but only because the producers demanded an R rating.
“What?” Alana said stupidly, though at least she’d stopped crying. She wiped a hand across her nose and his heart almost burst with tenderness. She looked like a little girl who had fallen and skinned her knee. But the little girl was being naughty. He had given her a specific order.
“Alana, what did I tell you?” He couldn’t quite believe he was talking to the woman of his dreams like this. He couldn’t believe his own wonderful, masterful nerve as he commanded her to obey him. “I said take off that sweater and bra. Now.” He cocked the hammer of the gun to emphasize his point.
With a small, sexy gasp, Alana lifted the hem of her sweater and began to pull it up over her head. Mark almost swerved into a guardrail as her bra-encased breasts were revealed.
“Go on,” Mark said in a low voice, not trusting himself to say more. His heart was pounding so hard his chest actually hurt.
Averting her face, Alana reached behind her back and unclasped the lacy black bra. As her breasts popped into view in his mirror, Mark had trouble keeping his eyes on the road. He would have pulled over but he didn’t want to attract any unwelcome attention.
The pink blush that had started on her face was creeping down her neck and torso. “Come on,” he teased, hugely enjoying her sweet shyness. “It’s not like you haven’t bared those delicious breasts of yours to the entire world. Lift up your head and throw back your shoulders. Be proud, girl!”
She lifted her head with obvious reluctance. Her lovely breasts swelled from her body like soft round peaches. The creamy skin was tipped with dark pink nipples. Mark’s mouth literally watered at the thought of tasting those perfect mounds of feminine perfection.
“Squeeze your nipples for me,” he ordered, nearly drunk on his newfound power. “Make them hard.”
When she didn’t immediately obey, Mark waved the gun, and her fingers flew to her nipples. She twisted and rolled the soft pink flesh until the nubbins were as hard as marbles. Mark had to struggle to keep his car between the lines, but he couldn’t resist glancing back repeatedly at his captive.
“Put your hands behind your head, like in Heart Thief.”
Again looking away, her lower lip caught in her teeth, Alana obeyed.
“Ah,” Mark breathed. He could touch her if he wanted. She was that close to him. He stared at her in the mirror as he maneuvered through the traffic. He longed to reach back and twist her lovely, erect nipples, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by coming in his pants. Plenty of time to touch her later.
Turning back in his seat, Mark directed, “Keep your arms that way for a while, Alana. I like the way it looks.” He continued down the highway, his eyes darting from the road to his mirror as often as possible.
Mark was no stranger to exerting his dominant sexual will with submissive girls, but up until now the exchange of power had been mostly consensual. Over the years he had cruised the BDSM clubs in the city, easily finding masochistic sluts eager to play with him. If they were attractive enough, he would take them to a hotel or let them take him back to their apartment, where he would whip and tease them until they were begging to be fucked.
Sometimes he’d agree to see them again, but not often. For these women, the experience had been a game. They “let” him tie them down and spank them. They “let” him sexually humiliate them, simpering as they called him Master. After a day, a week, a month, he invariably became bored and sent them packing.
As he pondered his rather lackluster experience as a Dom, he understood that the missing ingredient was love. Without passion, there could be no poetry. Without love, the intensity of a true exchange of power was diminished. Mark knew in his bones this time it would be different—because this time he would have his Alana.
An hour later found them in the countryside of the Lower Hudson Valley. Mark maneuvered the car along an unpaved lane that dead-ended into a converted farmhouse. “We’re home.” He grinned in the rearview mirror at Alana, who was still half-naked and now hunched into a corner of the back seat.
After their initial exchange, she hadn’t said a word during the whole trip, save for the monosyllabic responses he occasionally forced from her. After a while, they had simply driven in silence.
“Put on your jacket.” He tossed it back to her. “There’s no one around here, but I don’t even want those horses to see you. You’re all mine now.”