By now you all know that this is my newest favorite series 🙂 I’ve said it everywhere. If you haven’t read this series, the first book, Beg, is still free on amazon! And as if that wasn’t enough, we have a very steamy excerpt for you.. Plus, we have two e-copies of Sequence #1 (includes Beg, Tease and Submit) up for grabs!
I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was supposed to be getting undressed and waiting for him naked, but I couldn’t stand before him in all my nude, diamond-less glory. He’d see the missing jewel at some point, of course, but I’d rather it not be in the first three seconds, with him clothed and me squirming and naked.
So I paced the room, looked out the window at the disputable glories of Downtown, and waited with an anticipation that lacked sex in its tension. When the door clicked open, I wanted to run out, but Jonathan blocked the way.
He looked me up and down, in my black jeans and T-shirt, then tilted his head as if trying to figure me out. “Something’s not adding up here,” he said, dropping his keycard on the dresser. He didn’t seem angry, just stern. Even when I smiled and shrugged, with a finger in my cheek like a pure innocent, he didn’t crack. He stepped so close to me I felt his breath on my cheek. “Naked, Monica.”
I shuddered. I wanted to obey. My hands twitched for my buttons and snaps, but I held them down and looked into his eyes. There was a smile there, buried under the rigidity. I couldn’t tell if it was humor or enjoyment, but there was pleasure. If I could get him to take my clothes off so fast or messily he didn’t notice, I’d consider this a success.
“Is this the submissive thing?” he asked. “You’re proving you’re not?”
I kept my mouth closed. I couldn’t speak, so I had the perfect excuse not to answer. I just kept my face close to his, feeling the heat come off him in waves.
He brushed his hand across the top edge of my jeans. “Are you taking that belt off, or am I?”
I gave my twitching hands something to do, yanking my leather belt though the loop and snapping it off. I was about to drop it on the floor when he caught it.
“Thank you,” he said.
He slipped his fingers in my waistband, and I gasped as he unbuttoned my jeans, then pulled down the zipper. He folded back the corners of the fly.
“My intention was to get you to use your voice one way or the other. You chose the other.” He took a handful of hair at the back of my neck and threw me on the bed, face down.
I landed with a bounce. He was on me before I had a chance to inhale, straddling me, his knees pressing my thighs together as he grabbed my arms at the elbows.
“Anything that sounds like ‘no’ or ‘stop’ is effective. But you have to say it.” He pulled my elbows together behind my back.
The restriction brought a tingle between my legs, a sensation that started deep in my gut and ran to the very tip of my crotch. When he wrapped the belt around my arms just above the elbows, I gasped from the sudden rush of arousal that nearly blinded me. He pulled it tight. I couldn’t move.
“You have to use your voice. Do you understand?”
I nodded, looking back at him, half my face on the bedspread, the other half covered with a mass of hair. He gripped my jeans at the waistband and yanked them down over my ass, taking my panties with them. I thought he was going to pull them all the way off, but he only got them down to mid-thigh before he stopped to raise my ass up and back until my knees were under me.
He moved the hair from my eyes, looking deeply into them as he brushed his fingers over my vagina. “You’re wet, Monica.” He circled the outside of it, pushing the lips aside.
I felt how wet I was in the way he touched me, moving smoothly. Watching my face, he drew his hand away, and in the half second I missed it, I thought he’d take off his pants or kiss my pussy, but instead, his hand landed on my ass with a hard slap. A hah left my lungs. Then he did it again, higher up. Hard.
The sting was intense, and the rush of arousal was undeniable, like the tide coming in. My arms tensed against their binds, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I was under him completely, confined, aroused, controlled. I had no will of my own, just the enslavement of his palm on my ass as he stroked it once across, down to my cunt, then brought it back up to slap me again.
“You okay, baby?” he asked.
I nodded, admitting to myself that I felt more than okay. I felt safe. He kept at it. Stroke, slap, caress, slap. I lost myself in the sting and heat on my ass, submitted completely to what was happening, what I allowed to happen. The seconds between his palm slapping me and the stinging whacks themselves were hot with anticipation, and he timed them so they came when I didn’t expect, thrusting me forward. My breathing got harsh and guttural as he moved down my thighs, one side, then the other. I knew he was going to hit the center. I knew the next slap was going to cut right into my pussy, and as if he knew I knew, he held it back an extra second, then whacked the backs of my thighs and my soaking clit.
