Gelisa is mine. She has been for four years now. I haven’t touched her, not yet. I want her to come to me. I want her complete and utter surrender. All she has to do is say the words, and I will give her the world. But my little Gelisa is a stubborn minx. It is going to take some doing to get her submission. So I’ve decided to force her hand. I’m taking her to my cabin just five days before Christmas. I have five days to get her verbal submission. And I will get it.
EXCERPT:
The little minx has risen to her feet as she’s speaking, an intimidating five foot one-and-a-half inches, taking a few steps in my direction. Not nearly close enough. Happy to oblige her, I close the gap, slowly walking forward until I am towering over her. My adorable little pixie woman. Although the top of her head barely reaches my chest, she is lush with generous curves. The short, bobbed haircut she recently traded her braids for frames her russet, heart-shaped face. It makes her look like a fierce fairy. I like that very much, her fierceness. She isn’t a woman easily broken, which is perfect, as I have no desire to break her. Challenge her, yes; take her to the absolute edge of endurance, absolutely. But slaves don’t do it for me. At one time that wasn’t so, but I have learned so much more about myself since then. I desire—no, I require a submissive, one that will challenge me as much as I challenge her. Gelisa Parker is the woman my exacting standards demand. All I need to do is show her, then claim her.
“The law does not pause for the holidays, Miss Parker.” I lean down so our faces are mere inches apart, allowing all my pent-up desire to shine in my eyes as I stare unblinking into hers. The gasp that rushes out in a audible breath isn’t the only indication she sees what I am feeling clearly. Those almond shaped eyes widen, her juicy lips parting ever so slightly. They look delicious. I really need to taste them. Soon, but not yet. Not until she fully understands what I require of her. It is imperative she knows what is to be the nature of our relationship. And there is absolutely no doubt there will be a relationship.
“Ummm, am I interrupting something?” The idiot on the couch has the gross misfortune of speaking.
Sighing is a woman’s weapon as much as tears are. Yet, I allow one to to escape. Centuries ago, I would’ve been able to murder him with impunity. Such a curse to be born in modern times.
“Yes, you are,” I inform him, fast losing my patience. “Run along now.”
“Gelisa?” he dares to question my woman.
I have to turn my head to face him, which thoroughly pisses me off. I don’t want to look at his weasely face. I could gleefully strangle the tosser at this point.
“You will leave,” I speak in a clear, measured tone lest he fail to comprehend. “You can go on your own, or I can make you. Your choice.”
