BDSM Romance Collection Page 11

  I tugged my clit back and rubbed. My fingers were once more slick with my juices, and I gasped loudly as I drew his face in my mind. Hair so black it seemed to shine blue. Eyes the color of sapphires. Chiseled cheekbones and a square chin. He watched me with intense lust as his fingers skimmed up my labia.

  I rubbed my clit harder, letting myself get lost in the daydream as my hips began to rock in a rhythm that matched my climbing ecstasy. My fingers slipped inside of me and I clamped down hard around the penetration. I cooed and bit my lip as the sensations amped up to mind blowing.

  I’d read enough articles on sex and women’s health to know where the g-spot was located. I curled my fingers and found it quickly, stroking it in time with my clit. My pelvis tightened and my hips rocked faster. Soon I fucked myself in wild abandon as my entire focus zoned in on the need to come.

  The orgasm exploded through my body and mind, leaving my trembling and gasping. Juices trickled from inside me and pooled on the chair cushion. I caught my breath and opened my eyes just as another chat ping went off.

  PrinceCharming: So how was it?

  I typed: Fantastic!

  ***

  More cybersex meetings ensued, until he popped the question. No, not THAT question! The “do you want to meet” question.

  My heart froze in my chest. I did want to meet him, don’t get me wrong, but the truth was we still had no idea what each other looked like. Sure, we’d exchanged life details, some stories, but I didn’t even know his real name yet and he didn’t know mine.

  He suggested a restaurant, a local pub, somewhere open and public. This eased my apprehension somewhat. So I decided to suggest a meeting place: my mom’s bakery/cafe. But I didn’t tell him my mom owned it.

  We agreed on this and told each other what we’d be wearing, so it would be easy to spot each other. Everything was set. My first date in over a year! Since that jerk Doug dumped me for some big boobed barista.

  But the date came and went and I didn’t leave the house. Instead, I sat watching reruns of Battleship Saturn while eating a tub of double fudge ice cream. I hated myself through every episode and for bingeing.

  I went to visit Mom two days later, my head hung low and my morale dragging. My real mom only re-entered my life about three years ago, when I turned 21. She’s a true bohemian, let me tell you. Picture a forty-five-year-old Beyonce Knowles wearing bell bottoms and you’ve got my mom.

  She was worried I’d reject her when she returned, but we spent a lot of long nights talking. Eventually, I came to understand her reasons, and I love her for who she is. The woman bakes the best black forest cake in town, and she gives the best advice. She insists I call her Sadie, because Mom makes her feel old.

  “So, what did he look like?” I asked, after sulking my way up to the spotless display case.

  Sadie gave me a sympathetic frown over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. “He was gorgeous. Why didn’t you show up?”

  I kicked the side of my running shoe. “Because I’m a chickenshit.”

  Sadie laughed at this. “Hey, I made some mini black forest cakes. Go get yourself one.”

  Smiling, I headed behind the display case without hesitation.

  Business was slow that day, so Sadie led me out front and we sat at one of the little round tables topped with a red checked cloth. While I ate my mini-cake, we talked. I told her about Ruth, my step mom, and my step sister’s being paranoid about Prince Charming

  “Those women mess with your head,” she said, trying to sooth my worries. “Don’t let Ruth and the girls get to you. They mean well, I know, but they need to stop believing everything they watch on Pox News. And I’m sure your guy will understand.”

  I smiled at her efforts. “I hope so, but I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.”

  She shook her head at me, but her face was still full of compassion. “Don’t sweat over it too much, hon. You’re being too hard on yourself. He knows about your anxiety. You said he’s shy. He’ll understand.”

  ***

  The next day, I had a email from Prince Charming waiting for me at Funtime Games. My heart beat faster when I saw it, and my mouth went dry. I felt a fool for such a reaction. Really, I hadn’t even met the guy yet!

  He was worried about me. The email asked if everything was okay, and his concern touched my heart. But another part of me wondered if he did this to lure me into a false sense of trust … then into his basement, where he kept his other victims.

  I slapped my forehead and cursed myself. I was letting my step mother and step sisters get to me way too much.

