When Doris sent out the call on her latest release I was one of the first to take this tiger by the tail. As always her work leaves you wanting more and this one is sure to please.
BLURB:
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?
EXCERPT:
"Good
girl, drink it all." His voice had dropped an octave, and Neeve's skin
tightened in need. She tried to scoot away from him, but he anticipated her
move, and in the flash of an eye he was sitting on the couch with her on his
lap. His strong arms tightened around her when she tried to get off. "Stop
it. You will just hurt yourself, and I can still put you over my knee."
He
chuckled into her neck when she snorted in frustration, and she glared at him.
"Sure,
use your superior strength to make your point. Get off on beating up on women,
do you?"
She
regretted the words almost the minute they left her mouth, and she didn't dare
look at him. He went so still, she
couldn't be sure he was even breathing.
His arms
tightened around her for an instant, and then he sighed. One of his large hands
trailed slowly up her side, until he reached her neck. He gently massaged the
knot of tension away.
"Look
at me, sweetheart."
The
growly whisper was impossible to ignore. She forced her gaze upwards, and the
grim determination on Grisha's face took her breath away.
"Who
hurt you, Neeve? Give me the name of the fucking bastard, and I'll tear him
limb from limb."
The
steely determination in his eyes, and the controlled, almost careful, way his
chest rose and fell sent shivers down her spine. The tight grip he had on his
emotions and the quiet way he studied her made her feel as though she was the
prey he was about to pounce on. Rather than fear coursing through her veins, it
was an entirely different emotion making her breath hitch and her nipples
tighten. He noticed of course. He seemed to notice everything, and his gaze
dropped briefly to her breasts. They ached under that quick visual as though he
had run his hands over them, and Neeve shook her head.
"I
wouldn't give any man the satisfaction of being able to hurt me. I told you,
I'm not a sub."
Grisha
closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they glittered with
barely suppressed fury. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"If
that is truly the way you feel, then why are you still sitting on my lap?
Should you not be running away screaming?" He lifted his hands away from
her, as if to make his point. "Yet here you sit. Why is that I
wonder?"
"I …
I… I'm not. … I mean…" Neeve hated how wobbly her voice sounded. Why was
she still sitting on his lap?
"I'm
sorry." The words flew from her mouth before she knew she was going to say
them. "I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why I did, really."
Grisha
nodded, once. That was his only reaction. Hands placed on the couch either side
of his legs he didn't move, just watched her with that unwavering attention
that pinned her, as though he had tied her to him with invisible bonds.
"Thank
you for taking care of this." She lifted her wrist and tried to smile at
him, but her attempt wavered as his expression darkened. He took hold of her
hand and turned it over. He bent his head and pressed a kiss into her palm. His
hot breath sent tingles up her arm, and she clenched her hand into a fist. He
kissed her knuckles, one at a time, before he pressed his lips against the
bandage. He licked a path up her inner arm, leaving the most delicious tingles
in its wake, and Neeve could almost forget who this man was and what he stood
for. When he finally raised his head and looked at her, Neeve struggled to draw
breath into her lungs.
"Why
do you feel the need to mutilate this beautiful skin, sweetheart?"
"I …
you wouldn't understand. And it's none of your business."
He raised
an eyebrow and smiled—a slow, sexy as sin, I-can-see-straight-through-your-bullshit-smile—that
broke through every one of Neeve's carefully constructed layers of witty
comeback, years of pretense, and cut right into the pain she carried with her,
lest she ever forget what happened.
"Trust
me."
The
whispered statement hung between them, and Neeve shook her head.
"I
don't know you. How can I trust you?"
"Because
sometimes it's easier to tell someone you don't know." He cupped her chin
and dug his fingers into her skin hard enough to hurt. "And because I get
the whole need to mark skin thing, but you need to do it in a safe manner. I
leave marks that fade, never scar. Marks that tease, and arouse, and get you so
damn turned on, you'll have the hottest sex you ever had. Marks that will
proclaim I own you, at least whilst in a scene. Think on that, sweetheart, next
time you stare into the flame."
He let go
of her so suddenly she felt bereft. As smoothly as he'd placed her on his lap,
he moved her off it, until she was sitting on the couch looking up at him. He
pulled a card out of his trouser pocket and placed into her hand. He leant down
to do so, and Neeve's stomach flipped over as he drew so close their breaths
mingled. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of his kiss—a kiss she
suddenly craved with every fiber of her being—a kiss that never came.
"Look
at me, sweetheart." His lips
hovered over hers, when she opened her eyes, and he smiled. Arms either side of
her body, he obliterated her view of anything but him, but her senses drank in
the sight and feel of his powerful body. He'd rolled the sleeves of his shirt
up, and opened a few more buttons on his shirt, exposing a smattering of dark
hair on his chest, and Neeve's mouth watered. The contrast of the white shirt
against his dark skin mesmerized her. She took in the play of muscles as he
straightened away from her. With his tie loose around his neck, and his hands
now pushed into his trouser pockets, he was the image of disheveled elegance.
"When
you're ready to trust me, look me up, Neeve."
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