Regina Rose is a pop idol princess living in the lap of luxury. Up until now, the only pain she's ever felt has been the heartbreak of a teenage crush. She's never even been kissed. That is, until an obsessed fan gets his hands on her. Her most devoted fan, who plans to do a lot more than kiss her. He's already made it clear he's never letting her go.
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November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from Politically Incorrect by Jaid Black
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
For hours she had been tied up like this--sitting on a chair, her hands cuffed behind her back forcing her breasts forward, the chill in the dank, dark cellar she was being kept in making her nipples stiffen and ache. Her ankles were cuffed too, each one chained to the furthest point on either side of the chair so that her thighs were kept spread wide open, exposing her labia and clit to--
She didn't know. Ice-cold fear trickled down her spine as she wondered for the hundredth time just who this captor was.
He'd said he was a fan. Claimed to be her most devoted fan, in fact.
Oh God, she thought, hysteria rising as her breasts began to heave, I've been kidnapped by a goddamn psychopath.
All Regina had ever wanted to do was be a singer. For as long as she could remember, songs had been running through her brain. Hell, she'd written her first song at the age of six. It had been dumb as hell, crooning on and on about lollipops and ice cream, but still it had been a song. "Gumdrop Mountain", she had called it. Her favorite board game, Candy Land, had inspired it.
The older she grew, the more intricate and captivating her songs became. And the more other people--any people--wanted to hear her sing them. She had been a shy, na�ve fifteen-year-old when she'd written her first chart-topping song. That one had been about her first infatuation, Adam, and about how Adam had broken her heart when he'd fallen in love with that slutty baby factory Betty Olsen down the road instead of her.
Good ol' Adam Bennett. He might not have given her the time of day, but her first crush had unintentionally made her a rock star. From there Regina had been signed to a major label. A week later she was famous and a millionaire to boot. Betty Olsen, she thought smugly, was still in that two-bit town in Arkansas, probably popping out her twelfth kid from her twelfth common-law husband.
But Regina--well, Regina was living the life of luxury. She was rich and she was famous and she was beautiful and she was...
She stilled, the reality she'd been doing her damnedest to forget slowly returning. She was a naked captive held hostage in the cold cellar of a psychopath, she thought, panic returning with reality. Oh damn, she told herself, her nipples growing impossibly stiffer from the numbing chill, I've got to get loose...
Desperate and terrified, Regina rattled the handcuffs securing her to the cold metal chair. She opened her mouth to scream, only then remembering she'd been gagged. Help me! she wailed mentally. Somebody please help me!
The sound of a nearby door creaking open made her still once again. Her heart began slamming in her chest as not one--but two!--bone-chilling sets of footfalls steadily made their way down some steps and toward where she sat. She recalled that her legs were splayed wide apart and thrashed on the chair, hoping to no avail to close them. This isn't happening, Regina thought, her large breasts heaving up and down with her labored breathing. Dear God in heaven, tell me this isn't happening...
"I don't believe it," a deep, masculine voice murmured. "It's really her."