Ah, the man. I don’t know about y’all, but I crave the men in the book. I know I should be more feminist and want the woman’s story more, but I’m not. I want the man. It’s all about the man in books for me. I want the hot, overbearing, pain in the ass, bend the girl over his knees, force her down to hers, stomping around, my way or the highway male protagonist. I want the his hard and unbending. I want him deep, and sexually kinky, and full of dominance that borders or runs parallel to his arrogance. I want him to own the heroine completely until she’s nothing but a quivering mass of goo. That’s the kind of hero I look for in books and if you’ve got one that is any different, I’m likely not going to read the book.
We all have different things we want in our heros that grace the pages of the books we love. The above is simply what I want in the heros I read and the ones that I write. This kind of man is not for everyone, and likely not even for most. But, he’s the kind of man for me.
I’m pulling a character I adore from the back of the pack. The book is Educating Rose and his name is Jack. He was my first hero and I adore him. He was based on a Dominant man in the BDSM lifestyle that I knew well and though some readers have hated him and wanted to gut him with knife, other readers have loved him. I happen to adore his heavy-handedness…
Jack watched as Rose walked down the hall. He couldn’t understand what it was about her that intrigued him. And now more than anything, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again. Her curves were lush, her eyes bright, and her lips… Her lips were full and just begged to be wrapped around a hard cock. His hard cock.
But still, none of that made her any more special than any other women.
There was something though. He couldn’t get his mind off of her, and his cock throbbed with need for the mousy, slightly overweight librarian.
For a moment he simply stood there, thinking, trying to reason with himself. If he started thinking of her in those unflattering terms, perhaps he could stop thinking about her altogether and get back to the more beautiful, younger, less complicated women he preferred.
His body recalled the way she’d responded to him, had thrust against him. She’d been ready, wet and hot for him. And her silken tightness… The memory sent a shiver of lust down his spine. He reached down, readjusted his dick, and forced himself to follow in her footsteps down the hallway. It was almost time for his first class of the day to begin, and the girl in the first row, third seat on the left, had a great deal of extra credit potential.
A grin split his face. Oh, yes, potential. Twenty-something girls with no expectations, no lingering thoughts, no nothing but pure fucking pleasure. That’s what he was missing, what he needed to get back to doing, what he needed to stop himself from thinking about Rose.
Rose, with her books and pixie face and lush curves and untapped sexuality. Rose, with her innocent, dark-chocolate eyes full of untold sensual depths.
No, he didn’t need to think about her and was, in fact, not going to think about her anymore. He was done. Period.
“Jack? Professor Duncan?”
Jack started out of his musings at the soft female voice. He looked down into the face of Mindy, the first row student in his British history class. He tried for a smile, for a speck of interest. He managed only to be annoyed, his stance impatient, his gaze darting here and there, anywhere but at her. What the hell was wrong with him? Wasn’t she what he wanted just moments ago? When was he going to get off this topsy-turvy roller coaster?
“Will you be available after class?”
Her sugar-sweet tone. Her long, blonde hair. Her delectably young, slender body with long legs and firm tits, irritated him. Frustrated him. And not the good kind either. Not the I want to jump your bones kind of frustrated. No, it was the get the hell away from me kind of frustrated.
“No, I’m sorry. I have a prior engagement today.”
“Oh. Well, okay then.” Disappointment deflated her smile.
“Perhaps another time,” he said as she turned and headed into the classroom. He walked in and closed the door. The clock on the wall said it was nine in the morning. A whole damned hour to go before he could see Rose again.
What a day this was turning out to be.
* * * * *
“I’m going to take these books upstairs, Rona.”
“Sure, doll. Take your time.”
Time. Right. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t think about him. Well, okay. She wouldn’t think about him all that much. Just every other second that ticked by. But, if she didn’t keep busy, if she just wandered around, mindlessly inputting data, checking books in, or walking up the stairs to the third floor stacks as she was now, he was in her thoughts more than once every millisecond.
On the landing, she turned and walked to the very last row of shelves. The large windows overlooked the university grounds—the green grass of the commons, the imposing brick façade of the administration building, and the classical stone building that housed the History Department.
History was the subject Jack Torrence had been a professor in at the university for a number of years after having toured the country, giving lectures on his two areas of expertise…world history, and alternative sexuality. The one lecture she’d attended had been a very casual discourse on the BDSM lifestyle. There hadn’t been a reason she’d gone with her friends other than it was just something to do one night. While they hadn’t seemed interested in anything other than sitting in judgment, she found herself turned on by his dominant energy and the sexual power evident in everything he said, in every move he made.
Until that night, she’d never given thought to BDSM, but since then, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, feeling drawn to it.
“Lost in thought, Rosie?”
So far gone in her thoughts, she turned to face him without first masking her emotions.
Jack groaned and curled his hands into fists. “God, girl. Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”
Rose couldn’t speak. She could only stare up at him with lust and want shimmering inside her. The desire for him before their encounter earlier that morning had been a slow throb of wishful hunger, but since then, every moment was no longer slow, or throbbing, or wishful. The hunger had become a painful awareness of need that gathered between her legs. She knew her eyes couldn’t hide it, that he could see it. And right then, she didn’t care.
