Seduced (Submission Island Book 2)

by Q. Zayne

  “Beautiful, so beautiful, Cleo. Are you alright?”

  “Better than alright, Marcus. That was magic.”

  “That’s rare and lovely, to be able to come like that on command. You’re exquisite.” He smiled slow as embers. “Are you ready for your reward?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  His eyes glittered. He eyed me as though I were a feast. He guided me to rise to my knees and straddle him, keeping me secure in his strong arms until I had a grip on him and the chair. He slipped a condom on his shining erection. Searching my eyes, he pressed down on my hips, impaling me on his thick cock. I gasped as it stretched me.

  He pulled me down all the way, filling me.

  “Oh, yes, yes, Marcus.” I needed him so much.

  “You have such hungry eyes, my beauty. I’m going to blindfold you. Focus all of your attention on the sensations we create.” He pulled a silk scarf out of his pocket and positioned it over my eyes. He tied it behind my head, taking care not to pull my hair.

  The effect was instant. In the dark, without the feast of his intense face, my senses heightened. His hands created friction as they stroked my hips. His cock pulsed inside me. His resilient beard caressed my face. His lips pressed and opened mine.

  His strong hands mastered me, pumping me on his cock, using his strength to drive my body. I was so wet I slid on him as though made to fit him. He ruined me. No other man would do.

  I hesitated to say anything, but I really wanted to come again. Greedy me.

  “Master, please. It’s best for me with you on top. Please.”

  “Good, Cleo. I’ll be happy to get on top and pound you. Hold on to me.”

  I wrapped my arms around his back.

  He scooted to the edge of the chair and rose with me still impaled. I loved that he was so strong I didn’t have to feel self-conscious about my size. He could handle it, and did.

  He carried me several steps, his footfalls resonating in my womb. He eased me off of him and spread me out on the bed. With his strong thighs, he pushed my legs open wider.

  He slid his cock up and down my wetness and pushed the head into me.

  I gasped. He felt so good right there. He stroked himself, keeping my opening stretched on his cock head.

  “I could come in you right here, with you stretched open and ready for it. But I want to fuck you deeper.”

  He pushed in, stretching me real slow.

  My eyes widened under the blindfold as he entered me.

  He pushed into me with exquisite slowness, making me feel the full length of his magnificent cock.

  He kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. He captured my lips and opened me, his tongue plumbing me, teasing mine, deep and slow. He gave my tongue tip quick licks. He took me back to his flicking expertise on my clit. My pussy jolted.

  My excitement rose out of control.

  His thumb slid between us to my clit and matched the rhythm of his tongue in my mouth.

  I whimpered as he made tender love to me. Tears ran down my face. He let me breathe, and he kissed my tears away.

  “Please, please fuck me hard. I can’t stand it so gentle.”

  He nipped my throat.

  With one power thrust he changed the dynamic, took me from being precious to being used. I arched to his jabbing thrust.

  “Yes. Yes, please, Marcus. Hurt me.”

  He pounded me with his cock, pounded me out of existence. Just what I needed.

  Growling, he reared back, only his cock tip in my arched body. His big hands grabbed my ass and yanked me all the way to his pubes. He knocked me hard, deep behind my womb. He kept pumping me upward to meet his jarring strokes. I convulsed, out of control on his cock.

  “So tight, so hot and sweet, Cleo. I love the feel of you. Give it up for me again. I want to feel you shaking as I come.”

  I held onto him and came hard, crying out in release. He came with a roar and bit my throat. I slid my fingers into his hair, feeling the matched pulsing of our bodies between my legs.

  “Beautiful, so beautiful, love.” He kissed me, making me so alive. My lips and pussy burned for him, my clit throbbed in time with our matched heartbeats.

  He eased out, careful not to lose the condom, and held me close with his arms and legs. The shelter of his body gave me the safety I needed. I let out a long breath and surrendered to his arms.

  “So much fire in you, so much pain.” He kissed my hair, rocked me with his body.

  I didn’t talk, and I didn’t have to. I knew he understood.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cleo’s adventure continues in Secrets, coming soon. There’s a preview for you on the next page.

