Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 21 Aug 2016 13:57:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Torment Me Read Online Annabel Joseph (Rough Love #1) http://www.ilovenovels.com/torment-me-1-read-online-annabel-joseph Sun, 21 Aug 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/torment-me-1-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Torment Me (Rough Love #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Annabel Joseph
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B015WXYNES
Book Information:
Chere isn’t happy with her life as a high-class escort, but she can’t seem to find the motivation to change. Then she takes on a mysterious new client who won’t share his name, or even allow her to see what he looks like. Their first session is a headlong tumble into tantalizing sensation and fearsome control that leaves Chere picking up emotional pieces she didn’t know she had. “W” is roughly seductive, and dominant to the core. His demands shock her as much as they turn her on, and soon the line between bad choices and emotional fulfillment becomes alarmingly blurred… Note: This book is super rough. There’s love, but it’s rough. Hence, Rough Love series. This full-length novel is book one of a three-part storyline that culminates in Happily Ever After. But, full disclosure, it’s going to be a rough ride.
Books in Series:	Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph
Books by Author:	Annabel Joseph Books

The Introductory Session

There are a lot of fucking weirdos in the world. I know because some of them are my clients. Something about money and privilege turns men into perverts, and you don’t want to expose the wife to those unseemly urges. Not when you can hire a high-class call girl and meet her in an upscale hotel.

It was the W Hotel today, near Union Square. I crossed to the elevators and checked Henry’s email again. New client, two hours. Super asshole about privacy. Put on the blindfold before you knock on the door.

I slid a hand into my designer bag, past condoms and sex toys, to locate the black eye mask the client had provided. It couldn’t be a pink, fuzzy, soft blindfold, or one of those cucumber-scented spa things. No, it was heavy black leather with a buckle in the back. Like I said, fucking weirdos. Here’s some news for the privacy assholes of the world: We escorts are as concerned about our privacy as you are. The escort-client relationship is a covenant. You don’t out me, I don’t out you. Let’s keep things pleasant and professional. I know how much you’re paying. To the best of my ability, I’ll treat you well.

I stopped outside a corner room on the eighth floor and double-checked the number. My stomach jumped a little. You never knew what you were going to get with new clients. Henry checked them out pretty thoroughly, but still, you never knew. Money and respectability didn’t mean you weren’t going to death-choke a whore on the eighth floor of the W Hotel.

I’d had pretty good luck the last ten years, so it wasn’t that hard to pull out the blindfold—okay, let’s be honest, leather fetish mask—and strap the thing onto my eyes. Maybe he was really that concerned about privacy. Maybe he had some kinky games in mind, which might be fun. Maybe he was butt ugly. There was no way for me to find out. I couldn’t see a damn thing.

I knocked on the door and hoped he answered before someone came strolling down the hall. What would they think of me in my pale pink, skintight, high-class-whore business suit and stilettos, with the black blindfold strapped onto my head? They’d probably think, pfft, New York, and go about their business.

I heard the lock click and I felt very, very nervous, since I couldn’t tell if or when the door opened, or who might be standing there to guide me inside. I jumped when the client took my arm.

“Miss Kitty, I presume?” His voice was deep and lacking inflection, or maybe I was just lacking the vision to see his expression.

“Meow,” I said, flirting into the darkness. “That’s me.”

Miss Kitty. Sweet, petite, sensuously feline, but not in a pet-play kind of way. Unless the client was into it. I had long, white-blonde hair (fake, so fake) which I straightened to a bouncy shine twice a week. Unlike my hair, my size D boobs and curvy body were all natural. I was a friendly, pretty, brown-eyed, bleach-blonde kitty, ready to crawl into your lap and blow your mind.

The faceless stranger pulled me into the room and collected my wrists behind me in a rough, strong grip. “I’m not going to call you Miss Kitty. What’s your real name?”

And my real name—Chere—came spitting out of my mouth. I can’t say why, except that his forceful grip compelled me to reveal it.

“Chere?” he repeated, like a taunt. He was cinching my hands behind my back with, oh my fucking God, zip ties. I could hear the susurrating sound of the tiny tabs and feel the unforgiving plastic. Jesus. Zip ties. So murder-y.

“Since this is an introductory session, we should talk for a minute before we go any further,” I said in a firm voice.

“Oh, I think I’m going to run this rodeo, especially considering what I’m paying to have this ‘introductory session’ with you.”

Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Just because his voice was deep and harsh, just because he felt big and muscular, just because I couldn’t see a thing, just because my hands were zip-tied behind my back...it didn’t mean I was turning my last trick.

“Don’t struggle, or those ties will hurt your wrists,” he said. He picked me up and deposited me in a chair, one of those slick, padded, modern chairs they had at all the W hotels. I usually liked being manhandled, but I didn’t like it as much when I couldn’t see or move my arms. The room was silent. He was still. I didn’t know if he was close to me or far away.

“Will you take off the blindfold?” I begged in my sweetest voice.

“No.” Not his sweetest voice. More like his deep, rough, mocking voice.

“Pretty please? I’m dying to see what you look like.”

