Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel) by Ashley Spector Page A
Authors: Ashley Spector
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current of air-conditioned air around the room has given my naked body a brief sway from side to side, so subtle I don't even notice it at first. I'm hanging here like a piece of meat in the butcher’s. It's funny what you think of in these kind of situations; where I probably should have been thinking of all the reasons I hate this, instead I couldn't get the prospect of seeing Daniel again out of my head. To feel his touch, his caress, even a brutal whip from the curtain rod one final time. Just something to remind me that I still exist.
Every so often I think I hear voices - giggles, indecipherable words, and directionless diction - but every time it merely trails off into the air-conditioning unit's faint hum. My knees ache so badly I doubt I can walk. The countless beads of juice to trail from my sopping hole have dried to me, and the throbbing soreness of the curtain rail blows upon my ass has subsided into a meager sting.
When I finally hear something real - something I know I can't attribute to the air-conditioning - I know I've either been revisited by my host, or finally lost my mind. Thankfully for my melodramatic brain, it's the former. He peeks around the door, almost as if he expects me to have made some sort of miraculous escape. When he sees that I haven't, I'm rewarded with that sly, gorgeous smile back upon the side of his lips; my prize for losing several painful hours of my life to him. He's changed clothes - a purple shirt, a blue suit jacket, a blue set of pants - and his hair seems different somehow; neater, more presentable.
"Miss Everett," he says, rather predictably, looking around the room one more time at the articles of torture, exciting himself into a higher pitched fervor. "I'm sorry I had to leave you like that. I'm afraid a producer's work is never done."
"Mmm hhmmm," I hum against the soggy mass of the tangerine, still washing my mouth in a foul, tangy taste. I want to forgive him; no! I want to give myself back to him!
"And I see you've worked just as hard this morning."
He crosses his arms, and I watch as the fabric of his suit jacket tenses against his undoubtedly thick musculature beneath. Funny , the thought briefly courses through my mind that I haven't yet seen him topless. I guess it isn't yet my place to ask.
"But it's okay," he continues, slowly pacing towards me, one painstakingly slow step at a time, making me hum and fidget and tense with excitement. "You'll get what you need."
Hands on my shoulders, pressing fingers into my skin. I haven't felt another human's touch in hours, and it feels so good. He spins me around, so that I'm back in that old familiar position; facing the back of the armoire, my butt extended outwards. The pain of the ginger root has long subsided. Either I got used to it, or it lost its luster. Still, I'm reminded of the searing hot rush as soon as he puts his fingers to it, yanking it out quickly, making my puckering asshole throb with burning, fiery pain.
I snort out of my nostrils, exhaling deeply as my body tries to adjust to the harsh touch of another. My heart is thumping in my ears, my fingers trembling in their restraints above me. I hear the unmistakable shuffling of clothes, and look down to my feet to see his pants lying discarded upon the floor. Oh God, is this it ? What I've wanted, what I've craved for so long?
"Mmmhmm!"
He drives into me like a man devoted; thirsty for flesh, desperate to feel my insides once more. I can't help but cry out, humming against my gag as loud as I can, feeling the relief wash over me. All of a sudden I'm dripping wet again, like he never left me.
"I do think we make a rather good team, you and I."
Ever the professional, I nod up and down, feeling the length of his member drive into me from behind, feeling every bump and contour along its surface until there's nothing left, and he's buried within me totally. My right leg sets off in tremors, buckling beneath me under the immense strain, and neither of
Every so often I think I hear voices - giggles, indecipherable words, and directionless diction - but every time it merely trails off into the air-conditioning unit's faint hum. My knees ache so badly I doubt I can walk. The countless beads of juice to trail from my sopping hole have dried to me, and the throbbing soreness of the curtain rail blows upon my ass has subsided into a meager sting.
When I finally hear something real - something I know I can't attribute to the air-conditioning - I know I've either been revisited by my host, or finally lost my mind. Thankfully for my melodramatic brain, it's the former. He peeks around the door, almost as if he expects me to have made some sort of miraculous escape. When he sees that I haven't, I'm rewarded with that sly, gorgeous smile back upon the side of his lips; my prize for losing several painful hours of my life to him. He's changed clothes - a purple shirt, a blue suit jacket, a blue set of pants - and his hair seems different somehow; neater, more presentable.
"Miss Everett," he says, rather predictably, looking around the room one more time at the articles of torture, exciting himself into a higher pitched fervor. "I'm sorry I had to leave you like that. I'm afraid a producer's work is never done."
"Mmm hhmmm," I hum against the soggy mass of the tangerine, still washing my mouth in a foul, tangy taste. I want to forgive him; no! I want to give myself back to him!
"And I see you've worked just as hard this morning."
He crosses his arms, and I watch as the fabric of his suit jacket tenses against his undoubtedly thick musculature beneath. Funny , the thought briefly courses through my mind that I haven't yet seen him topless. I guess it isn't yet my place to ask.
"But it's okay," he continues, slowly pacing towards me, one painstakingly slow step at a time, making me hum and fidget and tense with excitement. "You'll get what you need."
Hands on my shoulders, pressing fingers into my skin. I haven't felt another human's touch in hours, and it feels so good. He spins me around, so that I'm back in that old familiar position; facing the back of the armoire, my butt extended outwards. The pain of the ginger root has long subsided. Either I got used to it, or it lost its luster. Still, I'm reminded of the searing hot rush as soon as he puts his fingers to it, yanking it out quickly, making my puckering asshole throb with burning, fiery pain.
I snort out of my nostrils, exhaling deeply as my body tries to adjust to the harsh touch of another. My heart is thumping in my ears, my fingers trembling in their restraints above me. I hear the unmistakable shuffling of clothes, and look down to my feet to see his pants lying discarded upon the floor. Oh God, is this it ? What I've wanted, what I've craved for so long?
"Mmmhmm!"
He drives into me like a man devoted; thirsty for flesh, desperate to feel my insides once more. I can't help but cry out, humming against my gag as loud as I can, feeling the relief wash over me. All of a sudden I'm dripping wet again, like he never left me.
"I do think we make a rather good team, you and I."
Ever the professional, I nod up and down, feeling the length of his member drive into me from behind, feeling every bump and contour along its surface until there's nothing left, and he's buried within me totally. My right leg sets off in tremors, buckling beneath me under the immense strain, and neither of
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