His Stolen Bride BN (40 page)

Excerpt

Joshua Lars stroked my lips with his own, as if he’d known them forever. His capable
hands—those of a master sculptor—swept over my shoulders and shoved my red Alexander
McQueen dress past my hips and over my feet, to puddle on the floor. Languid and thorough,
he made me feel as if I were a masterpiece he sought to mold.

As his intoxicating scent swam in my head, he unfastened my bra and tossed it to the
floor. I hadn’t recovered before he raked his tongue up the column of my neck. I began
to tremble in erotic anticipation.

From the time he’d pressed me up against the door of his studio and kissed me senseless
until the breathless moment we’d begun tangling in his sheets, Joshua’s eyes had darkened,
now a piercing shade of jade. His body, all sinewy and taut, hovered over mine. The
muscles of his biceps bunched, and I quivered at the feel of his steely erection hot
and hard against my belly.

Wheat-colored hair fell over his brow. When I reached up to brush the strands away,
he clasped his hands around my wrists and raised them over my head, pinning me to
the mattress. As he did, a sexy smile tugged the corners of his lips. My belly clenched.

His dominant gesture made me catch my breath. The need to submit surged through my
veins. I hadn’t been beneath the command of a Master for years. Still, I could no
longer accept this.

I struggled against his hold and tried to break free of his grip, but he shook his
head. “Easy, Mellie. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was like aged brandy, soothing
my anxiety. “Tell me, little one, are you what I hope you are?”

His actions, his ragged whisper, put a chink in my armor and made the burning pulse
of surrender rise inside me. “What exactly is it that you hope I am?”

“Don’t play shy. You know what I’m talking about. When you stared at the sub statue
earlier, the glow on your face aroused my suspicions. But when you started to cry…well,
it was as if you’d opened a window to your soul. I keep catching glimpses of it, but
it’s elusive, like smoke. There one second, gone the next. It’s almost as if you’re
trying to deny your feelings.”

What. The. Fuck?
Out of all the men I’d been with, not one had ever sensed the sleeping submissive
within. Yet ninety minutes with the renowned Joshua Lars and his dominant radar saw
straight through my painstakingly constructed walls.

His lips brushed mine in a feathery-light kiss. “I want to taste your surrender.”

His words unnerved me. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. “Stop
talking and fuck me.”

To throw him off my submissive scent, I arched my hips and rubbed my pussy against
his cock, aiming to coax him into a down-and-dirty, dazzling,
wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am
night. I could handle straight sex. Diving into BDSM waters—especially with Joshua—would
be like jumping off a cruise ship without a life vest. I didn’t need or want the mind
fuck.

Lifting my head, I tried to force him to kiss me. He reared back with an arch of his
brows. Disapproval lined his face. I’d never have the upper hand with the man, and
it should have scared the hell out of me. Instead, it turned me on even more.

This is going to be tricky.

“Ah ah ah, play nice, pet. I won’t allow you to top me. We’re going to take the path
that’s got you so skittish because it’s the same one that has you wet and ready.”
He bent and nuzzled his lips close to my ear. “I can smell your cunt, little one.
It makes my mouth water.”

I didn’t know what to say. He pinned me with a dissecting stare. His breath fluttered
over my lips. Unable to look at him without wanting to melt in surrender, I cast my
gaze to the golden patch of hair across his chest. I couldn’t risk him seeing those
submissive parts of me I’d hidden.

“Yes, that’s the one. My, my, what a gorgeous little thing you are.”

His low, raspy praise sent lashes of fire dancing up my spine. It felt as if the devil
himself had licked me with his scorching tongue.

Cinching both of my wrists into one hand, he skimmed his other down my body, pausing
to roll each of my beaded nipples between his fingers and thumb. Shards of electricity
shot south and gathered behind my already throbbing clit.

“Your safe word is
fantasy
because that’s what you are—a fantasy that’s been plucked straight from my dreams.”

Lord, help me.
The man had seduction down to a science. Combined with his potent dominance, I didn’t
know whether to laugh, cry, or run for my life.

Desperate to keep this encounter as vanilla as possible, I scoffed. “What the hell
is a safe word?”

Joshua narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Lie to yourself all you want, but I’ve
already seen everything I need to.”

He bent and pressed his lips to mine with a kiss so explosive, it stole my breath.
Surrender, like a long lost blanket, enveloped me and for one brief moment I didn’t
care if he saw through my mask or not. The need to please him cracked my walls, and
the stroke of his demanding tongue had my submission seeping through.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling
author of over forty sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances
produced via traditional, small press, independent, and audio publishing. She lives
in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time,
she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

Shayla’s books have been translated in about a dozen languages. She has been nominated
for career achievement in erotic romance by RT Bookclub, as well as twice nominated
for Best Erotic Romance of the year. Additionally, she’s either won or been nominated
for the Passionate Plume, the Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence,
and the National Reader’s Choice Awards.

A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every new book.

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LINKS TO MY OTHER BOOKS

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