by Jacey Ward
He will be gone in the morning, her inner voice warned her, this is going to be a one-night stand,
Arya silenced the warning, pulling her lithe frame back and raising her body to position it above his jutting shaft. She refused to let the dark thought ruin her moment, so she stared into his eyes before lowering herself slowly onto his cock, the burn making her body sing.
They gasped in unison, Arya breathless from the sheer size of his member, their gazes meeting again as he arched up to fill her entirely.
She was swept up in a wave of pleasure, her fingers splayed against his bronze skin, teasing his rigid nipples as he drove himself further up inside.
“Oh, my gods!” Arya moaned, feeling the breadth of his cock reach that hidden bundle of nerves deep inside her.
They fell into an almost feral rhythm, her nails digging into his toned chest, his jaw clenched hard against the pleasures tearing through him.
She watched as his lips parted, his eyes piercing hers and she allowed herself to get lost in the sensation of his thrusts, the desire to climax overriding all else.
“Yes!” she gasped, not knowing how much more she could endure, juices running down her legs as she fell forward.
Again, he captured her nipple in his mouth, his finger finding her clit as he plunged even deeper inside her. As he manipulated her body like a master, Arya exploded, her orgasm ripping through her like a tidal wave.
“God, yes!” she screamed, green eyes shooting sparks as the tremors continued to tear through her. But Dante did not slow, his movements growing almost violent beneath her.
A growl was ripped from his chest as he grasped her hips firmly with both hands, directing her movements to compliment his, forcing her down hard as he thrust upward one final time. She felt the tremors that were coursing through her body intensify as he, too, lost control and shot into her with hot, relentless streams.
Slowly, his arched back relaxed onto the bed and she fell forward as the sensations finally subsided slowly. Arya rested her head on his chest, his heart pounding beneath hers.
She willed herself to stop trembling as they lay entangled in one another for a long moment, a crumpled mess of arms, legs and heavy breathing.
Arya didn’t want to move, knowing inherently that she had succumbed far too easily to the demon, but she could not regret it, not when her body still quivered with the euphoria flowing through her.
If she had to do it again, she would, without hesitation, no matter what her supernatural awareness had tried to forewarn. Never had she experienced such a connection with another being, mortal or immortal.
“You’re incredible,” Dante told her, gently rolling her off his body to lay her at his side. His eyes reflected the sincerity in his words and she found herself wanting to doubt her foreboding sixth sense as his fingertips traced the skin of her collarbone.
She gazed at him almost suspiciously. Who felt a connection like this, this fast? It just didn’t seem possible.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, brushing a thick strand of red hair from her eyes. It fell against the base of her neck in an unruly wave, just above the Algiz rune tattoo.
“Who are you?” Dante asked and suddenly Arya felt uncharacteristically shy at the question.
“In the existential sense?” she hedged, shifting her eyes away. She felt as if he could read her darkest thoughts, and not because he was more powerful but because she was vulnerable.
What would he say if he knew who I was really?
It was a difficult question. He wasn’t a mortal, after all. He did not operate by the same moral code as them. He might even embrace her criminal enterprise, but Arya felt that was more a second date discussion.
If there ever was be a second date.
Dante caught her face between his finger and thumb. A shiver of excitement coursed through her as she caught a whiff of her scent but she stared at him, biting on her lower lip.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he murmured, his tone flooding her with gooseflesh again. “I’ve never been so drawn to a stranger in a bar. Let alone a sorceress.”
“Have you had bad experiences with sorceresses?” she joked. “Some of us give the others such a bad reputation.”
Arya wanted to dismiss his words as post-sex flattery but she couldn’t deny the honesty she felt in them, nor the intense attraction between them. Even as she lay at his side, recovering, she felt another burst of heat slide through her and she blushed, knowing that she wanted to feel him inside her again. And again.
“You don’t trust me,” Dante announced and Arya’s eyes widened, a laugh escaping her lips.
“Should I?”
“Of course not,” he replied, his own smile growing. “But I can tell you this, Arya Ambrose…”
He trailed off and she waited, her breath catching in her throat, knowing that his next words would be prophetic.
“Now that I’ve found you, I will never let you go.”
A wave of relief flooded through her body and she sank back against the lumpy mattress, closing her eyes as Dante’s mouth found her throat. There was no reason for him to say that. He owed her nothing, no more than she owed him. She had already given herself to him, he needed nothing else from her. The only reason that he would bother telling her such a thing was because he felt it, the same way she did.
Arya knew it defied reason or reality but she would not resist it, not when everything aligned so perfectly. As his mouth travelled along the soft skin of her chest toward her navel, Arya’s fingers curled into his dark curls. She guided his head along the path of her body toward her still-sopping middle and sighed when his tongue lapped at her throbbing nub.
