Excerpt Kampbell felt a firm hand smack her ass, the sting radiating delicious pain through her bottom. Her mind was a fog as she slowly drifted out of her slumber. She wasn’t sure what was happening or even where she was, but it definitely wasn’t the bed at the Gramercy. Through her hair cascading over the top of her head, she spied deep wine velvet drapes covering the walls, dark, masculine furniture, and an oversized fireplace roaring from across the room that reminded her of somewhere that just hovered in the corner of her mind.
Thick, masculine thighs were under her abdomen and the bed he sat upon was covered in silken sheets. Her hands were bound with a soft length of leather.
A dream! A deliciously decadent dream pulled straight out of her Nook and downloaded directly into her head. She smiled to herself as the wickedness of it all roiled through her. And if it were a dream, the hand rubbing her damaged cheek was attached to—Azmaroth.
Heat surged in the flesh of her behind, the tingles prickling in wait for the next slap to come. She wasn’t disappointed; the pause wasn’t long at all. Hearing the hand flying through the air before it connected, she attempted not to flinch. Easier said than done. She tightened slightly as the palm hit the same stinging patch of skin as it had the first time.
Letting out the breath she’d held, she wiggled in the man’s lap, delighted to feel his thick cock against her stomach. It pulsed, prodding her with its dampened crown, spreading small drops of pre-cum along her abdomen. She smiled to herself, knowing he was nearly more excited than she. Between his body trembling under her and the rock hard erection against her, she knew he was walking the fine edge right along with her.
He paused, brushing the tips of his fingers against the abraded flesh, the light trailing of fingernails making a chill run up her spine. She yanked at the leather bonds on her wrists, tugging not to free herself, per se, but she liked the tightness of the material against her skin, liked reminding herself that she was submitting herself to his will. He was in control of her sexual destiny.
Was she crazy? She’d never submitted to a man’s will. Not in the bedroom, at least. She stiffened slightly, unnerved by the compliant sensation running through her. Kampbell was nothing like the simpering sub that had been the heroine of the story. But this was a dream, right? It was her subconscious’s way of weaving through a story that had stimulated her, even if it were completely opposed to how she normally responded in the bedroom.
“Submission is good for the soul.” His deep tone washed over her, lighting her senses on fire. Had he sensed her hesitancy? His words calmed her more, reminded her that this was just her mind taking her on a journey.
A piece of material came over her face, blacking out the light of the fire. The mask he placed over her eyes didn’t allow her to see anything. She paused, awaiting what he would do next, her body alarmingly alive and wired. Her senses of touch and hearing were incredibly heightened. She felt a feather trail over her ass, just before she heard the whoosh of his hand coming down on her once more. Moaning, she felt liquid ooze from her pussy and coat her inner thigh. He saw it, too, it appeared. Raking a hand against her leg, he smeared his fingers in her juices, careful not to touch her in the places she needed his caresses the most.
She sucked in a breath when she heard him suckle his own fingers, tasting her flavor. His cock grew impossibly harder against her as he released the digits with a loud pop, which he punctuated with another slap. Wriggling in his lap, she ground her clit against his hard thigh, straining for the release she knew was hurtling toward. He opened the folds of her pussy and landed another swat there, the sting greater along the sensitive nerves of her labia.
So close, she could feel the swirling need coalescing behind her clit. Another swat, one more flick of her clit along his masculine thigh, and she knew she’d tumble over the cliff into oblivion. His hand came down, delivering the needed sting and she burst into a million pieces, her eyes closed tight as she rode wave after wave of her release. Floating, she felt the electricity zip through her whole body, her back arching to the intensity.
She breathed deep, eyes opening, and saw she was alone, in the hotel’s bed, the bright morning sunshine streaming into her room through the white sheers. Closing her eyes once more, she wanted to go back to sleep, to find Azmaroth again and let him continue to torment her with his tempting brand of sensuality. It had felt so real, so tangible. There’d been no spanking. It had been a figment of her feverish mind, brought on by too much late night reading on her Nook.
Then why did she feel lush, the remnants of the afterglow of orgasm flushing her body? And why did her ass sting?
