Read Online Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) by Ella Dominguez - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ella Dominguez
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tummy,
thighs and breasts, and sprinkled more down her legs. Occasionally
his eyes would flick up to hers to gauge her reaction. Hypnotized
and a little confused by what he was doing, Elsa lay completely
still, fixated on the look of concentration on Mr. Black’s face. He
looked handsome and powerful with his dark eyes and secret
expression, and his smooth bronze skin stretched over his high
cheekbones. Once more, he leaned over the edge of the lounger. The
clear-cut lines of his profile were barely visible against the
dimly lit room as he reached for a long, satin scarf.
Apparently he had already
decided on how to deal with her. A breathy giggle fluttered past
her lips at the thought.
Sudden icy contempt flashed
in his eyes. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing when I’m
done.”
Nervous butterflies
fluttered in her belly and Elsa gulped down air causing her stomach
to rumble. In a heartbeat, the scarf was draped over her eyes and
tied behind her head, shielding all light from her vision. Her
pulse skittered with excitement and her breathing became erratic
once she felt his body shift and hover over her.
“Let’s see how you like
this…”
Her body jerked when she
felt Mr. Black’s nails graze lightly over her stomach and ribcage,
then sensually over her arms. The same breathy giggle spilled out
of her and her nethers dampened once again. Lighter stroking was
felt over her upper thighs and she wriggled around, her laughing
becoming louder and more nervous.
Without warning, she felt
his fingertips on the soles of her feet and in between her toes
tickling hard and fast, then slow. She hated being tickled. Reviled
it, in fact, and it seemed to be made worse by the fact that she
couldn’t move and was blinded to his actions and what was coming
next. She attempted to sit up but Mr. Black straddled her like
before and held her down.
Elsa shrieked and tried to
shimmy her bottom out from beneath him, but it was no use. She
begged and pleaded as his fingers jabbed into her armpits and
worked their way up. God, not her neck. She couldn’t stand being
touched there. Kissed, yes, but not tickled. She thrashed around
wildly and screamed as she began to retch from the horrible feeling
on her throat.
“Stop, stop it!” she
wailed, choking on her words.
“Why aren’t you laughing
now, Elsa?” he growled as he held her bound wrists high above her
head while his fingers continued their assault on her sensitive
areas.
“Stop… I hate being
tickled!”
Mr. Black’s tone was
velvet, yet edged with cruelty when he responded. “I
know.”
How? How could he know that
her older brother had found it amusing to hold her down when she
was a child and torment her in the same way? How could he know that
she had come to despise it with all her being? There was nothing
funny about it. It was torture. Absolute. Fucking.
Torture.
Then it happened – the
thing she hated most and the tears began to seep from her eyes,
soaking the satin around them and her rage boiled over. She fought
with the kind of strength she didn’t even know she had, kicking and
yelling, drooling and spitting as she tried to fight him
off.
“Get off of me!” she
howled.
It was no use. He was
strong and impossibly solid and immovable. And excruciatingly
inexorable. Her body began to quake from the unrelenting onslaught
of his hands and digits as her tears flowed down her cheeks when
the dreaded happened. Her bladder began to contract painfully and
she knew she couldn’t stop what was about to happen.
“Please, please, Mr.
Black…my water…”
To her sheer relief, he
eased back and just as she relaxed and let out another pitiful sob,
he dusted his fingers against her neck.
Her body hardened as the
warm wetness between her legs began to trickle out of her
uncontrollably and she worked her Kegel muscles as if her life
depended on it.
“Let it go, Elsa. Let me
see how beautiful you look when you accept your punishment,” he
leaned into her ear
thighs and breasts, and sprinkled more down her legs. Occasionally
his eyes would flick up to hers to gauge her reaction. Hypnotized
and a little confused by what he was doing, Elsa lay completely
still, fixated on the look of concentration on Mr. Black’s face. He
looked handsome and powerful with his dark eyes and secret
expression, and his smooth bronze skin stretched over his high
cheekbones. Once more, he leaned over the edge of the lounger. The
clear-cut lines of his profile were barely visible against the
dimly lit room as he reached for a long, satin scarf.
Apparently he had already
decided on how to deal with her. A breathy giggle fluttered past
her lips at the thought.
Sudden icy contempt flashed
in his eyes. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing when I’m
done.”
Nervous butterflies
fluttered in her belly and Elsa gulped down air causing her stomach
to rumble. In a heartbeat, the scarf was draped over her eyes and
tied behind her head, shielding all light from her vision. Her
pulse skittered with excitement and her breathing became erratic
once she felt his body shift and hover over her.
“Let’s see how you like
this…”
Her body jerked when she
felt Mr. Black’s nails graze lightly over her stomach and ribcage,
then sensually over her arms. The same breathy giggle spilled out
of her and her nethers dampened once again. Lighter stroking was
felt over her upper thighs and she wriggled around, her laughing
becoming louder and more nervous.
Without warning, she felt
his fingertips on the soles of her feet and in between her toes
tickling hard and fast, then slow. She hated being tickled. Reviled
it, in fact, and it seemed to be made worse by the fact that she
couldn’t move and was blinded to his actions and what was coming
next. She attempted to sit up but Mr. Black straddled her like
before and held her down.
Elsa shrieked and tried to
shimmy her bottom out from beneath him, but it was no use. She
begged and pleaded as his fingers jabbed into her armpits and
worked their way up. God, not her neck. She couldn’t stand being
touched there. Kissed, yes, but not tickled. She thrashed around
wildly and screamed as she began to retch from the horrible feeling
on her throat.
“Stop, stop it!” she
wailed, choking on her words.
“Why aren’t you laughing
now, Elsa?” he growled as he held her bound wrists high above her
head while his fingers continued their assault on her sensitive
areas.
“Stop… I hate being
tickled!”
Mr. Black’s tone was
velvet, yet edged with cruelty when he responded. “I
know.”
How? How could he know that
her older brother had found it amusing to hold her down when she
was a child and torment her in the same way? How could he know that
she had come to despise it with all her being? There was nothing
funny about it. It was torture. Absolute. Fucking.
Torture.
Then it happened – the
thing she hated most and the tears began to seep from her eyes,
soaking the satin around them and her rage boiled over. She fought
with the kind of strength she didn’t even know she had, kicking and
yelling, drooling and spitting as she tried to fight him
off.
“Get off of me!” she
howled.
It was no use. He was
strong and impossibly solid and immovable. And excruciatingly
inexorable. Her body began to quake from the unrelenting onslaught
of his hands and digits as her tears flowed down her cheeks when
the dreaded happened. Her bladder began to contract painfully and
she knew she couldn’t stop what was about to happen.
“Please, please, Mr.
Black…my water…”
To her sheer relief, he
eased back and just as she relaxed and let out another pitiful sob,
he dusted his fingers against her neck.
Her body hardened as the
warm wetness between her legs began to trickle out of her
uncontrollably and she worked her Kegel muscles as if her life
depended on it.
“Let it go, Elsa. Let me
see how beautiful you look when you accept your punishment,” he
leaned into her ear
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