Give It To Me: Taboo Romance

by Ami Snow

  My eyes popped open, smeared mascara tracking down my burning face. I craned my neck hesitantly, following the sound of a clicking lighter. He was now hovering over me, a thick, twisted candle about ten inches long suspended over my glossy, greasy cheeks. He set the dangling wick aflame, a hint of strawberries dancing in the air. My mouth was growing sore. I was salivating from the sides of my lips, my convulsing, pleasured shrieks lost in the drenched, balled up fabric. My back arched, my legs squirming underneath me with every brief, almost addictive, sweltering heat that came with every wax bullet that kissed my flesh.

  I gasped, a chill running down my wrists at the alarmingly florid patches of my skin, forming around the globs of ruby-tinted wax dotting my terribly aching cheeks. I wasn't sure what it was – maybe it was the burst of color, the explosion of vitality surging within me, perhaps, even the agonizing, yet tantalizing pain inflicted upon me, but I wanted more. Whatever it was, I needed more.

  Mr. Crawford uncuffed me, bright red rings circling my tender wrists. I dropped to the floor, burrowing my fingers into the fibers of his plush carpeting. My mouth gaped open further, sputtering on the handkerchief as he unbuckled his belt, his pants dropping to his knees. I watched as he removed his veined, throbbing pole from his black boxers. The room around me blurred as he began stroking the length of his shaft. He picked out the largest whip from his briefcase and forced the handle into my fingers.

  “Spank yourself, you little whore. I wanna see how sorry you really are.”

  He yanked the handkerchief out of my mouth, his nebulous grin broadening. I squeaked, my heart pounding in my ears as I raised the large, menacing whip over me with trembling arms. I cracked it lightly against my left cheek, the fringes bouncing gently off my flesh.

  “Harder,” Mr. Crawford barked, his eyes flashing.

  I flung the whip against my flesh with all the might I could muster, a splitting screech trilling out of my lips. Gasping with my tongue probing my cheek, I sucked in my lips from the burning sensation. I glanced towards Mr. Crawford, biting my lip. His fingers were wrapped around his cock, jerking the length of his shaft violently, a clear, filmy liquid oozing out his reddish, glistening tip. The lust-riddled look in his eyes was slightly maddening, and it made me squirm. There was nothing I wanted more than to watch his tip erupt with his milky emissions. With a mischievous twinkle in my eye, I hefted the whip over me and flogged myself repeatedly, my quavering kneecaps scraping against the carpet, almost unbearable.

  Mr. Crawford bolted across the room and clenched a fistful of my hair. My lips parted instinctively, the tip of his throbbing pole shoving into my mouth. His beautiful blue eyes softened as he emptied his load between my lips, his creamy, faintly tart discharge trickling down my throat. I gasped as he pulled himself out of my mouth. He brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek, stroking ever so gently. I kissed his fingertips, gazing dreamily into his eyes. I knew exactly what I had to do.

  Chapter Seven –

  “So, are we ready to apologize?”

  I scrunched up my nose, slowly counting to ten under my breath as Mathias stormed into my living room. Cracking my neck from side to side, I rose from my sofa, folding my arms against my chest. Mathias tossed his helmet onto the cushion next to me, missing me by inches, and pocketed his copy of my house keys. My stomach twisted, despising every bit of the dreadfully smug, self-congratulating look etched across his darkly handsome features. I clucked my tongue. What a damn waste.

  The complacent smile on his face began to flounder, a hypocritical sense of satisfaction stirring within me. His eyes fell to the princess cut, solitaire engagement ring in the center of my coffee table. He growled, snatching the band from the table, shaking his fist in my face.

  “What the fuck is the meaning of this?”

  I slowly retreated, narrowing my eyes, drumming my newly-adorned fingers on my crossed arms. He squinted towards the metal band cuffed around my ring finger, his hanging jaw cementing his growing confusion as he eyeballed the tiny, circular hoop dangling from the band.

