by Red Garnier
Every time he spoke her name she wondered why it should sound like an indecent proposal. Everything about him, even the way he spoke, distressed her somehow.
“Dare.” She didn’t think twice. It simply had to be dare. If she opted for truth, he’d want to know private things, personal things, and Cleo would rather die than confess anything about her life to her longtime tormenter.
“Are you sure you want me to dare you, Cleo?”
His voice was low, and Cleo finally forced her gaze to meet his. He was probably enjoying every second of this, the jerk. It seemed like he lived only to taunt and tease her mercilessly, but she couldn’t let him know how he affected her. She was certain that casual coolness was the smartest way to go. “Of course. You don’t scare me, you big bully,” she teased, grateful for the fact that she sounded more convincing than she felt.
His smile was wicked, as if he were enjoying a private little joke. Which she next learned, he actually was.
“I dare you to let me fuck you any way I want to.”
Chapter Two
Cleo froze for a whole minute, uncertain if he was toying with her or serious. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set firmly. Cleo was certain she heard a thump when her heart dropped to her toes.
“I’ll fuck you Bas,” Luella instantly volunteered.
Sebastian’s magnetic black eyes didn’t flicker from Cleo’s face, now growing whiter by the second. “Thanks baby, but I want Cleo.”
At the moment, Cleo’s main mission in life was to not die of asphyxiation. Her throat was closed and dry and she felt lightheaded and nauseous from lack of oxygen. She drew in a small little breath while her mind reeled with thoughts. Bad boy, mean-looking, cussing, drinking, whoring Sebastian wanted her. He could have—no, he had had—every available female, student and faculty, on the University of Miami campus. Why he had chosen her as his little private sex toy, not the siren Luella or the spirited Haley, was as inexplicable to Cleo as why her pulse had quickened at his words.
“You’re…you’re joking,” Cleo said when she was finally able to speak. And though she’d hoped it wouldn’t, her voice shook drastically. This had to be one of thousands of Sebastian’s demeaning, not-funny-at-all, revolting little jokes.
“I’m very serious, Cleo.”
He said it so calmly, so casually, as if all he had to do was ask and he’d have any woman for the taking. He didn’t seem to know for some reason that Cleo was not his toy and that she was not a whore.
If Cleo wanted to hone her self-assertion skills, now was a good time to do so.
She shook her head firmly, not caring if she was breaking some unmentionable rule of this stupid, silly game. She was not going to participate in anything like this, especially if it involved Sebastian Russo. “No,” she said.
“No?”
“No, Sebastian,” she repeated.
Sebastian looked only mildly concerned and with his eyes still fixed on hers, commanded, “Hold her, guys.”
The guys obeyed him as if he were the boss of them, as if he were the king and they his subjects, leaving Cleo completely speechless as David clasped one of her wrists and Jason forced the other behind her back. “What are you doing?” she screeched, fighting to free herself, only to have them both none-too-gently lock her arms behind her. Jason winked at her, as if this were all just fun and games. Jason thought everything was fun.
“It’s no use fighting, Cleo. You wanted a dare. You got it.” Rising to his full six feet, two inches of intimidating body mass, Sebastian crossed the circle toward her with a wide, pleased smile on his lips.
“No,” Cleo said, trying to break free from her captors. “No. Let me go. This is not funny.”
“It’s not meant to be funny.” Sebastian’s voice was dry and humorless.
Wide-eyed, she watched him approach, as big and dark as a shroud of blackness. Cleo felt like a virgin girl about to be sacrificed to the Lord of Hell. He walked toward her deliberately, slowly, as if he wanted to punish her, make her suffer with every step he took. The lone diamond earring he wore in his left ear sparkled blindingly in the lantern light. She wanted to tear it away and fling it at him, see if she could wipe that infernal smirk off his face. Her pulse drummed against her temple, making her head pound, nearly deafening her.
“You’ve always been a chickenshit, haven’t you, Cleo?”
“No, Sebastian,” she said firmly, her eyes blazing as she met his steely black gaze.
