Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel) by Ashley Spector
Authors: Ashley Spector
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every semblance of conscious thought and wrap my body around Daniel. I wish I could predict just when another deafening, stinging, reddening blow would hit, and dispel all of this waiting tension. But you can't always get what you want.
Slap , once more.
And again .
My ass shudders and trembles against the pain, clenching down upon the root of ginger inside my ass even more so, arousing yet another tidal wave of pained pleasure. I feel a procession of tears streaming down my face, as I begin to lose my mind to the impatient lust that threatens to overcome me. All I want is him; to ravage me and brutalize me exactly how I fantasize.
Suddenly the curtain rod drops to the floor; he tires of it. I catch my breath, snorting through my nose loudly and most definitely unattractively. He instead goes to the paint cans in the corner, opening them with the blades of the scissors, before dipping the shiny metallic blades within. I'm too far ensconced within my own world to care right now. I can almost hear myself squelching wetly as I adjust my position, resting my whole weight on my left knee this time; I'm a fucking mess.
"Here" he says, spinning me back around to face the rest of the room, and the paint-dripping blades of the scissors he holds. "You're a work of art."
He paints an assortment of shapes on me, placing one palm on the side of my hips, arousing just enough sexual tension in me to make me clamp down on the root of ginger once again, only to produce yet another burst of burning, searing pain. It's only when I'm finished do I realize what he's written.
Danjel ? He has a funny way of writing the i, curling the bottom around into a j almost. I don't know why it leaps out at me like it does. Whatever; the sight is quickly burnished from my mind as soon as he rises from his knees, back to my face, peering into me with those gorgeous, flaming blue eyes.
"So, do you want me?"
Finally, the fucking question I've waited a painful eternity to be asked. I widen my eyes, screaming against the tangerine at the top of my lungs until I'm completely red in the face. Yes !
"I can't hear you."
" YYYHHHHRRR !"
He's playing with me; delighting in watching me squirm and squeal for his mere touch. And then comes the cruelest blow of all: before my draining, exasperated eyes, he instead turns himself around, and makes for the door, hesitating briefly with his palm upon the handle, before shooting me one final regrettable glance and leaving. I watch with wide, pleading eyes as the final textiles of his black suit pants disappear behind the door, leaving me tied up and battling the brutal realization that I'm stuck here. I'm still pained by the various instruments of torture - the clamps, the ginger, my restraints - dotted around my body like memorable remnants of something sinister. But I'm far from feeling bad about this.
I gulp, swallowing back a tide of burning citric juices from the swelling tangerine inside my mouth, and adjust my posture, trying to centre myself on both aching knees. I can hear nothing, except for the faint buzz of the florescent light above, and the droning whine of the air conditioning in here. I guess I'm all alone now.
What happened to me? What became of me? A week ago I'd have never consented to being hung from a rail, whipped to a sore redness by a curtain rod, and clamps tightening on my ever-sensitive nipples, not to mention the invasion of any root vegetable into my ass. Yet here I am, seduced by the charismatic majesty of a man so powerful and so domineering I'll apparently give him anything; even my entire body. I should be a bag of nerves, trying to silence my rampaging heartbeat, trying to think of a way to escape this horror movie. Instead, I'm standing here, the skin on my wrists above me slowly being shorn off by the abrasive cords, waiting for my master with hopeful eyes and expectant fantasies.
I feel different.
Chapter Nine
I don't know how long has passed. The cooling
Slap , once more.
And again .
My ass shudders and trembles against the pain, clenching down upon the root of ginger inside my ass even more so, arousing yet another tidal wave of pained pleasure. I feel a procession of tears streaming down my face, as I begin to lose my mind to the impatient lust that threatens to overcome me. All I want is him; to ravage me and brutalize me exactly how I fantasize.
Suddenly the curtain rod drops to the floor; he tires of it. I catch my breath, snorting through my nose loudly and most definitely unattractively. He instead goes to the paint cans in the corner, opening them with the blades of the scissors, before dipping the shiny metallic blades within. I'm too far ensconced within my own world to care right now. I can almost hear myself squelching wetly as I adjust my position, resting my whole weight on my left knee this time; I'm a fucking mess.
"Here" he says, spinning me back around to face the rest of the room, and the paint-dripping blades of the scissors he holds. "You're a work of art."
He paints an assortment of shapes on me, placing one palm on the side of my hips, arousing just enough sexual tension in me to make me clamp down on the root of ginger once again, only to produce yet another burst of burning, searing pain. It's only when I'm finished do I realize what he's written.
Danjel ? He has a funny way of writing the i, curling the bottom around into a j almost. I don't know why it leaps out at me like it does. Whatever; the sight is quickly burnished from my mind as soon as he rises from his knees, back to my face, peering into me with those gorgeous, flaming blue eyes.
"So, do you want me?"
Finally, the fucking question I've waited a painful eternity to be asked. I widen my eyes, screaming against the tangerine at the top of my lungs until I'm completely red in the face. Yes !
"I can't hear you."
" YYYHHHHRRR !"
He's playing with me; delighting in watching me squirm and squeal for his mere touch. And then comes the cruelest blow of all: before my draining, exasperated eyes, he instead turns himself around, and makes for the door, hesitating briefly with his palm upon the handle, before shooting me one final regrettable glance and leaving. I watch with wide, pleading eyes as the final textiles of his black suit pants disappear behind the door, leaving me tied up and battling the brutal realization that I'm stuck here. I'm still pained by the various instruments of torture - the clamps, the ginger, my restraints - dotted around my body like memorable remnants of something sinister. But I'm far from feeling bad about this.
I gulp, swallowing back a tide of burning citric juices from the swelling tangerine inside my mouth, and adjust my posture, trying to centre myself on both aching knees. I can hear nothing, except for the faint buzz of the florescent light above, and the droning whine of the air conditioning in here. I guess I'm all alone now.
What happened to me? What became of me? A week ago I'd have never consented to being hung from a rail, whipped to a sore redness by a curtain rod, and clamps tightening on my ever-sensitive nipples, not to mention the invasion of any root vegetable into my ass. Yet here I am, seduced by the charismatic majesty of a man so powerful and so domineering I'll apparently give him anything; even my entire body. I should be a bag of nerves, trying to silence my rampaging heartbeat, trying to think of a way to escape this horror movie. Instead, I'm standing here, the skin on my wrists above me slowly being shorn off by the abrasive cords, waiting for my master with hopeful eyes and expectant fantasies.
I feel different.
Chapter Nine
I don't know how long has passed. The cooling
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