Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  My words have the desired effect. She seals her lips and pinches her eyes shut. I retrace my movements, starting a slow rub from her feet to the underside of her arms. After a few minutes of stroking her like this, a flush spreads over her skin, marring her neck and the upper curve of her breasts. The erogenous zones of her body will be filling with blood, making her breasts heavy and her sex swollen, preparing her for penetration. This is the cue I’ve been waiting for. Drawing circles around her hardening breasts, I close the spiraling trace of my fingers until I’m outlying her areolas. I watch her nipples tighten more, extending into kissable pinnacles I ache to feel on my tongue. Ignoring the hunger that makes my balls draw tight, I roll her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and am rewarded with a gasp that sounds very different now. There’s a crescendo of pleasure and an undertone of shame. The mixture is an intoxicating sound, one I take perverse pleasure in. I want to own her feelings, her whimpers, her pleasure, and her breaths. Like a signal, her hips lift. I know what her body is asking for, and I know she’ll fight it.

  I need total surrender.

  Letting go of her pretty tits, I wrap one hand around her neck, applying gentle pressure. The touch is both dominating and protective, and the way she reacts to it will tell me everything I need to know about how to make her happy in bed. To my surprise, her head lifts slightly, pressing her neck harder into my palm. Valentina is a natural submissive. My favorite kind of conquest.

  Keeping my hand in place, I reward her with a kiss on each nipple. Her lips part on a soundless moan, and her eyes fly open. She blinks at me in surprise. She either expected me to bite her, or she’s battling to process the sensation. Holding her gaze, I flick my tongue over her right breast, sucking the delicious nipple deep into my mouth. Her back arches off the bed, and a soft cry falls from her lips. At the sound of it, she goes completely still. Instead of fighting her arousal, she lies back like a corpse, her eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling. Her muscles unclench, going slack under my hands. This won’t do. I won’t let her hide from me in her mind.

  “Look at me.”

  The command is at direct odds with my earlier one, but I’m learning to read and understand her reactions. Of course, she ignores me, wandering around in the void she has created in her head.

  “If you don’t look at me right now, we’re going to start over. This time, we’ll practice in front of the mirror.”

  Slowly, she turns her gaze back in my direction until she’s watching me from under her lashes.

  “Good girl. Keep on watching me and tell me what you feel. If you stop talking, we start from scratch.”

  “What?”

  She furrows her eyebrows, but I don’t give her time for another question. I resume the task of licking her nipple like it’s my favorite candy. When a suppressed moan slips from her lips, I lift my head to give her a hard look.

  “Valentina, I won’t tell you again. How does it feel?”

  She licks her lips, watching me as I lave her breast with my tongue.

  “It feels … hot.” She flushes bright red. “Wet. I mean…”

  “Good?”

  She bites her bottom lip.

  “Carry on.” I move to her other breast.

  “Uh… Soft. Ah! Hard.”

  She cries out as I nip her with my teeth. “Tell me.”

  “Sore. No. Different. I don’t know!”

  I suck her relentlessly, plumping up her breast in my fist and pinching the hard tip with my lips. “Be clearer.”

  “Good! Ah, God. It hurts…good.”

  She pants and squirms. It’s good to have her in the moment with me. I need her to feel, because I get off on her pleasure. I kiss her breasts and fondle her nipples until she’s close to hyperventilating, throwing incoherent words and phrases at me. “I’m going to make you come,” I say, “and you can’t stop it.” She tenses again, her face a mask of agonized pleasure.

  “Say it,” I urge, pinching her nipple hard.

  She yelps. “Can’t…stop it.”

  “That’s it.” I suck on her nipple. “Let it go.”

  She wiggles. “I–I can’t.”

  “I won’t stop, Valentina. We’ll go all night if we have to, but you’re going to give it to me.”

  She grips my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, and gives a frustrated sob. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

  “Just lie back and I’ll show you.”

  Her grip on me tightens, and her neck strains up, fear dampening the arousal in her eyes.

  “My cock will stay in my pants. Lie back.”

