Free Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2) by Gina Whitney Page A

came down, alternating from cheek to cheek. “Ugh, holy mother of fucking God already. I can’t fucking take it…please, Sir. I will do anything. I swear. And I will never be fresh again. I promise.” My words came out garbled and distorted. God, I’d promise anything at that point. My first born. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner on my knees. Voyeuristic sex of his choosing. A shoe-shine.
    He chuckled. “You’re first born, huh? But wouldn’t that be my first born, Beauty?” His voice held emotion—awe.
    I held my breath. Did I really say that aloud? I stilled, searching my brain for the answer. “Yes, that would be correct. It would be your first born, Sir.” I swallowed my pride. Would he want kids? Did he want kids? Did I want kids? Eventually, yes, though he didn’t know I had bi-polar disorder. Would I purposefully inflict an innocent with my genes? His genes, one hundred percent yes. Mine, no way. Way too soon for that conversation. It was one we needed to have, but preferably without a vibrating torture device in me. Ugh.
    He rubbed my bottom gently. “Stop over thinking, baby. I like the sound of it being ours…mine.” He leaned over and kissed my shoulder gently—reverently.
    “Umm, can you turn that vibrator off, please? I can’t think for shit between that and this conversation.”
    That statement elicited another chuckled response. One much darker, which caused my clenching to intensify. “No! The purpose of this lesson, Beauty is to explore. To discover. To take. And to give. My fingers thoroughly explored you. You’re discovering why you shouldn’t have a fresh mouth with me. And I’m taking your orgasms away until further notice. How’s that for demented?” All I could do was blink. As if by blinking, the answers would appear. I had nothing. Just dust moths floating through the fucking air. What do you say to that? Hell, yes, it’s demented…torturous and just plain fucking wrong on all human levels.
    He removed the vibrator and turned it off…then set it on the bed next to the flogger. “Okay, baby girl, get dressed. We have a show to go to.” He moved to stand. I was being dismissed. “Tonight’s our opening show. It’s going to be insane.” He beamed with enthusiasm.
    “And what about this thing?” I asked, staring at his beautiful eyes while pointing around to the butt-plug. The smirk. The classic fucking Abel-esque smirk danced across his face.
    “That stays where it is.” He pointed with his index finger. “I will replace it with a larger one tomorrow,” he said, turning to walk into the bathroom.
    “What? I can’t walk or go anywhere with this in me. It’s…it’s…it’s…just not natural. I feel off,” I said, completely astonished.
    His head rounded the bathroom doorframe. “Are you trying to top me again? Or are you complaining?” He spoke softly, but the veins in his neck were pulsing? Dom alert.
    “No, Sir. I’m not complaining…just trying to understand how this all works.” I shrugged. It sounded good, right? I was complaining. I knew it. And he sure as fuck knew it. I just stood there, looking at my now clasped hands. I wanted to sit a minute. But how could I think about sitting with that thing in my ass?
    He approached me with a smile, grabbing my chin. My eyes were still downward. “Look at me, Beauty.” Our eyes locked. “Good, now that I have your attention. Chance will be here in a few moments to escort you to your room. You’ll get ready and meet me backstage. I don’t want you by yourself—ever. Understand? I will have your things brought up here; you’ll be staying with me. We clear?” His hands moved to my lower back, pulling me closer to him. His scent was intoxicating. I’d agree to anything right about then. I nodded. “Now, tell me who your Master is?” His breath danced across my lips.
    “You are, babe. If you need some more stroking…just ask.” I said, feeling him through his sweatpants.
    To my disbelief, he removed my