Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

he could dish out. Anything but this freakish scenario straight from a romance novel, offering love at first sight and everything that went with that improbable scenario.

Yeah, in the middle of a BDSM club with your legs spread and your tits thrust out. Get agrip, Dana. Had she deluded herself to make her fantasy a reality?

He’d picked up a small remote from an alcove to the right of the statue. When he pressed it, water started flowing off the branches of the palm tree draping over Aphrodite’s head.

It poured down, filtering under her eye mask so she had to turn her face into Aphrodite’s cheek. The water spread out, taking a dozen different routes along her throat and over her curves. That flood, as well as the fragrant mist rising, soaked through the thin fabric of her sheath, pasting it to her body.

On the bottom of the pool was an artful scroll design, but when he bent in an attractive ripple of muscle, a pull of denim at groin and thigh, she saw through her wet lashes that not all of them were decoration. Some were long, thin hoses. He straightened one, and the pinpoint nozzle on the end warned her ahead of time. Her clit spasmed in remembrance, her already moist pussy beginning to prepare for him anew.

“If you come without my permission, I’ll give you ten more lashes with that switch,” he said. “You keep a Master at arm’s length, suck his dick and let him paddle your cute butt, call you a naughty girl. You think you’re a badass. But on the inside you’re a total pussy, sweetheart.”

Her reaction wasn’t calculated. She snarled and almost dropped the tags, showing her teeth. He showed her his in return, a devastating smile, but there was a heat in his eyes, a hardness to his jaw that told her the intensity wasn’t all one-sided.

“You want way more than that. That’s why those tags are in your mouth. Remember who you belong to.”

The words were a somersault, from outright combat to lovemaking. Helpless here, tied and spread before him, that water licking down her body, she knew the pasted sheath highlighted every crevice and curve, the jut of her nipples. He hadn’t taken anything off her but her shoes, and she’d never felt so naked. He hadn’t taken off the mask because he didn’t need to do so. He was laughing at her attempts to mask who and what she was.

He started at her nipples, playing with them like a cold, forked tongue, making her gasp with need, then washed the water over the high curve, hitting the crease beneath. Her body undulated, breasts quivering for him. Then he dropped and the water jet hit her clit dead on, shuddering through her body like voltage. No, no, no . . . Oh, God. From the first second, she lost. No matter how much she wanted to do so, she couldn’t control her body’s reaction, because he was flicking his fingers through the spray, idle movements changing the friction. She bucked against the hold of the restraints, her ass slapping hard against Aphrodite’s unrelenting knee. She bit down on the metal, felt the raised type of his name and rank, who he was. Her Master.

She wouldn’t whimper, wouldn’t plead. Son of a bitch thought he could get under her skin, into her head. She didn’t want that. She wanted . . . God, she didn’t know what the hell she wanted. She couldn’t think, immersed in sheer, tsunami-powered feeling.

She wanted to lose. It would give him pleasure to switch her ass. That was what he wanted. He was her Master. She wanted to do whatever made him hard, whatever would make him want only her.

But in the end, it didn’t matter what she wanted. He already knew, and he took away all choices. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, so intense it was painful. Though her clit was oversensitized, she wasn’t in a position to move away from the stimulation. She screamed and screamed and screamed, the only thing left in her tumbling mind the need to keep a pit-bull grip on those tags, though more saliva pooled, slipping out around them. Fortunately the water washed it away, while the orgasm took everything else.

As she slowly descended to occasional, spasmodic jerks, she was mumbling around the tags, trying to clear the water from her eyes, her body shaking so hard. She needed his arms, his body, his heat. Please, Master. Master. That was what she was mumbling, though it registered only in a far-distant part of her floating head.

When he came to her, bringing the hard heat of his bare chest against her, tears spilled out without reservation this time. Locking his hands over her laced wrists, he pressed his mouth to her cheek below the mask. Though the water continued to flow over them, over her face, she was sure he knew she was crying.

He pulled back, but she kept her eyes closed, unsure if she could handle whatever he had planned next. She couldn’t hear anything over the rush of water, and her body was vibrating so violently it provided its own low roar in her mind, clouding everything else.

When he returned to her, she moaned against the tags. He was blissfully naked, his knees against her thighs as he leaned into her, taking hold of her wrists again and bringing that fine chest closer to her face, so she could press into it, wishing she could open her mouth, taste water and heat.

His cock pressed between her legs, the head finding her with unerring accuracy. She was so slick and wet, she sucked him in like her mouth, but Jesus, he was a big man all over.

She couldn’t raise her legs, couldn’t control anything as he pushed into her, slow and inexorable, refusing to be denied, no matter the tightness of her entry in this position.

With the water running over her face, her sight and