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33 || Forgive me, father (I)
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” the feminine voice whispered. “It has been a week since my last confession.” The priest grunted for her to continue. “I’ve been a bad girl, Father.” She purred and hooked her finger under the strap of her bra, letting it down her shoulder slowly to reveal the swell of her breast. Her voice lowered to a throaty whisper. “A verryy bad girl and I’d like to be punished.” She put her hands together saying, “Please punish me as the Lord wills it.”
“Our Lord Jesus is always willing to forgive our sins. His infinite mercy lasts forever.” Freya nodded. She needed more than words, she needed actions. Spanking. “Confess your sins, child.”
Freya propped her elbows on the kneeler. The opening that separated her from the priest hid his face but his voice was familiar. Her nipples hardened to pebbles. She pressed her legs together.
“I touched myself, Father.” Freya shivered from the memory. She could feel herself growing wet from the
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Throes Of Passion 34 || Forgive me, father (II)
“Baby?” Disappointment heavily coated that word, creeping into the air. Freya slapped her hands over her mouth and swallowed the rest of her words. She was not allowed to slip up during confession. “No. I meant Father.” A grunt came from the confessional. Freya’s eyes watered at the thought of getting an extra punishment in addition to this. Her husband wouldn’t fuck her if confession time didn’t go so well. The dim-lit room was silent for a long moment. She widened her legs for him, showed off the pussy she wouldn’t touch unless he permitted. “I’m sorry, Father. I accept my punishment.” “Take off your bra.” She undid her bra and her breasts bounced free. They hung low on her chest and she shivered. The AC made her nipples erect, she itched to fondle them but she wouldn’t. “Show me how you touched yourself. Please. . .” Freya’s hand moved to her taut nipple, she kneaded it between her fingers and breathed out a moan. “Don’t forget the ice.” She nodded. “Child
Throes Of Passion 35 || Mr Reluctant Billionaire (I)
Our wedding is a small one, held in the backyard of my new home with my handsome husband. He is white, British to be exact. Brandon is his name. He’s a beautiful man to look at and I don’t mind spending the rest of our reception staring at him. His lips are not as thin as you will expect from a British man, they are full and pouty. Speaking of the devil, Brandon walks up to us with a glass containing similar content as the other guests. Our skin colour clashes. The white of his skin pales in comparison to the black of mine. I hope my parents were right about this marriage. I’m only doing this because of my love for them. He whispers into my ear, “You make a beautiful bride, El.” His words take a few seconds to settle in. When they do, my heart gallops and my nipples harden behind my sleeveless gown. He dumps his glass into the tray of a passing server. Wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, he tucks his head into the space between my neck and shoulder
Throes Of Passion 36 || Mr Reluctant Billionaire (II)
Other men would be excited at having a virgin for a wife but not my husband. We are on our honeymoon in Paris and he wouldn’t touch me beyond a few kisses. He has not even provided an answer to my question. What is so wrong with being a virgin? If he has no intention of having sex with me, why are we on a honeymoon? Brandon stares at me for so long I squirm. It’s only one week into our marriage and I’m already having serious doubts. The bed dips with his weight and a painful silence ensues. His fingers caress my cheek but I swat it away. He hoists me on his lap and a deep line mars his forehead. “Sex in my world is different,” he finally says. He runs his fingers through his hair, letting some of the brown locks fall over his forehead. I palm his cheek, the pad of my thumb caresses his prominent cheekbone. “I don’t love. I fuck.” Oh. He is a dom. And I want to be his sub. “You can teach me; you can show me how.” Brandon’s hand
Throes Of Passion 37 || Mr Reluctant Billionaire (III)
