Read Online Books/Novels:
Leashing the Virgin: A Bad Boy Romance
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Love? I don’t know the meaning of the word.
I’ve built an empire of destruction. One so enormous, no one can touch me.
I take what I want, and I can buy all the rest.
She’s a risk I shouldn’t take, but too f*cking tempting to deny.
Naked, sweet and perfect on the auction block, she’s the only virgin Club La Laisse has ever offered. Now she’s mine… to do with as I please.
One touch and I couldn’t stop. One taste and I nearly lost control. One unguarded moment and now she has the power to ruin me.
She’s discovered my deepest secret. But I’m going to discover all of hers. I don’t care how deep I have to go…
But how can I live with myself?
When she’s suddenly become everything… I can’t live without.
|Books by Author:|
Grace, aka Eden
This is my choice. Standing here tonight, naked under my silk robe, in front of more than a dozen of the world’s wealthiest men. The lights on the stage are hot, but I’m still shaking like I’m freezing cold. But I’m no fucking victim, that’s for sure. I know how to make the hard decisions. I’ve been making them since I was six years old. Now I’m twenty-two. A virgin who put herself up for auction. Tell me that doesn’t take some balls.
Not exactly innocent… I have friends who’ve done everything and talk about it plenty. When we were younger, they teased me till I cried. But I stopped crying altogether the year I turned thirteen. And I stayed a virgin. That’s why I’m here tonight.
I should have my head examined…
But I did my research. This club is exclusive even among the exclusive. It’s all about dominance… and submission. That’s why the money is so good. But that’s also where it stops. There’s no sadism or anything like that. Nobody gets hurt here. Not clients, not the girls. And from what I’ve heard, it’s not even always the girl who’s the submissive one. Some men will pay plenty, to wear the collar themselves.
I’m not at all sure which kind of man I’d be better off ending up with tonight.
I remember every single moment that led me here. To La Laisse… The Leash. I’m embarrassed a good girl like me even knows about a place like this… but a poor kid from Jersey can learn about a lot of things that she shouldn’t.
I’m waiting my turn on the auction block. Six have already been sold. Only one girl is left ahead of me. I’m the one they’re saving for last. All of tonight’s girls are naked like me, dressed only in jewelry. They’re the most exquisite pieces I’ve ever seen, loaned to us for the evening. And at La Laisse, I’m pretty sure these diamonds are the real thing.
“Gentlemen, may I present Dalia,” the madam says, although I’ve been told not to use that word. She’s Mrs. Sparr to new girls like me. To the ones who’ve been here the longest, she’s Mom. I don’t intend to be here long enough to call her that, and I’ve already got one mom too many. She’s the fucking reason I’m here.
“Dalia is one of our premiere girls,” Mrs. S continues. She’s dressed like a queen and plays the part to perfection. We live in her realm now and she rules us all. She’s even renamed us. Dalia’s real name is just plain Peg.
“Dalia knows a man’s darkest desires,” Mrs. S says dramatically, as the black-haired girl kneels and flashes her eyes, offering her leash to a frighteningly large man with black eyes seated in the front row. He wears a suit that must have cost more than Evelyn and I made all last year cashiering at Tony’s Market. This guy’s like all the men here. Millionaires, billionaires. Men from all over the world, who come here for just one thing.
“There’s little she hasn’t done. And there’s nothing she won’t do. Dalia’s hungry for a master who can teach her something new… something exciting… something exotic. Dalia’s a girl who always eager for that something more…”
The room is expansive, the ceilings high. Far too large for our intimate gathering. The stage and seating areas are draped in deep red velvet, the lighting is the color of champagne. La Laisse takes up the entire top six floors of an Art Deco era, Upper East Side townhouse. I can only see the faces of a few men in the front row. The rest seem to be absorbed in the darkness beyond.
“Down!” Mrs. S orders, and Dalia drops her chest to the floor. Her hips stay up, her knees apart. Dalia’s enormous breasts drop onto the marble tile and, in spite of myself, I look. Her nipples are dark and rock hard, pushed out by the jeweled clamps that circle them. I feel inadequate in comparison and push the feeling aside. The man takes Dalia’s leash with a smile and gives it a jerk. “Turn her,” he says, his voice soft. It’s the very softness of it that sends a chill through me.
Mrs. S calls the order and Dalia pivots her body. She’s incredibly graceful, even though her arms are tightly bound behind her. We each wear a pair of gold slave bracelets. They’re around the upper arms, just above the elbow and have small rings attached that can be used for leashes or chains. Hers, like mine, are used to bind our arms behind us. It thrusts our breasts forward, making them higher, rounder… more vulnerable…
Dalia’s turned around now, so that her sex is on display. The man stands up and takes a few steps forward. Because the stage is raised, Dalia’s pussy is almost level with the man’s cold features. He looks at her with a detachment that makes my blood run like ice water. I feel dizzy and the bright stage lights are making my vision spotty. I pull a deep breath.