Just the Tip Read Online Jenika Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Forbidden, Novella, Taboo Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 12868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 64(@200wpm)___ 51(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)

He broke into my house, watched me sleep.

He was dressed in black and wore a mask, telling me I could run but he’d catch me.

I knew he only wanted one thing, and he wouldn’t leave until he got it.

To use me.

It was just the tip… of his tongue on my body, his weapon at my throat. It was just the tip of sweetness and fear that held me close and refused to let me go.

I was frightened of the lengths he’d go, of how close he’d take me to the edge. I didn’t know if he’d throw me over or embrace me in the darkness.

All I could do was surrender. It was bittersweet and an encounter I didn’t know if I’d live to see the end of.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


“Go on, little girl. Make a run for it. I want to chase you.”

It was when he chuckled that I darted for the door, gripped the handle, and tore it open. I ran out and was about to hit the staircase to sprint downstairs when I felt his hand wrap around my ponytail and yank me back against his chest.

He laughed deeper, harder, and dragged me back to the room kicking and screaming.

I didn’t want this… but oh my God, what was this feeling between my thighs? A tingling. A warmth.

An intense wrongness.

We were back in my room, and he slammed the door shut, pressed my back to it, and towered over me in that terrifying neon mask.

Long seconds passed in which he didn’t speak, just stared at me. I couldn’t see much through the darkness of the room and the shadows crowding us. His mask, although lit, was dim and not overpowering. Just enough to see between the two of us.

It was petrifying.

He dragged out a knife and held it in front of me. I felt my eyes widen and pressed my back to the door, my palms flat against the cool, hard wood.

“Don’t move,” he cooed and lifted that knife right to my throat, pressing the tip to my neck. “I might cut you if you do.”

I shivered and closed my eyes, the blade cold but warming from my body heat.

“But if I’m being honest, little girl, I want to slice this pretty flesh and watch it turn red with your blood.”

And when I felt his hand between my thighs, a soft sound left me, one that humiliated me because it wasn’t just of fear.

This is wrong. God, this is so wrong, but it feels so good.

I was sick and twisted getting off on the way this masked intruder touched me. His breathing was hard as he dug his knife into my throat a little more, pulling a moan from me.

He slid the blade down, and I gasped at how the sting from it told me he was actually cutting my skin as he made his way to my nightshirt. He tore through it easily until it was hanging open from my shoulders.

“Stop this,” I said, and he laughed before thrusting his fingers between my legs. I’d taken off my panties when I went to the bathroom mere minutes ago after waking up soaked from my dream, right before this intruder shocked me by stepping out from behind my shower curtain. So now, he touched against bare, slick flesh.

He leaned in and said against my ear, his words muffled by the mask, “Dirty, fucking liar. Your cunt is soaked for me.” He laughed again, and the sound was harsh as it moved along my body… like his knife just had.



The day my grandmother remarried, I was fifteen years old and could only focus on the fact that my step-grandfather was ten years younger than she was, and he certainly didn’t look like a “grandpa” in the traditional sense—although he was only forty-five.

Oliver—or Oli, as anyone close called him—was a businessman who traveled so much for work we rarely saw him. But the couple of times a year, he did visit, and my family made a big spectacle out of it.

He married my grandmother, Ellen, at the courthouse. There hadn’t been a fancy ceremony, not even a reception. Then again, Oli was her third husband.

My grandmother invited us to dinner the night they’d gotten married, where she officially introduced Oli. That had been the first time we met him and, if I were honest, the first time I even heard she was seeing anyone, let alone involved in a relationship so deeply she would marry the man.

Oli certainly hadn’t looked like a grandfather—not how my biological one looked anyway. I had a stereotypical idea of what grandparents looked like, one my grandmother didn’t fit, either, not even now at sixty-seven years old.

She always looked youthful, her style fluid with the times.

But Oli and Grandma Ellen’s marriage only lasted five years. I never asked what caused their divorce. I never thought much of it. But for those five years, my family had gotten close to Oli. He was funny and smart, an international businessman who was a worldly traveler and would tell us stories when he’d come back to the States.

He’d always bring back trinkets for my sister and me from wherever he went—whatever part of the world he’d gone that trip.

So, even though they hadn’t been married for many years now, my family loved the hell out of Oli, and we still saw him a couple of times a year.

My grandmother? That was a whole other story. She was now on her fourth marriage to a man close to my age. She’d up and sold everything, moved across the country, and was living her best life the last I heard.