Brandon and I are not talking. It has been days since the ugly incident and the end of our honeymoon. And we have only managed a few words to each other. The door to the study opens and Brandon walks in. Usually, I’ll plug in my earpiece or pretend to be busy but I do the opposite. I flip to the next page of my study material. He settles down on the couch closest to the fireplace. I’m not sure why she’s here but I’m glad he is. We don’t speak for the next few seconds. I muster courage and walk over to him. His brows shoot up but I’m not deterred as I pry the book from him to straddle him. “Okay, Brandon. I messed that one up but I want to be your sub again,” I say in a voice below a whisper. Brandon is quiet but his arms circle my waist. “I want to be your sub again.” He palms my breasts and my head falls back. “Will you swallow what I give you to swallow or throw up like you did the last time?” My answer is delayed. “Must I?” I ask with a face slight
Throes Of Passion 38 || Mrs Reluctant Billionaire (I)
I am stalking my wife. I am cyberstalking her with no intention of stopping. Elna’s bewitching body fills my laptop screen and I bend the laptop to get the perfect view of her body. A smile curves my lips when her robe drops to the floor to reveal her in her naked glory and a groan slips from my lips. She’s flawless. As always, El traces the stretch marks on her tummy, marks that appeared after the twins’ birth. That odd look creeps into her eyes as she stares into the mirror and I have to push my phone away to stop myself from sending her an appreciation text. She is beautiful just the way she is. Those stretch marks don’t diminish her beauty or awesomeness. For fuck’s sake, she brought two treasures into this world, she needs to give herself and body more credit. And oh, Lord, look at those breasts. Those brown nipples I miss running my tongue over. Sucking them. I know I fucked up badly, causing the break in our marriage but a lot of good h
Throes Of Passion 39 || Mrs Reluctant Billionaire (II)
Birthdays are awkward partly because I hate them, because they hold too many bad memories. But this one is in full swing. Balloons. Music. Tents. Kids from the twins school. Everything, everyone the twins need to make their fifth birthday party a success. From my position by the window, the twins look to be having fun. I drag a seat from the desk to the window to watch them better. I don’t have to be there with them before I can monitor the party. Bren notices me staring and she calls her twin over. Wyn finally notices me and flashes me a tooth-gapped grin. She’s all smiles now till she wants something that’s not good for her health, then daddy becomes the bad guy. They whisper something to each other and chorus, “Daddy, come down. We miss you.” “In a minute,” I say with a laugh. But I don’t move. If I go downstairs, I’ll see El and other familiar faces I don’t like. “I miss you too.” They giggle in unison and run off. People say they
Throes Of Passion 40 || Mrs Reluctant Billionaire (III)
I stare at the invitation card on my screen. A phone rings and I groan before snatching it off the table. El’s call is always welcomed but I know why she called. I stalk to the windows and open it to let in the natural air. Sitting on the ledge, I finally pick. “Hey,” I say. “Hey.” The kids are spending the weekend with their grandparents so I know they are fine. Her hesitation rolls over me. “Did you get it?” “Get what?” I say to delay the inevitable. My fingers run over my trousers. Her tired sigh reaches from the other end of the phone and forms a cord around my neck. “I did. I got it.” “Are you coming?” To the charity ball holding this evening. El is part of the organizers. My hand runs through my hair. My evening is free. I freed it up the day I got the email. I can make it but I say, “I don’t know, El. It depends on you, actually.” “On me?” “Yes. You haven’t given me an answer.” I start counting. One.
Throes Of Passion 41 || Mrs Reluctant Billionaire (IV)
El spins to face me, eyes ablaze with fury. She crosses her arms under her breasts, giving me a healthy glimpse of them. A lump wedges in my throat. I miss sucking her boobs. Playing with them. Can’t we fuck and make up? She stretches her hand to the door. “You should leave.” I cock my head, my eyes do a lazy sweep across her body. Her muscles lose some of their tension. “No.” She scoffs. “You can’t be in here.” “But I’m already here.” “Brandon.” “Elna.” A frustrated sigh leaves her, she grabs her purse and I cover the distance before she thinks of escaping. Trapping her between my body and the sink, I trail a finger across her collarbone. She sucks in a breath and looks up to me. The heat from her body warms me, sends a burning sensation pulsing through me. “You danced with T,” I whisper, pushing my nose closer to her neck. I love her smell. I love everything about her. She freezes. I pull my head back
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