Vonna Harper

by His Slave

  Between his handling of her breast and her attempt to meet him sensation for sensation, she was hard put to concentrate on anything else.

  “What’s this me business? Your idea, your bait shop.”

  “No can do.” Looking too bored for her to believe, he stared in on her other breast. He’d have to be dead not to notice he’d hardened her nipples. “You’re the one with the flexible hours. Lie down. I want to try something.”

  She did as he ordered, shivering in anticipation as he knelt beside her. “I thought we were going to watch the news.”

  “It’ll be there later.” He licked the tip of one nipple, then the other. “Damn but you have perky knockers.”

  Breathe. Keep it calm, somehow. “Wow, you sure know how to sweet talk a woman.”

  Closing in on her, he sucked a nipple into his mouth. If not for the recliner, she would have flowed out all over the patio. Her lids drooped. She couldn’t summon the strength to lift her arms.

  “That feel good?” he asked, coming up for air. He took hold of her breast again, drawing it deep. Her stomach lurched. Whipping her head from side to side helped, a little.

  “Good,” she managed. “Damn good for an old man.”

  “Not old, experienced.”

  Most days they didn’t speak about the first chapter in their lives together, but there was no pretending it hadn’t happened. Mace was incredibly experienced when it came to what a woman’s body needed, and she loved being the recipient of that knowledge, most of the time. Sighing, she tried to lose herself in sensation. His warm, insistent mouth owned not just her breast, but her entire body. All except for a small part of her mind.

  Long before she was ready for him to do so, Mace released her. Air from the fan dried her breast.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “What is what?”

  “Don’t do that, Cheyenne.” Shifting position, he placed his arms on either side of her and leaned down so his breath washed her forehead. “I saw it in your body language the moment I spotted you.”

  Of course he did. There wasn’t a single thing he didn’t know about her just as there wasn’t anything she didn’t love about him.

  “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “The Blind Spot you mean.”

  “And the people there, mostly the women. I keep thinking there must be something we can—”

  “There isn’t.”

  He was right. They’d discussed the way things were at the Blind Spot numerous times, taking turns trying to come up with a way to free the females. The lawbreakers from Earth were another matter. They couldn’t go back. Talking to law enforcement wouldn’t change anything. The FBI, CIA, Secret Service, all those agencies would declare them insane. There was no such place as the Blind Spot.

  Only there was.

  “Cheyenne,” Mace whispered. “I want to change things there as much as you do, but for now that’s not going to happen.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I think I know why it’s bothering you today. You admire what Angela has made of her life. You want to do the same.”

  Her system felt soft and alive, a combination of sexual tension and love. Mace, her life, was responsible.

  “I guess I do.” She might have said more if Rio hadn’t chosen that moment to yawn, loudly.

  “That’s one of the things I love about you,” Mace went on with his breath brushing her sensitive nipples. “You care, deeply.”

  “Maybe too much.”

  “There’s no such thing. Honey, for now the Blind Spot is beyond our ability to do anything about. Like Bat said, the entrance disappears when it isn’t being used. But you can help those living with addicts by making sure Angela’s voice is heard. I know what kind of job you do. The writing will be powerful.”

  Loving him as she’d never believed it was possible to love, she increased her hold on him. His weight settled on hers. She was cursing their respective shorts when the recliner collapsed under them. At the last moment, he ran his hand between the back of her head and the concrete.

  “You okay?” he asked, making no move to get off.

  “I guess. There’s this oaf on me.”

  “An oaf who very much likes where he is, so what the hell are you going to do about it?”

  Just like that, she lost the thoughts that had mentally taken her back to the Blind Spot. Mace was right. They’d fight the battles they could.

  Only battles weren’t their only option. Right now she’d rake her nails over her man’s back, and he’d lift his head and nibble her chin. Right now they’d tear off each other’s clothes and fuck on what remained of a lounge chair.

  Later they’d take their naked, satiated bodies inside so they could feed their dog and stare at the news with her head on his still-naked lap and his hand stroking her equally naked buttocks.

  There’d be no talk of bait shops, only that of photo-taking trips into the Everglades and the pros and cons of nipple rings.

  Turn the page for a special excerpt of Katana Collins’s

  SOUL STRIPPER

  It’s called Sin City for a reason. Nowhere else are the temptations so great, the sex so good, and the demons so bad....

  By day, Monica is a barista in a local café. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it puts her up close and personal with her sexy boss, Drew. Unfortunately, that’s as far as a succubus can go unless she wants to take his soul. Monica needs mind-blowing sex to sustain her, and she finds her victims every night at a local strip club where she’s an exotic dancer. But when her powers begin to diminish and her fellow succubi start turning up dead, all bets are off. Monica realizes she’s the one immortal who has a chance in hell of making things right ...

  An Aphrodisia trade paperback on sale now.

  PROLOGUE

  She lay on top of his body, her bare breasts pressed against his tight muscles. His breathing was steady against her chest. She lifted herself up quietly so as not to wake him. She hadn’t known her date for long, but he seemed nice enough.

