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As readers of Dirty Bad Wrong will already be aware, I don’t use my warnings lightly.
This book, like its predecessor, does exactly what it says on the tin.
It’s dirty, it’s bad, and some parts of the book are pretty damn savage.
There will be sexual practices some readers may well find offensive.
All of the acts within this book are performed by sane, fully consenting adults.
Please don’t try some of this at home people!
Thank you so much!
P.S. If you’re sick in your mouth all over again, please don’t blame me. I did warn you.?
Prologue
Sophie
A deep breath, fists clenched tight against the leather padding of the flogging bench. I arch my back.
Cain’s voice, practised and gravelly, “Get ready.”
I’ve been ready all week, craving the bite of the cat o’nine against my skin, craving the hot sting of palm against my thighs. Craving a hard fucking pounding of cock with a side of tongue, and the intrusion of his thick meaty thumb in my asshole. Craving the release he used to give me.Usedto.
“Count for me, Missy,” he says.
I splay my hands flat on the bench. “Just hit me, will you? I don’t want to count.”
A swat at my ass. Hard enough to sting, but not hard enough. “You’ll count for me,Missy, and you’ll be grateful.”
I choke back a sigh through gritted teeth, forcing myself into the zone. “Yes,sir.”
“That’s my girl.”
I’m not his fuckinggirl.
He lands the tails hard between my shoulder blades.Yes! Thank Christ.
“You fucking love that, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes, sir,” I manage, but already my nerves are on fire, demanding more. I hear the flogger whirring in the air like a helicopter.
I stay silent until I realise he’s still waiting. “One.”
“Good girl.”
He lands another, but this one is weak, nothing but a tickle. “One point five.”
“Cheeky.”
A heavier blow nips at the soft skin of my hip. “Fuck, yes,two.”
This is it... why I’m here... what I crave... The beautiful rhythm of pain is the only beat that consumes me. My only release. I need this.
I urge Cain on without words, baring myself wide for everything he has to give. If he notices, he doesn’t respond. His movements, as always, are steady and composed. His breathing even. He strikes, then waits, repeating on loop. Waiting too long, performing too hard. Like an actor. A professional. Like someone who’s played the game too many times.
We’veplayed this game too many times.