  Slowly, the muscles in her neck relax as she lays her head back on the pillow. Once more, her body goes soft beneath me, but this time she’s present. There’s no more holding back. Her legs go slack, her thighs parting an inch. The slow, raspy lick of my tongue over her nipple is another reward, strengthening her good behavior. When she lifts her shoulders off the mattress, I almost lose control. I suck her nipple to the back of my mouth, eating her breast like a piece of cake, and she throws the reward right back at me by pushing deeper, forcing me to take more and giving me what I’ve been waiting for. The sweetest whimpers fall on my ears.

  So damn hot. My fingers tighten involuntarily around her neck, applying more pressure, showing us both who she belongs to. There’s no intent to harm, and her subconscious mind knows this. I lave her other breast with the wet strokes of my tongue, giving the plump curve the same meticulous attention as its twin until she squirms in my hold. Loosening my grip on her neck, I let my palm slide down her throat, between her breasts, and over her stomach. Her skin is slick from my kisses, and the wet trail makes her tummy quiver. Keeping my hand on her stomach, I kiss a path to her pubic bone, nuzzling her skin with my nose. The smell of her desire drives me crazy. She’s wet, and the possessive side of me revels in the knowledge that I’m the cause. I’m the master of her desire. I brought her this far. I’ll take her over the edge.

  She seems barely coherent as I hook my fingers in the elastic of her underwear and pull it over her hips and down her legs. I free her ankles and discard the piece of clothing on the floor. She’s turned on enough to take it a level rougher. I push her legs wide open, giving all of my senses access to her deepest core.

  It’s no secret that I love fucking. This is the part of women I love with reverence. I love their delicate folds, their taste, their smell, and the sounds they make when I invade their bodies. Valentina’s cunt is beautiful. Her pussy lips are pink and plump, glistening with arousal. Her clit peeks from between her swollen labia like a pearl. The pucker of her asshole is a rosebud, and the tightness tells me no man has claimed her there. I don’t mind her dark, silky pubic hair, but it has to go. I want to see her bare skin when I part her with my cock. I want to see her peachy lips stretch as wide as they can go when I take her deep, but thinking ahead only fucks with my head and torments my aching dick. I close my eyes and focus on her taste, instead. My tongue sweeps over her slit to the tip of her clit. She jerks violently, a sweet cry bouncing off the walls. Her hands dig into my shoulders, shoving and pulling simultaneously. She stopped talking. The only sounds coming from her lips are the moans I was chasing after.

  “Just feel,” I whisper over her skin. “You have no control, no choice.”

  She relaxes and opens wider, giving me better access. I spear my tongue into her pussy, and groan as her thighs hug my face in a soft vice. Her honey coats my tongue, the taste a powerful aphrodisiac. I could stay with my head buried between her legs forever, but even my patience, the resolve and control I’m so proud of, has limits. I eat her like a starving man, my teeth grazing and nibbling while my lips pinch and suck. Her nails dig into my skin and her heels kick into the mattress. When I lift my eyes, I’m shocked to see she’s staring at me, her brown pools drowsed in desire. Soft, feminine pants and moans lash at me as I suck her harder, feeding my addiction for this, for everything she’s giving me.

  A little surprised cry fill
s the air, and her hips lock. I know what this means. I push down with my palm on her stomach to measure her body’s reaction, but it’s not necessary. I know exactly at which point she comes. She utters a high note and contracts around my tongue with a tangy explosion of moisture. I want to use her orgasm to drench my cock, to make it slick so I can sink it deep into her body, as deep as she can take me, but for now I only kiss and lick her clit, prolonging the shockwaves and reveling in her release. Despite my earlier resolution, I’m more than ready to fuck her, but something is holding me back. For some reason, I feel like it’s her first time coming. A hot wave of satisfaction and immense anticipation washes over me as I consider the impossible.

  Valentina is a virgin.

  And it fucking crushes me.

  I can’t break something that is whole and pure.

