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🔥💔BROKEN CHARM💔🔥

 

⚠️𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜⚠️

𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝘽𝘿𝙎𝙈 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙧.

🌶 ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ 18+

🌶 ᴇXᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ꜱᴇXᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ

🌶 ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ

🌶 ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

 

𝙈𝙮 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙢, 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨.

 

Blurb

𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘐 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝒦𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝑀𝑒 𝒩𝑜𝓌; 

𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.

𝘈𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦.

𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙮?

𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘺, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵?

𝙄𝙨 𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨?

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘚𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘺’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳. 𝘉𝘜𝘠 𝘕𝘖𝘞 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴.

 

Cover Design by: @Pebbles Lacasse

Cover Model: @ Susan Gerth

 

📚International Amazon Link

📚𝘼𝙢𝙖𝙯𝙤𝙣.com

📚Bookbub

📚𝘼𝙙𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙂ood𝙍eads 𝙏𝘽𝙍

 

#PebblesLacasse #whogetthegirl #Bdsm #Erotica #AvailableNow #Bookworld #bestfriendlovers #kissmenow #mistress #submissive #spicy #friendstolovers #secondchances #sexybooks #eroticnovel #bondage #BDSMbook #BDSM #Dominatrix #Alpha #Dominant #EroticRomance #amwriting 

BROKEN CHARM CHAPTER 1 TEASER

broken charm teaser

By Pebbles Lacasse

“Mistress Scarlett…” A deep but whispered voice calls to me. “It’s time to wake up.”

 

With a groan, I roll to my back, yawn, and stretch my legs and arms, as if trying to reach for the footboard. The leg stretch feels especially good after the hellish workout I had with Colby yesterday.

 

Without acknowledging my bedfellow, I sit up, tossing the covers aside. My hands fold over the edge of the bed as I stretch my back by arching and lifting each shoulder as high as possible, ending with another groan. That damn knot beside my shoulder blade still hurts. I’ll get Ted to rub it out later. Right now, I have to pee.

 

After a quick bathroom visit, I return and collect the key from my nightstand. Before I went to sleep, I handcuffed Ted to a spindle on my dark walnut headboard and told him not to go anywhere. Obviously, he can’t, and that’s why I find it funny.

 

Ted smiles as I slip the key into the handcuff attached to the bed and unlock it, but I leave the one on his wrist. I allow him a few minutes to relieve himself. He leaves the door ajar, knowing he isn’t allowed privacy.

 

The shower starts, and I enter the bathroom, where Ted holds the glass door open for me.

 

“Ted, wash me.”

 

Without hesitation, the thickly built man steps in behind me, and I stand under the hot water. I love the way the heat seers my flesh, turning my tanned hue a deep red. Ted holds a pool of shampoo in his hand, waits for me to step from under the water, and then massages it onto my scalp. With him towering over my 5’7” frame, he manages with ease.

 

I rinse, and then the deep brown-eyed man coats my long, dark strands in conditioner and whirls it atop my head to affix with a clip. I wash my face, and he rubs me down with a sudsy loofah. My legs spread, and he washes my undercarriage with great care and tenderness, but not enough to warrant punishment for taking sexual enjoyment from the task.

 

After I rinse my hair and body, I step out into Ted’s waiting arms, who holds a fluffy white bath sheet, and he wraps it around me before tucking in the edge to keep it snug. I bend forward, and he wraps my hair in a turban-towel. I leave the bathroom to allow Ted two minutes to wash himself.

 

What the hell am I going to wear today?

 

The left side of my walk-in closet is lined with a variety of long dresses that promise to accent my thin, muscular figure. To the right hang all my lingerie, leather gear, latex, and silk clothing; everything and anything to scream my dominance. The centre houses my regular street clothes and workout wear, which is my goal this morning.

 

I lay my pale blue spandex shorts and matching sports bra on the bed. I sit in the black metal-framed chair perched before my make-up table with the large matching mirror. Ted chooses a pair of socks and a thong for me and sets them beside my chosen outfit.