“Monica, was that you?” He was breathless himself.
I couldn’t make the noise again until he slapped my cunt twice, hard and fast, and the sting, then the rush of pleasure pulled one long vowel sound from my throat.
“There it is. That beautiful voice.”
I felt the pressure on the mattress as he took off his pants. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but those seconds of anticipation were rewarded when I felt his cock against the raw skin of my ass. He pushed it down along the slick wetness of my cleft, and it slipped in as if meant to be there.
“Jonathan,” was the only word I had as I felt him glide so slowly into me. He felt better than he ever had, smoother, silken almost, and I groaned, using the vocal cords that never could or would have damaged my life.
He dug his fingers into my waist and pushed himself deep, hard. A grunt left his lips. He took me, owned me, used me, and I was going to come right there with my back to him.
“No,” I said. “Not like this.”
He stopped and laid himself along the length of my back. “How do you want it?”
“Be sweet,” I whispered.
“I need to hear your voice.”
“Make love to me,” I said, more embarrassed to ask for that than to beg for a hard fuck. But after the spanking, I needed his arms around me, his face in my neck, his breath in my ear.
He undid the belt that held my arms in one motion and turned me around. When I was on my back and my ankles were in the air, he pulled my jeans off the rest of the way. His dick never left me. Once I saw his face, I knew something had just happened between us. The rigidity in his eyes was gone, replaced by a mask of longing, and the openness to reveal it. He kissed me as I wrapped my legs around him. We moved together, and the urgency in my cleft turned into a fire. He put his hands on my cheeks.
“Look at me.”
I took him in, all of him. We slid against each other, his cock rubbing my sensitive, reddened lips while he pressed my clit against his belly.
“Oh.” I had not another syllable.
“Look at me when you come.” He rocked back and forth, drawing his dick out just enough so my sore pussy felt the pain and pleasure of him thrusting back in.
I took his hair in my hands, bringing his face to mine, as I spread my legs as far as they’d go. My pussy became a bag of marbles dropped on the floor, as it opened and the feeling spread all over me, across the floor, and into the corners. Ice-cold and white-hot at the same time, to my toes in undulating waves, I pressed myself against him and screamed as the marbles reversed themselves and landed everywhere his dick touched me. Nowhere else. I couldn’t feel another thing, hear another thing, not even my own cries as I came, my cunt clenching him over and over.
I was looking right at him, but I couldn’t see a thing past my own pleasure or hear him over my own screams.
When I finally opened my eyes, his face had drooped, and his eyes closed, and he said, “Ah, no,” as he jerked into me like a reflex.
I felt close to him, tuned together, breathing in sync. He would tell me what happened when he was sixteen. He’d tell me about Westonwood Acres, and I promised myself I wouldn’t care. We were bound.
Sequence One – Beg, Tease, Submit – Blurbs
My name is Monica. I’m a singer born and raised in Los Angeles.
I’ve stopped dating. When I cut a record, or win a Grammy, maybe then I’ll be with someone, but every man in my past has done everything he could to make me submit myself to him, and it’s gotten in the way of my career. I won’t do it again.
But there’s Jonathan. He owns the high-rise hotel where I work, and he is gorgeous and charming. I refuse to fall in love with him, even though when he asks me to submit to him, I want nothing more.
When Jonathan was gone I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and the first thing he did when he got back was demand more of me. I’m willing to give him my body and my time, but I find myself giving up pieces of my heart.
My career is on track, and even though I can’t write a thing, I can sing. So I’ll go to the art opening with him, because his ex wife will be there. I feel this need to protect him from hurt, though in bed, his domination brings me to my knees.
This man is going to break me into a million little pieces.
“You’re mine. The minute I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When you put your hands behind your back without being told, I owned you. You never had to say a word. You are a natural submissive.”
No. God, no.
My name is Monica, and no matter what Jonathan says, I am not submissive.
Two e-copies of Songs of Submission Sequence One (Beg, Tease and Submit) are up for grabs! Follow this link –> a Rafflecopter giveaway to enter!