Sexy Sunday Snippet: At His Mercy by Shelly Bell
This week’s sexy snippet comes from the always awesome Shelly Bell. A sucker for a happy ending, Shelly Bell writes erotic suspense and action-filled erotic thrillers with high-emotional stakes for her alpha heroes and kick-ass heroines.
She began writing upon the insistence of her husband who dragged her to the store and bought her a laptop. When she’s not working her day job, taking care of her family, or writing, you’ll find her reading the latest smutty romance.
Angel in his arms . . . Devil at her heels
Part of the Forbidden Lovers series.
One last, no-strings night of indulgence. That’s all Tristan wants before he begins a much-needed new chapter in his life. Instead he finds an innocent angel in pink who brings him to his knees.
Isabella is done hiding from the world . . . and her haunting memories. Discovering courage in the arms of a perfect stranger, she finally lets go and sheds her inhibitions.
To Isabella’s shock, she soon learns that Tristan is more than her mystery man-he’s her professor. But Tristan isn’t the only person who’s found Isabella on campus. A dark figure from her past has come back for her. Now Tristan will risk anything to protect Isabella . . . even if it costs him his life.
She took a deep breath and planted her feet, raising her arms straight above her. He looped the rope over a thick tree branch and, within minutes, had both her hands restrained and completely immobile. She’d expected the rope to be scratchy and uncomfortable, but it was surprisingly silky. Caressing.
There was no mistaking that she was scared. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, and her entire body shook. But mixed in there was fervent desire. In this moment, she would do absolutely anything to feel his hands on her, even if that meant allowing him to bind her.
Because the rope itself became an extension of him.
As he crouched to secure her feet with rope and metal stakes that were usually intended for tents, she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder and scanning the woods around them for any sign of approaching people.
He never stopped to look up, but somehow he saw her anyway. “Whose job is it to make sure we’re not discovered?” he asked, his voice stern and admonishing.
Shame punched her chest. Her action had negated her promise to trust him. “Yours, Tristan.”
“That’s right,” he said, tying the rope so it brought her to her tiptoes. His warm breath drifted over her backside. He kissed her tenderly on her right butt cheek before sinking his teeth into it.
She whimpered, the pain a delicious aphrodisiac that only served to arouse her further. He rubbed his day-old stubble all over her behind, lighting up the nerves until her head rolled back from pleasure.
“Let go,” he crooned. “You only need to do what I tell you.” He stood straight, his covered groin pressing against her spine. “I’m going to make it easier on you.”
She groaned as he moved away from her. He pulled a piece of dark fabric from his bag.
“A blindfold.” She swallowed. “That makes it easier?”
He rubbed the satiny material on her chin. “Your only job is to take what I give you.”
Not asking for permission, he covered her eyes, plunging her into darkness, and tied the blindfold behind her head. Opaque, the fabric completely blocked out everything.
Without her sight, her other senses blossomed. She heard the leaves rustling in the breeze and birds chirping. The sun’s rays shone down on her, heating her right shoulder, while dirt cooled the bottoms of her feet. Tristan’s shoes crunched over the leaves, telling her he’d walked away from her to go to his bag again.
She sensed Tristan’s eyes on her, as if he was greedily drinking in the image of her bound to a tree, exposed and vulnerable. The sound of his footsteps announced his return.
He lifted her hair off her shoulder and pressed his lips there. He cupped a breast in his hand and rolled her nipple between his fingers. She sighed, relieved to finally have his hands on her skin.
A sharp, piercing pain in that nipple stole her breath. “What did you do?”
It felt as if he’d bitten down on her flesh with sharpened teeth.
“Nipple clamps,” he said with a touch of sadistic glee. “How do they feel?”
She was almost about to complain, when she realized the pain had disappeared, leaving a tension on the center of her nipple “When you put it on, it hurt, but now…” The tension morphed into a pleasurable throbbing that radiated outward. “Oh God, it feels so good.”
He played with her other nipple, getting it good and erect before attaching a clamp. This time, she didn’t care about the pain, knowing that in seconds, she’d be rewarded with overwhelming pleasure. He tugged on them, eliciting a spark that shot straight to her pussy. Arching her back, she fruitlessly struggled against the rope. The need to rub her clit consumed her.
“Wait until they come off.” He chuckled darkly, as if he couldn’t wait for it.
How did she not know he was a sadist? Sure, he’d enjoyed spanking and flogging her, but this…this was…amazing.
Her head snapped up in alertness. That noise sounded familiar. Did he have a whip? “Is that a—”
“Shh. I’m warming up.”
It was one thing to wear nipple clamps, but whipping was a different story. Her BDSM trainer had explained the amount of pain depended on the kind of whip used and, without her sight, she had no idea what instrument Tristan wielded. “Warming up? I don’t—”
“Oh!” The searing bite of the whip sank its teeth into the back of her right thigh, making her instinctively hop up on her toes. Blistering heat wrapped around her leg and arrowed up straight to her pussy.
“Don’t worry about what I’m doing…,” he demanded as he struck her again, this time on her left thigh.
“…or what I’m doing it with. Just feel it.” His voice was hypnotic, leading her away from the forest and the whip to the sea, where she floated weightless on the tall waves.
The pain was there just under her right butt cheek, but just as it had with the clamps, it changed. Now she welcomed it. Craved it. Because the brief sting was worth the tremendous pleasure that followed. Her whole body pulsed in time with her heart.
She felt alive.
“Accept it and make me proud,” he said, striking her thigh again.
She could do that. She wanted to do that. For him. And more importantly, for herself.