  * * *

  Valentina

  I’m inexperienced, not stupid. I know I had an orgasm, but it was my first and I’m devastatingly sad. Ashamed. I gave in to the man who was going to kill my brother, but those hands on my body… I expected force and roughness. Instead, he gave me gentle. It confused the hell out of me. The way his fingers explored my skin soothed me, and when I gave up on my fear, he set me on fire. He knew exactly what to do. There’s no doubt he’s a skilled and intuitive lover. He touched me like no man ever has, in a way that made my skin come alive. He twisted and primed my body, playing it like an instrument until it gave him the tune he wanted. I thought he was going to rape me. In a way, he did. In a way, this is worse. He raped my senses, took my defenses, and left me vulnerable, but not yet cold. His arms fold around me, pulling my naked back to his clothed chest. Hot, unwanted tears drip on the pillow.

  I gave in.

  I lost.

  My body betrayed me.

  Big, hard hands, hands that tortured my nipples into aching points of need, brush over my hip. One arm curls under me, strong fingers locking on my breast, while the other strokes my thigh gently as I battle to get my sobbing under control.

  “Shh,” he whispers against my ear. Repeating the same mantra from earlier, he gives me absolution. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  There are many things I can take, but not his gentleness. I need to hate him. Prying his fingers open, I roll to the edge of the bed and jump to my feet.

  “Get away from me.” I jerk my nightgown down my body.

  His eyes harden, but he doesn’t reach for me. With his dark expression on top of the scars, he looks scarier than any man I’ve seen.

  Lifting up on one elbow, he says, “You should’ve told me it was your first time.”

  Why can’t I feel indifferent? Indifference won’t hurt or cut so deep. The ache and betrayal won’t let me go. Using that pain, I mold it into a shield of hatred.

  Loathing infuses my tone. “What difference would it have made?”

  There’s a warning in his voice. “Valentina, I took nothing you didn’t promise to give.”

  “Exactly,” I snap. “I promised to give, not to take.”

  His lips lift in one corner, giving him the same amused expression from this morning when he threatened Charlie’s life. “Give and take, now that’s a debatable subject. The way I look at it, this was all give on your part. I did all the taking.”

  I’m fuming. I expected him to use me, but to do it like Tiny. Instead, he somehow managed to make me a partner in whatever he executed.

  “Are you angry that I made you come or that you enjoyed it?” he asks, hitting the hammer on the nail.

  Shivering with fury, mostly at myself, I wrap my arms around my body. “Is there something else you want? Any other service you require?”

  He smirks. “All in good time.” A wince replaces his cocky smile as he gets to his feet. “I’ll have my breakfast at five. Grapefruit, orange juice, coffee, and omelette with chili. Make sure it’s ready.”

  Adjusting his pants over a hard-on impossible to miss, he limps from the room. I wait a good five minutes after the clack of his heels on the kitchen tiles has disappeared before I shut the door, leaning against it with wobbly legs. My shoulders shake with more unwelcome sobs, but I can’t stop them. It takes me a few minutes to find my control. I want to have another shower to wash away the remnants of Gabriel’s touch, but a glimpse at my phone tells me it’s past midnight. I have to wake in four hours, so I slip into bed and give myself over to the escape of a shallow and fitful sleep.

  * * *

  It’s torture when my alarm goes off at four. Oscar is stretched out on the foot of the bed, purring like an engine. He must’ve jumped through the window during the night. I can only spare him a quick cuddle, or I’ll be late. I put last night out of my mind, making a conscious decision to not dwell on the shameful memory. Torturing myself with the details won’t change anything.

  I’ll only make it harder on myself.

  After a shower, I dress in the morbid, black dress and tie my hair into a ponytail. Knowing I’ll be on my feet all day, I slip on my trainers. Half an hour later, I’m in the kitchen, chopping chili for Gabriel’s omelette while the coffee percolates. Cooking comes easy for me. I’ve fed Charlie and myself since I was fourteen. I miss my brother so much. We’ve never been apart. It feels as if my anchor has been dislodged, and I’m floating aimlessly in a dark and treacherous sea.