The memory of him talking about bondage and sexual domination floated through her mind. His comments of the soul being freed when surrendered to the will of another tugged at the very heart of her.
The words were a whisper, barely a movement of her lips, but Jack heard them.
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. He’d known her true nature the moment he’d met her. And if he was honest with himself, which he didn’t want to be, he’d admit her nature, the submissive heart in her, was the reason he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It was the reason she was under his skin so far without ever having said or done anything untoward. It was the reason he felt threatened, the reason he lashed out at her. He couldn’t go back to that place, but his want of her dragged him there.
“I can’t. I left that world behind me.”
As the words left his mouth, he saw the heat in her eyes fade, and his chest ached. Without thought, he leaned down and kissed her, vowing not to touch her in any other way for fear he’d come undone. He couldn’t stand the thought of a wall between them now, not after the storeroom and her orgasm. At the same time, he needed a wall between them…thick and impenetrable. First, though, he had to kiss her.
His tongue slid into her mouth, and he marveled at her wanton response. The perfect melding of tongue and lips. She matched his strokes, and when he sucked hard at her tongue, the groan that escaped her throat buckled his resolve.
Jack reached out and gripped her shoulders, pressing her back against the bookshelves. He slowly slid his hands down her arms until they reached her wrists. Wrapping his fingers tightly around them, he drew them behind her back, holding her trapped between his body and the wood behind her. “Is this what you want?”
His mouth was inches from hers. He watched as she tried to speak, and her eyes slowly opened. She nodded her head.
Jack’s mouth closed over hers again, and his fingers tightened around her wrists. He drank her in, stealing her breath, giving her his own. His heart beat hard against hers, and she arched into his body, pressing herself as close as she could possibly get with the barriers of clothing between them. He would end up taking her as though she were an alley slut, up against the wall, in plain view of anyone looking up through the windows. If he didn’t care about himself in that manner, he needed to care about her.
He pulled his mouth from her and let go of her wrists. He stepped back and watched as she tried to compose herself. She raised her gaze to him for a second time that morning, and his gut twisted so tightly he nearly dropped to his knees.
“No. I can’t give it to you, Rose. Stay away from me. I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be what you need.”
Without a backward glance, he walked away.
Jack sat staring into the fire, listening to the rain falling outside the cottage. He needed to get a handle on his emotions. For the entire day, he’d introduced Rose to the lifestyle that he loved so much. He’d flogged her, bound her, and gagged her. He’d bathed her then endured as she’d bathed him, ending up on her knees with his dick in her mouth, sperm shooting down her throat again. He’d put her on her hands and knees to crawl behind him as he led her by collar and leash inside the house and outside in the yard, drawing excitement and humiliation from her. She’d been put through her paces, and he’d used her hard, pushing her, testing her, and she’d never once uttered her safe word.
He was in his element, lust and need penetrating every pore of his being. This was where he belonged, towering over a kneeling girl that had surrendered herself body and soul to him. Rose was that girl. She’d proven herself over and over and was eager for more.
She had re-awakened him, the dormant dominant that he thought long dead.
She would pay with more bliss than she could ever have imagined.
He looked down. Rose lay at his feet, her fingers lazily stroking the drenched folds of her pussy while her full tits swayed with clothespins adorning her nipples. She’d hissed in protest at first, but it had only spurred her on to higher heights of pleasure. He’d allowed her a nap between their sessions of play, and for that privilege she now masturbated for him. She no longer stammered in his presence. She was no longer shy about being naked in front of him. And she was beginning to feel the ache more and more. The slut in her clawed to get out as evidenced by the wetness he’d touched and tasted for more than twenty-four hours.
Lifting his booted foot, he settled it lightly on her stomach. He caught the arousal in her eyes when she looked up at him. Her fingers kept up their teasing until he slid his boot down to meet them, placing the pointed metal toe on her clit. She sucked in her breath and moaned.
“Yes,” she whispered.
She responded with scorching heat every time he touched her, and every time he looked at her, his heart kicked into high gear. He rubbed his boot back and forth on her clit, and she humped up against the rough sole.
“Shameless little slut,” he murmured, more pleased than he could say. He was an accomplished lover, skilled in things the average man would balk at, expert in things the women in his life secretly hungered for. But this girl writhing on the floor left him hungering, left him coveting.
And he coveted her virginity. He coveted being her first cock. He coveted being the first to come inside her body. He coveted being the one and only man to possess every inch of her. Mind, body, and soul.
He removed his boot from her body and was rewarded with a whimpered plea. “Crawl into the bedroom, girl, on your hands and knees.”
“Sir, please, please…”
He forced himself not to smile. Her pleading was so adorable in the face of being taken to the edge and not pushed over.
“I will not say it again, Rose.”
The pout that ensued would at another time have resulted in a discipline session, but not this time. His desire for her wouldn’t allow it. He would control his ardor later. He promised himself this. But for now…
I need a glass of wine now. Who else wants one? And check out the snippets from the following awesome authors: