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About the author:
Tawny is grateful to her readers for allowing her dream of writing and publishing to come true. Her hope is to continue to write hot, sassy, sexy fiction for women for many years to come
Here is a short sample from the book:
I was chained to a big x, my back facing my captor. But I was still a virgin. And I was still alive. For now.
But for how much longer?
My muscles were so tense they cramped. My nerves were jangling so badly I shook from head to toe. My senses were hyper-alert. I heard him moving behind me. I felt the slightest gust of air when he came closer. His cologne filled my nostrils.
His heat burned my back, even though I was still wearing my clothes.
The hairs on my nape stood on end.
“I enjoy your fire, esclavo. Now, let me see if you enjoy mine.”
What did that mean?
My insides twisted.
Heat gushed to my core.
What the fuck?
Shocked by my body’s reaction to the menace in his voice, I let my head fall forward until my forehead rested on the structure to which I was bound. “Go to hell.” Since when did the threat of rape turn me on? Since when did a bastard who didn’t give a fuck about me make me cream my panties?
I was sick. Sick!
I deserved to go to hell too.
Confused and disgusted with myself, I smacked my head against the wood and curled my fingers so tightly my fingernails dug into my palms. A sob ripped up my throat.
Behind me, he said, “Now, it is time to see what I have paid for.”
I felt a tug at the back of my shirt and then the sound of rending fabric echoed through the tense silence. My spine arched and I jerked in a desperate (but pointless) attempt at escape. A breeze chilled my back as the torn pieces of my sweater and tank top fell aside and my skin prickled with goose bumps. My bathing suit strap snapped and my breasts fell out of the cups. My nipples hardened almost instantly. And another blast of heat pulsed to my center.
I was fucked up.
“Stop it,” I yelled. “Stop it now.”
“Ah, esclavo, keep screaming. Keep shouting. Your pretty little voice makes my cock hard.”
My skirt was next, cut, torn, I couldn’t tell which. The material slid down my right leg, catching on a cuff at my ankle. My bathing suit bottoms would be next. Oh God.
My pussy clenched. Hot, sticky cream coated my folds, dampening the lining.
He audibly inhaled. “I can smell your cream. Intoxicating.”
“As you wish.”
I felt the tug at the waistband and panic gripped me. I writhed, fighting the chains holding my ankles and wrists in place. But there was no hope, no use. I was bound tight, unable to resist. Fingers slid down my lycra-covered crack. I trembled. Tears coursed down my cheeks, even as more heat pounded to my pussy. I was shocked and ashamed by my body’s response. I despised this man, even if he had the face of an angel. I didn’t want him to touch me. Not my back. Not my ass. And…oh God…not down there.
“No,” I said on a whimper. “No, no, no.”
His fingers grazed over my sensitive flesh. No man had ever touched my pussy. It felt so good. Good but wrong. Wrong but thrilling.
“Please stop,” I begged.
“Do you know what the scent of your cream does to me? Esclavo, you are so wet. I want to cram my cock into that slick, tight heat and make you scream until you can’t scream anymore.” My thighs tensed. He kicked at the insides of my feet and they slid wider apart, as far as the chains would allow, opening my center for his probing digits.
My breathing quickened. My heartbeat thumped through my body, sending wave upon wave of lust burning through my core. My pussy was empty and clenching, so wet and hot I ached. Instinct told me to open wider, surrender to him to pacify him, even as my brain told me to resist, to fight, to beg for mercy and cling to my pride.