  “What the fuck is that?” Mathias snarled, drops of his spit spraying across my cheeks.

  “It's none of your fucking business, that's what,” I snapped, standing my ground, “We're over, Mathias.”

  Mathias snorted, his brows knitting dangerously as he paced around my living room, his heels scuffing my hardwood floor. His chest fluctuated as he purposefully trampled across my faux polar bear-skin rug, sullying the lush, parchment-white fur with his filthy boots.

  “My point, exactly,” I sighed, rolling my eyes, “Please, if you will, get the hell off my carpet. And watch my floors – that's oakwood for pete's sake. I swear, every time you come around here, my house decreases in value.”

  “Hey, you – just – shut the fuck up for a minute.”

  “You kiss your mother with that filthy Christian mouth?”

  Mathias lunged towards me, wrapping his fingers desperately around my arms. My shoulders stiffened defensively, wriggling out of his grasp. I glared at him, seething.

  “Don't touch me, Mathias.”

  He dropped the angst in his voice, his tone eerily compliant, “Please, Cleo – just tell me why –”

  “Why?” I repeated, aghast, “I'm sick of the abuse, Mathias –”

  “I never fucking hit you –”

  “No,” I agreed, sighing exasperatedly. I rubbed my temples, continuing, “No, you haven't. All those names all these years, after I've begged you to stop on countless occasions. You have absolutely no respect for me, Mathias. And your godforsaken need to control every little part of me is just unhealthy, not to mention, terrifying.”

  “Control? I don't know what you're –”

  “The spyware you installed on my laptop? The tracker you downloaded on my cellphone? How about something a little more recent to freshen up your memory – getting my keys duplicated – all of these were done without my permission. Are we seeing a pattern here or do I have to spell it out to a damn cop?”

  Mathias breathed heavily through his mouth, still frenziedly stampeding all over my living room.

  “You either need to get your shit together, or please, get the hell out of my living room,” I warned, my rage intensifying. I uttered coldly, “You don't scare me, Mathias. You never have.”

  Mathias stopped, his heaving chest gradually relaxing. He unknotted his thick, heavily-arched brows, this time, approaching me with cautious, deliberate steps. My shoulders weakened as Mathias snaked his strong, strapping arms around my waist, holding me close to him. He tilted his head and leaned towards me, pressing his lips softly against mine, his fuzzy beard tickling my chin. He pulled away, his watery eyes glistering with remorse.

  “Please, Cleo, I love you,” Mathias pleaded, his chin quivering, “Don't do this to me, baby. I need you in my life, I swear I'm gonna be a changed man, just give me one more chance. That's all I'm asking for.”

  I cringed, his pleading words all too familiar. In fact, it was starting to sound like a tired, old script. I looked into his imploring, sad brown eyes, and for a fleeting moment, my knees weakened. Happy, laughing memories of us snuggled on my sofa, smearing whipped cream on each other's noses; our one, peaceful fishing trip out at Lake Tahoe; snatching the trophy at a couple's bowling night in a seedy bowling alley, reeled in my mind like a cheesy clip show. I frowned, the jubilant memories short-lived. The verbal abuse, constant degradation, lack of respect and tolerance, topped with the forgotten birthdays and anniversaries, hit me all at once like a tumbling pile of bricks.

  “No,” I declared firmly, squirming out of his arms, “I'm sorry, Mathias. I'd like to keep things civil, as we'll still be seeing each other at Church –”

  “You stupid bitch –”

  “There you go again,” I sighed mockingly, pointing towards my front door, “Well, off you go.”

  “You can't make me –”

  “No, but I'm pretty sure Matthew would,” I grinned, shrugging, “He's parked outsi
de the door. You really think I wouldn't bring reinforcements? I'm a strong woman, but I'm definitely not stupid.”

  The color drained from his cheeks as he pulled apart my curtains, glancing out my window.

  “And you can keep your keys, by the way. Matthew's coming in to help me change the locks when you leave.”

