Saving Abel (Rocker Series)

Gina Whitney
Text copyright © 2014 Gina Whitney

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Number: 201491185

Cover design May I designs, Regina Wamba

Edited by: Elizabeth Llewellyn

To all my badass bitches. We don’t chase em’. We replace em’.

You can close your eyes to what you don’t want to see, but you can’t close your eyes to the things you don’t want to feel.

—Unknown

On ecru initialed paper the understanding was brutally clear … You’re to be
blindfolded
and waiting on your
knees
for your Master. I reread a couple of times, my hands shaking with both fear of the unknown and the excitement of being delivered to the brink of aching pleasure. Man, I was fucked!

Folding the note in half perfectly seaming the edges, I wondered if I was biting off more than I could chew. The fluttering in my stomach mounted to upchuck levels as I picked up the Hermes silk scarf. I gentled it along my check before breathing in his alpha scent.
Him.
My eyes closed of their own accord, heart beating in concert with my pussy. My clit was charged and primed already with my juices, the inner
demonness
scratching the surface of my psyche, relentlessly thrashing against confinement.

Twirling around in a sexual dream-state, my eyes took in floor-to-ceiling windows, lush drapes pulled back. Gasping heavily, I held my hand over my heart to keep the fucker in there. Was he planning to take me in the open—voyeur delight? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Then again this was about surrendering. A place my control had no say.

On the left was a free-standing bar, his guitar leaning against it. Chrystal decanters lined the top. Amber-colored courage called out to my parched throat, begging, needing something to quell the tremors plaguing my body. I couldn’t. Could I? Or was that breaking the rules? I couldn’t afford to piss him off, nor did I want to. I wanted to please him, to hand over the keys to my soul for him to take up occupancy. I needed to take purchase of the prime piece of real-estate—his heart.

Old demons besieged me with their clever mind tricks, fighting their way to the surface—sneering that I would lose the man I’d come to love because of my deceitful heart. The mother of all motherfucking karma’s was going to bite my ass—hard. I needed to lock these incessant nauseating thoughts where they belonged—behind a door that had no moral key and slam it shut.

Looking to the left, I saw the fire raging in the pastoral-styled fireplace. Above me, the erotic portrait of Abel loomed. In one hand he was holding a set of handcuffs, and in the other a red scarf—the exact red scarf I was now holding in my hand.

Perfect spot! Unbuttoning my pants and blouse, letting them both pool at my feet, I then took off my bra and panties. Flames licked my skin, helping to ease the goose bumps stepping out all over my body. Double-knotting the scarf, I lowered myself to my knees, thankful for the plush carpet. I sent a silent prayer of gratitude upwards—even though God had no place here today. Today, I would be rejoicing, reveling in and partaking of rituals practiced by heathens.

Tempering my breathing, I thought to myself:
Namaste
. But then the squeak of the door knob stopped all thought—all thinking—sending a shiver down my spine. His innate maleness seeped into my pores, cocooning my skin in his alpha scent—marking my heart as
his
. Instantly, my body recognized him. An unwilling groan escaped me as my nether regions clenched in anticipation. He just chuckled.

“Very good. I see you followed my directions flawlessly. I see that beautiful pussy’s shaved bare for me. This pleases me, Gia. And you will see how much very shortly. But, are you ready for your Master? If I part your folds, will you be slick and hot for me?” His warm breath tickled my ear.

My mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water, until I finally croaked out, “Um, yes. I, um. I believe so, Abel.” Christ, why was I reduced to a stuttering adolescent? He was fucking dangerous and hot, that was why! Steeling myself, I needed to woman the fuck up and show him who I really was.