Wrapped in only a blanket, sitting beside her guest, River snapped, “Shut your mouth and pay attention. This is called a pare cut, so long as you go with the grain and your knife is sharp, chances of it skipping are slim. Just go slow.”
Stephen watched her shave another curl off the wood, the woman repeating the process until the lump in her hand turned smooth. Copying her technique, he found creating curves in his block difficult. Where hers grew soft, useful, he’d carved a shiv. Seeing her eyes dart to his work, the minute cock in her brow, and the silent shake of her shoulders, made it clear she was laughing at him.
He didn’t like it.
River saw the look in his eye. “Don’t be so touchy.” A fresh piece of basswood was shoved at him, River snagging the ruined stick from his fingers to set aside. “It takes practice.”
In the time it took her to carve a spoon, he’d made another shiv... “This seems a waste of your resources.”
River shrugged. “Just keep carving your little pointy sticks. I can use them in my traps.”
“How do you make these traps?”
She seemed to ponder leaving the carving lesson for a new one he might enjoy. “How are you at tying knots?”
“Show me these knots.”
Black eyes stared dead into his, the woman not teasing, “Do you know how to make a noose?”
“Yes.” Out of just about anything; human intestines were especially effective.
She moved from her seat beside him on the couch to dig through a cupboard near the kitchen, coming back with a bundle of twine and some wire. Her fingers flew over the string to create the basic knots to display. “The noose changes depending on the size of prey you’re trying to catch. Squirrels are easy. An overhand knot, a simple noose, a sapling, and some bait. Unfortunately, if their necks don’t break, their deaths are unpleasant... they just hang until they croak. That’s why I go for rabbits.” She gestured toward his pointed sticks. “The trap is more complex, but a sharp point ends it pretty quick.”
The woman’s words were absolutely ridiculous, causing Stephen to enlighten her, “How they die doesn’t matter, so long as you can eat them and assure your survival.”
“Wrong.” Her lips thinned, her eyes too.
Stephen understood her lack of experience. “You have never starved.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you starving now? No. You’re not... so you have the luxury of not being a total asshole to nature. Now stop interrupting and watch my fingers.” She made three types of easy knots, unmade them, and made them again.
When the man seemed to have a skill in recreating what he saw, she tried more complicated creations, looping, tucking, and challenging the string.
“You skipped a step.”
She hesitated. “What?”
“Here.” Stephen reached over and pointed to where her fingers were tangled incorrectly, hooking the loose bit with his finger to tuck through her mess.
After the knot was fixed he kept going, weaving something complicated around her slack fingers until she laughed. “Is that a human snare?” Seeing as all her fingers were steepled and bound, it could have been.
Stephen grunted, “Pull your hands apart.”
When she did, the strangeness of the creation tightened itself but let her go, until there was something that looked almost like lace in her hands. River lifted it, turning it this way and that to see the little pattern. “How did you do that?”
That little game had always amused him when he was bored in his sleeping cell. “The first knot I learned how to make was a noose. The prey I caught was strung up to die slowly... so it would keep other predators away. In those situations, I would not have ended their lives quickly with a knife to the chest.”
He was talking about people, River going ashen. “Predators eat trapped animals, they don’t avoid them.”
“Where I was born, in times of famine, eating one another was more common than you might imagine.”
What the fuck was she supposed to say when someone looked at you like that? “What do people taste like?”
“Better than your cooking.”
Coughing a nervous laugh, River edged away from the shifting male.
“I’m not sure if I say these things to frighten you, woman who has no lock on her house, or if I say them because they have not been spoken aloud before.” And they hadn’t been, not even with Mikhailov.
He had her awkwardly bent back against the armrest, River muttering, “Whenever you seem to relax, you mess up the vibe ... and crazy shit comes out of your mouth. You can’t handle the real world. You’re scared of what’s outside your very creepy bubble.”
Stephen took the knives and cast them aside, reaching to unfold the scratchy blanket over his next meal’s breasts. He had already taken her three times, until she cried for mercy and a nap. When the female had fallen asleep curled around him, wanting physical contact for reasons outside of sexual pleasure, it had been... different.
Her skin felt nothing like his, she hardly had a scar, and he got to touch her as she slept, Stephen most content when he kneaded her rear or weighed a breast. He even took her hair from the braids, a thing she woke to find and blushed at when he wanted to play with all that kinked length.
Now he had that hair in his fist, all gathered up so he might turn her, brace her over the arm of the sofa, where she trembled.
She shook, and he knew it was not from fear, but anticipation.
He made her wait while he scratched a nail over the phoenix’s outline, while he gripped just a little too hard the flesh of her ass, while he reached around and kneaded hanging breasts until she rubbed her scented, slippery woman parts against him.
