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!
Excerpt:
Ayla turned on her heel
and raced out the door. Her bare feet slapped against the cool floor almost
painfully. The glass shard cut into her hand but she didn’t dare release it
yet. Lights blinked on as she ran down the hall and up a set of stairs.
Tripping, she dropped her primitive weapon.
“Fuck.”
She didn’t stop to pick it
up but continued until the top. She clutched her stomach. It couldn’t be. A
thick metal door loomed before her. She lunged at it, screaming and crying,
shouting for help, but it didn’t budge.
“Please,” she whimpered.
“You’re going to hurt yourself. The door is
pure steel, locked with a key and an electronic panel.”
She spun to face Grisha.
He stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed over his chest, eyes gleaming
with predatory intent. Her shoulders slumped. A lump formed in her throat.
“No. Please, Grisha. Let
me go.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why? You’re rich,
powerful. You can have anything you want. Why?” she insisted. “I swear I won’t
say anything. This never happened.”
“That isn’t the way this
works, sweetheart.”
“Please, Grisha.”
Her knees gave out and she
slid to the floor. Her head spun. None of this made any sense. Grisha towered
over her. Tears gathered behind her lids. She inched forward, hugging his left
leg.
“I beg you.”
Grisha lay his hand on her
head. She looked up at him. The power of his gaze undid the well of emotions
within her. She would never get out of here. Sobs racked her body. She clung to
him, beseeching him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
He settled on the floor
next to her and pulled her onto his lap. Ayla’s arms wrapped around his neck
naturally. He caressed her back in soothing circles. She burrowed her face into
the collar of his shirt, his fresh, woodsy essence entering her system.
Familiar. Welcoming. Slowly, her tears ebbed replaced by confusion. Why did he
comfort her?
“What are you going to do
to me?” she whispered.
He caught her chin. His
gaze danced over her face for an instant. His brow furrowed. The blue in his
eyes darkened to midnight depths. Then his lips were on her, pressing, claiming,
sparking her body alive. Her brain shut down. His tongue met hers and she
opened up, eager to taste more. He demanded and she willingly gave.
Ayla was his to do as he
pleased. His hands touched her everywhere, leaving behind a trail of burning
need. Liquid gathered at the apex between her thighs. Her clit throbbed.
Grisha cupped her swollen
breast, squeezing the turgid nub between his fingers. She moaned. He bent his
head and took her nipple in his mouth, hungrily sucking. She arched,
whimpering. His heavy hand slid across her thigh to her pussy. Relentless
fingers probed her entrance.
“You’re soaked.” He
groaned.
She turned her head,
embarrassed. Grisha thrust a digit into her. Ayla sucked in air.
“You like this. You want
this,” he said, his voice husky and gritty.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You enjoy this,” he
whispered, pushing another finger into her, slowly pumping them. She mewled.
“My sweet little dancer
wants my cock in her cunt, doesn’t she?”
She shook her head.
“No? That’s not what this tells
me.” He curled his finger across her G-spot and began to massage it. She shook
from head to toe.
“Please.”
“What is it, sweetheart?
Want more?”
Three fingers rubbed her.
The pressure increased. Ayla threw back her head. Her hips swayed involuntarily.
His strokes turned quick and short. Sweat trickled down her back.
“Grisha,” she panted.
“You’re going to come for
me, Ayla, and you’re going to do it now.”
About Elyzabeth M. VaLey
Elyzabeth M. VaLey is a writer of
sizzling, sexy romance who firmly believes in happy ever after. From
paranormal to contemporary, fantasy, or historical, she enjoys exploring her
characters' darker side and writing stories about tortured heroes, strong
heroines, and all that comes between them and their love.
When she's not writing, she can be found
walking in the Spanish countryside with her black Lab, exploring castles, or
enjoying some tapas with her friends.
Follow her at:Blog
Website
Instagram (@elyzabethm.valey)
Goodreads
Pinterest (Break Me has its own inspiration board)
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Thank you for having me! <3
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