Pierced Hearts by Cari Silverwood
***This book is part of a dark erotic fiction series and may disturb some readers.***
In this dirty, bloody world we live in, the answers to prayers aren’t always pretty angels.
Retaken by human traffickers, Jazmine’s one hope is ex-cop, ex-mercenary, Pieter, a man with a glower that stops lesser men in their tracks.
She prays he can save her.
But this savior is far from perfect, and his flaws may prove as devastating to Jazmine as the torture of her captors.
The fire of dominance never dies.
Warning: BDSM themes, graphic violence.
Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night. She has an ornery nature as well as a lethal curiosity that makes her want to upend plots and see what falls out when you shake them.
When others are writing bad men doing bad things, you may find her writing good men who accidentally on purpose fall into the abyss and come out with their morals twisted in knots.
This might be because she comes from the land down under, Australia, or it could be her excessive consumption of wine.
Freaking out readers is her first love and only runs second to freaking out the people living in her books. Her favorite hobby is convincing people she has a basement...though she really doesn’t. Promise. If it existed it would be a terrifying place where you would find all the dangerous things that you never knew you craved.
Her website, if you're curious about her other evil pursuits: http://www.carisilverwood.net/
To find out about upcoming releases, please join Cari’s mailing list here carisilverwood.net/about-me.html
You can say hello here:
Facebook: Cari Silverwood
What he’d done in the other room was him. He liked hurting me, liked fucking me and tying me up. That knowledge riveted me to this wall. There was fear and there was fear.
He could hurt me, badly, if he wanted to. I didn’t think he would, but he could.
A little bit of fear was a whole lot of thrill.
As he shifted infinitesimally nearer, I squirmed up the wall, trying to merge with the white tiles. A quarter inch, an inch? His body heat and his scent was a living force. This was the man who’d napalmed my ass. Any closer and I’d be lost.
“You didn’t run.”
I glanced to the side. “I um...” Run? Good idea.
With his whole hand, he gripped my jaw, as if he wanted to be sure I stayed put, then he dragged me back to the middle. Past a few dangling locks of hair lurked his clear brown eyes.
“Hello, there.” That bear-growly voice of his should be illegal. “Place your fucking palms on the wall and keep them there until I say not to. Do you need more incentive?”
I’d flinched at the fucking. Wimp.
He pinched one of my nipples between finger and thumb and squeezed.
Gasping, and in increasing pain, I slumped as far as I could go with my nipple his hostage. That I’d become even wetter horrified me.
The pain dazzled. Like the cut of a scythe, it separated me from everything else that had happened before, from all the terrible things that might happen. All that mattered was him, concentrated. Distilled male.
Still unsure why, and what the hell I was doing, I crept my hands onto the wall. I felt the dips between the smooth square tiles. Water dribbled down my skin. His hand stayed on my jaw as did his crushing hold on my breast. And I loved it.
All those games we’d played meant nothing when he was like this. I saw him for what he truly was. I was dealing with the devil.