Masks of a Tiger by
Doris O'Connor
Neeve doesn't understand why any normal person would choose
to wear a collar like a common house pet. So, the collaring ceremony of her
best friend's sister-in-law is the last place she wants to be, even if the hot
men watching her send her insides aflame.
Never one for missing the opportunity to teach a bratty sub
manners, Grisha intends to show the fiery little redhead the error of her ways.
He doesn't expect to see her drawn to the flame like the proverbial moth. When
she hurts herself in ways that even a Dom of his experience finds hard to
witness, he knows he needs to help her.
Will their sexual chemistry be enough to chase away their
demons and burn away their masks? Or is the submission Grisha demands too much
for Neeve to accept?
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Excerpt:
The deep, animalistic growl erupting from his
chest caused more of her juices to flood her pussy, and she hastily followed
his order of, "Hang on to me, sweetheart. We need to take this to the
dungeon."
The way he said the word dungeon sent a
shiver down her body, as images of him in another dungeon filled her mind. The
barely functioning rational side of her brain screamed at her what the fuck she
was doing, but her body just wasn't listening. Being this close to him, the
need to stay in his arms consumed her. Her empty pussy ached to be possessed by
this man. The heat of his thick, rock hard cock burned her through his jeans,
and when he placed her on the huge bed dominating one side of the room, she
didn't want to lose the contact. He chuckled into her neck and licked the
sensitive skin. The curiously rough texture of his tongue sent her nerve
endings tingling, and she locked her ankles behind his butt, and ground her clit
against him again.
God, she was so close, so damn
close, if only…
Her eyes flew open, and the world tilted when he
disentangled himself from her in one easy move. Before she knew what happened
he had her lying over his knees, her dress pulled up to her hips, thong pulled
down to her knees pinning them together. One of his arms over her back held her
down.
"Don't move, sweetheart, or this will
hurt." She froze. Surely he wouldn't spank her? And why did the thought of
that make more of her juices leak out of her? Why was she not screaming no, or
red, or whatever the hell one screamed in such circumstances? Instead, she was
in danger of staining his jeans with her arousal.
"Don't you dare spank me. I'm not five
years old!" Even to her own ears the protest sounded feeble, and Grisha
swatted her ass several times in quick succession. The force behind those swats
pushed her further into his lap, and tears sprang to her eyes. He massaged her
ass cheeks, and the hot burn eased and spread in tingles of awareness. Her
pussy clamped, and she felt the wetness on the top of her thighs.
"Bastard! You have no right, you … oh—What
are you doing? Oh God, yes, don’t stop."
Grisha's amused chuckle vibrated through her, as
he trailed something cold and smooth along her slit repeatedly. He followed the
object with his fingers, the heat of those digits burning a path of awareness
along her labia. She jumped when he circled her clit, and he murmured his
approval at her panted reaction. She tried to push herself against that hand,
and she screamed in surprise when he pinched her clit.
"That's not the way this works, sweetheart.
You'll come when I let you, not before, and not until you tell me the
truth."
Again he traced her slit with the object, and
Neeve bucked when it started vibrating. He pushed the toy slightly into her
channel, and her cunt clamped around the barely there invasion, her internal
muscles desperately trying to pull it in further to no avail. Grisha kept it
there on the edge, driving her insane with the need to come. The orgasm hovered
just out of her reach, and she groaned her frustration to the floor, pummeling
his legs in the process.
Another swat to the ass was her reward. Her
tender flesh stung and burned, the slight pain adding to the assault on her
senses.
"So, what will it be, Neeve? Are you going
to tell me the truth, or do I carry on with your punishment?"
"P-punishment?" Neeve panted the words
as her body climbed again. "You call this punishment? Is that all you've
got?"
Why she felt the need to goad him she couldn't
say, but by God, her body might be betraying her, but that didn't mean
that she would give in that easily.
"No, sweetheart, I call this torture, and I
can keep this up for hours." She heard the smile in his voice, but there
was an unmistakable edge of command in those words, and her stomach clenched in
excitement.
"You're so fucking wet for me, and your ass
is so pink—it’s a beautiful sight, sweetheart. So tell me if you’re not a sub,
then why is your essence staining my jeans? Why is that sweet cunt of yours
quivering and weeping? It's just waiting for my thick cock to fill you, isn't
it?"
He pushed the dildo all the way in, angling it
until it hit her g-spot, and Neeve saw stars. He fucked her with merciless
precision until she was a quivering mass of need and would have said anything
to get off.
"Please, please … I need
to come … please, Grisha."
The swat to her ass stung, and his voice could
have cut glass.
"You will call me, Sir, sub. And you will
answer my questions without evasion." He pushed the dildo all the way in
and covered her slit with his hand, whilst the vibrations inside her increased
to almost unbearable levels. He pushed one of his fingers into her anus, and
Neeve screamed out loud. That felt way too good.
"Please, please, I will, please, just let
me—"
"Let you what my sweet, Neeve? Let you
come? Do you need to come?" His husky words in her ear grounded her, as he
molded his naked chest against her back and pulled her hair until she looked
sideways and up into his eyes. Glittering, golden orbs of intensity they pulled
her into his will, and she couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on
it.
"Yes," she whispered, and he smiled.
"Then what do you call me?"
"Yes, Sir."
His brilliant answering smile of approval spread
through her and left darts of heat along her skin.
"And you'll answer my questions?" he
asked.
"Yes, Sir."
"Then come, sweetheart. Come for me
now."
*****
Glutton for punishment would be a good description for
Doris... at least that's what she hears on an almost daily basis when people
find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler
and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust
bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess
she is not.
There is always something better to do after all, like
working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more
than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend
to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris
burning the midnight oil on a regular
basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.
She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving
alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From
contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are
guaranteed.
Find Doris on the web here:
Website: http://www.dorisoconnor.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mamaD8
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/dorisoconnor/
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