Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  He groaned and grabbed the front of my dress, his fingers digging into skin.

  I bit down harder. He yanked, my beautiful dress straining along the seams at my sides.

  “Don’t you dare!” I reached up to try and shove him away, but his grip on my hair kept me in place.

  With another hard yank, the seams popped, the fabric falling away as he ripped the bodice apart. My strapless bra went next, his hand destroying it with vicious pull.

  “Garrett!” I dug my nails into his abs.

  He laughed and shoved me down, covering me with his body. Wrangling my hands together, he pinned them over my head and used his other hand to search beneath what was left of my skirt.

  “I’m going to beat you with a shovel!” I arched up and tried to yank my hands free.

  He fastened his teeth to my shoulder, biting down as his fingers found my wet panties. He made an mmm sound against my skin and slid the fabric to the side, pressing two fingers inside me with a harsh shove.

  My slick walls welcomed him, anger and desire warring inside me as I struggled beneath his grip. The pain in my shoulder subsided as he eased up and licked his teeth marks.

  “Fuck, I love it when you fight.” He twisted his fingers and found my spot.

  My hips bucked as he stroked me from the inside. Kissing down my chest, he captured a nipple between his teeth, then sucked it into his mouth. Fireworks of heat prickled along my skin as he sucked and taunted me, his tongue lashing the tip and his teeth grazing it. When he switched to the other nipple, I melted beneath him, the fight leaving me as I spread my legs, needing more of his particular brand of pleasure.

  “You want me inside you?”

  “Yes.” I arched, pressing breasts against his face, his beard tickling my skin.

  He released me and stood, then shucked off his black pants. His cock sprang free, the thick length of him hard and smooth. I scooted up the bed, what was left of my dress falling into a heap on the floor.

  “Off.” He pointed at my panties.

  I slid them down my legs and tossed them aside.

  “Spread for me. Show me your sweet pink pussy and that perfect asshole.” He strode to the wall and ran his fingers along a row of floggers.

  A shudder went through me as the music outside picked up, the dancing moving into full swing at the reception. If he chose the one on the end, it didn’t matter how loud the music was, they’d hear my cries and probably wonder if the woods were haunted like all the rumors claimed. Surely he wouldn’t choose that one on our wedding night. Surely.

  His fingers dallied on the black leather flogger, the thin bits of leather deceivingly soft while at rest. I mentally willed him to move down the line to the light brown one, but he didn’t seem inclined to get the message.

  “No.” The word bled from my lips, and I knew I’d made a mistake.

  He gripped the black flogger at the end of the row and pulled it from the wall. “Tell me no again.”

  “Garrett—”

  “Tell me no.” He ran the flogger through his fingertips as he stared at my pussy.

  Had I just intentionally sabotaged myself because I subconsciously wanted the—OW! I yanked my knees closed after he’d flicked the flogger across my sensitive flesh.

  “Don’t do that.” His eyes darkened. “Open your legs.”

  I shook my head, taunting the beast. He would punish me. The fire raging between my thighs ratcheted up a notch at the thought.

  He stayed deceptively calm, the flogger in his right hand, as he climbed onto the bed.

  Resting one hand on my knee, he dropped the flogger to the bed and opened my legs. Bending over, he gave me a long lick, then rubbed the tip of his tongue back and forth across my clit.

  I gulped down air and gripped the sheets as he worked me, each stroke like one from a master painter.

  He slowed, then stopped, his eyes dark and hungry. “Now, you either get on all fours and take your punishment like a good girl, or I flog your pussy. Up to you.”

  The haze of lust began to clear at his words, and I bit my lip at the Hobson’s choice he’d presented me with. After a tense moment, I turned over and got on all fours as instructed.

  “Good girl.” He rubbed my ass with one hand as I glared at him over my shoulder.

  “Keep looking at me like that.” His hand whipped back and flashed forward.

  I howled as white-hot pain raked across my skin.

  Another strike, another cry. Then several more in rapid succession until my legs were trembling and tears welled in my eyes.