Her vision was wrong. It had to be.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
~ ~ ~
They made love four times that night, each occasion bringing Arya to new heights, her body experiencing a high she never knew it could achieve. She fell asleep in his arms, exhausted, spent and throbbing, listening to the sound of his hot blood firing through his veins. When the pale light of morning peeked through the cracked blinds of her dilapidated apartment, Arya blinked slowly, a smile still on her face.
Dante had plagued her dreams, his eyes boring into hers, just as they had in her wakeful hours.
“I have to go,” he told her. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“You better,” she murmured.
And when she opened her eyes fully, she realized that it had not been a dream, and that she lay alone in her bed.
Dante was gone.
She tried to remember anything he may have said but it was still hazy, her mind still caught in the fog of eroticism from the night before.
He’ll be back, Arya told herself, rising to greet the day with coffee. She was surprisingly worse for wear, considering how little she had drunk, but a smile touched her lips as she remembered the vigorous sexual exercises Dante had put her through.
But as the coffee pot emptied again, and the sun rose on the filthy streets of South Park, a dark, ominous cloud rolled through her mind, blotting the sun’s rays from casting the weakest flicker of hope that Dante was coming back.
By nightfall, the actual storm had rolled in, dumping rain onto the soggy dumpsters below and Arya was concerned, her natural cynicism returning. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but she was a big girl, even if, apparently, she had been caught up in the charms of an immortal player.
He was a demon, after all, devious and untrustworthy. Whatever connection she had felt had only been one sided, she guessed.
She felt like a fool, but Arya Ambrose was not one to lay down and cry about her losses. She would move on her with life, pretending that the chance encounter never existed, even though she secretly wondered about Dante and what he had done after he left her place.
Maybe something terrible happened to him. Maybe he tried to call her, but he didn’t know her number. Her mind spun through possibilities, all the while, never facing the most
likely possibility of all.
He could find you. He knows where you live for Hades sake. And he’s richer than Hades too, so even if he couldn’t come to you, he could have sent someone.
Her mind finally accepted the sad fact, but her body still mourned the loss of him, the twinges of soreness she felt throughout that day and the next constantly reminding her of how she had been played for a fool – by a master.
Finally, after a week, the anger came. She was rip-roaring mad that he had the nerve to treat her that way! And to plaster on all those promises and endearments too! He hadn’t needed to do that, so the fact that he had just made her realize that he was probably laughing his demon hot ass off at her expense. What a colossal asshat, she thought. I’ve got a good mind to tell him that too. And I’ll be the one to laugh in his face, to show him that I don’t care, I never really did.
And with that thought in mind, she got dressed in her classiest white silk sundress that made her mane of soft red waves positively pop, put four inch stilettos on her dainty feet, and ubered her way over to his office tower.
Good thing I did this while I’m still angrier than hell, she thought to herself as she peered way up at the imposing expanse of the mirrored high rise.
She regally entered the building, gliding right over to the receptionist who peered at her with a bit of hesitation, Arya’s determined stance obviously giving the girls a heads up about what she wanted.
“I’d like to see Dantalion, please,” she demanded.
The secretary looked at her closely, trying to weigh the possible options in her head.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, obviously trying out the easiest option to get rid of her first.
“No, but he will want to see me,” she lied.
Slowly, the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed a single number. She brought the phone to her ear, and hesitantly asked if Dante would want to see Arya. Then she thanked the person on the other end of the line and replaced the receiver into it’s cradle.
She did all this without making eye contact with Arya. Possibly because she just knew she was about to have an argument on her hands. Finally, she looked at Arya and sat up a little straighter, seeming to decide that she best get this over with.
Arya didn’t exactly like intimidating people, but if she could use that to her advantage, then in this case, she would. She’d just say an extra prayer to her gods later to make up for it, she decided.
“He, um, isn’t seeing anyone today,” she mumbled, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Maybe you can come back next week?”
Arya gritted her teeth, trying to remember that it was not this poor girl’s fault that Dante was a complete ass.
“Try him again, please,” she ordered. “Now.”
The girl’s eyes widened at the command. “But… I can’t! They said no, and I can’t – “
“He’s too busy to see anyone, or just me?” Arya demanded, suddenly needing to know the answer to that specific question.
The poor receptionist’s face fell even further, but then suddenly, her eyes perked up as if she had just thought of a way out of this. If Arya hadn’t been so angry, maybe her senses would have alerted her to that little tell.
“Um, sorry to say this, Miss… but, he um, doesn’t want to see you.”
The humiliation hit her first, and then a wave a anger so strong, her body almost vibrated with it.
“Fine. Tell him he can go pound sand for all I care.”
And she whirled around, stalking from the building with her head held high.
Never again. Never again will I speak to him, or of him, she vowed.
Work consumed her days, her friends distracted her at night.
