Dont Play Play Bosku Novels & Stories

The one whose fucking bite I'd been absent-mindedly tracing with my hands. Tristan. A bitter taste crept up my throat. I breathed slow, washing my head. "You don't waste time, do you?" Brooks grinned. "I don't play games." I arched an eyebrow. "That's rich, given the fact that you're a businessman. Your whole life is built on games.". He laughed, his grip still loose on my arm—warm, but not tight. No pressure. Just holding on. "Fair point." I drew a dry breath, trying to manage a smirk. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm not looking for anything. Not even for fun."

"I'll pick you up at three-thirty. Wear something casual-slacks and a light sweater in case you get cold and bring a camera if you have one. Today, we play at being tourists in the city." Then he kissed her. Hard and sweet. On the mouth. And made it last long enough that when he finally released her, she had to clutch the top of the car door to keep herself upright. She'd read the travel brochures and thought she knew what to expect of Baguio. Traffic congestion and noise and smog. Ancient, crumbling ruins sitting cheek by jowl with towering new apartment buildings. And overshadowing them all, but brochures didn't come close to preparing her for the real thing.

“And you expect me to believe that a woman agrees to be hit? That she wants bruises?” “Some women do.” His voice was patient, educational. “It’s called impact play. The physical sensation releases endorphins. For many submissives, it’s profoundly pleasurable. But more importantly—I don’t expect you to believe anything. I expect you to ask Vivian whether she’s happy.” Natasha’s eyes cut to Vivian. “Are you?”