April Vine Quotes

Every day I thought about her, waiting for her to come back so I could cane her for her insolence, her disobedience for not coming back to me sooner."
She caught her breath and moaned at the thought of her Master caning her.
"You'd like that, baby-girl? A caning?"
"Yes, Master, to teach me a lesson.

Did he forget the way he'd kissed her? Demanding she give him all her worth and more, always more until she had no choice but to hand herself over to him, for him to own? Did he forget the same night he claimed her as his submissive in the most beautiful subtle way imaginable? And how she, enthralled by his dominant passion, called him her master in all her innocence? She hadn't understood the complete concept of ownership in her younger days, but he made her feel it right down to her soul. He'd wanted to possess her. She surrendered her body, her mind, and her heart to him.

His pride demanded he make her pay, make her weak for him, make her beg shamelessly for a mere touch. He wanted her hot and soaking wet, bearing the mark of his whip - no, his cane. He wanted to hear her call him her Master.

Every time he entered his study, he relived the time she had crawled under his desk, tucked his shoe-clad foot into her side, curled her arm around his leg, and slept. After he finished his work, he pulled her out from under his desk and carried up her upstairs to a spare bedroom.

What about a lesson for taking eight fucking years to come back to me? What kind of a lesson would you want for that, girl?" Raw emotion lined his face.
She loved the fear of experiencing his fury, the same way she loved experiencing his gentle hand.
"To not be allowed to come after you cane me, Master?" She smiled shyly.
He nodded, but he wasn't smiling. "And what about a lesson for thinking you could marry someone else?" He dropped his voice.
She lowered her gaze.
He grasped her chin and tilted her face up. "Three weeks in the cell so you don't ever forget who owns you?"
"Yes, Master. With pleasure, Master."
"And after that, I'm making you my wife to make sure the rest of the world doesn't forget who owns you." His mouth slammed down on hers.

From the first moment she met Stephen and in every minute of the short month she'd known him, a strange obsession to obey him, to please him, to give herself to him conquered her. In her innocence, she failed to comprehend the beauty of her fascination for him. She only understood the lively, provocative radiance coursing through her when he led and she followed.

He filled her up and absorbed everything she amounted to until she was no one. A half-human who couldn't exist without his touch. Her true self. She wasn't her own person any longer. Her identity wasn't hers to own. She became a miniscule part of him because he allowed it. He steered her with his commands, his knowledge that he knew what was best for her. In every sense and meaning of the word, she willfully and truly became his slave.

He wanted her to kneel at his feet. He wanted to carry her on his shoulders. His girl. His property.

They couldn't understand why he chose patience over hauling her ass straight over to his home and collaring her, since he was clearly in love with her.

How could she truly appreciate the gentleness of Stephen's touch if she didn't know the extent of how rough he could be with her?

He destabilized every ounce of her being with his presence alone.

This had been her fantasy for ages. Bound, bruised, and loved by Stephen.