Angel, Down by Georgia Fox
She squeezed some of his toothpaste on her finger and rubbed it over her teeth. Couldn’t sleep with chocolate staining her teeth, could she? Yes, there were dentists in heaven. Doctors too. Although most were retired and played golf all day. There wasn’t much for doctors to do up there.
What would Doctor Henry Sheffield find to do with his days? Surely he was much more useful down here. But she mustn’t think like that. Job to do. Tabitha rinsed her mouth out with water and then there was nothing else to delay her. No other excuse. Nothing else for it but to try another kiss. Wings or not, she had to try. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath.
“Get on with it, sixty-nine,” she sternly lectured her reflection in the mirrored cabinet door.
“Get on with what?” He was standing behind her, arms folded, watching her suspiciously.
“You move quietly for a big man,” she observed in surprise. “Are you sure you don’t have wings?”
“Get on with what?” he repeated.
Tabitha walked back into the suite. He followed. “The reason I came here,” she said.
“I told you.” Spinning around too quickly she almost stumbled again and briefly grabbed a chair for balance. She felt so small without her wings. His height, as he came toward her, increased the sensation, made her very aware of her femininity. Oh, to be a woman again and not an ethereal being whose feet didn’t properly touch the ground. “Are you married, Doctor Sheffield?”
“No.” Although she was still, he continued moving closer, apparently growing bolder with her, much less wary. His expression was solemn, but his eyes held a knowing spark. She couldn’t call it a twinkle. A man like this one would never twinkle.
She swallowed hard. “No … no family?”
“Only a mother left.”
Her fingers twisted around each other in a knot. “Where is she?”
“New Jersey, last I heard. Why?”
“Just … curious.” He had only a mother to miss him then. And his patients, of course. Perhaps he’d be happy in heaven. Most were. Only oddballs like her missed being alive and all the trials and tribulations, the intensity of a passionate embrace.
“Back to bed,” he said softly.
It was now or never. Surely third time lucky.
Tabitha leapt forward, arms around his neck. And kissed him again.
Henry made no move to get away this time. His lips opened, mouth slanted to hers, tongue slipping inside, probably tasting the mint of toothpaste. Heat stole through her in waves, advancing like the tide as he took control of the kiss. He was supposed to fall under her spell, let her gather him up, but this was not at all the way it should be. This was like chocolate. Being fed to her on a silver spoon.
She broke the kiss, leaning back. “Doctor, are those your hands on my ass?”
He paused a moment, eyes narrowed, looking down at her. “They’d better be mine. I hope there’s no one else here. One intruder in my suite is about all I can handle.”
“You’re handling her … very well.”
Fingers spread slightly, he squeezed her cheeks, lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist and then he carried her to the bed.
Tabitha supposed she ought to say something, but try as she might she couldn’t think of any chapter in the Angel’s Guidebook that dealt with situations like these. Problems like this simply didn’t happen. At least, not in the mind of the well-meaning author of that book.
She lay back, staring as he untied his bathrobe and shrugged out of it. He was muscular, more so than she’d expected. The only light in the room came from the distant glow of the bathroom and a lamp beside the couch, but it was enough to gild and highlight every splendid plane of his strong physique as he stood over her. Clearly he took care of himself, but not to the extent of showcase vanity. One could imagine that his form was the result of useful physical labor rather than hours in a gym, staring in a mirror.
Tabitha’s eager gaze danced over his shoulders, down his thick arms, across his chest and then downward, where it stumbled to a halt. His penis stretched almost to his navel, the head dark and proud, the shaft arching slightly, balls like two ripe plums. Her heart leapt in excitement. She was giddy with it. This was totally forbidden, of course. Nothing like this should happen.
Oh, but it was going to. She’d confess later, take her punishment. Look, the man ripped her wings off, what was she supposed to do if she couldn’t fly?
She still hadn’t taken her eyes off his cock. “Doctor, are you going to take my temperature with that?” When she finally looked up, his lips bent in an almost smile and his eyes warmed.
“I think I’d better.”