Prudence Sinclaire, smut writer with heart of gold, likes to unwind at night through her writing after grueling days at the office. She writes across multiple genres: bdsm, bondage, m/m, fantasy, general, sensual, and more!
The Rose Curse Part 1: Taking Root (Billionaire, BBW erotic romance)by Prudence Sinclaire
In a desperate move to save a loved one from prison, Belle Eaton offers herself as a maid to the enigmatic, reclusive billionaire Sebastian Bête to pay off the debt. Sebastian's angry, cold, and withdrawn, but Belle can't stop dreaming of him. Will the price of discovering what secrets lie behind his scarred, burned visage and self-forced seclusion prove to be… See more details below
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In a desperate move to save a loved one from prison, Belle Eaton offers herself as a maid to the enigmatic, reclusive billionaire Sebastian Bête to pay off the debt. Sebastian's angry, cold, and withdrawn, but Belle can't stop dreaming of him. Will the price of discovering what secrets lie behind his scarred, burned visage and self-forced seclusion prove to be more than she can afford? Includes spanking, light choking, and deep-throating in this 10,000 word romantic, erotic modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast.
He stands and steps forward out of the shadows. He wears a finely cut suit with sharp lines as though it were tailored directly onto his body. The wavering firelight falls on his face. Starburst scars lick up his neck to the right side of his face. They spiral along his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and both eyes, as though he wears a half-mask.
The man takes a few strides to me, and a grimace crosses his face as he heavily swings his right foot forward in a nasty limp. He brings himself to a stop before me. His lips press firmly into a flat, angry line, and when his eyes lock on mine, my knees weaken. Those cruel blue eyes completely slay me.
I swallow and hitch my purse higher on my shoulder. I raise my chin a fraction of an inch and offer my hand to him. He grasps my hand in his but does not shake. I pull my hand from his lingering grasp.
"Mr. Bête?" I ask. The name sounds familiar. It lurks somewhere in the back of my mind, but I simply cannot for the life of me tease it out of those dark corners to place the memory to the face in front of me.
"Sebastian," he says. "And what do I call you?"
"Belle Eaton." I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. What cruel twist of fate caused my parents to name me Belle, I'll never know. I've never been considered a conventional beauty--dark hair, not blonde; pale skin, not tan; round with soft curves, not slender. Each time I introduce myself I anticipate hidden snickers or eye rolls. Sebastian does neither.
"Mr. Bête, I did not come here to chat idly," I say and sweep past him into the room. I perch on the edge of the couch. "Let's get to it."
I eat dinner out of a box. It's not even good. I watch TV shows I find boring, and I head to bed way too early. Somehow in between the time I'm thinking I'll never fall asleep and I'm frustratingly checking the clock, I fall head first into a fast slumber.
He comes to me in the night. He's taller than me, much taller, and he wraps his arms around me. His smooth lips capture mine before I can open my mouth to speak. Our lips part, and his tongue slides into my mouth. I touch the tip of my tongue to his, and our kiss deepens.
His hands tangle wildly in my dark hair, and he's tugging it out of my carefully knotted bun. Tendrils fall and frame my face. I don't notice the pain as he yanks the tie out, and the rest of my hair cascades in curls around my shoulders. He nibbles my lower lip and I find myself sinking into his strong, supporting arms.
He pushes me onto the plush, feathery soft bed, and I sink into the mattress. I stare into his kind blue eyes, and the corners are crinkling with a stifled laughter. I trace the hairline of his sandy hair, and the back of my hand trails his smooth cheekbone and falls against the rough five o'clock shadow dotting his face.
He catches my hand in his and plants a warm kiss in the center of my palm. I shiver as warmer, lazier kisses brush up my forearm. I giggle and pull my arm back. He cups the side of my cheek in his strong grasp, and our lips mold together. The giggle fades on my lips as I kiss him back gently at first and then more insistently.
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