 

While Ted’s towel-dried hair points in many directions, he massages my long hair with argan oil-coated fingers and then blow-dries it. He brushes the strands and then twists them into a loose braid while I lotion my face. When I rise, he coats my body in lotion, and then leaves while I dress. By the time I’m slipping my feet into my workout shoes, he’s returning with a steaming mug of coffee.

 

“Thank you, Ted. You may go,” I say as I take the mug from him. 

 

He bows, and then his tight ass sways over thick thighs as he scurries from my bedroom.

 

That man enjoys being my submissive. I enjoy his company, even though he isn’t permitted to speak without permission. Having him beside me when I shut my eyes is a comfort. I don’t have romantic feelings for Ted and never will. Our relationship is strictly professional… Well, sort of. It’s mutually beneficial to us both, and we’re friends, I suppose.

 

Ted visits four times a week: Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, if I permit. He does whatever I ask, which is usually catering to me. He cooks and cleans, bathes me, dresses me, when I tell him to, and remains on his hands and knees for me to use as a footrest when I watch television or read a book. The man’s content to remain motionless for hours without complaint.

 

The benefit of our relationship for him is that he can shut off the decision-making aspect of his brain. Ted’s a clinical doctor with his own practice, and he has to make tough decisions and stay sharp while he’s on the job. It’s stressful and draining. When he’s here, there are no decisions to be made, and he can relax his mind.

 

It’s a rare occasion when we have sex, but not unheard of. If he’s been exceptionally well-behaved, I’ll allow him to masturbate while he eats my pussy, but he’s only allowed to cum after I do. Every so often, I’ll fuck his ass with a strap-on, or allow him to lie flat on his back while I ride him to take my pleasure. He can finish himself off only after I dismount him. He isn’t to touch me unless he asks permission first, or I instruct him to.

 

There are rules to be followed, and if he breaks them, he gets punished. Sometimes, when he’s feeling frisky, he’ll step out of line because he wants my attention, punishment, or both. My favourite punishment is to make him wear a cock cage with a weight attached while he stands at the end of the bed, holding the metal footrest with his legs spread and a penny resting on his nose. He’s forbidden to move. If he drops the penny, I add weight to the cage. The task is harder than you think.

 

About a year ago, I left him for almost an hour. By the time I got back to him, his legs were shaking, and he was crying. I felt bad and sat on my make-up chair with him on the floor so he could rest his head on my thighs and cry until he felt strong again. After that, I’ve kept a closer eye on the time.

 

I hop down the stairs to the open-concept main floor with my braid bouncing against my back, and head to the kitchen to get my protein drink and jug of cold water. The large windows lining the west wall of the loft reveal a sky lined with dark grey clouds, promising a hot, muggy day with showers. The grimness of it has me thankful I don’t have to go outside today.

 

My runners slap the hardwood floor as I tread down the hall, turn, and follow the glass wall to the entrance gap at the end. Through the glass, I watch Colby pull down on the weighted cable to work his latissimus dorsi muscles. I refer to them as wings.

 

Colby is my best friend. He’s also a dominant and understands the pressures and pleasures of this lifestyle. He’s not my boyfriend, but he likes to say he is when people ask. The man is my best friend, nothing more. That’s not to say he hasn’t hounded me to push our relationship past that level. I simply have no use for the bullshit concept of love.

 

Love is a useless emotion. It makes people do stupid things like marry, which gives your spouse half of your possessions should the relationship fail to live up to the hype. People have killed in the name of love. Thanks, but no thanks. Don’t even get me started about cheating spouses! That happens way more often than their spouses know.

 

Being alone and able to make my own choices without input from anyone else works well for me. I do what I want, when I want, and how I want. If people don’t like it, they can fuck off.

 

“Hey, woman! You’re late,” Colby teases as he eases the weights into their resting position.

 

I set my water jug on the pewter-coloured, vinyl-composition tile floor, and then step onto the 10’ x 10’ midnight-grey floor mat. My legs spread shoulder-width apart. With my fingers weaved together behind my back, I bend forward, allowing gravity to pull my arms for a good stretch. Damn, my legs are really feeling yesterday’s workout.

 

“I’m not late. You’re early.” I stand and lunge side to side as I groan through the stretch.

 

Colby chuckles. “Stiff?” ...

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