  Mathias blinked at me, furious, his incredulous eyes bugging out of its sockets.

  “Screw you, Cleo.”

  “You had your chance. No thanks,” I said simply, cackling to myself, my front door rattling in its frame.

  Epilogue –

  Mr. Crawford's office door squeaked to a close behind me. He glanced up from his desktop screen. He flashed me a cool, sexy smirk, stroking his flaxen stubble pensively at the sight of me, undoubtedly consumed with his perpetually brooding, twisted thoughts. I brushed my fingers lightly against my coral-kissed cheeks, the metal band around my fingers shimmering under the radiant white lights of his office.

  He simpered playfully, remarking, “You gotta be careful showing that ring off around in the office. We've got over a thousand employees – there's bound to be someone to recognize it.”

  I winked, returning a tittering smile, shrugging, “Well, just as long as they never find out who it's from.”

  “We don't want anyone else laying a single finger on you now, do we? You know how crazy angry I get when I see the creeps at the office eyeing that delicious fucking ass of yours.”

  “No, of course not,” I pouted, sashaying towards him seductively with exaggerated sways of my hips, “You're the only one I want, Mr. Crawford. I promise.”

  “Good. That's exactly what I wanna hear.”

  His eyes widened as I edged across his desk, slowly pulling my skirt up over my waist. He grunted as I revealed my rounded, swollen cheeks, my flesh slightly tainted with faint, purplish bruises. I grabbed hold of his two forefingers, pressing them against the sheer, sodden material of my pantyhose, my warm juices seeping out from the pulsing space between my legs.

  I turned, smiling as I leaned against his desk. Slowly, I carefully unbuttoned my blouse, my milky, pendulous breasts spilling out freely. I moaned as Mr. Crawford caught each of my spheres with the warmth of his large, mannish palms, tweaking my erect, tawny nipples.

  “Please, Mr. Crawford,” I groaned through my trembling lips, “I need you to fuck me. It's all I've been able to think about – I've felt your thick, fat cock throbbing in my hands...I need to know what it feels like in my pussy –”

  “As you wish, Cleo,” Mr. Crawford chuckled, his eyes twinkling, “As you wish.”

  He bent me over across his desk, a titillated moan escaping my lips as he shredded a hole in my pantyhose with his bare hands. My knees knocked gently against each other, feeling the smooth, warm tip of his rod rubbing against my dripping wet slit. He slowly slid his length inside of me, my eyes fluttering shut. The floating, morphing orbs of light frolicked behind my squeezed-shut eyes, the dancing of pain and pleasure between my legs coursing through my body. The colors were the most beautiful things I had ever seen, so untroubled, so carefree...

  I shuddered, a thick, warm stream slithering down the insides of my thighs. I sighed deeply, savoring the beautiful, agonizing discomfort. At that very moment, I could feel nothing but a glorious, calming pain...every drip of my repentance, leaking down the space between my legs.

  THE END

  WARNING: This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This ebook is for sale to adults ONLY

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   Copyright 2014 by A.J Madison - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Royal’s Encounter

  An Alpha Billionaire Series: Book 1

  By: A.J Madiso

  The Royal’s Encounter

  Chapter 1

  Let me just say that I’m not the type who usually takes guys that I’ve never met before home for one-night stands.

  I had been excited about this internship for months. I’d secured it at the beginning of the semester, thrilled to be finishing out my senior year this way. Two of my friends had gotten positions at the same accounting firm, and although I prided myself on my independence, it was nice to know that I wouldn’t be alone. My college in Virginia wasn’t small by any means, but navigating Washington D.C. on my own was a daunting, if exciting, prospect.

  I’d never felt more adult than when my best friend, Ashley, and I went shopping the weekend before to update my wardrobe for the three-month internship. My school wardrobe had largely consisted of shorts and t-shirts during the summer, and leggings with tank-tops and cardigans during the fall and winter. In other words—none of it was suitable for a D.C. accounting position.