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Taunt Me Read Online Annabel Joseph (Rough Love #2) http://www.ilovenovels.com/taunt-me-2-read-online-annabel-joseph Sun, 21 Aug 2016 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/taunt-me-2-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Taunt Me (Rough Love #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Annabel Joseph
Language:	English
Book Information:
It’s been two and a half years since the mysterious W disappeared from Chere’s life, and things are getting better. Sort of. She’s nearing the end of her design program and looking forward to a new career, even if her heart is shuttered for good. But loneliness is a powerful thing, and she finds herself tempted by a no-strings-attached BDSM partner who happens to be her former professor. She knows it’s a terrible idea, and that he could never live up to W’s level of passionate mayhem, but she’s been waiting so long to be bound and hurt. She’s been waiting so long to feel something… Unbeknownst to her, someone from her past has been waiting too. And when that someone realizes she means to move forward with this new partner, he barges back into her life to express his displeasure in the only way he knows… Note: This book is super rough. There’s love, but it’s rough. Hence, Rough Love series. This full-length novel is book two of a three-part storyline that culminates in Happily Ever After. But, full disclosure, it’s going to be a rough ride.
Books in Series:	Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph
Books by Author:	Annabel Joseph Books

I turned my head in the pulsating dark room, caught by a flash of blond and the hint of a white, tailored shirt. My heart rate accelerated as I looked past spanking benches and web racks to a cluster of clubgoers in the corner. By the time I filtered out the leather vests and silk bustiers, the white shirt was gone. A trick of the light, or that girl flitting across the room with the white collar.

It had been two and a half years, but I still thought I saw W sometimes. I’d catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, but then I’d look closer and realize he wasn’t there.

Random things reminded me of him. A dominant stance, a hint of cologne, a man’s ironic look or sneer. I stayed on the subway an extra hour once to watch this guy smile down at his device the way W used to smile down at me when he was torturing me in one of his depraved sex games. Sometimes I followed tall, muscular men down the street because they moved the way he moved or looked the way he looked. I hated myself for doing these things, because it meant I was still as weak and stupid as I’d been the first day I met him at the W Hotel.

I despised W for what he’d done to me in the course of our escort-client relationship, the way he’d humiliated me and turned me inside out, and made me love him when he’d never wanted more than a sex toy. Two months. He had fucked me up completely within the space of two months. Years later, the wounds still lingered, festering emotion and unsettled angst.

Now I watched for him at places like this, in slick, exclusive BDSM clubs in Manhattan, in hopes I might get to confront him one day. I stood on the outskirts, in all the dark corners, thinking of the things I’d tell him, the things he hadn’t let me say. I hate that you left me. I hate that you pretended to care.

The last and only time I’d heard anything from W was a little over a year ago, when I’d received my apartment deed and title in the mail. It had come from the legal offices of Klein and Dunsingbush, containing my full legal name and address, and the name and address of the conveying party. W’s real name? Of course not. The property came to me from “Taunt, Incorporated,” his dummy corporation. I remembered the poetic allusion at once, as I’m sure he meant me to:

I’d rather have the want of you

The rich, elusive taunt of you

He was an asshole. A generous asshole, but still. His taunts were all around me and he knew it. Living in his apartment was a taunt, visiting these BDSM clubs was a taunt, my memories of him were a taunt I wished I could forget. He’d left me, deserted me, knowing full well I’d never be able to get over him. Taunt, Incorporated? Fuck you very much.

Since then, there’d been no other W-related contact, which was probably for the best. I wanted my heart to be free, and I’d kept it free of other entanglements since I’d walked out of the Gramercy Park Hotel with W’s glib dismissal in my hand. Good luck, starshine, he’d written.

I repeated that to myself whenever I started to feel too much, or care too much about someone who attracted me. It had become my mantra of self-awareness. Good luck, starshine. You’re just going to get fucked again. I didn’t even want to try. Love hurt too much, and I was clearly bad at it, based on my past and the selfish, harmful jerks I’d fallen for.

Instead I prowled the kink clubs in search of W, in search of closure, as if there could ever be closure for our fucked-up thing. I’d try to resist, stay home and watch TV instead, but then I’d think, what if this is the day he shows up? What if I miss him? I was a design major, not a math major. I chose not to think about the insurmountable odds of running into one soul-destructing pervert amidst the thousands in attendance at fetish clubs in New York City on any given night.

Forget the odds of running into him in New York—a rich guy like him might play in a different city every weekend. Vegas, London, Manila, Hong Kong, Berlin, the fucking Bahamas... By the time you added up those odds, running into him again seemed pretty impossible.

Good luck, starshine.

Ugh.

I watched a nearby couple whispering to each other, a thin, blond submissive male and his bear of a Dominant. The sub wore a black leather harness that accentuated cut muscles while simultaneously making him seem lithe and petite. Directly across from me, a woman moaned under her Domme’s whip. I couldn’t see anything of W in that statuesque and businesslike dominatrix. She was restrained elegance, and he was...

