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His for the Taking: A Dark Mafia Romance by Samantha Madisen

She’s mine for the taking, and I’m going to take her hard.

I didn’t come here looking for a dance from a pretty girl. I came to take someone, whether she wants to come with me or not. A girl who belongs to me, even though she doesn’t know it yet.

Natalie Paulson is mine, every single inch of her, and I don’t share what’s mine. It’s time she learned what happens to bad little girls who put my property on display without permission, and when I’m done it won’t be just her cute little bottom that is well-punished, well-used, and sore.





Publisher’s Note: His for the Taking includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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Author: Samantha Madisen

eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95

Length: 53,300 words


“I’m disappointed, Natalia, that you haven’t yet learned your lesson,” he said smoothly.

He swatted my ass lightly through the underwear. It was a mild sting, just enough to make me gasp, and for my bottom to warm in a streak—and enough to make my pussy drip into the soaked underwear and trickle onto my thighs.

He swatted me again, this time harder, and I gasped audibly. The sting was intense, and it burned on my bottom, but also like a shot of whiskey in my chest. My eyes grew involuntarily watery.

“Do you know what your lesson is, Natalia?” he said, his hand moving over the underwear, sliding along the hem, rough pads of strong fingers just barely skipping along the line of the underwear and into my wet thighs.

I cringed as my body involuntarily rose toward him, pushing against him but only to aid him, as his finger slipped under the hem of the panties and brushed along the soaked outer lip of my pussy. A feathery touch, suddenly withdrawn, almost as if he were angry as I was that he had found me gushing into the underwear.

I heard him suck in his breath, and his thighs tightened against my knees, forcing my right leg to cross over the top of my left calf, making my butt rise to avoid him squeezing too painfully.

He ripped the panties away, and I felt for a moment the coolness of the room against my exposed ass, felt humiliation wash over me as I pictured myself there, tied face-down at the wrists, my ass upturned to his gaze, my legs squeezed between his as he looked down at my wet pussy between the streaks of red from his last spanking.

The strap came down with a sharp, burning bite to emphasize the end of each declaration. “I am. The one. Who tells you. What you will do. Not. The other. Way. Around.”

The pain was so intense that my eyes were streaming tears, and I was stunned into silence until he stopped. I tried to find my voice to tell him to stop, that I would listen, but he laid another slap across my bottom, crisscrossing my bare skin with the emphasis of his words.

“Do you understand me, Natalia?” he growled.

“I do,” I managed to say. “Please. Stop. I do, I understand,” I squeaked.

The insides of my thighs were wet with my juices. My face burned.

His hand moved in a gentle caress over my bottom, and then he squeezed my sore flesh. Heat throbbed into the welts, almost as painful as being whipped again. “I have heard this before from you, Natalia,” he said, his voice quiet and stern.

There was a long pause. “And frankly you’re trying my patience,” he said at last.

My nose was running, my face wet with the inescapable tears of pain. “I’m sorry,” I croaked, because now I was just begging, though I knew there was not much point. “I am. This time I get it. I do,” I blubbered.

His fingers fanned out on the center of my ass, and his thumb slid over my asshole, down to my pussy, then back up, dragging my juices with it. My thighs trembled.

“How can I be sure of that, Natalia?” he asked me, his thumb making a circle on my eyelet, sending inexplicably delicious feelings through me, mingled with the humiliation of having a man fondling me so intimately. “How can I be sure you’ve really learned your lesson?”

He was musing, his voice distant, the questions no longer in search of an answer. I knew he was going to give me the answer. I knew that now the only thing to do was submit to him—whatever he was going to do—and I could feel my body almost giving over to that very idea.

Did I want him to? Did I want him to take me like this?

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