by A. J. Norris
“I know what I want and I get it. Always.”
His tongue parted her lips and she sank into him, her hips rocking against him. She would have him and not just that night. Every night and for however long it took to fill the barren need for him growing inside of her. With each glance, it deepened. With every touch, it intensified.
Hawke sighed in her mouth, his firm hand cupping her breast. Cressida reached between her thighs, desperate to find the button on his jeans. She leaned up on her knees so he could pull them off and when he finished, he flipped her back over, his body engulfing her.
He ravaged her. His kisses were tender and passionate. His thumb played inside the hem of her panties, threatening to remove them, but he didn’t. Instead, he tortured her. He toyed with every fantasy she swore she’d never have about her roommate. His tongue lavished along the borders of her chest, his fingers testing the resistance of the soft fabric between her thighs.
Cressida leaned back, her body arching beneath him. “You’re one big tease.”
He tugged the fabric of her panties down.
Finally.
His laugh tickled her neck. “I think this rooming together thing was a good fucking idea.”
His lips found hers and he took her. Every part of her. Even the parts that she swore she’d never give. Cressida was no longer the queen of Manhattan. She’d been conquered. Sascha Nikolaev ruled her mind…her body…and her heart.
The ding of a text woke her up.
Austin: It’s baby time! See you at the hospital.
Cressida smiled, rolling over in search of Hawke. She was disappointed to find her bed empty, but more than encouraged by the magnificent aroma of pancakes that drifted in the air. She set her phone on the night stand and followed her stomach to the kitchen where she found Hawke standing at the stove, shoveling not only pancakes, but eggs and sausage, onto a plate.
His smirk was instant. “Nice hair.”
Her eyes narrowed at him, but then he held up the food and her frown faded. “I can already tell we’re going to have to make some new house rules.”
Hawke set the food down on the table in front of her. “I’m wearing pants,” he said, gesturing toward the pair of athletic pants that left absolutely nothing to her imagination.
“I think we nixed that house rule last night. Actually, I think the new house rules are that you never wear pants, always cook breakfast, and don’t make fun of my hair.”
He leaned over and kissed her, ruffling the blonde mess on her head. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”
Hawke sat down across from her as she dug into her breakfast. It was delicious. She swallowed and pointed her fork at him. “I have to eat fast. My friend Magnolia went into labor, and I’ve got to go to the hospital.”
“I know. Austin texted me too.”
She glanced up, surprised. “He did?”
“Yep. Apparently, I’m part of the group now.”
“Family,” Cressida said, correcting him. Everything inside of her smiled at the thought. “And it’s not so bad.”
His perfect smile remained. “Well, I figure I don’t have a choice. Sam sent a follow-up text saying he’d pick us up at ten and honestly…I’m afraid of that kid.”
Cressida grinned and Hawke reached over, grazing his bruised knuckles against the tips of her fingers. The rush of contentment and happiness caught her by surprise. It was a first for her. She took his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” Hawke intertwined their fingers together. “I think I’m going to like New York.”
Cressida couldn’t wait to show Sascha Nikolaev the life he’d spent so much time pushing away. She glanced at the clock. They had barely less than an hour before Sam would be there to pick them up. It was plenty of time to have a little fun with her roommate. Her smile turned into a smirk and Hawke’s gaze became curious. “What?”
“Have you done your morning stretches yet?”
“No.”
She picked up her giant plate of pancakes. “Good. I could use some entertainment with breakfast. Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“It’s part of your routine,” she said, repeating back the excuse he’d given her that morning. “And we can’t mess with your routine. It’s goalie law.”
Hawke laughed following her into the living room. “Whatever Your Majesty commands.”
Damn right.
Moving back to Midtown had been a good idea, but taking a chance on Sascha Nikolaev had been her best one yet.
About the Author
Savannah was born in Hyden, Kentucky. She received her M.S in Speech Language Pathology from The University of Mississippi in 2009. She’s been writing since the early age of nine when she begged her parents for a type writer for Christmas.
She now lives in Corbin, Ky with her husband of eight years, John, and their two wonderful daughters, Delilah and Gracie.
When she isn’t working, or running after her kids, she spends her free time traveling the country with her husband. There is nothing better than a day of football in the grove, a late night of basketball at Rupp Arena or slapping the glass to celebrate another Washington Capitals goal.
She is a strong believer that with enough hard work and determination you can accomplish anything.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/savannahblevinsauthor
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/vannajodee
Website:
http://www.savannahjoblevins.blogspot.com/
Damaged
By Genevieve Lynne
Chapter One
Mackenna
Mackenna Sayers downed a shot and pushed her glass toward Ray. “I’ll have another, bartender.”