  My fingers flew over the keyboard as I wrote him back. We arranged another meeting at mom’s cafe. Three days before Valentine’s Day. My head and heart thrummed with excitement. I even went out and bought a cute new red dress to wear. Something silky that showed cleavage and hugged curves. I felt confident and ready.

  But I ditched PrinceCharming again.

  And here it was, one day later. At least I hadn’t binged yet. Sadie had called, concerned that I’d once more missed my date and left the poor guy waiting in her café. She tried to make me feel better, but there was no lifting my mood this time.

  I was a complete idiot.

  My email alert played its tinny tune and I jumped, letting out a little yelp as the sound yanked me from my brooding. I slipped across the carpet in my socks and scooped my laptop off the small, white desk.

  The subject header read: Rosewood Studios - YOU’VE WON!

  Rosewood Studios was the network that aired my favorite show: Two Torn. It was a romantic dramedy about a woman who bounced between two brothers, but couldn’t decide which one she truly loved. Chaos and hijinks ensued each week in their on-again off-again relationships.

  So what exactly had I won from Rosewood? I didn’t remember entering anything.

  I double clicked it open and scanned the message. My heart did a backward somersault.

  “Holy shit.” I clamped a hand over my mouth and heard my step mom admonish me for swearing.

  I’d won a date with Foster Wells, the star of Two Torn! The email informed me a limo would come pick me up at a specified address on Valentine’s Day at noon. I would receive a tour of the Two Torn set, also, with Foster as my guide. All I had to do was click on the Prize Claim link in the email and I’d surf to a page where I could enter my claim code, specify an address, and that was about it.

  “This has to be spam.” I didn’t believe it for a second, yet my fingers trembled as I accessed the url and entered my information. “A hoax. Probably cooked up by my step sisters.”

  After I entered my claim code, the website flashed a CONGRATULATIONS banner, then a picture of the devastatingly sexy Foster Wells clad only in a speedo and his tanned, taut glory.

  Nope, I didn’t believe this was real at all. But just in case, I decided to splurge on a new hairdo and a cute pair of polka dot pumps. Valentine’s Day was only a day off now, and I chewed my nails away in anticipation.

  ***

  The clock read 11:45 when I checked myself in the hallway mirror a final time. Valentine’s Day had arrived. My hair and skin shone with a hint of glitter. I’d done my eyes up smoky and sultry. Applied a red velvet lipstick. The red dress suited me perfectly, molding to my generous curves and breasts. The polka dot pumps fit great and finished off the outfit with a dash of cuteness.

  The buzzer next to my apartment door went off and I jumped, nearly spraining my ankle as one heel buckled. A table in the hall saved me from falling down.

  I pushed the button on the intercom and spoke. “Hello?”

  A rich baritone wafted through the speaker. “I’m here to escort a Ms. Cynthia Ellerton to Rosewood Studios.”

  I cleared my throat, tried to keep the nervous squeak out of my voice. “I’ll be right down.”

  ***

  The burly, bald limo driver held the door open while a beautiful businesswoman rushed toward the car. She wore a slate grey Gucci suit and her hair was piled in a loo
se topknot that burst with red curls. She flashed a brilliant smile as she held out a hand for me to shake.

  “Ms. Ellerton, congratulations,” she said, guiding me toward the glass doors of Rosewood Studios. “I’m Mr. Wells’ assistant, Gertrude Plum.”

  I was led through a large foyer inside the oddly shaped building of glass and steel. Gertrude guided me to a metallic elevator and we were whisked up to the set of Two Torn.

  In a lavish dressing room, complete with long mirror lined by globe lights, I met Foster Wells.

  My breath caught in my throat as a handsome smile curled his lips. He was six-foot-two, in great shape, and had the face of a carved Greek god. His short chestnut hair gleamed in gelled waves. When the light caught it, it looked like a rich coat of sable.

  His green eyes flashed with good humor. “Is this our little contest winner?”

  Gertrude nodded and returned the smile. “It certainly is. I’ll leave you two alone to take the tour, but text me if you need anything.” She tapped a Blackberry clipped to her skirt then left.