  She walked to her bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light. A candle glowed on the sink, and she ran the faucet to splash some water on her face. A tendril of red, curly hair fell over one shoulder, and she could taste something bad in her mouth—what was that? Morning breath? She grabbed her toothbrush, which hadn’t been used in ages. Every now and then to spruce up before a date, but really—she had no need for one other than keeping up appearances. She scrubbed the bristles against her teeth, the action feeling foreign, and stared at her reflection.

  It was dark, but her succubus vision was sharp.

  There was something next to her mouth—a crease? It couldn’t be. Succubi don’t get wrinkles. She closed her eyes and shifted, thinking about what areas she wanted to change. Where there would normally be a tingle—some shiver of magic running through her body—she felt hardly anything. A few goose bumps rose on her arms. When she opened her eyes, the crease was still there, though slightly less visible. She spit the minty foam into the sink and tossed her toothbrush down, bringing her face in closer to the mirror to investigate.

  She was naked with the exception of the beautiful anklet dangling just above her foot—a gift from the man lying in her bed, fast asleep. Her breasts brushed the cold porcelain of her sink, making her jump back slightly. She closed her eyes and shifted into clothes. The power was still there, though barely. She looked down, now wearing a sheer camisole and panties. It wasn’t what she had in mind, but at least it was something. Her head was spinning and she was dizzy, faint from the energy spent.

  The light behind her clicked on and she jumped, turning to find her date standing behind her. His eyes, which had been so kind only hours before, now seemed like empty, bottomless holes. “Trouble sleeping?”

  She shook her head, fiery hair tickling her collarbone. A pull came from deep in her gut, feeling his aura’s shift from earlier in the night. It was red—a purplish red. She sent hi
m the sweetest smile she could muster and casually tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “Not at all. Just wanted to freshen up before round two.” She reached for the sink, grabbing her porcelain hand mirror from the vanity and slowly brought it to her face. She kept one eye on him and managed to act as though she were looking at her reflection.

  His chiseled jaw clenched, and his face twisted into a sadistic smile. “Come now, Savannah. We both know there’s not going to be a round two. I can smell your fear.” From behind his back, he pulled out a knife with a serrated blade. He moved quickly, lunging at the succubus, but even in her exhausted state she moved faster.

  She smashed the porcelain mirror against the counter, the glass shattering, leaving her with the pointed shard of the handle. She swung the shiv toward him, just barely missing his arm. They each stood in a crouched position, ready to strike.

  He laughed at her. His head tipped back, the low chuckle escaping his throat like the soft rattle of a dangerous snake. With no warning, he threw his knife, the blade slicing through her bare foot, staking it to the hardwood floor.

  She screamed, her body crumpling into a heap, and yanked the knife away. She sat there, blade in one hand, shiv in the other, waiting for her foot to heal itself. Waiting for regeneration that didn’t come. He cackled above her. She looked up to find him standing over her, another knife in his hand.

  He knelt, eyes cold like stone. “You’re waiting for something that’s not going to happen, hun. You are practically human. Nothing’s going to heal itself this time.”

  Her breath became shorter—panic. She had not felt true fear in such a long time. Not since she was human. She forced her breathing to slow down. Forced herself to stop the tunnel vision from closing around her. She still held two weapons, his knife in one hand and her shiv in the other. She would not go down without a fight. The small tingle of power coursed through her veins, reminding her she still had a touch of magic left—she would find the right time to use it.

  She swiped the knife across his bare chest, and the blade slid into his tender flesh. He fell back, a scream echoing in the bathroom. In the moment it took him to gather his composure, she leaped over his body, running to the bedroom. Her leap was not high enough and he raised his knife, cutting her deeply behind the knee.

  Both legs were damaged. She could hardly stand; most of her weight rested on her hands, leaning on the dresser. She had lost the knife somewhere along the jump, but the shiv was still clenched so tightly in her fist that her palm was bleeding. The blood from her knee traveled down her leg, over her calf, and as it dripped across her beautiful anklet, steam rose with a sizzle, as though the anklet were absorbing the blood. The blood that hit the anklet dropped to the floor, still steaming and sizzling, creating burn marks like a chemical spill.

  He walked slowly toward her, knives dripping with blood. His, hers—did it matter? “It’s over, Savannah.”

  She shook her head, eyes wide and wet. “Why?”

  His eyes creased, and he smiled in that evil way again. He shuddered with pleasure as her body trembled in fear before him. “You kill for a living. And now, so do I.”

  Adjusting her body, she forced herself to stand so that she was leaning only against one arm—the shiv stretched out in front of her. “Then come and get me, fucker.” Despite her tough exterior, her heart hammered against her ribs.

  He ran toward her. As he did, she shifted into a serpent with her last remaining power. Her fangs sunk into his abdomen just before his knives slit her throat. A handful of scales fluttered to the floor and a fang ripped out of her mouth as she choked on her own blood. She fell to the ground, transforming back into her human form. A bloody goddess with lifeless eyes.