  My back is turned to the door, but I know the minute Gabriel walks into the kitchen. I first feel and then smell him. Heat creeps up my spine, making me break out in a cold sweat. The air becomes thick like smoke hard to breathe. My body registers his scent from where I’ve categorized it in my brain, connecting the dots to the sensual experience from last night, an experience I’d rather forget, but I can’t help the powerful association. The clean, spicy fragrance of his skin triggers an unwanted reaction in my belly, contracting my womb with a fluttering echo of my first orgasm. My cheeks flame at the thought. I hope he’ll think it’s from the hot stove plate.

  “Good morning, Valentina.”

  That voice again. Now that I’m less frightened, it leaves a complex mixture of sensory impressions on me––dark, smooth, bittersweet, and deep. Like burnt sugar. I glance over my shoulder. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and red tie. His hair is damp and his beard trimmed.

  I fold his omelette, doing my best not to let my nerves show. “Good morning.”

  He comes to stand next to me, so close that our hips almost touch, and reaches for two mugs in the cupboard above. As he pours the coffee with a steady hand, mine holding the spatula starts shaking.

  “Sleep well?” He pushes one of the mugs toward me, angling the scarred side of his face away.

  Of course not. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Later.”

  “We can share the omelette.”

  “I can’t eat this early.”

  I’d rather die of hunger than share his omelette. It’s an illogical thought, since he gives me the allowance that pays for my food, but I have to hold on to whatever pride I can salvage.

  “The doctor emailed your blood test results. You’re clean.”

  Our eyes lock when I involuntarily jerk my head in his direction. We both know what this means. As soon as the birth control takes, he’ll fuck me. Unless he uses a condom to do it sooner. Before he can say anything else, I serve his omelette on the plate I heated in the warmer drawer and carry it to the dining room. Then I disappear to start my duties for the day, trying not to think about what he said in the kitchen or that I’d become a maid with benefits. A whore.

  * * *

  I quickly get a handle on the house routine. Carly gets up at six and leaves the house at seven without breakfast. Marie comes in at eight, places the grocery orders for the day, and starts preparing lunch. I give her my habitual shopping list. My staple diet consists of instant noodles and apples. Apples are cheap, filling, and nutritious. The noodles give me a boost of energy when my blood sugar levels drop too low. I need the bulk of the money I save for C
harlie and my studies.

  As I make the bed in Gabriel’s room, I try not to gawk at his private space, but my curiosity outweighs my manners. Like him, the room is overly masculine. Heavy, silver-gray curtains drape the windows, and his furniture is bulky, modern, and square. The bed is bigger and longer than a king size. The monogramed initials on the sheets indicate they’re custom made. The fabric is soft between my fingers. A glance at the label tells me it’s a high-thread Egyptian cotton. There are many black and white photos of landscapes and buildings on the wall.

  The pictures are of foreign places and cities, maybe places he’s visited.

  A walk-in closet connects his bedroom to his private bathroom. The closet is bigger than my room with suits organized by color and shelves for shoes and ties. Gabriel is painstakingly neat. There are no dirty clothes or towels on the floor. Whatever toiletries he uses are stored in the cupboards. Nothing stands on the shelves, not even a toothbrush. His bathroom tiles are black and white with a gray border running above the twin basins. The taps and fittings are brass, and it’s a bitch to polish them to a shine. I scrub until my nails are chipped, but that’s the easy part. The not-so-easy part is trying not to feel the shame of my reaction to him as, even in his physical absence, his lingering presence taunts and torments me, forcing me to remember.

  Oscar follows me around, keeping me company. By the time the morning deliveries arrive, I’m shaky with hunger. After wolfing down a bowl of noodles and an apple for breakfast, I feel better. Walking into my room for a quick bathroom break, my gaze falls on a box on the edge of the basin. I pick it up to read the label. Birth control pills. My face is ablaze with heat, even as my stomach turns to ice. I’ve never used birth control. Never needed it. With a shaky hand, I take out the leaflet and read the instructions. It feels like I’m crossing the last line by accepting the pills, but falling pregnant will be a disaster, and as crazy as it sounds to appreciate any gesture from my captor, I’m thankful to Gabriel for his consideration in this regard.