  The door clicked shut and Foster’s face changed. It screwed up in a frown of annoyance.

  “Let’s get this over quickly.” He walked past me without so much as a glance and left the room.

  I picked my jaw off the floor and followed after him. Okay, I was sure he got tired of being hounded by starry eyed fans, but what exactly had I done to offend him? Show up for my prize?

  I caught up to him near the end of the hallway. He didn’t even acknowledge me. I felt like a ghost in his presence.

  He still kept mute in the elevator. My attempts at conversation were met with frowns and terse words. Then he suddenly leaned in close, pinned me to one side of the elevator, and smiled a cruel smile.

  “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Tell all the papers what a prick I am. I’ll deny everything, or just say you’re a jilted actor groupie.”

  Nothing more was said until we arrived on the set. It was partially lit, but quiet. They weren’t shooting today, he told me, but had rehearsed a few scenes earlier.

  With another fake smile, he led me toward a chair he kept on the set for in between his scenes.

  “Wanna sit in it?” His chest puffed out and he looked the epitome of arrogance. “You can say you sat in the chair of a star.”

  I gave him a small smile, feeling drained by his pompous attitude. I thought about my jilted Prince Charming and fresh guilt sucker punched me. How I wished he were there with me instead of Foster Wells.

  “How does it feel?” he asked after I got comfy in his chair.

  I blinked. “What do you mean?” It felt like a crappy canvas chair, to be honest.

  His fake smile widened. “To sit in the seat of a big celebrity.”

  “It feels like one of my IKEA chairs.” I wrinkled my nose at him. I couldn’t help it. The thick arrogance and surly mood was getting nauseating.

  His face grew ugly and red with anger. He spoke not another word as he stalked away, leaving me all alone on a deserted set.

  I huffed air and tried to hold back tears. I would not be a wimp! I would find the exit and walk out of there with my dignity.

  At least, that was my plan, until I heard footsteps behind me.

  I whirled around to find the co-star of Two Torn approaching me, Chris Grayson. The most handsome man in the world, if you asked me. I’d always preferred him to Foster.

  “Did Foster abandon you?” His deep voice was soft, soothing. “I’m sorry. He can be such a prick.”

  He held out a large hand with slender fingers, and I shook it. A jolt of electricity seemed to shoot up my arm and I tried not to gasp.

  Instead I gave a nervous laugh. “He definitely didn’t seem happy to see me.”

  Chris held out his arm for me to take. Before I did, I took him in. Hair so black it almost shone blue. Eyes like sapphires. Chiseled cheekbones and a square chin. He was dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit with a silky pearl shirt. My eyes feasted on his handsomeness. I admit it.

  “Let me finish where he left off.” He smiled, a genuine smile that made his eyes sparkle, and led me off the set.

  We chatted and laughed throughout the remainder of the tour. Chris was the exact opposite of the brooding, bad boy character he played on Two Torn. He was charming, affable, even flirtatious. He offered me refreshments, so we headed back to his dressing room. My head thrummed from the thrilling change in events.

  In his dressing room—not as lavish and overdone as Foster’s, but tastefully designed with modern motifs—we sat in comfy crème loungers. He poured champagne into two flute glasses and opened a box of expensive chocolates for us. After handing a glass to me, he placed the red velvet-looking box between us atop a glass coffee table.

  While eating a chocolate in the most sensuous way possible, he watched me. I almost choked on my champagne. I did sneeze when the bubbles went up my nose.

  “I have a confession to make, Cindy.” He put his glass down and leaned closer. “I set this whole thing up.”

  He popped a cherry chocolate in my mouth and I almost choked. After I chewed and swallowed, I spoke. “What do you mean?”

  “Cindy Eller, I am your Prince Charming.”

  My mouth fell open. I licked cherry juice from my lips. “Y-you’re Prince Charming?”

  He wore a Cheshire grin now. “Please forgive me. I know I tricked you. I rigged the contest so you would win, so we could meet.”

  “But…but the contest was to meet Foster Wells.”

  He winked. “So you thought.”