Ray rolled his eyes. He filled her glass, throwing a little nod in the direction of the man sitting in the corner booth. Shot glass in hand, she slid off the bar stool and adjusted her dress. She hated these kinds of jobs, cold calling on strangers and hoping she put out the right bait. Should she be Candy the escort, or Sasha the dumped? She approached the man with a gait slow enough to give her time to size him up. Wedding ring. Nice haircut. Armani suit. Rolex watch. Candy crush time. This was gonna be cake. She stopped in front of his booth and waited for him to look up from his steak dinner.
“Freddie?” she asked when he finally noticed her.
“Excuse me?” His voice was deep and a little raspy.
“Is your name Freddie?”
“Is anyone’s?” he scoffed.
No, asshole. That’s why I use it. “So, you’re not Freddie?”
Not Freddie shook his head.
“Damn it. What kind of a man schedules me for two hours…prepays even…then doesn’t show up? Oh…” She pretended to come to her sudden realization. “His wife must’ve shown up in town. Oh well.” She sighed and gave a little laugh. “Occupational hazard, right? I just hate getting paid without working for it, you know? I have a work ethic.”
Not Freddie’s gaze was zeroed in on her cleavage. With his eyes still on her chest, he wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and motioned for her to sit at the booth. She thanked him and slid in across from him. This was almost too easy, but these were the only kind of men she didn’t mind going after, the ones with rings on their fingers who invited a barely clothed woman who just admitted to being an escort to sit with them.
“So your name’s not Freddie. What is it?”
“Well, it’s not Freddie.”
“Where are you from?”
“Not here. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Candy.” Without breaking eye contact, she tossed back her shot of whiskey and played with the cuff of his pants with the toe of her stiletto.
He gulped down what was left in his glass, his gaze now locked onto hers. “Why don’t you go home?”
“I have another date afterward. It would be a waste of time for me to go home and come right back.”
“You can come up t
o my room while you wait.”
She smiled. “That’s so generous. Don’t you have to be somewhere?”
“Later, but I happen to be free for the next two hours.”
She winked at him. “So am I.”
Not Freddie signed his bill, and neither of them spoke as he escorted her to his room on the top floor of the hotel. This was the easiest job she’d ever had. Most of the men usually tried to put up some kind of pretense that they weren’t total dicks. Maybe he was a sick bastard who couldn’t wait to get her alone and torture her. Didn’t matter. The laced wine Ray served him would kick in before he had the chance to do anything to her. Plus, she had the extra dose in case she needed it.
When they got into the room, he threw her clutch on the bed then grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and slammed her up against the door. He pushed her cheek into the cold metal while he reached around her to fondle her tits, kissed her neck, and whispered, “When I’m done fucking you, you’re going to beg me to stay another two hours.” He pressed his hard dick against her.
This was the hardest part, pretending their touch didn’t feel like a branding iron to her skin, marking her with an invisible scar that would never go away. Pretending like she was the kind of woman who would want to be treated this way. Bought. Owned. Mackenna twirled around in the small amount of space between their bodies and grabbed his bulging crotch. She forced a smile and asked, “You wanna give me your credit card for that now, or wait to see how it goes?”
“Rule number one…” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand off him. “…you only talk when I tell you to.” She cringed internally at his instinct for dominance, his desire to humiliate her. She guessed she was supposed to be intimidated by his power and command. Fine. She could play her role for a little while longer. Defeated. Frightened. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of the desk chair. Then he started on his cufflinks.
This was moving way too quickly, and she needed to slow it down.
“Can I do that for you?”
“These are sixteen-karat gold,” he spat. “You can do the tie.”
I can do the tie. Wow. Thanks, Not Freddie.
“Tell me. What did Freddie pay for?”
She loosened his tie, eased it from his collar, and tied it to one of his wrists.
“I see.” Not Freddie raised an eyebrow. “What if I don’t want to be tied up?”
She shrugged. “Most men in high positions enjoy the freedom of not being in control for once. Wouldn’t you like to let go for a few hours and just be?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed hard. “I’m always in control. Always. People who forget that end up regretting it.”
She fought the instinct to twist out of his grip and bolt out the door, mostly because she could see that his eyelids were drooping, but also because she really wanted him to know she was the one in control and had been even before she sat at his table. He stumbled back onto the bed, pulling her down with him.
“Wha…what’s happening?” he asked, panic flooding his eyes.
“I guess you’ve had too much to drink.”
“No, it’s not…this is different. I feel…” He furrowed his brows. “What did you do?”
“Oh. That.” She feigned innocence. “I drugged you. You’re going to go to sleep now. You’ll wake up with a pounding headache, a fuzzy memory, and you won’t remember me at all.” She took his phone from his pocket, said, “Smile!” and snapped a selfie with him. “I hope your wife sees that before you have a chance to delete it.”
His eyes blinked rapidly as he fought to keep his eyelids open. “Why?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“I wish I could say it’s because you’re a cheating prick who doesn’t know how to treat women. But it’s bigger than that.”
His eyes closed. His face relaxed. His hands fell to his side.
“I have to save my sister.”