“Let her go, Bas, she doesn’t want you—but don’t worry. I do,” Cleo heard Luella say. Her voice sounded oddly distant, as if Luella were speaking from somewhere else, somewhere far away.
Sebastian’s gaze bored into hers, bottomless and fierce. And when he spoke, she knew his words were meant for her only. “Of course she wants me. She’s always wanted me.”
“That’s not true!” Cleo cried.
David snorted beside her and Cleo whipped her face sideways to look at him. “David?” she asked breathlessly.
David shook his head, smiling. “That’s bullshit, Cleo,” he said.
Jason bent forward to look at her, his eyes sparkling with mirth and lust. “Come on, Cleo baby. You’ve been at each other’s throats for years. Give him a break and just admit it.”
“I won’t admit anything!” she cried, turning to Sebastian, her chest heaving, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “I won’t take my clothes off, Sebastian. I won’t do it.”
“That’s all right. I think I can dispense them without your assistance.” With little effort he tore her cotton sundress, ripping the fabric off her body as she cried out a protest and struggled to free herself. From afar, Haley and Luella also protested, too drunk to think coherently or understand the real issue here, instead shouting something about expensive women’s clothes and how Sebastian ought to pay for that.
When Cleo almost yanked her shoulders out of their sockets from her efforts, she stilled her arms and thrust her legs into the air, kicking wildly, shrieking while Sebastian, deftly avoiding her blows, reached for her panties and tore them off her like paper. Cleo cursed both him and his bitch of a mother and he seemed amused by that as he reached for her bra, the last shred of cloth that covered her. The sound of the fabric tearing echoed in the night, until a deathly silence befell and all they could hear were the ragged sounds of Cleo’s breathing as she went completely still, fully naked now, her body exposed to the sky and wind like an offering.
“Shit, will you look at the size of those tits!” Jason said beside her.
Gasping for breath, Cleo fought to free herself once more. “Let go of me!” she screeched.
The men yanked her arms farther behind her, their fingers digging into the tender flesh of her wrists as they forcefully stilled her.
Sebastian’s eyes roved over her body in a silent caress that heated the insides of her treacherous body like a forest fire running out of control. Her body shook with wanting but Cleo knew better. The last time her body begged for chocolates she’d given in—and ended up red and bloated with allergies for weeks. She wasn’t about to listen to its demands now, not now when it had no idea what was good for her.
“My God, you’re beautiful.” Sebastian choked on the words, his gaze greedily absorbing every detail of her body. She could swear his eyes touched her, for she could feel them brushing over her hot, fevered skin with the gentleness of a feather.
Beside her, David and Jason looked at their leisure, their gazes shining with lust at the sight of her ripe, round breasts.
“I could suck those babies forever,” Jason mumbled.
“Sebastian,” Cleo begged softly, her eyes pleading with his. “Please don’t.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something dark and haunting. “Save the begging for later, beautiful. And stand up so I can look my fill.”
“No!” she squealed, even as she was hauled upright by her captors.
Cleo felt her legs tremble beneath her and found she could only remain on her feet beca
use of David’s and Jason’s support. Sebastian circled her, his eyes missing nothing. She yelped when he slapped a hand to her buttock, bouncing her muscle with the hit and making her skin sting afterward.
“Hmm. Nice.”
He smacked her other buttock with a harsh slap and she bit her lower lip to muffle the whimper that came. His finger dipped into the crevice between her cheeks, up and down, slowly following the curve of her rump, and Cleo swore she would faint.
Then Sebastian resumed his circling once again, his steps painfully slow as he walked around her.
Cleo’s eyes landed on the plush red devil that lay untouched on the sand a few feet away from her. It was as if the thing had possessed them. That harmless little toy had turned this game into a nightmare.
“Look at me.”
Cleo gritted her teeth, refusing to look at Sebastian, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the toy devil, the least menacing of the two. At least that devil wasn’t a hypocrite. At least that devil carried its pitchfork and tail and didn’t pretend to be something it wasn’t, while Sebastian sometimes did, and it was cruel.
