Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance by Savannah Rose (e book reader pc TXT) 📕

him to turn around and start bitching and whining that the water wasn't his preferred seventy one point five degrees, that it wasn't chlorinated, and its PH levels weren't at recommended levels.

He jumped. Covered his gonads, and jumped right in, surfaced half a second later, gasping for air, his flesh covered in gooseflesh. His nipples had shrunk to the size of tiny peas, and I could only imagine how shriveled his meaning of life was.

“How's the water?” I asked as I sat on a flat rock, and put my feet in.

It was cold as hell, but not arctic.

“Fine,” he said through chattering teeth. “Why don't you join me?”

“Because I'm not as stupid as you think I am, jackass.” I rested my elbows on my lap, keeping the muzzle of the flare gun pointed at his torso. “Wash up, dick head. You're a fucking mess.”

He did as instructed, splashing water on his face, rubbing his head, beneath his arms. Cupped his hands, and scrubbed at the beard that was starting to grow.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, put my hand in the water, and brought some to the back of my neck. My skin was warm with the heat of the sun, and the thought of dunking myself into the pond wasn't just a passing fancy, it was a survival technique. Crisp, cool refreshment would be both invigorating, and cleansing. No bullshit. The falling water was potable, too, being that it rushed in a constant current.

How to pull that off with the big buffoon so close… that was the question.

He was dangerous. One false move on my part, and he'd be right back in charge. But I needed the water, too. More than he did, I reckoned, and as I ran through a list of possibilities that did nothing but end in my ill-fated misfortune, I saw the solution.

An Acacia tree was growing close to the pond – its lower branches just above the water, some draped in moss which floated on the surface. Long, graceful tentacles.

“Hey, Maddy,” I said, and pointed to the Acacia. “Over there.”

He didn't know what I meant. God, he was as dumb as a sack of wet rocks.

“You're gonna truss yourself up for me, honey pants. That is, if you want your intestines to stay on the inside.”

The look on his face remained one of complete puzzlement, but he began wading over to where I wanted him to go. The pond was shallower beneath the branch, just up to his waistline.

“Put 'em up,” I said, indicating that he was to loop the joined cuffs over the closest branch. That would keep him where I wanted him, his hands far above his head and hung like a pelt drying in the sun.

Naturally he missed on the first attempt.

He tried again, and caught himself just right. The cuffs draped down on either side of the limb, much like the moss. The water lapped just below his pelvis, licked at a faint trail of pubic hair. He was prone. Secured. But it could be better.

“Back,” I said.

He tried to look behind him, but his current position made it impossible. When he turned his head, all he saw was his own biceps. He took a step backward, then another. And another. Until I was satisfied.

“That's enough,” I told him. Keeping myself a very safe distance away and keeping the flare gun within very easy reach, I began unbuttoning my blouse.

Chapter Twenty-One

MADDOX

She was doing it again.

Had I not been halfway submerged in what was, in effect, an ice cold jacuzzi, the head of my cock would have broken the surface like a breaching whale.

She'd stripped down to nothing, dipped in a toe, then dove into the pond. She swam, slowly, toward the gentle fall of water. he temperature didn't seem to bother her. Nothing seemed to bother her.

Finding a foothold beneath the cascade, she used the natural fall like a shower. Her hands ran through her long, wet locks.

I gripped the links of the cuffs and watched her. Watched her wash her hair, massage her neck, then lean her head to the side and smile at me. That cat-with-the-canary smile. A Cheshire smile. Not a friendly grin. Not sweet by any stretch of the imagination. It was sprinkled with a sinister, almost fiendish amusement.

She gave me a purposeful, full frontal view as she took hold of her breasts, and began to rub them. Her head arched backward, exposing more of her chest, her nipples huge and hard between her fingers.

She pushed her breast upward, toward her mouth, and with her eyes still trained exclusively on me, stuck out her tongue and flicked it against her perfect, pink flesh.

My grip increased. Despite the frigidity of the water, a surge of warmth began seeping down toward my groin.

No. No, no, no, I thought, and shut my eyes.

A recent ex of mine warned me that one day my cock would get me in a shitload of trouble. (And if I'm honest, she wasn't the only one who'd prophesied that.) It was in charge, not me. I knew it, she knew it. Hell. Everybody knew it. And that was more than fine with me. My life had been spent having everything at my fingertips and at my beck and call. I say ‘jump’, the world asks ‘how high’.

If they could see me now…

Strung up like a piece of meat, with a psychotic Hispanic woman who took great, great pleasure in torturing me, and whose hands were suddenly slithering against my hips.

I startled, my eyes snapping open. She'd glided silently through the water, and positioned herself behind me. I tried to lurch forward, to slide the chain toward the end of the branch and get the mother fuck away from her, but it snagged. Hung up on a notch, or a fucking twig... how the hell was I to know? I couldn't see shit from this angle.

“Where're you going?” she whispered in my