eBook Details


The Training House (Book One): Girl

Series: The Training House , Book 1.0
By: Eden Bradley | Other books by Eden Bradley
Published By: Garden of Eden Books
Published: Sep 15, 2015
ISBN # 9780990501251
Word Count: 35,347
Heat Index      
ARe Best of Award Winner 
Eligible Price: $0.99

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Epub, Mobipocket (.mobi)

Categories: Erotica>BDSM Erotica>Contemporary


The Training House (Book One): Girl (The Training House) by Eden Bradley - Erotica>BDSM eBook

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Eden Bradley

In those breathless moments between pleasure and pain lie the most poignant truths…

I have signed myself over to The Training House: my devotion, my obedience, my body. It is what I have always yearned for—to lose myself in powerlessness. To be made to. But this place is more than anyone could possibly prepare for, especially the Master of the House. He is too stunning, too commanding, bringing out a yearning for submission in ways I have never imagined, and I am lost in nearly unbearable desire. He uses my body until he brings me to tears, then tenderly wipes them away, enslaving me to him instantly, body and soul. I cannot imagine existing without him, without his wicked touch, his strict and sensual command…

Until I meet another slave, and he changes the game of kink for me forever. How can I decide what my heart wants most, without risking losing it all?

WARNING:: These books contains material that may be difficult to read about and/or cause triggers for some readers, including consensual non-consent and other scenes that could be disturbing. Do NOT try this at home!

**NOTE: This book ends on a cliffhanger. Book Two, BOY, will be out by December, 2015.
Reader Rating:   3.0 starstarstar (1 Ratings)
Sensuality Rating:   lipliplip
He walks into the room and I don’t know where to look, what to do with my hands, what to say. Of course, I’m not supposed to say anything, am I? But even if I could—even if I dared—he is simply too overwhelmingly beautiful.
I didn’t expect it—didn’t expect him. My bare feet shift on the soft Persian rug, the wood floor beneath creaking like a quiet sigh of pleasure. Taking in a quick, gasping breath, I inhale the scents of aged wood and plaster, the papery smell these old San Francisco Victorians have. Scent and sound were all I knew until a moment ago, when someone removed the blindfold from my eyes. I know the city I’m in, but not where, exactly. I am not supposed to know. And now I know what the man I have been sold to looks like. My new Master. The man I would have served with deep devotion simply because he owns me, because this servitude is what I want—what I need—but who now is making me dizzy with indescribable lust and expectation.
He must be six-foot-four, with broad shoulders under a dark blue button-down shirt. European tailoring—the shirt fits his shoulders and his narrow waist too perfectly to be anything else, which I recognize right away from my time in Italy, Spain and London with my previous owner. A small stabbing ache in my chest at that thought, but I focus on the shirt, on the man before me, and the pain drifts, fades away.
His sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong forearms. There is a tattoo of a Japanese style dragon curling around his right arm—a symbol of power, which suddenly, inexplicably, seems funny to me, if only because this man’s power seeps from every pore and needs no sign of proof. I let out a small, stupid giggle. Unable to help it. Helpless. Perhaps that’s why the giggle.
Helpless. Yes.
Or perhaps because the giggle is more from relief, the knowledge that my desire for pain, for punishment, will soon be sated.
He raises one dark brow over eyes that gleam like pure, blue fire in the dim light of the room. His voice is a low threat. Upper class American accent. “You find me amusing, girl?”
Girl. Is that to be my name in this place? Not Aimée? Why does that frighten me so when this is everything I’ve asked for? To be rendered invisible in a way I choose.
A flash of my father, his back turned to me. How many times did that actually happen, and how much of it is purely symbolic, when in fact, I hardly ever saw him? But I don’t want to think of all that now. I am here to forget. To forget my past. To forget myself. To immerse myself in this powerlessness that is of my choosing.
Still, it occurs to me for one moment, sharp with the edge of panic, that maybe I should have read the contract more carefully before I signed it.
“Speak up,” he demands.
“No, Sir.”
“Nerves?” There’s a long pause—long enough to make me feel the truth of what he’s suggested down to my toes, in my belly, in those dark, dark recesses of my mind that brought me here to begin with.
“Of course you’re nervous,” he goes on. “If you weren’t I’d send you back. I don’t take foolish girls. I don’t take a lot of things, but you’ll find out about that soon enough.” He steps closer and even his earthy, spicy, elegant scent frightens me, partly because he smells so good I want to drop to my knees before him—need to—which scares me half to death. “What I will take…is you. Whenever I want. I will do whatever I want to you. And any time you doubt why you’re here I will find a way to remind you. I will remind you through pain. Through denial. Through darkness. I will remind you by giving you exactly what you asked for when you agreed to come to my house. The Training House never fails its…victims.”
I’m shaking now, my legs trembling so hard they’re about to go out from under me, and then I will be on my knees, like it or not. I will like it, which I already know. I am also drenched with desire, my pussy slick and pulsing, which should not be surprising, but it is. Every single detail about this moment is shocking to me.
He steps closer and I look up at his face, knowing this may be the last opportunity I’m allowed. And God, his eyes are so, so blue—midnight blue, eyes like I’ve never seen before. His hair is dark and the slightest bit unruly. His jaw and cheekbones are sharply cut, as if from stone, and his mouth is both lush and cruel. I want to touch it, with just my fingertip. I don’t dare even think of kissing him. Oh, but I am a liar; I do think of kissing him. I think of that mouth between my thighs.
Neither of those things is likely to happen in this place.
Torture already, and I’ve just gotten here.
© Eden Bradley 2015

The Training House (Book One): Girl

By: Eden Bradley