Blue Monday: Falling Deep release

Every Monday I post a anughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Falling Deep is out on WEDNESDAY THIS WEEK so here's a bit from where it starts to get all BDSM...

The chauffeur waiting by the car cast her one cool glance as he opened the door. She felt embarrassed by the flush she was sure must be showing at her cheeks. The ridiculous heels wobbled on the gravel and Yohan had to help her balance. Under that impeccable suit sleeve his arm felt strong as a bar.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured her.

Liz thought back to the teachers she’d had crushes on at school. Older men had their own attraction, she admitted. At least this one was courteous, unlike Evan. And certainly more caring than John! Definitely a step up the social scale, she told herself, trying to keep her breathing under control. The corset was more constricting than she’d first realized and she was uncomfortably aware that there’d been a certain amount of, well, heaving when she was first introduced to him.

The interior of the car was upholstered in white leather and unusually spacious. It was also cool, little warmer than the chill November evening outside. As Liz slid into the seat she hoped he’d put the heater on. She was not dressed for autumn.

Yohan settled himself beside her. “On the floor, please,” he said with a little smile, indicating the carpet before him. “I want to be able to see you.”

“Oh,” said Liz, not sure whether to be offended. “Right.” She swung down to kneel before his spread thighs. In a weird way she felt flattered, she realized. Before she came to Enniswitrin she’d felt invisible. Men had never paid her very much attention. Now she was getting it in surfeit.

She shivered.

“Cold?” he wondered.

“A bit.” Then she tipped sideways as the car executed a turn onto the drive, and had to catch herself with an out-flung hand.

Yohan tutted. “Hold on to these,” he told her. There were two metal rings set into the floor of the vehicle, and tied to them were what looked like black silk scarves. He caught one up, wrapped it several times around Liz’s right wrist, and tucked the loose end into her palm. Before she could react he turned to her other hand and tied it the same way.

Liz bit her lip, uncertain. She was now bound, sort of, as long as she cooperated. But he was right, in that she could steady herself when the car yawed.

“You look utterly delicious,” he told her, stooping to tuck his hand up the front of her skirt, between her parted thighs. The brush of his palm was smooth but his touch on her sex was electric and she responded, quite automatically, with an arch of her back and a sharp in-drawing of breath that made her bosom strain against the basque’s cruel confines. He watched her reaction, his dark gaze pouring across her face and breasts. With one fingernail he found and scratched the silk directly over her clit.

Liz quivered from top to toe and shut her eyes. It was too much—too intimate, too fast, too shameful. She didn’t want to see his face, so close to hers, drinking in her reaction. His finger moved, a tiny light scritch-scratch over the most sensitive part of her, making her squirm on those taut silk bonds, almost making her dance to his touch. She could tell him no, she could push his hand away, but that would mean unwrapping her bonds, it would mean voicing defiance, and it would mean making him stop. And she didn’t want that.

No, her reactions had been too slow. That second’s hesitation had been long enough to allow the pleasure-messages to reach her brain. Now she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want to lose that teasing, sharp-edged stimulation. Her clit was singing like a tuning fork in sympathy with his motion, and those vibrations were rolling out through the rest of her body in waves.

“I see,” he murmured, and she wondered what it was that he saw—that she was a pushover when it came to sex? That she was as malleable to his will as any ingénue?

She heard a click and she opened her eyes. Yohan was reaching into a compartment built into the leather seat. “No,” he admonished, deserting her crotch to catch her jaw in his hand and turn her face up to his. “I want your attention at all times. I want you to look at me.”

Liz would have made some snarky comment, but her poor pussy was too upset by the loss of his hand. The need for him to touch her again was so cruel that she blinked her long lashes at him and nodded, the tiny motion captive in his palm.

“Good.” He rewarded her by reaching back under her skirt with his other hand, and she heard the hum a split-second before she felt it. A vibrator. A good one—big, near-silent, its flowing curves almost velvety in texture against her inner thigh, her panty-gusset, her aching clit.

The touch of it there sent her up on her knees in wordless shock, the silk bonds straining against her wrists. Yohan never flinched and never let her escape. His hand cupped her face as she writhed her hips and thrashed her head back and forth, and his eyes were still gazing into hers as she lost all focus.

There was no respite. No matter how she moved, the vibrator kept up with her, its muted and secret rumble turning her flesh to liquid, her cold to hot, her no to yes. It drowned her inhibitions and sank her senses in an ocean of wanting.

Wanting more.

Needing more.

I can’t come here in the car! she thought frantically, even as her body told her it could, it would, it was going to.

Now.

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