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Trust Me Read Online Annabel Joseph (Rough Love #3) http://www.ilovenovels.com/trust-me-3-read-online-annabel-joseph Sat, 20 Aug 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/trust-me-3-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Trust Me (Rough Love #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Annabel Joseph
Language:	English
Book Information:
It’s been three years since they first met, and Chere is finally where she wants to be: in Price’s dungeon. Well, she’s in his dungeon part of the time. The rest of the time, she’s living in his home, eating his food, sleeping in his bed, reading his books, wearing his—well, no, he won’t let her wear anything. In fact, there are a lot of things he doesn’t allow, more than she ever imagined in her torrid fantasies. Life under Price’s control is an adjustment, and sometimes a nightmare. It’s not long before she realizes she’s in way over her head… Note: This book is super rough. There’s love, but it’s rough. Hence, Rough Love series. This full-length novel is the final book in a three-part storyline that culminates in Happily Ever After. But, full disclosure, this is the roughest part of the ride.
Books in Series:	Rough Love Series by Annabel Joseph
Books by Author:	Annabel Joseph Books

Chapter One: Owned

Once upon a time, there was a lost, lonely princess, and a rough-edged prince who owned a castle with a dungeon. The dungeon was hidden away behind a secret door, but the princess knew it was there because it had become the center of their relationship. It was okay.

Mostly okay.

In fact, the princess dreamed about the dungeon as much as she dreamed about the prince. She loved and hated both of them, her dreams a peculiar mixture of happiness and dread. Sometimes the prince tormented her, whipped her or choked her while he whispered lurid threats in her ear, but sometimes he gave her poetry, real poetry he’d written only for her.

You lean over your work

Lips pursed, then moving

Whispering unintelligible words of affection

As you bring beauty to the world

I ran my fingers over the paper that lay front and center on my worktable, reading his words when I should have been working. I was the princess, even though most days I didn’t feel like it. I still persisted. I wanted happily ever after with my prince.

That was complicated too.

I folded the poem and put it in a drawer with the others, and refocused on my work, on the two gleaming silver ovals in front of me. My studio was quiet today. Sometimes I listened to an eclectic playlist as I worked with my metals and soldering irons, but today I worked in silence because I was a failure, undeserving of music.

As promised, Price had given me some money to start my jewelry business, and rented a space for me a couple floors below his office. My studio had only two rooms: a front room where I worked and stored my supplies, and a back room done up as a lounge for prospective clients, with large, comfortable chairs and a central table for setting out samples and discussing designs. So far, the only person I’d met with in there was Price. Most of the time the back room sat empty, the light from the single window moving across the carpet and chairs.

It had been a month since I set out on my new career as a boutique jewelry designer. I’d amassed a backlog of beautiful gold and silver pieces, earrings, bracelets, necklaces...but no clients. Starshine, Ltd. had received exactly one order since its inception, and that order came from Price—two bracelets with attachment points for chains, in the style of manacles. On the order form he wrote Must stand up to the frenzied pulling of a one hundred and twenty pound woman in the course of a long and grueling punishment session.

I weighed a hundred and twenty pounds. I’d failed to find my first customer by the end of August.

Yes. I was fabricating a pair of shackles for myself.

I deserved to be punished, because after three years at one of New York’s top art schools, I’d fallen way short in launching my career. I’d lamed out, full stop. I’d been more concerned with being my Master’s slave and obsessing over his poetry than bringing my jewelry designs to the world. The whole reason he’d held me at arm’s length for three years was so this wouldn’t happen.

I frowned and fitted one of the manacles around my wrist. I didn’t want them to be stark metal bonds, but works of art. I wanted these instruments of torture to be pretty and exquisitely fitted. I wanted something good to come out of this. I wanted to please the man I thought of as both my Master and soul mate, but the project was also shadowed by sadness. I wasn’t measuring up to our unspoken agreement, and he was calling me on it. I was scared about what that meant.

I clicked the clasp together and wiggled the manacle on my wrist. The fit was true. The design was pretty.

So why wasn’t I happy?

I took it off and arranged it on the table beside the other manacle with a carefully calculated distance between them, connected by a chain. It was a metaphor for us, because we were connected, but not really together. He said he loved me, but he didn’t love me yet. He didn’t trust me, or perhaps he didn’t trust himself, and earning that trust was going to be a long and complicated process on top of everything else. Clients were the last thing on my mind. My career didn’t seem that important anymore, when our relationship was in this shifting stage of vulnerability.

The door swung open. Only one person came here, and he never knocked. In the big, wide world he was P.T. Eriksen, famous architect, but when I wasn’t calling him Sir, I called him Price. He was tall and strong, with piercing blue eyes and blond hair, and bold, expressive features. At the moment, those features were deliciously intent. He locked the door behind him, then strode toward the back room, not even glancing at the manacles. He was already shrugging off his suit jacket. I jumped to my feet and followed.

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Read Online Books/Novels:

Torment Me (Rough Love #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B015WXYNES

Read Online Books/Novels:

Taunt Me (Rough Love #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

Read Online Books/Novels:

Trust Me (Rough Love #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English