SIMPLY WICKED
Chapter One
London 1819
"Oh God, where am I?"
Anthony Sokorvsky opened one eye and swiftly closed it
again. The birch floorboards he'd glimpsed and the black walls
hung with instruments of pain and sexual gratification meant
only one thing: he was still at Madame Helene's pleasure house.
He licked his lips, tasting dried blood, brandy and the acrid
tang of another man's cum.
With a groan he rolled onto his stomach, wincing as his morning
erection scraped the rough wood. He was naked and still in
the punishment corner. At least someone had had the decency
to take the manacles from his wrists. Gingerly he sat up, fighting
the urge to retch with every painful movement. What the
hell had he done last night?
He stifled another groan. Nothing worse, he suspected, than
he'd subjected himself to for the last few months. But something
had changed. For the first time, the pain had far outweighed the
pleasure. His wrists were bruised, his arse hurt and his back
was torn from the lash of a whip. He buried his hands in his
hair and closed his eyes.
God, what kind of man allow ... read full excerpt from: Simply Wicked ebook