  He dropped the flogger next to me and pressed his knees between mine. With a hard thrust, he entered me, his deep grunt striking a chord inside me. Resting a palm on each stinging ass cheek, he began a hard rhythm, each surge forward punishing me with the kind of pleasure only Garrett could provide.

  The pain subsided and melted into the rush of sensations that overwhelmed me. Every touch of his fingers was amplified. The feel of his cock stretching me, the slap of his balls against my clit as he pressed my chest toward the bed and hiked my ass even farther into the air.

  “That’s it.” He gripped around my hips and yanked me against him.

  I moaned into the sheets, taking every bit of what he offered and knowing, deep down, that I always would. This man—just as wild as the day I’d met him—had given me so much. He’d thought he was twisted and broken beyond repair. But he’d been wrong. He’d brought me to life.

  “I love you, Red.” He pulled out and rolled me onto my back, sheathing himself between my thighs with a sure stroke as he stared down at me.

  “I love you, too.” The truth was always easy with him.

  He claimed my mouth in a scorching kiss, his tongue working at the same pace as his cock. Palming my throat, he slid his other hand between us and teased my clit with his thumb.

  I jerked at his touch and raked my nails down his biceps. He answered with a squeeze at the sides of my neck, his large hand capable of cutting off every bit of air flow.

  “Trust me.” It wasn’t a question, and he already knew the answer.

  “With my life.”

  He thrust deep and hard, his eyes burning into mine as his grip grew ever-tighter on my throat. I gasped in a last breath. My hips rocked against his, his thumb strumming my clit as he slammed into me. Air leaked from my lungs, but I couldn’t take another breath. I chased my orgasm, rubbing against him and keeping my legs wide.

  My vision began to dim at the edges, dark spots invading.

  “Not yet.” His voice was harsh, strained through gritted teeth as his movements became wilder.

  I couldn’t respond, only claw at his back as he mastered every last bit of me. The darkness spread until the only remaining spark was the one between my thighs, the tightness there, the need.

  He grunted, low and deep, then let go of my throat. As my vision bounced back in perfect color, his deep blue eyes searing a path to my soul, I came on a strangled cry.

  My body burst into a million flashes of light, the orgasm reaching to my deepest places and shaking every last bit of stardust from my bones. Garrett’s eyebrows drew together, his face frozen in that exquisite mix of agony and bliss. He surged inside me as he groaned, his cock kicking with each spurt as I writhed beneath him. I sank my nails into his back, pulling him close as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from my body.

  When we were both spent, he collapsed on top of me and littered my shoulder with errant kisses. His heart beat strong against my breast, both of us covered in sweat. I let my arms fall out to my sides as he wrapped his around my rib cage.

  Nuzzling against my ear, he whispered, “I’m sure they didn’t hear a thing.”

  I snort laughed. “They probably heard that across the county.”

  “That’s a bad thing?” He met my eyes and raised a brow.

  I kissed his nose. “Not to me.”

  “It’s your fault, really.”

  I gaped at him. “What?”

  �
�If you’d been a good girl and just let me have my way with you—”

  “You would have hated it.”

  He smirked and ran his teeth along my collar bone. “Okay, you got me there. I like it when you’re bad. More spankings, more floggings, more rough fucks.”

  “Oh my.” I batted my lashes and adopted my best old-south accent. “I do declare, Mr. Blackwood. All of this is rather inappropriate for a husband and wife such as ourselves.”

  “You didn’t say that when I was eating your pussy.” He pulsed inside me, his cock half hard.

  “Well, obviously, we’ll make an exception for that.” I ran my hands through his lanky hair and pulled his mouth to mine. “We may need to make an exception for something else, too.”

  “Yeah?” He nibbled my bottom lip. “I’ll play along and pretend you get a say in the fucked up shit I’m going to do to you for the rest of our lives.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood.” I licked across his lips.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Blackwood.” He smiled, the warmth he kept hidden spilling out like honey. “Now what’s the other exception? Better be rigging. Tying you up is at the top of my fun list.”

