(An Obsessed Novella)
By Jeanne St. James
Genre: Erotic Contemporary Romance
Available at all major retailers for only 99¢
Universal Link: www.books2read.com/loving-her
It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession...
I’ve loved Bree my whole life. We were each other’s firsts when we were young and inexperienced, and I totally screwed up. I disappointed her, causing her to cry and run away. But over the years, I’ve learned, I’ve perfected, and I’ve dreamt of one day getting another shot with the love of my life.
When I finally get the chance never in my wildest dreams did I think Bree was like this. The girl who used to wear yellow sundresses is no longer Bree, she’s Brianna, my new mistress. I’ll do whatever needed for her forgiveness, even go to my knees and grovel.
However, there’s just one thing... I want Bree back, not Brianna. Once I get Bree, Brianna can do to me what she will.
Maybe Noah doesn’t realize it, but he’s been mine ever since we were teens. I tried to apologize for disappointing him our first time, but never got the chance.
Now, when he approaches me at the bar, I can only think about all the things I want to do to him and with him. I plan to show him the skills I’ve honed over the years.
Little does he know what’s in store for him because I know his secrets, his desires, his needs. And I plan on giving it all to him.
However, just when I think I’m in control, he turns my world upside down.
Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.
I’ve loved her my whole life. At least since I can remember, which is all the way back to when she was in kindergarten and I was in first grade. I’d chase her through the backyard and around the jungle gym, trying to catch and kiss her.
If I’d succeed, she’d curl her little fingers into a fist, sock me in the gut, then run and tell her mother.
Yep, I had no game.
And, apparently, I didn’t leave an impression. Because now, at thirty, she’s still avoiding me.
Even though she can’t go very far at the moment since I’m her brother’s Best Man, and she’s the Maid of Honor.
Let me tell you, I hate weddings.
I hate them even more when I’m forced to stand across from her and can’t touch her, drag my fingers through her long, dark hair and run my lips along her delicate neck.
The only time I can touch her is when I escort her up the aisle. I’ve done it twice so far. However, she won’t meet my eyes, she feels stiff on my arm and she’s hardly said two words to me. And now I stand here while the wedding planner drones on and on about what’s expected of us during the ceremony tomorrow.
Look, Ms. Wedding Planner, it’s easy. Put one foot in front of the other, walk (without tripping) up the center aisle (can’t get lost while staying in between the rows of pews and aim for the front of the church), then stand to the side (no picking noses, asses, or adjusting your junk).
Oh, and don’t pass out. Otherwise, the video will go viral across cyberspace.
One more thing… the rings. Can’t forget to put the rings in my tux pocket.
It isn’t as if I’m not happy for my buddy, getting married to a great woman (although, not quite as stunning as his sister) who makes him happy, but I’m not thrilled with being a part of it. But I have his back. And I’d love to have his sister on her back.
Again. But in better circumstances.
We lost our virginity together at seventeen in her parents’ pool shed. I was in love with her then, too. Her with me? Not so much.
And in those forty-five seconds of bliss, I fell in love with her even more. I don’t think she thought it was even close to bliss, though. In fact, she had run out of the shed crying while pulling down her sweet yellow sundress.
I was devastated, and that was a major blow to my seventeen-year-old ego.
I’ll admit it, I had a lot to learn.
However, I had to learn it elsewhere since she was no longer game. In fact, she avoided me (just like at this rehearsal).
But I did learn. I was determined to improve, to not make her cry next time. But, unfortunately, there never was a next time.
Eventually, Mrs. Callahan down the street was kind enough to take me under her wing. Teach me the ins and outs of women. Of pleasure. Of discovering what I wanted and what I wanted to give in return.
She made me call her that, too. And I did (when I wasn’t calling her Mistress).
I dreamt of one day getting another shot with the love of my life.
Now here we stand, across from each other. My eyes on her. Her eyes on everything but me.
I want her.
I need her.
Even after all these years.
As I stand across from her, I’m mesmerized by her unforgettable, stunning beauty.
I love her.
But I can’t have her.
And that fucking blows.
As I slip the wide blindfold over his eyes, I’m almost wondering whether I should forego it. Shame, really, to cover such beautiful, expressive eyes. Maybe later I will leave it off. But for now...
“Can you see me, my pet?”
He releases a long breath. “No.”
“Do you want to see me?”
“Yes,” he hisses, which makes me smile. Now, to begin...
I check the Wartenberg pinwheel in my hand. One of my favorites. Unlike pinwheels from when we were children that spin in the breeze, this pinwheel is oh so adult. It reminds me of a cowboy’s spur. The handle is made of metal, with twenty sharp needle-like points radiating from its wheel. It could be used twofold... to bring pleasure or to bring pain, depending on the pressure, depending on its use.
But for now, I want my pet to be hard, ready for me for when I’m ready for him. I want him to be driven to please me after I please him.
Give and take. I will give and I will take. He will come along for the ride.
“One Mississippi,” I murmur as I roll the wheel along his skin from his pelvis up his belly to his chest. He sucks in his stomach and blows out a breath, his cock twitching, leaking between us.
“Two Mississippi.” I lightly direct it over his right nipple.
“Ah fuck,” he mutters, his jaw tight.
“Three Mississippi.” I roll it to his left nipple, over the very hard tip and he jerks in his restraints.
“Bree,” he breathes.
I love my name on his lips when he’s engulfed in pleasure, it makes my pussy clench. I want to take him there and squeeze him tight, feel him fill me up and make me orgasm mindlessly.
But it’s too soon. We’ve only just begun.
I roll the pinwheel along the tender underside of his arms which are exposed as they stretch before me. I roll it down his chest again, over his stomach, pushing harder this time, leaving marks behind.
“Yes?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he groans.
Not that I’d change my course of action if he’d said no. He knows what he needs to say to stop me.
I continue my path along his waist, over his hips, down his thighs, his muscles tightening, clenching, twitching. Then behind his knees, down his calves, around his ankles. If I didn’t have him bound, I’d do the bottom of his feet and drive him mad.
I’m disappointed I can’t. Maybe next time.
Now on my knees in front of him, I roll it along his inner thighs, coming to the apex of his legs. I study him, the pinwheel gripped tightly in my hand. He’s stunning. His cock is no more than average length, but the girth is remarkable and his balls hang heavy just waiting for my touch.
I don’t know if I should give him that just yet, because I find myself fighting my own urges. And if I give in to them, I’m no longer in control.
No matter what, I don’t want to disappoint Noah again. Not now, not ever.
I rake my nails over his length, then over the tip and a noise escapes him that turns my nipples into even harder points. Lightly, I roll the pinwheel down his length, just missing the delicate skin of his sac.
“Ah, fuck,” he cries out, his chin dropping to his chest.
“You like that, my pet?” I ask him out of courtesy but nothing more.
He says something that sounds like a yes, but isn’t a fully formed word. I smile.
Tonight, neither one of us will be disappointed, unlike all those years ago. I will make sure he leaves here fully satisfied. I will make sure he leaves me in the same way, as well.
I run the sharp wheel over the crown of his cock and circle the head. “You like my instrument of torture?”
No, clearly it is not.
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a bestselling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine.
Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
To keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at www.jeannestjames.com or sign up for her newsletter: http://www.jeannestjames.com/newslettersignup
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