  He chuckled softly and licked the blood from his knife, his body radiating with the power of fresh blood and a new kill. Her magic entered his body with her blood, slithering down his throat like a fine cognac. He bent down and ran his hand down the length of her lifeless body. Using the edge of the knife, he gathered a pool of blood on the blade and scraped it across two small test tubes. “I’d fuck you one last time, but I fear it would somehow wake you,” he whispered to himself. “Such a waste.” His fingers trailed down her hips, across her ass, and down her thighs until he reached the anklet. He ripped it swiftly from her body, pocketing it before taking off.

  1

  The smell of coffee always turns me on.

  Well, it might not be the coffee as much as it is my manager at the coffee shop. Drew. I liked to repeat his name in my head. Drew. Drew. Andrew Sullivan—one of the best men I’ve ever met. Which might not be saying much for him considering the degenerates I hang out with. I wiped down a table with a few stains, thinking about those dimples of his. He always had the faint aroma of coffee on his clothes. And under his cotton T-shirts, I could see the slightest ripple of muscles. Long and lean. The muscles of a soccer player.

  I stood there wiping the same spot over and over, my nails scraping against the tabletop. I imagined Drew’s lips gently brushing against the dip in my neck. His growing erection pressing into me as he tenderly nibbled the soft skin above my collarbone. Monica, Monica, he’d moan....

  “Monica?” His smooth voice snapped me out of my dream. “I think that table’s clean.” His lips curled into a playful smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. He turned his attention back to the faucet, wrench in hand, fixing the constant drip that had been annoying all the baristas over the past week.

  “Oh. Right, of course. Sorry, Drew. I’m sort of lost in my own thoughts today.” My eyes traveled to his tight ass; his signature dirty towel was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans. Disoriented, I turned to move on to my next task and slammed into a customer closing in on the table I just cleaned. His iced coffee spilled onto my chest. Ice dribbled down my white T-shirt, and cold coffee covered my now-tight nipples.

  “Oh shit.” I looked up at the regular customer whose caffeinated beverage I was now wearing. He looked angry—which for anyone else might have been a problem. But for me? This was an easy fix for any succubus over a century old. That’s what I am—a succubus. And whatever notions you have in your head about succubi are probably wrong. Just because I am a minion of Hell doesn’t necessarily make me an “evil” being.

  I used to be an angel and am apparently the only angel-turned-succubus known within the demon realm. I guess this sort of makes me a celebrity. They call me the golden succubus—the nickname makes me cringe. It’s a bit too reminiscent of a particular “golden” sex act.

  I looked up at the angry man standing over me and felt the tingles as my succubus magic handled the situation. My bottom lip pouted naturally when I spoke. “I am just so sorry.” As I took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on my nipples pushing out my wet T-shirt. “I’m such a klutz!” Running my fingernail along his forearm, his face softened.

  “It’s really no problem.” He flashed a smile after licking his lips. “We should really get you out of that shirt.” He lifted a hand to his mouth, and I noticed a wedding band on that ring finger of his.

  Fucking men.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, Drew stepped between us, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “You can go have a seat—we’ll bring you another coffee.”

  “Iced coffee.” The married man smirked and looked past Drew, meeting my eyes.

  “Iced coffee? What’s the matter—can’t take the heat?”

  “It’s Vegas, man. Who drinks hot coffee in the middle of the desert?”

  Drew’s mouth tipped into a barely visible smile. “I do.”

  The customer ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “Fine, whatever man.”

  Drew was still standing protectively in front of me, and I touched his arm lightly, an attempt to break him from his aggressive stance. As he rocked back on his heels, Drew’s face cracked into a friendlier smile—one that was much more appropriate as the owner of the coffee shop. He clapped the man on the bicep in that weird way men do to each other. “Just mess
in’ with you, man. Have a seat. I’ll get your iced coffee.”

  Once the customer was out of earshot, Drew swiveled around, his smile entirely gone, replaced again with the anger I had seen a moment ago. He leaned down, his face suddenly close to mine. “Do you have to come on to every friggin’ customer?” He grunted and pushed past my shoulder, heading back behind the counter.

  “Me? I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, Drew—but that guy came on to me. Not the other way around.” I was whispering so not to create a scene in the crowded café.

  “You don’t even realize how much you flirt.”

  I paused, taking in his vibe. “We’re not talking about him anymore, are we?”

  He snorted and slammed some of his tools around, not answering right away. After a few seconds of silence, he stood with his hands on his hips, not meeting my eyes. “That was a long time ago, Mon. Trust me, I’m not exactly sitting at home pining away over you.”

  “Six months is not that long ago.” Ever since I started working for him here at the coffee shop, I knew he was bound to ask me out at some point. He managed to hold out longer than most men—almost two years after we first met, he invited me to dinner. And I for some stupid reason still have a conscience—that little bit of angel left in me—and had to say no. I couldn’t take that risk with Drew’s soul.

  He sighed. “It is in the dating world. You should know that.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’m happy you’ve moved on.” I swallowed. His lips pressed together and one eyebrow twitched into an arch. Maybe he knew I was bluffing, maybe he didn’t. It didn’t exactly matter anymore. We held each other’s gaze for seconds too long. I broke the eye contact first and joined him behind the counter, pulling out a new cup of ice for the customer’s replacement coffee.