  “No, actually, it’s not.” My heart swelled and tried to cut off my voice, but I pushed through it. “The other exception is that we can still do Daddy play.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “We don’t do Daddy play at all. You said you weren’t that into it when we…” His voice died in his throat as he stared at me, his eyes going wide.

  I nodded. “Daddy play.”

  “Holy shit.” He pulled out and rolled to my side even as I tried to keep him on me. “You mean?” He ran his hand along my stomach.

  I nodded. “I’m pregnant. About two months. Though I’ve only known for a week or so.”

  Tears glistened in his eyes as he pulled me into his arms. “I’m going to be a father?”

  “No.”

  He pulled back and gawked at me. “What?”

  I laughed and tugged on his beard. “You’re going to be a great father.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, the biggest thanks goes to Mr. Aaron, my number one cheerleader and best friend. He’s the greatest beta reader of all time. (He once read a draft of mine for another book and said, “this was all great and then you got to the big conflict and it was just … just a wet fart. Fix it.” Brutal honesty for the win.) Thanks for always keeping it real, my love.

  Thanks to Aoife McCartan, the amazingly talented photographer. I hounded her for this cover image for over a month, and she remained gracious the entire time. Make sure you check out her website http://www.aoifemccartan.com. Also to Adam Joseph Chase, for his handsome, sultry, wonderful (did I say HANDSOME?) mug on this cover. Follow him on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/adamjosephchase/.

  Perfect Pear. You love me. Don’t try and deny it. I may have chapped your ass over what I wanted on this cover, but you came through with a vengeance. Just remember, I’m always that other pear, sitting right behind you, rubbing your pear butt.

  Viv, Rach, and Sybil, y’all are fab, as always. Thanks for reading my stuff when I know you’re already plenty busy leading your own lives (though I’m still confused about why your lives don’t revolve around my life…). Your input is always appreciated and invaluable. And Sybil makes some excellent teasers. Thoroughly teased over here.

  Stacey, thanks for the eagle eyes on my text. There’d be quite a few bizarre typos in my books if it weren’t for you. (Whenever I type about it, it usually turns into abou tit.) And to Jeff, my long-suffering content editor. Your exclamations at the end of my cliffy chapters never cease to amuse me.

  Mel, I won’t tell everyone what a sweetheart you are. Because that would just be silly. Totally silly. But thanks for all your help and suggestions, and for constantly re-explaining to me what “safe” actually means. I’ll ask again tomorrow.

  Nicola and Dani—I’m still waiting on those tit pics. Just sayin’.

  Last but not least, thanks to my readers for letting me gad about and write all sorts of things. From sweet and short, to long and twisty—and everything in-between. Thanks for your love and support. I couldn’t do me without you doing you. Much love.

  xoxo,

  Celia

  HIS MUSE

  ISABELLA STARLING

  PROLOGUE

  MASON

  I watch her sleep on the flight back, fighting the urge to stroke my cock the whole way home.

  Cara sleeps with her lips slightly parted, her head lolling to the side. She's a none-too-gracious heap in the plush leather seat, and yet, she's the most stunning thing I've seen in my life.

  The flight is long. Too fucking long for me not to sleep. But even so, I'm too worried to so much as wink after everything that has happened. I just want to make sure we get back home alright. I need to know we're finally safe from all the shit that's happened this summer.

  When we land, my driver, Filippe, is waiting for us with the car. I don't let him touch Cara. I gather her in my arms and carry her into the car. She hugs me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she presses her lithe body closer to mine. I don't even try to untangle her from myself. I place her on my lap and look at her pretty features for the next two hours, the length of the drive home from the airport.

  I know I'm going to have to keep some distance at first. I've gotten too close to her, too deep inside her head. I'm fucking with her mind now, and I don't want to damage her permanently. I need to take a step back, reassess. I need to give her some time to become whole again. I can't risk losing her - not again.