Stephen wanted to let go—to grab and use her, setting aside caution for his strength.
Ramming in with no warning, hearing her grunt, he yanked harder on that hair. Violent, he took her from behind, pretending he didn’t like it when she stared over her shoulder, her jaw agape and moaning for him. Finding the tattoo over her back come alive with his jerking thrusts, scoring it with his fingers, he knew the image was no different than her submission to him.
There were no two tattoos in the world like the one River wore, just as there would never be another sexual moment that might compare to the one they shared, better or worse. It was singular. When his hips surged to rock her forward, when she fought the pull on her hair, he speared her all over again until Stephen felt her squeeze tight about his cock... and he fucked even harder. River was forced past release, almost fighting him so her orgasm might end. He held her lust-drugged eyes, he held her hip so she had to take him all... and nothing else existed in that moment. Stephen called her name as he came, as he gushed into a place already saturated with his mark. Falling atop her, unconcerned she was crushed or that she might not like the arm he circled tightly around her middle. Panting against her neck he found rest.
When she woke and he was gone, there was no surprise... or disappointment. For a moment he’d been afraid, and so had she. He had a part to play—the stranger. She had a part—the recluse. There wasn’t going to be a fairytale bullshit story. She didn’t want it; he didn’t want it. They both just wanted to survive.
Survival was lonely work.
His smell lingered after him. River straightening a room that lacked the precious woven blankets she’d extended in temper, a spare compass, two rabbits, all the thrown money… and the brown book she’d last been reading to him—a book she had written.
Going outside, she found he’d also dug out and stolen her snowmobile. She was trapped.
It was one month before she could make the hike down the mountain. Two months before she found she was carrying his child. And five months before Rangers began to sweep her mountain looking for traces of a wanted enemy agent who’d been identified in the nearest town.
River lied with a smile, rubbing her growing belly, and told them she had seen nothing.
The End
Addison Cain
Addison L. Cain was born i
n sunny California, but found herself drawn to dwell in older, history-rich places. Japan, Ireland, Qatar, and now Washington DC, Addison is always on the move, always eager to immerse herself in new cultures and people. Her stories reflect the antiquities she loves: deep and sometimes very dark. Driven to push her characters beyond the pale, Addison’s books are not for the faint of heart.
An alumni of California State University Fullerton, she earned a degree in Japanese and spent years in Asia studying indigenous Japanese religion. Primeval forests and worn pathways have led to her obsession with gardening. Her Great Dane approves, loping around the yard and getting into mischief. Unfortunately, the cat has to watch from a window, and because Addison is a total sucker for his sad golden eyes, he gets hours of belly rubs and too many treats.
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Addison Cain!
The Alpha’s Claim Series
Born to be Bound, Book One
Born to be Broken, Book Two
Reborn, Book Three
The Irdesi Empire Series
Sigil: Book One
Sovereign: Book Two
Historical Romance
A Trick of the Light
Dark Side of the Sun
Available Summer 2017
Alpha’s Control Book One
Anthologies
Hero Undercover
The Dark Forest: A Collection of Erotic Fairytales
Valentine’s Roulette: Unraveled
Social Media Links
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Tamara’s Choice
By
Trent Evans
©2017 by Blushing Books® and Trent Evans
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
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The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Trent Evans
Tamara’s Choice
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
He often wondered if he knew what right and wrong meant anymore.
The rain sprayed against the windshield with a tell-tale chunky splat, the gray morning so cold, Eldon thought snow would begin falling at any moment. Eldon had been allowed to dispense with his blindfold once they’d left behind any sight of the city. The driver hadn’t been apologetic about having to blindfold him before they left, but Dr. Forster had at least forewarned of that particular… wrinkle.
The noise the driver’s black leather coat made against the back of his seat was vaguely unnerving, the sound jarring in the muted quiet of the truck. It wasn’t Eldon’s first assignment; vice was positively overflowing with opportunities for plain-clothes, even deep cover, work.
Neither Nathan, the hulking driver with a high and tight haircut, nor Eldon, alone in the backseat of the massive Hummer, said a word. It was too early. And it was clear the man behind the wheel was watching his passenger as much as the road.
Eldon’s handler—the amusingly disheveled Lieutenant Bennett—had gone over it one more time that morning in the hotel room, dawn still hours away, the wafting blue-white of his cigarette smoke drifting from his nostrils as the man’s keen eyes scanned the laptop’s screen.
“They’re going to be suspicious of you at first. Get used to that right now. It doesn’t matter if your story is good, if everything checks out. They’re used to Dr. Forster. You’ve been doing these long enough to know the deal. Don’t be fucking cute. Just do your business, and get scarce when you can. Observe only—but if you find someone in danger, you do anything you can to get them out.” Bennett’s cold gaze had fixed on him then. “As long as you don’t break cover.”
