A Virgin Enslaved (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) Read Free Page A

eyes are so arrestingly large they take over her whole face. It’s not that she’s spectacularly beautiful. She’s attractive, yes, and with the right makeup (not that she was wearing any today), she can look reasonably fetching.
    I find myself thinking of those amazing eyes as I change out of my suit and tie into something more acclimatized to the White Rabbit. I remember my first sight of her coming into my office – her shapely legs, her sweet hesitant face – and it hits me then like a punch to the gut. A wave of numbing desire sweeping below my belt.
    I rarely have reactions like this to women – that all-encompassing, sap-rising, rod hardening, gut-wrenching libidinous ‘I want to take you right here on my desk’ desire that threatens to cramp my very legs, so much so that I have to hold the side of the desk and quickly slip into my seat to mask my obvious erection. Good thing I did too, or she would have noticed the tent in my damp pants.
    For some reason, Elizabeth Tyrell pushes all my buttons. She didn’t exactly dress sexy. She was extremely demure, and she has an eager-to-please, ambitious aura that has everything to do with the work itself and nothing to do with me.
    I like that. I find that refreshing. She exudes innocence from every pore. I mean . . . she’s from small town Alabama. What else can I say?
    Why the hell did I hire Elizabeth Tyrell? Now I can’t seduce her. I don’t do employees . . . unless they make the first move, of course. That has happened plenty of times before. Steve is always reminding me that it’s sexual harassment unless it’s mutual.
    Something tells me that I’m going to want to seduce Elizabeth Tyrell very badly. And something else tells me that she won’t want to have anything to do with me.
    Fuck.
    Now I’ve got to really rein it in.

    *

    The White Rabbit is a fetishist club, and everyone – men and women alike – check me out thoroughly as I enter. It’s not as if I’m wearing leather and skulls-and-crossbones studs. I’m used to being given the once over all my life starting from when I was about fifteen. Blame it on my mother’s good genes.
    I’m dressed in all black. Black silk shirt. Black pants. Black jacket. Nothing outstanding in here, where seven eights of the patrons are all clad in black leather.
    Semi-naked women pirouette furiously in iron cages raised high above the tables. The crowd is roughish – or at least, they give the impression of being roughish.
    A woman in a cat suit comes up to me. “Wanna get up in a cage with me, tiger?”
    I smile. “I’m looking for someone.”
    “Pity. Is it a he or a she?”
    “She.”
    “If she’s not here, you know where to find me.” She glances at me significantly as she weaves her way through the crowd.
    I spot Taylor at the bar before someone else can accost me.
    “You’re late,” she accuses.
    She’s dressed in black PVC. Her breasts are pushed up high by a corset with fishbone cuttings, revealing the white skin of her torso underneath. Her long, long legs are encased in black stockings, and her skirt is a gleaming wedge.
    I find myself getting a hard-on just looking at her.
    For answer, I bend my head and engulf her in a savage kiss that leaves her breathless. Her hand gropes for my crotch.
    “Wow,” she says as we part for air. “I didn’t reckon you’d be that happy to see me.”
    “Let’s go in there.” I nod to a darkened doorway.
    We move swiftly inside the room beyond. It’s empty of other people. There are hooks on the walls and ceiling, and harnesses and sex swings hanging from some of them.
    My urgency is immediate and raw. I slam Taylor against one wall. She raises her arms and grasps the hook above her as I tear off her PVC top in hunger, revealing her medium-sized tits and ripe painted nipples.
    “Ohhh,” she moans.
    I bunch up her skirt. She’s not wearing any underwear, and her sweet pubic triangle with its sparse blonde hair and wet sex lips is contrasted