  Dear Readers, if you’re enjoying my Submission Island serial, please consider leaving a review on the retailer where you got it. Your reviews help other readers and me.

  Thank you,

  Q

  If you missed the first episode of Cleo’s awakening on Submission Island, get Spanking on Amazon.

  Preview: Secrets ~ Submission Island #3

  Dear reader,

  I enjoy previews in books. If you don’t, skip this. :) It begins with the first word of the next episode, so there are no spoilers.

  Into the Darkness

  The click of my high heels in the cool hallway gave the place a lonely and ominous feeling, even though my nerves thrummed with the anticipation of the magic we made here. I tried not to do it, but when I thought of Marcus, my mind was full of ‘we.’ There was no point in thinking of this as though it was a relationship. But what was it?

  I hesitated at the door. The sign that first drew me marked it, though I could have found my way to it blindfolded. The Spanker. Unlike the first time, there was no question I’d enter the room. I was here to see Marcus, to experience him, and yes, us. That was the draw of sadomasochism, part of it, the synergy that happened with a partner in those hidden places, when I was naked in my desire and he met me with his. Nothing else moved me this way.

  I opened the door.

  The music surprised me. I hurried in and shut the door, as though trying not to let the sounds out, the way I’d take care to keep the cat in, even though I’d been relieved not to see the cat again. Its presence at the first session made me jealous.

  I recognized the rhythms, though I couldn’t name the instruments. It was some kind of Middle-Eastern music, the kind belly dancers used. Did he somehow know I took a couple of classes in college? Despite my initial qualms about being big, it was a wonderful experience, one of the best things I did to make friends with my body.

  Marcus sat smiling in the enormous armchair where he gave me such delicious attention. His head and fingers move in time with the music.

  He was doing neck isolations, and doing them well. I’d had the pleasure of watching troops of male dancers. It was exquisite to see the male form performing such erotic dance moves. The precision and sensuality delighted me, coupled with muscularity and strength. Male hula dancers excited me, too. Too many Westerners were so bizarre and rigid about masculinity and femininity. There was nothing unmanly about dance.

  Watching the precise moves of Marcus’ majestic head, his mastery confirmed his expertise in all the ways he used his body, whether he was spanking me or impaling me. I wondered what other skills he had.

  I gave him a shy smile and headed for the shelf to remove my dress. I felt like a pupil demonstrating she knew this part.

  “No, Cleo. Stop right there.”

  I stopped. I trembled. His voice had that effect.

  “There’s a purpose to the music. You will undress to it. Draw it out. No more yanking off your clothes for physical education class.”

  I blushed. He hadn’t said anything at the time, but he’d noted my resentful undressing.

  “Yes, Master.” I stepped out of my heels and slid them to the wall. This was a barefoot dance. I dropped my self-conscious urge to tiptoe and arch my back. Belly dance was a different way of being in my body, one I learned to en
joy. I took a breath, feeling the tile floor.

  “Take your time. Feel the music. Don’t even lift your hem yet. I want you to sway in time. Feel it. Take the music into you. Breathe it in. Move with it in your heart. Feel it low in your belly, in the hara. We’ll be making use of this practice. This will become a foundation for more pleasure. Honor it. Honor yourself. Close your eyes for a moment and cast away all thought. It’s all you and the music now.”

  I obeyed. The enchanting rhythm, the sweet wind sound, the chimes, all spoke to me. The music entered me through my pores, my nostrils, all my openings. I invited it, I took it in and guided it to my heart and hara, between my navel and clit. I sensed it in my crown chakra and between my pussy and ass. I glowed with it. I loosened, breathed, let it sway me. I stayed there, easy on my feet, ankles fluid, joints soft, allowing the sounds to move me like the wind in a palm. My feet tingled, my toes livened. I lifted my foot and it swung like a metronome.

  I didn’t know what I was doing. It was nothing from class. I become a shape for the instruments, a marionette for the dance. I went with it, relaxed with the sense of being possessed. My heart fluttered. My hands rose like butterflies.