Forty minutes later, Mackenna approached the limo that was parked on the third floor of the garage. A big, bad bodyguard stepped out and opened the door for her. She climbed in, took off her wig, and touched the sore spot on her cheek from where Not Freddie slammed her into the door.
Travis snorted a line of coke from a small mirror that rested on his knee. He sat up, threw his head back, and grimaced. After a minute, he acknowledged her. “You’re late.”
“The firewall was tricky.” She opened her clutch and retrieved the thumb drive he’d given her an hour and a half ago. “Trojan Horse is up and running.”
“And the phone?”
She gave that to him too. “Cloned.”
He tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Good work. And what about the accountant?”
She knew this was coming. Despite weeks of putting him off, he kept coming back to this. Why couldn’t he take her word for it and move on? “It’s not going to work. I can’t get to him.”
“Oh really?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolled a few times, then put the phone down. “Check your email.”
Mackenna checked her phone and opened the email from Travis. There was a picture of her and the accountant in the same lobby she’d just walked through and another one of them getting on the elevator, his hand on the small of her back. The next picture was grainy and looked like it was taken from a building across the street, but she recognized the moment it captured—when Ben was kissing her from behind and unzipping her dress. An instant burn rose to her cheeks. Her need to stay composed warred with her desire to double over and cry. She sighed and put her phone down.
“Keep scrolling, Mack,” Travis insisted.
The next photo captured her sitting on the bed, unbuckling the accountant’s belt. “I get it,” she said.
“The next picture is my favorite. Go ahead.”
She didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t need to. She had had sex with her mark…the accountant…Ben Ramos.
“Look at the fucking picture, Mack.”
She looked, cringed, and put her phone to sleep. The fact that Travis had somehow captured such an intimate moment sickened her. She allowed herself that one night with Ben, and it had been amazing. However, even as they made love in that hotel room, she’d known it would be the last time she’d see him. It had taken her weeks to get him to notice her, and over the course of their relationship, when she was supposed to have been manipulating him and garnering his trust so she could get into his home and download malware to his business computer, she’d fallen for him. Hard.
“I messed up,” she said. “But it’s over. Let him go.”
“It’s just…you see…” He took a pull from his cigarette, blew out the smoke, then smoothed out his eyebrow with his pinky finger. “Everything hinges on him. None of this means a thing to me if he’s not ruined.”
“It’s too late. I Dear John-ed him.” She hated that she had to have this conversation with Travis. She’d spent the last few years doing his bidding. She masked herself behind fake names, big wigs, and laced drinks. She spent her life seducing men who never really saw her. What she had with Ben was real, but the only way to protect it was to walk away from it.
“This is the part where I remind you how you promised me anything I wanted to stop me from telling my uncle how you fucked me so you could snoop around in his personnel files. Then I point out that in my generosity, I agreed to get your sister out of the joints, away from the drugs and someplace where she could get clean in exchange for a minor smattering of code manipulation. And then, out of sheer gratitude for my benevolence, you nod that little head of yours and tell me you’ll do whatever I need. Am I wrong?”
She shook her head. Travis was no different from the jackass she’d left passed out in the hotel room, but all the confidence she’d felt an hour ago had vanished. She had no control, no power. Travis had it all. He’d never let her forget it, either.
“Be at the W tomorrow night at six. He’ll be there to meet a client who’ll never show up. If you want your
sister back out on the streets, stripping and hooking for drugs, then go ahead and fuck his brains out. If, however, you think her life is worth saving, then make sure you get that virus loaded onto his computer. And don’t forget. I have eyes everywhere.”
Chapter Two
Ben
Benjamin Ramos came in from his run and pulled his hoodie off over his head. He sat down on the sofa and settled his computer on his lap. He needed to send an email to his newest client and check the fifty other messages that had surely popped up since he left for his run. And that didn’t even include the text messages. Shit. Gemma. Man, she’d be pissed if he forgot to call her back again.
“’Bout time,” Gemma said after answering on the first ring. “You get stuck under a dumbbell or something?”
“Sorry.” He clicked onto Facebook and went to her page to see if there was any big news he may have missed. Didn’t look like it. “I get at least one hundred text messages a day. Yours got buried. What’s up, beautiful?”
“My party. You and Javier are coming.”
“I think I’m busy that day.”
“I didn’t even tell you what day it was.”
“Is it in Bokchito?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’m busy.”
“You’re such a jackass.”
“I can’t think of a single person in Bokchito who would want to see us.”
“Well, I can think of several. Come on, Ben. We all miss you. I’ll send you an obscene picture if you promise to think about it.”
“Hmm. I don’t think your husband would appreciate that very much.”
“Then we won’t tell him.” There was some rustling followed by silence that lasted a few seconds. “Okay. It’s sent. Just don’t touch yourself until after we hang up.”
“Hang on.” Ben scrolled to his text messages and tapped the one from Gemma. It was a picture of her flipping him off, her giant diamond wedding ring sending lens flares all over the picture. “That is so hot.”