Then it all went terribly wrong.
The man who bought me is no middle-aged investment banker. He’s a battle-hardened soldier, tough, stern, and unyielding. Now he owns me, and he’s determined to get his money’s worth.
He’ll do anything he wants with me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’ll spank my bare ass for the slightest defiance, tease my virgin body until I’m soaking wet and desperate, and then claim me as hard and thoroughly as he pleases.
I don’t even know if he’ll let me go when the month is over and I’m not sure I’ll want him to.
“I had my reasons. For now we’ll leave it at need.”
“Need?” I shake my head, confused. “What do you need?”
“Not me, you,” Atticus says. “I intend to see that you fulfill the contract. It provides for personal training, and that’s something you need. If you’re a quick study and do as I say, I might just consider fucking you. If you’re lucky.”
“If I’m lucky?” I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face. I scramble to a seated position. “Listen, you son-of-a-bitch. I wouldn’t want to put you to the trouble of either training” — I emphasize the word with dramatic air quotes — “or fucking me. I may be a virgin, but I don’t have to be experienced to know the touch of an arrogant asshole wouldn’t be at all satisfying.”
And this is where I push him. This is where I go too far. I should keep my mouth shut, but I don’t. “Maybe that’s what this is all about. Maybe you think the only way you can get a woman interested is to force her into it.”
I can’t describe the look on his face, but in that instant I’m reminded of the previous day when the mountainside went from placid to stormy with frightening speed. He grabs me again, and pushes me back down on the bed.
“Force?” he asks. “That’s certainly one way it could go, especially for a woman who offers herself to strangers.” As he talks he reaches for the button of my blue jeans. I hear it snap and then two strong hands jerk the fabric down. I feel the cool air of the room raise goosebumps on my thighs. Then I feel something else, the lightest pressure brushing the mound of my pussy through the thin fabric of my panties. I jerk from the sensation, which takes me by surprise.
“Here’s another scenario for you.” His tone is controlled now, almost hypnotic. “What if I take it slow. Real slow. What if I show you where a man touches a woman to make her melt, to make her fucking beg for it?”
I try to clench my thighs together, but his hand is between them. His gaze is locked on mine, holding it captive. I feel his finger slide inside my panties. And now he’s touching me where no man has ever touched me. His fingertip slides up through the cleft of my pussy. The touch is just grazing my inner labia, and then it stops. I feel his finger move against me and my body suddenly seems to have been hot-wired into sensory overdrive. I feel a clenching in my core, a pulse. My nipples get rock hard. I know this. It’s arousal. I’ve felt it when masturbating, but this is different. This is sudden and unexpected and uncontrollable and feral. He’s moving his finger and I can’t see what he’s doing, but in my mind’s eye, I imagine a spring between my leg that’s being wound and wound and wound by his persistent touch.
“You’re a virgin, so you don’t understand how a man can play your body, control it…”
I don’t say anything, but I’m getting the picture already. My body is thrumming with pent up sexual energy, and I’m hypnotized by his words as he continues.
“With the right man? A woman loses control. That’s because the right man will use everything in his arsenal to conquer her body until she squirms and begs and comes. He’ll use his fingers, his mouth, his cock. And when it’s over, he’ll have put his stamp on her. He’ll own her, no matter where else she goes in life. He’ll own her…”
Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.
Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.