No one besides Cerce ever knew about the demon who had inspired an unbridled passion inside her, and then an unparalleled fury, and slowly Arya felt less…just, less. Life went on as it was supposed to, Dante mostly forgotten; or at least Arya had convinced herself of such.
Until the day he kind of reappeared – in another form.
As her body changed, Arya knew then that she would never be free of him, no matter how much the thought enraged her.
Coming to Amazon in the fall of 2018!
Check out this collaborative BOOKSET with CHLOE FISCHER and
JACEY WARD! Now on Amazon.
The “HARD” SERIES: Bad boys with superpowers…
A soldier, an assassin, a thief, and… an accountant?
Four brothers, separated as children, threatened by the organization that gave them their superpowers.
Ryder (the soldier). Finds Paige, but can he keep her?
Xavier (the thief). Finds Danica, but can he trust her?
Xander (the assassin). Finds Ashtyn, but will he kill her?
and Aiden…the holder of the baddest superpower of all.
And for a sample of Chloe Fischer’s best seller “Blackmail”, turn the page!
DIREN – he’s rich, gorgeous, charming…and a total A$$.
AYLA – she’s stunning, innocent, loyal…and she’s being blackmailed.
No one believed there was a woman out there who would be able to break through Diren’s jaded walls. Until Ayla proved everyone wrong and did the unimaginable.
But then Diren discovers that Ayla is hiding a big secret, that she’s just like everyone else who tries to use him, then betray him.
Now those walls are stronger than ever, and Diren vows to make Ayla pay.
He refuses to see it, but Ayla had no choice, and her secret is forcing her to choose…between the rock…or the hard place.
Can she get Diren to see that…before he destroys her, and himself too?
BLACKMAIL – PREVIEW
Prologue
August 2006
“Just drive, you stupid bitch! Don’t look back!”
She couldn’t breathe, panic blocking her vision as she steered the station wagon blindly through the backroads.
“Pull over here,” he yelled. “And get out!”
She peered at him, horrified.
“What? We’re in the middle of nowhere – ,“ she pleaded.
“Just do what the fuck I say!”
The look in his eyes was worse than she had ever seen it and she knew that she had no choice but to obey before it became much, much worse.
Slowing the car to the edge of the embankment, he shoved her arm roughly and she yelped out, more from fear than pain.
“Get out!”
Not needing to be told again, she fell from the driver’s side onto the dirt road as he crawled over the console and slammed the door shut.
Leaving her on the side of the road, sobbing and hysterical he yelled out at her again.
“Get your shit together!” he shouted, peering in the rear-view mirror to ensure they weren’t seen. “Do not go home. You stay right fucking here! If anyone comes along, you hide in the damned cornfields. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, shaking as he pulled away, the spinning tires filling her face with dust.
She fell to the ground, burying her face in her hands as the tears stung her eyes.
What have I done? How could I have let this happen?
Images began to pour into her mind, his hand reaching up, the godawful sound, and the blood…so much blood.
She was wheezing, the hot sun burning down on her.
I have to call the police, she thought, stumbling to her feet. I don’t care what he says. We have to call the police.
She looked around, spinning in circles searching for signs of life, but she was only trying to catch her bearings.
I will find a phone, she thought, willing herself to be rational. I will find a phone and call for help. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. Everything will be fine.
She lumbered toward the direction they had come, barely aware of the heat as the rays burned through her dark clothes like searing bullets.
Bullets and blood and blood and bullets and blood and bullets…
The constan
t refrain played in her mind like something out of a horror film, but she could not silence the repeat in her mind.
She did not know how long she had walked but it was as if her mind had left her body and she was nothing but a numb vessel, moving through space down a lonely country road which seemed to lead nowhere.
Then the farmhouse appeared like a mirage, beyond a row of dairy cows grazing in the field. She needed to knock on the door and use the phone. She wanted the nightmare to be over before she fell into the abyss which was threatening to consume her.
How can you eat at a time like this? She wanted to scream at the beasts who barely acknowledged her as she climbed the fence.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His voice was like a thousand knives stabbing into her back and she turned to look into his inky, void eyes.
He hung out the passenger side window, ready to pounce if she took another step in the wrong direction.
“We have to call the police,” she whispered. “We have to – “
“Get in the car, Ayla,” he said flatly.
“We have to call – “
“Get in the car,” he told her again and there was no mistaking the malice in his voice. “I took care of it.”
She stared at him blankly, the words making little sense to her jumbled mind.
“What – “
“GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”
He lunged to open the door, but she scrambled back over the pasture toward the road.
He watched her carefully as if worried she would flee as he shifted back into the driver’s side.
When she closed the door, he zoomed back up the lane, his mouth a gash of annoyance.
“What did you do?” she asked after several minutes of silence.
“I took care of your mess,” he retorted.
“What does that mean?”
He glanced at her through his peripheral vision.
“What I said. No one will know anything.”