The Dominion Trust was known to vice, of course, but what was frustrating was the fact Olympia PD knew next to nothing about it. Neither did Thurston County, or the staties. The organization had a dizzying array of businesses, subsidiaries, and proxies all over the country—and likely worldwide—but not a single one of them had ever come back dirty.
Not one.
What was even more unusual, the organization didn’t appear to deal in any drugs at all, nor prostitution—at least nothing low rent. Presumably, if the Trust was involved, it was probably high rent whores only. Those girls were much too smart to get pinched.
It was all too neat and tidy.
But yet the name of the Trust came up—and often enough to matter. Especially in the anonymous tip Thurston County had received about one Dr. Tom Forster.
He was an OB/Gyn out of Seattle, but the tip said he regularly made trips down to a location somewhere in rural southeastern Thurston County. The interesting thing was: there wasn’t much of anything in southeastern Thurston County. No medical center, not even an OB practice. They’d checked as far into the interior as Rainier and Yelm. Nothing came up on him.
But they did know one thing about Dr. Forster. He was a known associate of the Dominion Trust. He was listed as a stockholder in several of their subsidiaries, and he even sat on the board for one of them.
That was all they had to go on.
Thin as fuck.
But still, it was enough to convince vice to put someone in deep cover to try to learn more—starting with the good doctor.
Pre-med in school before dropping out to join the US Army to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan post-9/11, Eldon was the perfect candidate for the assignment. It helped that he was new to the squad—not senior enough to dodge what was most likely a bullshit assignment.
Somehow they’d managed to pull off getting Eldon hired on as an MA in Forster’s practice.
Nobody, and no thing, was as clean as the Dominion Trust appeared to be. Especially not an organization of that size. He knew they were up to something—any cop worth a squirt of piss would have suspected it.
A hunch and proof were two entirely different kettles of fish though.
Vice was Eldon’s last stop, though he’d never told his superiors that. In their minds, he was the job. A good cop, a lifer, someone who could be trusted to do what needed to be done.
Even in the shitty underworld of vice.
It wasn’t nearly that cut and dried though. Had he been that man once? Yes, maybe.
But now?
The world was a lot more complex than shades of gray. It was an upside down shitshow.
Spending the past two years busting hookers, ruining the marriages of johns, and generally making the lives of small-time dealers miserable had worn him down, well past the point of really believing that what he was doing made the world a better place.
No, this was his last cover. Then he was out.
Even if he had not the faintest fucking clue what he might do next.
“You never been to the farm before, have you?”
The rumbling voice from the driver’s seat made him jerk, and Eldon rubbed his eyes, feigning exhaustion, hoping the man up front hadn’t seen his jumpiness.
“First time. Dr. Forster filled me in on the cases he usually sees though.” Eldon tilted his head, the popping of his neck clearly audible. “How often are you out there?”
“A time or two,” the no-neck muttered.
Eldon knew it would have been better to shut up about it, but he actually wanted to know. He guessed the gorilla sent to pick him up was some sort of transporter or fixer. The crisp, economical way he’d walked up to the office door said military, or at least some sort of martial training. So did the fact the man knocked on the door at precisely 7:00 AM.
Typical run-of-the-mill scumbags were on time almost as often as a broken clock.
“How much left to go?”
They’d been driving for a while, long ago leaving Olympia behind, heading southeast toward the foothills of the Cascades, nothing but deserted two lane blacktop and soaring Douglas firs all around.
“Almost there.”
“Would never imagine a farm being this far out.”
Nathan looked back with a wink. “Kinda the idea.”
Though tempted to look at his phone, Eldon thought better of it. It said ‘nervous.’
“I’m new on this job. Anything you think I should know?” Eldon feigned a weary chuckle. “Dr. Forster wasn’t exactly thorough with his directions.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Nathan met his gaze in the rear-view mirror, his sly grin spreading across his face. “More fun if you just go in blind for your first time anyway. I did.”
Asshole.
Turning off the blacktop, the Hummer bounced down the shoulder onto a gravel single lane, not much more than a logging road snaking through the forest, the branches of the Douglas firs occasionally skirring along the side of the vehicle.
“Little, ah, rustic out here.”
Eldon clenched his jaw at the stupidity of the words.
Stay cool.
“Not much farther now,” Nathan said coolly.
More than one serial killer victim had probably heard those exact words.
He hated leaving his piece at the hotel, but he had no choice. One search—something practically guaranteed to happen if indeed the doctor turned out to be dirty—and the cover was blown.
Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 144