Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“This way.” My heart pounds against my ribs as I place a hand on her shoulder and guide her down the hall.
She’s so small beneath my grip. I have complete control and power over her.
When we reach the closet door, I stop and stare down at her. She can barely hold my gaze for more than a second before looking away.
Poor girl. She’s still trembling, her tiny knees knocking together as she stands, barely even coming up to the middle of my chest.
Gently, I run my finger across her cheek, feeling the smooth skin…the warmth…
Then I open the closet door. And what Joan sees inside causes her to drop to her knees.
“No—” The quiver in her voice sends a jolt of excitement through my chest.
“You didn’t follow my instructions, Joan,” I state, taking her by the arm.
“Amon, please…”
Poor girl. I almost feel bad as I grab the bundle of rope from where it hangs and wrap it around her wrist. “You didn’t listen to me, Joan. Now it’s time for you to learn your lesson.”
And then, with my hand on her back, I lead her into the closet.
3
JOAN
What in God’s name is happening?
My step-brother has my wrists tied together and is dragging me into a closet, simply because I brought him an orange instead of a grapefruit?
Waves of panic seize my gut, twisting my stomach into knots.
He said he’s going to punish me, but the way he almost smirked when he said it…it’s like he thinks I’m going to enjoy it.
Amon is a big, strong guy, but I never thought he would actually hurt me. I’m not so sure now. What really has me worried, though, is some sort of strange contraption sitting on the floor of the closet.
It’s all black and looks like a saddle with an electrical cable running to the wall. On the floor beside it are two steel eye-bolts.
“Can we just talk about this?” I stammer, but Amon isn’t listening. He just pulls me forward.
I swing my arms hard. Maybe I can elbow myself free from his grasp. But he just wraps one arm around me, and that’s it. I can’t move.
“No!” I scream. “Please, don’t!”
“Stop fighting,” he growls, attaching the rope that holds my wrist to a hook hanging from the ceiling, hanging me like a prisoner.
“So what? You’re going to torture me because I mixed up your fucking fruit?”
I kick out at him with both feet but miss completely, and all it does is causes me to swing like an ornament.
Amon takes a step back and looks at me, his eyes flashing with approval. “That’s quite the mouth you have on you, my little nun. What would your momma say if she heard you curse like that?”
Oh, so now he wants to bring Momma into this?
“She would think you’re crazy!” I scream until my throat hurts. “And once I tell her what you did to me—”
“You won’t tell her anything, Joan,” Amon replies with a chuckle.
“Oh, and you know that how?”
His smile broadens, and he steps in close, so close I can feel the heat from his body and smell the lingering scent of his cigar. I really hate to admit it, especially right now, but he’s beautiful. Like male-model gorgeous.
His eyes are fierce and steady, and his thick brown hair shines. What he’s doing to me is wrong, but my body is reacting on its own, and I can’t control it.
Suddenly, he grabs the neck of my shirt and pulls, ruthlessly tearing it down the middle, exposing my breasts.
I gasp, fighting the flush that hits me as he drinks me in with his gaze, licking his lower lip like a predator staring down its next meal.
“Just like I thought,” he muses triumphantly. He reaches out and cups my left breast with his rough hand, sending a shock through my body. “You tried to hide them, but I knew better…perfect…”
Tiny beads of sweat form on my lower back. Pins and needles poke my toes. My face heats with shame as I try desperately to squirm around and get my shirt to cover me up.
But it doesn’t work.
I’m exposed before him, overwhelmed with embarrassment. But at the same time, a funny feeling is starting to grow between my legs. Something I’ve never felt before.
He reaches down and grabs something—a strap—and fastens it around my right ankle. Then he attaches it to one of the eye bolts on the floor. I struggle, but it’s no use. He moves to my other ankle and does the same.
Now I definitely can’t move.
My wrists are tied above my head, my ankles are strapped to the floor, and my shirt is torn and hanging open.
Out of nowhere, he has something in his hand. A piece of pale textured rubber. He kneels and fastens it to the device.
Am I supposed to sit on that?