  I’d saved up a pretty good chunk of money from my weekend job, and a painful amount of it had gone into that Saturday trip to the Loft and Banana Republic. We’d taken one lap around J. Crew and promptly left. Maybe one day.

  Actually, probably never. Ashley was really into the shopping trip, jumping at the opportunity to bring stacks of clothes into the fitting room and watch me try them all on. I felt really bad for the sales associates who would have to put them all back. I, on the other hand, was just trying to get through the day so that I could finish it out with a trip to Barnes and Noble before we headed back to our dorm room.

  By the end of the day, I had four pairs of dress pants, two pencil skirts and a black A-line skirt with a floaty hem, a handful of shirts, two blazers, and two new pairs of heels. I dreaded looking at my bank account statement the next day. It didn’t stop me from picking up two new books at Barnes and Noble, though, thick hardcovers that I’d been watching for some time. I usually didn’t have much time to read for pleasure during the school year, with the mountains of textbook readings and homework and PowerPoints to go over. The idea of getting off of work at five and getting home in time to read for an hour or two every night was thrilling. I wasn’t sure what I was more excited for, actually—the internship itself, or the lack of actual school assignments.

  Packing was excruciating. Ashley bought a bottle of wine—the novelty of being able to buy alcohol and have it in our dorms rooms hadn’t quite worn off yet—and kept me company while I folded clothing item after clothing item and tried to fit all the belongings I would need for three months into two normal-sized suitcases.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Ashley said glumly, staring into her glass. “It’s going to be weird not having you here for the semester.”

  “D.C. isn’t exactly far away,” I reminded her. “You can come visit on the weekends. I’ll be sharing an apartment with Catherine and Billie, so we can all go out and it will be fun! There’s all kinds of great places to go.”

  “And a lot of hot men, I’m sure.”

  “Men being the key word there,” I laughed.

  I’d never really dated very much in college. I went out with a handful of guys, usually once or twice before giving up. I’d had a six-month long relationship with a guy in one of my finance classes, but it fizzled out after a little while. College wasn’t a place where people wanted to get serious…but I didn’t really want to just fool around. I’d hooked up with a few guy friends here and there, but one-night stands weren’t really my thing.

  Which makes what happened that first night in D.C. even more out of character for me.

  We’d rented a car to drive to D.C., since none of us owned one. The trunk and backseats were filled with our luggage and paraphernalia, suitcases and pillows and quilts all jammed in together. Billie, the most petite ou
t of the three of us, got first shift riding in the back squished in with all of our stuff. She complained a little, but I got the feeling that she didn’t really care all that much. It was prime napping space back there, and I as the passenger got first shift navigating and—this was the best part—controlling the music.

  I knew exactly what we’d be listening to on the way there based on who was in the passenger seat. I liked indie music—soft, crooning women who dressed like lounge singers or bearded, plaid-wearing men with gruff voices. Billie preferred rock—and could actually scream like some of the bands, which was always a little disconcerting coming out of her small body. Catherine would skip the curated music apps and go straight to the radio, and the popular music station. That would be my least favorite leg of the trip.

  The drive went surprisingly quickly. We were all excited and more than ready for this new adventure. Last semester, with our college careers drawing to a close, had felt long and drawn out and like more of the same old thing. This was something new, and we were ready to tackle it head on.

  The apartment we had sublet for the summer was a small row home in a series of other small, charming homes on a back street a few miles from the monuments. It was small and well-kept, and the owner had cleaned it from top to bottom before leaving it for us. It smelled of lemon cleaner and the soft, sulfurous hint of candles that had been burned. The hardwood floors in the living room and small bedrooms gleamed, and the granite countertops in the kitchen were shiny and spacious. I loved to cook but rarely had an opportunity, so that was very exciting. The internship would pay a stipend, and I still had my scholarship for this semester, so I actually was anticipating having some extra money. I’d save as much as I could, but the idea of going and buying groceries to cook meals instead of eating at the college cafeteria on my meal plan was thrilling.