Showing results for "the-field" in BDSM

When I threw Riley Murphy over my shoulder and carried her off after killing the bastard who dared to touch her, I swore to myself that I was only bringing her home with me to keep her safe. She's an eighteen-year-old orphan who deserves a man who'll tell her she's his good girl. Not a ruthless Bratva boss who'll make her scream for him before he's even inside her. But the moment I pulled her cute little panties down for a much-needed spanking and found her soaking wet, I knew I'd be taking her innocence in the same bed I tucked her into last night.

She was already mine. I just tore her cute panties off and made her admit it. I'm her dad's best friend. But that didn't stop me from baring that perfect little ass of hers and spanking it the way she's always needed it spanked, then pinning her to the wall and making her come until she screamed. Or from carrying her off to my estate with my seed still dripping down her chest. I promised myself I would at least be gentle with her. Then I lost control, bent her over, and ravaged her virgin body so long and hard she almost passed out in my arms when I was through.

Connor Murphy was the perfect husband for a bratva kingpin's daughter. An Irish mafia boss I could marry to secure an alliance between our families. It was all supposed to be so simple... But then our wedding was attacked and I ended up on the run with his brother Caden. Now I'm caught between two men, and I can't tell which way is what. Not when Caden takes me over his knee, and definitely not when Connor bends me over and bares my bright red ass with his brother watching before making me come so hard I pass out.

I can still remember the moment I first heard Cyrus Holt's deep, commanding voice. I didn't know who he was or about the life he'd left behind. I was just a trembling orphan on the run from a monster, and he was the man offering me shelter and not giving me a choice about it. This boss of bosses didn't assign someone else to watch over me. He slept on the floor next to my bed when I woke up scared, then spanked me like a naughty little girl when I lied to him. He could have claimed me that night, ravaging me without mercy or remorse. But he didn't.

In my world, I take what I want. Even her. I'm her godfather. I shouldn't be pushing her down to her knees and making use of that sassy mouth, let alone tearing her clothes off, belting her bare ass, and then ravaging her virgin body as she screams my name. But I'll do all of that and much more as I teach her what it means to belong to a man like me. Because I can. Because she's mine.

I used to believe werewolves were no more than scary stories to be told around a campfire. Then, one of them ripped off my clothes, marked me with his teeth, and claimed me like a wild beast.

The moment Brooke Mikaels walked into my office, I knew she was mine. She needed my help and thought she could use her sweet little body to get it, but she learned a hard lesson instead. I don't make deals with silly little girls. I spank them. She'll get what she needs, but first she'll moan and beg and scream with each brutal climax as she takes everything I give her. She belongs to me now, and soon she'll know what that means.

The Brotherhood gave him the right to breed me, but that is not why I am naked, wet, and sore. My bottom bears the marks of his hard, punishing hand, because I defied my alpha. My body is slick with his seed and my own arousal, because he took me anyway. He didn't use me like a king enjoying a subject. He took me the way a beast claims his mate. It was long, hard, and painfully intense, but it was much more than that. It was primal.

Two hours ago, my ship reached the docks at Dryac. An hour ago, a slaver tried to drag me into an alley. Fifty-nine minutes ago, a beast of a man knocked him out cold. Fifty-eight minutes ago, I told my rescuer to screw off, I could take care of myself. Fifty-five minutes ago, I felt a thick leather belt on my bare backside for the first time. Forty-five minutes ago, I started begging. Thirty minutes ago, he bent me over a crate and claimed me in the most shameful way possible. Twenty-nine minutes ago, I started screaming.

It was Halloween, my favorite time of the year. I had my dream job as a tattoo artist, a loyal best friend, and an ex who happily tended to my needs without complicating our arrangement with feelings. Everything was going great until Devil’s Night when the masked man watched me from the shadows like a predator stalking his next meal, and that’s what I was: his prey. Like any natural-born predator, he was bloodthirsty, staking his claim to me before I could see the face behind his mask. He wasn’t afraid to kill for a bite of what he craved.

After falling in love with her bodyguard, Italian socialite Valentina Segretti, believed she no longer had to carry her secrets alone. That his love saved her. Then, in the blink of an eye, he left her, leaving her more alone and vulnerable than ever. What Franco Protettore left behind became her reasons to live. Pregnant with twins, Valentina had no choice but to protect his children the way he should have been there to do.

Cain came for me today. Even before he spoke his name, his power all but drove me to my knees. Power that can pin me against a wall with just a thought and hold me there as he slowly cuts my clothes from my quivering body, making sure I know he is enjoying every blushing moment. Power that will punish me until I plead for mercy, tease and torment me until I beg for release, and then ravage me brutally over and over again until I'm utterly spent and shamefully broken. Power that will claim me as his forever.