Not everyone you meet is a tender lover when you push them to the edge.
It takes a woman with a special kind of grit to like living dangerously. Marguerite is such a woman, and after a hard day’s work flaming zombies, she’s ready for a night she’ll never forget…
Red-Handed by Tara Quan
When Marguerite gets caught testing flame-throwers on unsuspecting zombies, she finds herself at the mercy of a sexy federal agent. Dominated, bound, and bared to the skin, this closet submissive faces a night of creative interrogation—one she can’t wait to enjoy.
“Wait.” Her mind grappled for a convincing argument. “My boobs are tiny. I’m a lot hotter with them on.”
He chuckled. “I disagree. But since you asked nicely….” Walking to the table, he traded her knife for a thin, leather-covered stick with a flat tip.
“What the heck is that?”
He tugged her bra down until her nipples popped out over the plunging neckline. “It’s called a crop.” He lightly smacked the tip of her breast. “I bought it off an antiques smuggler.”
The sharp sting sent her twisting to the side, a futile attempt to avoid further injury. He grabbed her nape, twining his fingers through her hair. His grip arched her back, increasing the vulnerability of her exposed breasts. “I thought you weren’t pissed anymore.”
“I’m not. This, we’re doing for fun.”
She yelped as he flicked the crop over her quivering flesh, alternating between the two budding tips. Betrayed by her body, she cried out as he turned her pink nipples raspberry red. Pain-laced pleasure traveled from her chest, the sensual tingle spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes.
She moaned a protest when he stopped. Maintaining his imprisoning hold, he trailed the crop’s end between her thighs. “They used this to control horses back in the day.” With a resonating whack, he forced her legs apart. Switching his grip, he positioned the handle between her labia. As moisture coated the cold leather, he slid it back and forth, each thrust brushing her clit.
He released his hold on her at the same moment her knees buckled, keeping the crop between her legs as she sagged against the cuffs.
Lifting her chin, she glared daggers at him. “Are you planning to control me?” If so, he’d gotten to a pretty good start.
He chortled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
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