Society has a lot to answer for. Making otherwise cool women, no adults period, think there’s something wrong with them because they like non vanilla sex. It’s okay to crave difference. That’s the lesson I think Laurel will learn before before this book ends. Sam, of course, will be her primary teacher. He’s equipped. *winks* This unedited snippet picks up where the last one left off.

…No, he didn’t care. He loved it. He laughed. His thrusts got longer, stronger, he slapped her again, then he slapped her breast, her flank.

Ryan GHe pulled out and flipped her over, striking her ass hardest yet, over and over until it radiated heat and her hips were writhing. She began to cry then for real. She had to. She felt so out of control, so empty, yet so full, so horribly vulnerable and anxious. She wanted to beg him for something to ease it, but when she opened her mouth all that came out was a sob.

“I knew you’d be like this,” he groaned, leaning back and pulling out before he tugged her onto hands and knees and pushed easily into her hot wet from the back. “I wish you could see how fucking gorgeous you look with your skin all red and tears on your face.”

It was the most outrageous compliment anyone had ever paid her, and Laurel soaked it up like soft bread does honey. She wanted more, and he gave it to her. He popped her ass in time with his thrusts, over and over. He pulled her hair hard, yanking her head back until she was gasping, her back almost painfully arched.

“Up,” he ordered, like she was a horse, and she placed shaky hands on the head board as he filled his hands first with her breasts then with her hips. “Straighten your arms. You’re gonna need the leverage.”

She did, and he was right, his thrusts were hard, deep, near merciless. Her breasts shook with each swing of his hips. Then he wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed off the sobs she hadn’t realized she was making. She tried to scream, but only managed a choked gasp. But there was nothing to fear; his hand left her throat almost immediately to play between her spread legs. He rubbed hard, and she came again, her tears falling to mingle with their sweat on the sheets.

It was too much. She wanted to cry uncle, to beg for respite, to buck him off, to escape from the hard arms caging her, moving her this way and that like a doll, but all she could do was take it. She never imagined she could come again so soon, but her body was primed for his. It rejoiced when he tossed her onto her back, grew wetter than water when he covered her and slid in yet again. She moaned when he sucked first on her neck and then at her breast. But it was a thready, whimpering sound. She was completely weak from the pleasure.

She felt like a marionette, no will, just strings. She had no choice, and wanted none, sadly. Her body knew what it needed, and it danced where he led without a thought for pride or tomorrow.

I’m already his slave, she thought, as her reality splintered and a few stars peeked through. She shuddered; the third orgasm was weaker than the others, but it felt so good more tears leaked.

“Shit,” he cursed, when his orgasm broke. “You got me,” he accused, rolling off her onto his back.

Laurel managed to roll to her side, away from him. Tiny tremors still shook her body, but the pleasure faded quickly, and cold shivers took its place.

It was just supposed to be sex, an experience necessary for her to be a fully actualized adult. She’d been tired of not knowing, of missing out, of being afraid. She thought she knew what to expect. Sex wasn’t complicated. It was friction, nudity, maybe a few laughs while fitting the various bits into their assigned other bits. This wasn’t that. This was something else. She had not reckoned on Sam. How could she? She wrapped her arms around her chest, wishing desperately that she was home in her little studio.

Laurel was very afraid she’d made a mistake, a huge, life altering fuck up. She was overwhelmed and wanted nothing more than to run a tub full of water in her tiny bathroom and cry until her face got puffy. She was also scared. Scared it was over. Scared it wasn’t. Scared to face him at work. Scared to leave his home and never return. She didn’t realize she was crying until he touched her. She flinched, and he tutted irritably.

“Oh, turn over for fuck’s sake. Let me hold you, silly girl. It’s just post-coital blues. Nothing to worry about…”

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