Today, I'm sharing another snippet from Break Me. This one is from Ayla's point of view.
Enjoy!
The monster lay dormant, until it saw
her...
Every few years, the beast within
Grisha Vasiliev rouses, clamoring for blood. When he sees Ayla Clark dancing,
her movements exuding grace, passion and joy, he knows he must have her.
Grisha kidnaps Ayla expecting the
usual: resistance, tears, pleas for mercy. But when Ayla breaks the mold, his
whole world spirals out of control and feelings he thought he could never have
again resurface.
He thought she was perfect, but she’s the broken doll on the shelf.
The last thing Ayla Clark remembers
is celebrating her performance as Giselle and flirting with the handsome Grisha
Vasiliev, the owner of one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the
country. Now, she’s tied up and at his mercy, begging for more of his
attention, while fighting to keep her own secrets buried in the dark.
Be Warned: BDSM, knife play, whipping
Available at:
And More!
Grisha frowned. His gaze locked over hers, the storm in them inviting her to take a dip, to brave the waves. There was nothing she wanted more.
His digits brushed her collarbone, caressing, making time stop and the world narrow down to his warm touch. Her nipples ached, begging for his attention, but he paid them no heed. The cool blade of the knife slid beneath the strap of her garment. The hairs on her arms stood.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
She held her breath. The sound of cloth ripping filled the air, mingling with her harsh breaths. Grisha turned to her other shoulder repeating the process.
Then it was over. The weapon clattered to the floor and his hands were on her, sliding across her flesh and rolling the garment downward to the floor, leaving her naked and panting for more.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
She opened her eyes and found him eyeing her like a hungry animal, the bulge in his trousers visible. Grisha cupped her breasts, squeezing the plump flesh. Ayla whimpered. Taking the nipples
between thumb and forefinger, he pinched hard. Juices trickled down her thighs. He increased the pressure. She groaned and arched her back.
Then it was over. The weapon clattered to the floor and his hands were on her, sliding across her flesh and rolling the garment downward to the floor, leaving her naked and panting for more.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
She opened her eyes and found him eyeing her like a hungry animal, the bulge in his trousers visible. Grisha cupped her breasts, squeezing the plump flesh. Ayla whimpered. Taking the nipples
between thumb and forefinger, he pinched hard. Juices trickled down her thighs. He increased the pressure. She groaned and arched her back.
“You like this,” he whispered.
“Yes. I live for pain,” she said.
“No.” He wrapped one of his hands around her neck. It was hot, heavy, arousing. “You live for dancing.”