  Marcus’ eyes widened. I brought my focus back. Only me and the music. Only Marcus could bring this out of me, draw me to perform as though I was free, as though I’d never had fear or shame, sadness or rejection about my big body.

  The music rose into my thighs and hips and shook me. I jiggled there. I let it all go and shook like an earthquake, like a pussy quake. I felt the roots of childbirth preparation in the dance.

  I worked my hips like sex. I rocked him, feeling Marcus’ cock in me. I danced on his cock, slipping low, my knees folding, taking me down on him, bobbing in the air, exposed in my desire.

  I gripped my dress and raised it slow, like a curtain.

  Marcus took in his breath. I slid my hem over my lilac panties and dropped it fast. Only a glimpse. I’d make him wait. He wanted it slow, he’d get slow.

  I drew my hand across my face, revealing my wicked smile. I danced my hip in a circle, leading with it, adding a shimmy, my body a hard curve in space, changing the flow of time.

  Preview: Nasty

  This is an excerpt of my new Viv Phoenix collection of short curvy girl and alpha mind reader romances. It starts with the first word of book. This book has been released, so it’s available right now.

  Nasty is full of alphas who take. He’s the ultimate fantasy man. He knows what you want.

  Experience the hard, possessive arms of a tattooed blue collar mechanic, a secret hitman, a billionaire crime fighter, a contemporary pirate captain, and a sheik who can afford to buy you.

  This collection of five hot alpha love short reads begins with Towed, a novelette with a touch of darkness. Don’t worry. All my heroines get a soft landing. :)

  Towed: Untouched Vee’s out for a good time. What she gets is a scary-hot bad boy with trouble written all over him. And he’s been eying her curves for longer than she realizes.

  These are high-heat short romances, two novellas and three novelettes. Two of the curvy heroines are untouched. All of the heroes are tough and tender—and potent. Each romance is a standalone with HEA, no cliffhanger.

  My Knight

  The car died, just died as I drove out of town on the Marshall Road. It was a great shortcut to the state line, but seldom used. This late at night, there was no traffic at all.

  I coasted to the shoulder for safety, gripping the steering wheel tight. I was heading for a club with a live band. All I wanted was to get out, get away from town, have some fun.

  The car never misbehaved before. Dad had it inspected and tuned up before they gave it to me. It had to run. It couldn’t strand me out here.

  It was the dark of the moon and there were no street lights for miles. I couldn’t see anything but the darker hulking shapes of oak trees against the dark sky.

  I turned the key again. Nothing happened, just a clicking sound. The car was dead. I pulled out my phone. No signal, of course.

  I’d seen movies like this, a girl stranded on an isolated road, no way to call for help. They don’t end well. I shivered and locked the car doors. No point looking under the hood. I’d watched Dad change spark plugs, change the oil, but I didn’t have a clue what to do when the car wouldn’t run. I was too far from town to walk back. Well, I could do it, but it would take a hell of a long time and be miserable in my new heels. I wouldn’t hitchhike. That was one thing I agreed with Mom about.

  The headlights in the rear-view mirror blinded me. I shielded my eyes. My heart raced. Someone stopped right behind me. It was too big to be a highway patrol. Maybe a trucker. I heard some of them helped stranded motorists. Would it be safe to accept help? I had to do something. I didn’t want to spend the night in my car, and my sexy slip-on heels weren’t made for a long trek down the highway. I’d been hoping to dance in them, enough to leave my life behind for the night. I was nineteen, stuck in a nowhere town living with my parents. I needed escape, or my brain would explode.

  A large man approached, silhouetted against the truck. My eyes adjusted, recognized it as a tow truck. Relief rushed through me. I was saved. There were still knights.

  He angled himself toward his truck when he reached my window, as though deliberately placing himself in his headlights so I could get a good look.

  Oh. What a man. A white T-shirt strained over his wide chest and rippling torso. He had the classic V-shape so many guys worked at the gym for. His worn jeans gripped his hard, narrow hips, riding low. Maybe I died.

