Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(131)
He stared at her for a moment and then rubbed his cheek against hers. His voice was smoother than any whisky in the bar as he murmured, “Do you have any idea how much I fucking love you?”
“Me too, you, Master Holt.” As she went up on tiptoes to kiss him, she knew—totally knew—that their romance would end in a happy-ever-after.
The End
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Simon Says: Mine
Get Simon Says: Mine now!
With an empty nest and divorce in hand, Rona decides it’s time to explore the fantasies that nourished her through a long, tedious marriage to a man whose idea of outrageous sex was leaving the lights on. At the top of her fantasy list is touring Dark Haven, the BDSM club, but she isn’t prepared for the effect of a powerful Dom. When Master Simon takes control and introduces her to toys and sensations she’s never felt before, she realizes he could fulfil every fantasy on her list all by himself. But she’s vowed to never get trapped in a relationship again.
One of the most popular Doms in Dark Haven, Master Simon has had his fill of eager, shallow, young subs. Rona is older, intelligent, independent…and sweetly submissive. After an evening of intense pleasure and despite her obvious attraction, she refuses to see him again. He needs a way to change her mind. She’s not the first sub he’s taken on a journey of exploration, but he’s beginning to think she might be the last.
Ms. Sinclair always writes a wicked great tale and this one is no exception.
~ Fallen Angel Reviews
Excerpt from
Simon Says: Mine
In Dark Haven BDSM club, Rona took an involuntary step back, bumped into someone, and muttered an apology without looking away from the stage where—surely that’s illegal—a man was whipping a woman chained to a post.
BDSM. Remember, Rona? She’d read about whips and chains and stuff—but seeing it? Whoa.
She pressed a hand to her hammering heart and squashed the impulse to go and snatch the whip from him. As if she could anyway. He stood a good six feet tall with a mature man’s solid build; she had a feeling that if someone were to punch him, he’d just absorb it. In keeping with the night’s theme, he wore a green silk vest over an old-fashioned white shirt. The rolled-up sleeves displayed thickly muscled forearms.
In contrast, his victim was completely naked, her dusky skin glowing dark red from the effects of the whip—No, it was called a flogger, right? The multiple strands stroked up and down her back so evenly that Rona could time her breathing to the rhythm. Mesmerized, she moved closer—threading her way through the tables and chairs scattered around the stage—and chose a table near the front.
Flogging. The word sounded brutal, but this…this was almost beautiful. The man swung the flogger in a figure-eight pattern, hitting one side of the woman, then the other. Rona leaned forward, setting her elbows on the table. He never struck over the brunette’s spine or flanks, obviously avoiding her kidneys with appallingly impressive skill.
He slowed and paused for a moment before whispering the strands across the woman’s back and legs. The woman had her side to the audience, and Rona could see her flushed face and glazed eyes. She was panting from the pain or… The victim’s bottom tilted outward, swaying in a way that implied arousal, not pain.
Arousal.
A grin flashed over the man’s tanned face. He stroked the woman’s inner thighs with the leather strands, up and down, each time moving closer to the V between her legs. She moaned and wiggled.
Rona inhaled slowly, trying to damp the excitement sizzling through her veins.
The man started the flogging again, down the woman’s back, bottom, and thighs. Suddenly, he altered the pattern and flicked the lashes between her legs, right onto her pussy. The woman gasped.
So did Rona. She’d been so immersed, it felt as if the whip had hit her…there. Her insides melted into a puddle of liquid heat. The receptionist had had it right—this was an erotic flogging. Whew.
The music changed, beginning the dramatic conclusion of the movement, and even the murmured conversations died. Rona could almost smell the arousal in the room, and her hands clenched. So violent…so exciting.
He was flogging the woman’s thighs now, the blows gradually moving upward, even harder than before. And again he slapped the strands lightly between her legs. The woman’s squeak turned into a low moan. Then her back, down her thighs, and up slowly. The third time he hit her pussy, the woman shriek and climaxed, writhing in her chains.
A trickle of sweat ran down the hollow at the base of Rona’s spine, and her ragged breathing fought against the tight corset. How could something like this—a whipping—make her so hot?
The crowd cheered as the man released his victim. Although victim couldn’t be the right word, not with that satisfied expression on her face. Rona blinked in surprise when a younger man jumped onto the stage and took the woman into his arms. After a very tongue-laden kiss, the couple stopped long enough for the two men to shake hands and for the woman to kiss the back of the flogger’s hand.