Cleo remembered many times—too many to forget, even though she’d tried—when Sebastian had been good to her. He’d hugged her when she’d missed an exam, kissed her temple oh-so softly. Studying had been of utmost importance to Cleo and he’d occasionally let her cry about her college tragedies in the comfort of his arms. And yet after every one of these surprising, unexpected moments, he would transform in the blink of an eye and become…mean. He would then mock her, tease her, sneer at her, making the memories of those too-brief tender moments as painful as his taunts.
He’d even danced with her once. Sebastian despised dancing, but he’d done so because she was the only girl at the party sitting down lonely and with a lump in her throat…
When the song started, Cleo held Sebastion nearly at arm’s length, keeping a safe distance between them, like she’d do with anyone else. But he wasn’t anyone else. He was Sebastian Russo, and he immediately protested, a low vibration rumbling in his chest as he grabbed her waist and pulled her forward. “Please don’t, Bas,” Cleo said shakily, but he pressed her to him anyway, despite the slight push of her palms at his shoulders.
He was taller by at least a head, and far bigger and stronger. His grip was not in the least bit gentle and she shouldn’t have been aroused by the harsh, possessive way he held her waist. But it did arouse her. Uncomfortably, embarrassingly so.
Cleo kept her eyes averted, taking care to look at the couples dancing beside them instead. Just being near him made her feel needy and she had to check back the impulse to cling to his massive, hard male body as it soothingly rocked against hers.
“Put your arms around me, Cleo,” she heard him say. His voice, so near, so husky, moved her more than any love song ever could. It made her sex tingle and for that disturbing feeling alone, she locked her arms straight and pushed back slightly, needing to put more space between them. Space to breathe.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, keeping her arms stiff on his shoulders, her eyes roaming. “Thanks for dancing with me. I know you didn’t really want to.”
“Stop looking at everyone else and look at me.”
Cleo had to quickly come up with a plausible excuse for avoiding his gaze, so she said, “I was just wondering where Luella and Haley are. Do you see them?” Glancing past his shoulder, she busily studied the crowd.
“Cleo.” Lean, muscled arms slid around her waist, yanking her body closer to his at the same time he bent his head and whispered, “Come here.”
At the unexpected flood in her panties and the sudden racing of her heart, Cleo’s instincts told her to step back. When she tried, his arms tightened around her, causing all sorts of whirlwinds inside her while she kept her eyes away from his face and her palms pushing at his chest. She started to babble. “Look, there’s Mrs. Schmidt—did you ever take classes with her? She’s such a good teacher…but I don’t think I see Luella or Haley anywhere. Where could they be?”
Every muscle in his body suddenly turned to stone and he stopped dancing completely. “It’s no fucking wonder no one wants to dance with you, Cleo.”
He said it so stiffly his lips hardly moved when he spoke. Cleo didn’t know why he should be angry—she’d been nothing but nice. She was always nothing but nice to him.
She stared at his lips, her stomach clenching horribly. “Why do you always have to insult me, Bas?” she whispered, hating that her voice broke.
He gripped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze, his eyes glowing with anger. “Go and find your friends.”
Cursing under his breath, he left her alone in the middle of the dance floor and headed off to dance with another. With a woman Cleo hated right then and there, a whore he fairly made love to on the dance floor, right in front of her eyes. And his eyes sought out hers in a silent dare, in defiance, as the woman rubbed her scantily clad body against his very notorious erection. His eyes, those cruel, piercing black eyes, remained fixed on Cleo as he roamed his hands freely over inches and inches of soft, supple female flesh. Those same strong, calloused hands that only moments ago had touched and melted her suddenly cupped that whore’s rump and pressed her to him, his beautiful dark head bending forward as his thick, magnificent lips swooped down to capture hers.
Cleo had wanted to die.
“I said look at me, Cleo.”
Cleo’s mind snapped back to the present. How many times had he spoken those very same words to her? Dozens, maybe even hundreds of times. She was certain if he asked her to disappear completely it would have been a far easier request.