  He smiled. Bright as a laser. I had to be dead. Nothing like this happened to me in real life, not a stud out of a skin magazine looking into my car, smiling at me like I’m the best sight of his life. I forgot to be scared. Nothing in me but shock. And lust. The sight of him made me quiver in my panties.

  The man waved. Mom’s voice cut through my reverie on his tattooed, bulging arms: ‘Never go anywhere with a strange man, no matter what he says to try to get alone with you. That’s how girls get in trouble.’ Trouble being the euphemism for getting knocked up. I stared right at the stranger. If I’d ever seen anyone who looked like trouble on legs, this was the man. If not for that friendly smile, I’d be scared out of my mind. I opened my window.

  “Need some help?”

  “Yes. I think so. The car died. It’s never done this before.” I felt so freaking helpless. I envied guys who could stick their head under a hood, tinker around and make a dead car come to life like Frankenstein’s monster. I wanted some of that mojo. But I didn’t really like getting my hands dirty.

  “Pop the hood for me, and I’ll take a look.”

  He pulled a flashlight out of a tool loop at his belt and headed for the hood. The man was used to being obeyed. I popped the hood.

  He flashed the light in there, did some mysterious mechanical stuff. He stuck his head out.

  “Give it a try.”

  I turned the key. Nothing but clicking.

  “My shop’s right in town. Let me give you a tow and I’ll get this running for you.”

  Something didn’t feel right, but what choice did I have? I liked his friendly smile. I liked his eyes checking me out more than I wanted to admit. I was over the size limit for most of the local guys. They all thought they deserved cheerleaders. Another reason I needed to get away to the city. Maybe he could fix it and I’d still get my night out.

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I don’t blame you for being cautious.” He pulled a card out of his jeans and handed it to me.

  It was bent to the curve of his ass and felt warm. Damn.

  “I own the main auto shop in town, right on Main Street.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah.”

  “As soon as we get down the road and get a signal, you can call someone to let them know where you are. Give them my address. I want you to feel safe.”

  “Um.” I didn’t know what to say. ‘No thanks, I’d rather stay here in my dead car than trus
t you, Mr. Stranger’? didn’t seem like an option. Well, it was an option, but it was a stupid one. It was probably the one Mom would want me to pick. He gave me an idea. I could walk until I got a signal, then call Dad to pick me up. Nice and safe, unless an ax murderer came along. I shuddered. Just then, I wished Mom hadn’t raised me on horror movies.

  “Let me tow you in. I can get this fixed and get you back on the road in no time, but I can’t do it here.” He flashed a confident smile.

  Not cocky, that would have put me off. Confident, exuding one-hundred-percent I got this. I chose to give it over, let him take care of it. I felt soothed. By giving up the burden of what was wrong with the car, I felt absolved of my nagging guilt that I did something wrong and Dad would be mad. Dad would never need to know. Mom either, blessed be.

  The tow truck driver headed to his truck, he was that confident. I watched his broad shoulders and high, firm ass. Oh, wow. He had my complete attention. I followed him to the passenger door. He opened it.

  “How about I give you a boost?”

  I looked at the distance to the seat. I was short.

  “Um, okay.” All my mom’s warnings about strange men ran through my mind. There were a lot of them.

  The man grabbed my hips and lifted me to the running board.

  I gasped. I’d never been lifted like that. It felt wonderful, except it was over too soon. I wanted it to go on and on like a carnival ride. If I jumped back down, would he do it again, or think I was crazy? I blushed to my roots. Keeping my face averted, I climbed onto the seat. He closed the door.

  His smile looked possessive. I had to be imagining that.

  Mom scolded me for imagining things. Even lately, though I was age 19, she went off on me as though I was half my age. She considered imagination detrimental to a successful life. Looking at what she called success, living in a small town going to potlucks and working part-time at Mr. Ferguson’s tropical nursery, yeah, I could see where imagination would be extraneous. Feminism passed mom by. She still thought it was a hairy-legs and no-bra thing, and all a woman needed was a good man. My dad was a good man. I’d give her that.