Torn (The Torn Series Book 1)

by Sky Corgan

  “You haven't seen bad yet.” He cages me in with his body, forcing me back against the bar. My heartbeat quickens from the closeness. The heat between us is already waking my pleasure sensors.

  “Is that so?” My eyes meet his, accepting what I know to be a challenge. “Why don't you show me, then?”

  “Do you think you can handle it?” He quirks an eyebrow in amusement.

  “I can handle anything you want to throw at me.” I trace my tongue across my bottom lip as I pull his zipper even lower. His breath subtly hitches as I press myself against him. His grip tightens around my waist and his free hand fists into my hair, drawing my head back. I gasp from the forcefulness of it, held in place while he towers over me. The pain of my hair being pulled reminds me of what's to come, and I can already feel myself beginning to sink into subspace, that euphoric place where it's all about pleasure and being free from the world around me. Heaven.

  His lips hover over mine, his gaze so intense that I can practically feel it burning into me. His blue eyes are hooded with lust, but there's power behind them as well. He knows exactly what he's doing, and he's very good at it.

  “I'm going to break you tonight,” he says, half-threat, half-promise.

  “Are you?” I show no fear.

  Inside, all I can think is how can you break what's already broken.

  From the Author

  I hope you've enjoyed Torn: Part One. Part Two will be available shortly.

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  Bonus Excerpt from Flesh

  I wait on the bed with bated breath, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the ribbon on my apron babydoll lingerie. It's the sexiest thing I've ever worn for a man, and I'm more than a little uncomfortable in it. If I had known how I would feel now when I was buying it, I would have gone with a nightgown or something else far less revealing and far more frumpy. As it is, all I want to do is cover up.

  What does it really matter though? If what I've been told throughout my entire adult life is true, men don't care what a woman looks like as long as she's willing. That's not really what this is about though. I'm willing to try some things, not others. Not most of the things that were on the order form I scanned through before I came here.

  Waiting is torturous. My eyes flit to the cheap Dollar Store clock on the wall, and I scowl at the realization that he's late. I paid money for this, and he's late. Hopefully, I'll get my full session. Either that, or they'll have to take off the time that he was absent.

  Just thinking about handing money over for something like this makes me feel pathetic. There won't be any sex, but it still feels like prostitution to some degree. Oh well. This is what I wanted, wasn't it? To stop being boring. To try new things. And I have been curious about this for quite a while.

  Footsteps approach from down the hall, and my breath catches in my throat as I hear the door handle jiggle. My arms wrap around myself, covering as much of my scantily-clad flesh as I can. And my mind instantly flips to wondering who is going to walk in. It shouldn't matter, due to the nature of the session, but it does, somehow. I paid good money for this. I want to be turned on, not repulsed. It's a horribly vain thing to think, and looks should never matter, one way or another. Just moments ago, I was worried about being judged, and now...

  The door swings open, and I exhale with a whoosh, quickly trying to compose myself, though it's difficult when my hormones are suddenly going off the charts. This isn't what I expected at all. Not someone like him.

  He smiles at me, his gorgeous blue eyes never leaving me as he steps inside the room, then reaches behind himself to close the door. My cheeks burn, and it takes everything in me not to turn from him in embarrassment. I curse my body for giving my desire away. It only reacts like this when I'm extremely attracted to someone, and men don't get much more attractive than him.

  “Good evening,” he says politely.

  “Hi,” I reply shyly, staring at the back of his suit as he bolts the door.

  To be honest, I expected him to be wearing leathers. Isn't that half of what BDSM is about, the dress code? Leathers and vinyl and tight shirts and harnesses. This guy looks like he might have just gotten off from work. His style is impeccable. There's not so much as a wrinkle on the dark-gray business suit he's wearing. His hair is almost black, and it's gelled to be mussy but still looks kept—one step above just fucked sexy. He's tall and broad, and all I keep wondering is if I'm going to get to see him naked...or at least close to naked. Shirtless will do. Finding out if he wears boxers or briefs, even better.

  I chew my bottom lip nervously, my eyes fixed on the way his slacks mold around his ass. When he turns around, my gaze shoots up to meet his, and I can't fight back my surprised expression, as if I've just been caught. If he knows I've been staring at him, it doesn't show. A charming smile curves his lips, the kind that sends signals straight to my nether region to gear up. It annoys me that my body is reacting so strongly to his presence. Perhaps it's because I'm so attracted to him, but also because I know those large deft hands will eventually be touching me. Just thinking about it makes my sex clench—makes me wish I would have signed up for more than what I did. I couldn't be sure though at the time if I'd actually want it, if I'd actually want him.

  He approaches me, and I feel myself shrinking, my legs pressing together, my arms hugging tighter around myself. I'm clamming up, my shy nature getting the better of me. Already, I'm beginning to panic. While I did willingly sign up for this, my confidence is waning. Never before have I allowed a man whom I'm not romantically involved with to touch me. And it can't get anymore not romantically involved than this. He's my paid Dom for the night. I'm just another girl on his list of clients wanting to experience the seemingly new phenomenon of BDSM—new to mainstream, that is.

  “You can relax. I'm not going to hurt you.” He stops right in front of me. Provocatively close. Our legs are almost touching. My eyes are resting on his crotch, but I'm staring more through it than at it. Shit, I'm starting to shut down. The intensity of the situation is too much for me, and we haven't even started yet. “Unless you want me to.”

  “No. That's alright.” I shake my head, my mouth feeling like a desert. I'm pretty sure he sucked all the air and moisture out of the room when he stepped inside. Except for the moisture between my legs. There's definitely something going on down there, which is why it's imperative that I keep them closed. This stupid lingerie is so sheer that he'd probably be able to see it.

  “What's your name, beautiful?”