A Piece of The Sun

Synopsis

Seven years past their last encounter, Noah Robinson is one of the world's most influential people, with the world in his palm. He has everything he could ever want, except Jean Mercier, and he knows young love doesn't stay young forever.

Jean has spent the greater part of those seven years in perpetual bliss as she claims her role as principal ballerina ahead of her company, earning a renowned impression on the world of dance and beyond, and married to Noah's worst enemy. Underneath the layers of pink tulle and heart-stopping romance lie bruises, broken toes, and a scornful marriage based on petty slights. With the strength of one last dance with death, she makes an escape from her wife, but she cannot do it alone.

In a ditch attempt, she beckons for the savior of the man who has loved her best. Noah.

Many enemies line up at the barre, seeking to destroy, defile, and watch them fall, losing everything they've ever held dear.

Teaser:

A Mid-Eastern heat bodied the entirety of the dimly lit dungeon, puddles of tepid water ripple on the generous cold concrete floor, offering relief to the unfortunate enslaved willing participant, and blood-pumping sultry music fills the ears of giver and receiver alike, inducing the preexisting trance. A world a night in drugs.

Hell existed in the bottom of a cold heart in a house that resided in New York where the devil danced and committed his every favorite sin away from the ignorant or uneducated eyes. His hips moved influx to every beat, following the ebb and flow of his anatomical undying heart, as his soul remained unfeeling, neutral, and yet excited as he stalked toward the unfortunate buxom box-dyed redhead.

She shuddered in half-mocked fear, reminding herself in the lockbox of her mind that she had signed the NDA, she wanted this: Time with him. And for him, he'd not one care, this was a Friday night for him and she'd been so lucky to spend a lot of Sundays with him. Her juices collected between her legs and mucked underneath her ass on the steel chair.

He walked akin to a panther if she wasn't too sure he was one, or a skinwalker to say the least, his hips dictated the way he strode toward her, one bare pale foot before the other, wearing a sly, wry nearly blase smile upon his perfect rose pink lips, not once did the smile reach his eyes. Naked, twice baked in the head, and sadistic, cold behind the eyes.

He saw right through her of course, reading her for filth: Knowing every cent behind her scattered brain and heaving breasts, that she remembered she is under contract and when he was done lash for lash that she will be able to leave then. "Jasmine," He purred.

Poor Jasmine's eyes had been tracked on him but only then when he called on her, truly, did she meet him and her soul spoke in lieu of her body. "Master," she answered. Sweat poured in droplets off her hardened, bruise-forming peaked nipples, dribbling down her stomach, highlighting her soft wavy stretch marks.

He whipped across her breast, effortlessly, earning her another lash when dissatisfied with her careless answer. She failed and it had been six months, surely she knew already that was the wrong answer, when he addressed her so patiently, personally, and admirably, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Jasmine squeaked, yelping in the chair, and jumped, nearly enough to send her flying back if she hadn't watched her ass. "What did I do?" Jasmine asked, sputtering through her gritted, bloody red lipstick teeth.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," He tittered. He was right of course, not that she knew it, he wanted her to know she was wrong and for her not to have done it or ever been wrong before. He wanted to be understood and seen through, as easily seen as he had seen right through Jasmine. Jasmine wasn't stupid, she was just unfortunate. She wouldn't have another choice after this.

The devil turned a full shade numb, still keeping his limestone-toned skin instead of turning its unusual shade of blue, composed, he unexpectedly dropped his brown leather whip from his balmy hand. "Jasmine?" He tests her name on his tongue as if for the first time ever, his Alcatraz steel gray eyes bore into her soul, darkening and affixing to his mood. He stood there, still waiting for some kind of absolution.

"Noah." She answered.

Every cell once locked, opened. Every safe is cracked. All the doors now opened.

Welcome to the final installment of the "Yes, Ms. Robinson" series.

In this book, all fantasies come to life and there is much to be said about trigger warnings, we're all going to go on a crazy ride and I am excited to ride this high with you.

Coming soon 

October 10, 2023.

Official Spotify playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5M9jOQWetHCwrRpeUVOpT1?si=b25335bba1374fe3