  He explained how he set up the whole meeting thanks to rigging the contest and talking with Sadie. My mom and Chris got in a conversation about me last time I left him waiting at her café. Guess Sadie acted as my fairy godmother, and I had to smile at the thought. She may not have been around when I was a kid, but now that she was a part of my life she was always looking out for me.

  “So, what now?” I twirled the stem of my champagne glass.

  The Cheshire grin returned. He slithered from the chair and dropped to his knees in front of me. His eyes made my face heat unbearably when he looked up.

  “I thought we could act out one of our online games.” He traced figure 8’s across my knee then moved higher, letting his fingers slip down my inner thigh.

  I tried to steady my breath. My pussy began to tingle with maddening need. “I-I’d love to.” I croaked. “But I didn’t bring protection.”

  He dipped his head and kissed the tops of both my knees before he lifted me from the chair. “Oh, don’t worry, I have everything covered.”

  Chris Grayson, one of the most sought after men in North America, was my Prince Charming? And now he planned on ravishing me in his dressing room. I almost asked him to pinch me, because I had to be dreaming.

  He set me down in front of the long, white makeup counter that lined a well lit mirror. He whispered the proposed scenario in my ear, and I nodded my consent.

  “Turn around,” he commanded in a low, husky voice and I obeyed.

  I presented my wrists to him, as he requested. He was soft yet rough, seductive yet powerful, as he bound them with his necktie.

  “Now, I’m going to undress you.” He paused long enough to feather kisses down my neck. “Slowly, while you watch.”

  I shivered, and my gaze glued to the mirror, wreathed in a rectangular halo of soft globe lights. My whole body would soon be on display, and I would observe everything he did to me. My pussy clenched and grew wetter at these thoughts.

  He stripped me, but left my polka dot pumps on. My caramel skin shone as he bent me over the makeup counter. My eyes were wide and my pupils were huge.

  First he stroked the tense muscles in my back until I relaxed completely. Then his lips and tongue skimmed down my spine. I groaned as warm bliss flooded me and my horniness grew.

  Teeth sank into my firm, round ass and I let out a shrill squeal. I watched as his head moved to the other cheek and repeated the process. My skin vibrated with
sensation and my legs trembled slightly.

  He spread my legs wider and disappeared as he went to his knees once again. I cried out when a hot, wet tongue flit over my clitoris. He licked my outer labia, tugged them with his teeth, then lapped up my juices from my now soaked opening. I moaned uncontrollably as he did so.

  His tongue returned to my clit and rapidly flicked this swollen bead, making me come. I shivered and shook atop the makeup counter. I couldn’t believe my wanton release as I watched myself.

  Juices dripped down my thighs. He stood once more and stroked my back as our gazes met in the mirror.

  His hand slipped to my ass, which jutted high in the air. “You were a very bad girl for standing me up twice, weren’t you, Cindy?”

  I knew where this was going. My heart beat harder in anticipation. “Yes, yes I was. I’m sorry.”

  He fondled the cheek now, continued to pin me with that sexy stare. I ached for another orgasm, for his cock to fill my pussy. I was greedy for pleasure, and felt totally uninhibited today.

  “I think you need to be disciplined,” he leaned down and whispered this into my ear, pressing his sculpted body into mine. “Naughty girls need a spanking and a good fucking, don’t they?”

  I swallowed hard. I moaned my reply, “Yes.”

  One hand slipped between my legs to fondle, tease, my sex. The other lifted high in the air then whizzed down quickly. It met my ass with a sharp, loud crack. I gasped and jerked against the makeup counter. My cunt walls throbbed wildly. My stomach tightened and my every cell seemed to vibrate from pleasure / pain stimuli.

  He massaged the stinging cheek, soothed it until the smarting ceased, then he drew his hand up once more and…

  Whack!

  I squealed and squirmed. When he massaged my ass and back this time, I couldn’t help myself. “Please, fuck me,” I begged.

  He gave a deep, throaty chuckle at this. “Not so shy now, are you, sweetie?” His fingers moved to my sex where he played until I shuddered and came a second time. “Tell me, how many men have you fucked?”