Break Me by Elyzabeth M Valey

The monster lay dormant, until it saw her…
Every few years, the beast within Grisha Vasiliev
rouses, clamoring for blood. When he sees Ayla Clark dancing, her movements
exuding grace, passion and joy, he knows he must have her.
Grisha kidnaps Ayla expecting the usual: resistance,
tears, pleas for mercy. But when Ayla breaks the mold, his whole world spirals
out of control and feelings he thought he could never have again resurface.
He thought
she was perfect, but she’s the broken doll on the shelf.
The last thing Ayla Clark remembers is celebrating her
performance as Giselle and flirting with the handsome Grisha Vasiliev, the
owner of one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the country. Now,
she’s tied up and at his mercy, begging for more of his attention, while
fighting to keep her own secrets buried in the dark.
Be Warned: BDSM, knife play, whipping
Available at:
And More!

 

Excerpt:
Ayla turned on
her heel and raced out the door. Her bare feet slapped against the cool floor
almost painfully. The glass shard cut into her hand but she didn’t dare release
it yet. Lights blinked on as she ran down the hall and up a set of stairs.
Tripping, she dropped her primitive weapon.
“Fuck.”
She didn’t stop
to pick it up but continued until the top. She clutched her stomach. It couldn’t
be. A thick metal door loomed before her. She lunged at it, screaming and
crying, shouting for help, but it didn’t budge.
“Please,” she
whimpered.
 “You’re going to hurt yourself. The door is
pure steel, locked with a key and an electronic panel.”
She spun to
face Grisha. He stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed over his chest, eyes
gleaming with predatory intent. Her shoulders slumped. A lump formed in her
throat.
“No. Please,
Grisha. Let me go.”
 “I can’t do that.”
“Why? You’re
rich, powerful. You can have anything you want. Why?” she insisted. “I swear I
won’t say anything. This never happened.”
“That isn’t the
way this works, sweetheart.”
“Please,
Grisha.”
Her knees gave
out and she slid to the floor. Her head spun. None of this made any sense.
Grisha towered over her. Tears gathered behind her lids. She inched forward,
hugging his left leg.
“I beg you.” 
Grisha lay his
hand on her head. She looked up at him. The power of his gaze undid the well of
emotions within her. She would never get out of here. Sobs racked her body. She
clung to him, beseeching him.
“I’m sorry,
sweetheart.”
He settled on
the floor next to her and pulled her onto his lap. Ayla’s arms wrapped around
his neck naturally. He caressed her back in soothing circles. She burrowed her
face into the collar of his shirt, his fresh, woodsy essence entering her
system. Familiar. Welcoming. Slowly, her tears ebbed replaced by confusion. Why
did he comfort her?
“What are you
going to do to me?” she whispered.
He caught her
chin. His gaze danced over her face for an instant. His brow furrowed. The blue
in his eyes darkened to midnight depths. Then his lips were on her, pressing,
claiming, sparking her body alive. Her brain shut down. His tongue met hers and
she opened up, eager to taste more. He demanded and she willingly gave.
Ayla was his to
do as he pleased. His hands touched her everywhere, leaving behind a trail of
burning need. Liquid gathered at the apex between her thighs. Her clit
throbbed.
Grisha cupped
her swollen breast, squeezing the turgid nub between his fingers. She moaned.
He bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth, hungrily sucking. She
arched, whimpering. His heavy hand slid across her thigh to her pussy.
Relentless fingers probed her entrance.
“You’re soaked.”
He groaned.
She turned her
head, embarrassed. Grisha thrust a digit into her. Ayla sucked in air.
“You like this.
You want this,” he said, his voice husky and gritty.
“Yes,” she
whispered.
“You enjoy
this,” he whispered, pushing another finger into her, slowly pumping them. She
mewled.
“My sweet
little dancer wants my cock in her cunt, doesn’t she?”
She shook her
head.
“No? That’s not
what this tells me.” He curled his finger across her G-spot and began to
massage it. She shook from head to toe.
“Please.”
“What is it,
sweetheart? Want more?”
Three fingers
rubbed her. The pressure increased. Ayla threw back her head. Her hips swayed
involuntarily. His strokes turned quick and short. Sweat trickled down her
back.
“Grisha,” she
panted.
“You’re going
to come for me, Ayla, and you’re going to do it now.”
About Elyzabeth M. VaLey

Elyzabeth M. VaLey is a writer of sizzling,
sexy romance who firmly believes in happy ever after.  From paranormal to
contemporary, fantasy, or historical, she enjoys exploring her characters’
darker side and writing stories about tortured heroes, strong heroines, and all
that comes between them and their love. 

When she’s not writing, she can be found walking in
the Spanish countryside with her black Lab, exploring castles, or enjoying some
tapas with her friends.  

Follow
her at:

Blog

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram (@elyzabethm.valey)

Goodreads

Pinterest  (Break Me has its own
inspiration board
)

Amazon

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