Gathering her courage, she slowly looked up at him and shuddered at the darkness of his eyes. The flickering lantern light from below etched his features into hard planes of light and shadows. He looked unyielding and vicious and frightening.
“You should have chosen truth.”
Cleo drew in a deep, audible breath at the direct contact of his hand on her skin when he cupped her hip. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” He slid his hand up to her ribs and ran his thumb along the bottom curve of her breast. “You’re really going to get it this time, Cleo.” His free hand grasped her jaw, his thumb and fingers digging into her cheeks as he squeezed, forcing her lips into a pout. “And you’re going to get it from me.”
He sounded crazed, angry—desperate.
He kissed her forcibly, his lips covering the plump flesh of her pouted lips, kept open only by the force of his grip on her cheeks. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth and Cleo swayed backward, only to be steadied by a pair of hands on her elbows. His tongue ravaged her, and when she heard the sounds of his deep, haggard breathing, she knew with frightening certainty that one way or another he would take her tonight. The thought made her heart leap, whether in fright or inexplicable thrill, she didn’t know.
Sebastian pulled away from her, panting hard and visibly straining to recover.
For many reasons—one very important one in particular—Cleo wanted to scream at him. She’d never done anything to him, had never done anything to anyone. Why did he hate her? Why did he want to punish her, hurt her?
She’d loved him, damn him. Desperately so. Despite how he’d hurt her, humiliated her, laughed at her. It shamed her to admit it, even to herself. It had taken her almost four years to forget him, to pick up the pieces of her battered, sorry little heart.
“Lie down, Mother Cleo,” he sneered, slamming his eyes into lethal slits. “And open your legs.”
Cleo knew that begging him would be like fueling his hatred, nurturing this sick, festered need of his to humiliate her. So instead she turned to Jason, met his deep blue eyes with her own.
“Jason please…let me go.”
“It’s just a game Cleo, just relax,” Jason said with a smile.
“No, it’s not!” she yelled.
She turned to David, her former study companion and one of only two men in her entire life who’d held her naked in his
arms. “David, please!”
David’s dark brown eyes slowly studied her features. “I’ll stop this, Cleo. If you really mean it, I will. But we both know you don’t, do you?”
Cleo lowered her eyelashes, not bearing to look at him. David knew, of course. He knew. That last night in college, Cleo had spoken someone else’s name when David had made love to her. It had been just a whisper, almost painful to speak aloud, but by the way he had stiffened she knew he had heard it clearly. Cleo was still embarrassed about it, and she still wanted to believe she hadn’t spoken that name out loud in an intimate moment.
Her voice broke. “David, I just—”
“Zip it you three!” Sebastian thundered. “Sit down and open your legs for me, Cleo. I’m coming in…and I’m coming inside you.”
“You bastard!” she screeched furiously, wanting to rip his eyes out, but Jason and David held back her wrists and pulled her downward, forcing her to sit on a blanket.
Sebastian chuckled a slow, mirthless laugh. His laugh sounded old, as if it had rusted from so little use.
Slowly kneeling before her, he placed his hand over her knee. She jerked at his touch, her heart pounding against her breast like a mad little thing. Splaying his fingers over her knee, he slid his hand upward, shifting his thumb to her inner thigh. His touch was firm, possessive. It scorched her, all of her, even her heart, as if he’d taken what was left of it and flung it into the fiery red pit of a volcano.
She knew he should make her sick. She knew she should cringe at his touch, but instead her body felt like liquid. Like she had wings to fly and was floating above the ground as if by magic. Still she despised it, despised the way he made her feel and the hundreds of times he’d made her cry. So she slammed her legs shut, trapping his wayward hand in the process.
He shook his head, a lock of black hair falling on his forehead when he did so. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want me.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
With both hands and with little effort, he forced her thighs open. She yelped when he cupped her pussy, splaying his fingers on her ass and rubbing the heel of his palm against her clit. His touch ignited her. Closing her eyes, she mewled helplessly as she fought the wildness raging inside her.