  Once we're back at the mansion, I dismiss Filippe quite roughly. He doesn't say a word as I carry Cara into the room she's spent her summer in, gently tucking her under the covers. She finally stirs as I'm about to leave the room, and she pulls on the collar of my shirt helplessly.

  "Please don't go," she mewls. "Just stay in bed with me."

  Words she's said so many times before, and yet, I can't make her wish come true tonight. She needs some time alone. She needs to learn how to survive without me. I shake my head no and her lashes flutter closed. She's too tired, anyway. She probably won't even remember this come morning.

  I leave her safely tucked into the bed and close the door to her bedroom quietly. I'm about to leave when I remember something, and, as an afterthought, I turn the lock on her door.

  I have every intention of heading to bed myself. But I'm a sick fucking bastard and I can't resist the voyeur in me. I head to the room next to hers, the one that requires a keycard to get into.

  I sit in front of the large window into Cara's room, disguised as a mirror on her side of the wall. I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my trousers. I'm not a smoker. Never have been, never will be. But the events of the past few months have shaken me up so much I'm dying for something to distract myself with.

  I light the cigarette and inhale, filling my lungs with poison. I watch her sleep as I smoke the thing down to a nub, just as she starts stirring in her big bed.

  I watch Cara get up, throwing the covers off her. Her eyes are big and manic, her hair messy as fuck. She shouts my name, loud and clear. She'd get spanked for that any other day. I like it when she calls me Sir.

  She tries the door as I watch, shaking and rattling the knob and then snarling furiously once she realizes she's locked inside the room. My heart fucking aches seeing her like this, but I'm so fucking worried her father was right.

  Maybe I am a bad fucking influence.

  Maybe I am the last thing she needs.

  It may not seem like it, but maybe I am keeping her here against her will. No matter what Cara says. Daddy knows best, after all.

  Cara keeps screaming, my name on her lips, anger in her fists. Finally, she comes to stand in front of the full-length window, or what she knows as the ornate mirror in her bedroom. She stares at her pretty reflection, not knowing she's looking into my eyes.

  She starts sobbing. Deep, heaving sobs wrack her bo
dy and she hiccups, wiping at her eyes angrily and smearing black mascara and eyeliner everywhere. She's a fucking mess, and I've never wanted her more.

  She looks at her reflection again, her finger going to the mirror and outlining a heart. Without meaning to, I reach for the glass myself, following her motions. But when my hand falls back into my lap, her fist smashes the mirror.

  The sound of glass shattering blasts my eardrums and I just stare in front of myself as the last shreds of my disguise fall down. The glass that was separating us clatters to the floor and Cara's lips part in a surprised O as she realizes the mirror was merely a decoy.

  We're face to face now, mere inches apart. Her dress is rumpled. I know for a fact she's not wearing panties, because I took them off on the plane and stuffed them in my pocket.

  "Cara," I say roughly, and she whimpers. "Sweet fucking girl, what have you done?"

  She's crying as she rushes into my arms. Our bodies meet with full force, crashing into one another as I gather her into my arms and carry her through the new hole in the wall and towards her bed. I lay her down gently and she squirms under my touch.

  I kiss her bloody knuckles, smearing the blood all over my lips, and yet I don't give a shit. I reach for her and her body bends to my will. Always so submissive. Always so fucking irresistible.

  "Fuck me," she begs, her voice desperate. "I've waited so long, Mason. You have to."

  She takes my hand and guides it under her dress, over the globes of her ass and onto the small of her back. I groan loudly, knowing I won't be able to resist for much longer.

  "Don't make me," I say. "You need time to rest. You need to decide if this is really what you fucking want, Cara."

  She laughs, a bittersweet sound.

  "That was never a question," she tells me softly. And then she pulls me down, and suddenly my body's flush against hers and all my reservations go through the fucking window. Because this is Cara fucking Newton, the girl I've been in love with since she was sixteen years old. The girl I waited for so patiently, the girl I fought to make mine. The girl that came to me freely, the girl that submitted with the click of my fingers. My perfect muse.