by Skye Warren
His broad, chiseled jaw spread in a toothy grin as he got out with her. The trees rustled in the breeze around her place as they headed inside.
“I’ve got lots of supplies down there for you,” she explained as she showed him through the place. “And I’ll spend all the spare time down there with you I can,” she admitted with a flush of her cheeks, another sign of that continued arousal.
“Damn right you will.” He grinned, putting his arm around her, his large hand on her hip as he held her close through the journey.
“And once things blow over, then we can slip off in the night together to live on a beautiful beach somewhere.” She gave him a bright smile.
Sean Flaherty had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky, but after all he’d been through, he felt he deserved such a break. “Damn, that does sound nice,” he growled as she took him down into the cellar.
It was a nicely kept spot but seemed to be home to little more than tools and a wine rack. It wasn’t until she went to one of the walls and unlocked a hidden latch that she tugged open a secret door that led farther down.
He whistled. “Damn. How’d you get this all set up in secret anyhow?” He looked her over. That buxom beauty did not look like the handy sort, after all.
“Was here when I got the place.” Excitement shone in her eyes as her tongue licked around her full, plush lips, leaving them glossy. “It’s practically ancient. An old root cellar, I guess,” she explained as she went down the old stairs.
Down below he could see just how old the place was, but it had everything he needed. A big bed, TV, computer, a bunch of boxed supplies, and even some weights for him to work out with.
“You really did get it all set up just for me,” he remarked with a satisfied grin, grasping her hips and tugging her body back against his.
“Of course!” Again he felt that excitement she had for him, and her mouth sought his. She pushed her tongue into his mouth with abandon, and her hands worked their way over his hard muscles. “I need you.”
She was full of desire for him, so perky and gorgeous. The perfect woman.
* * *
He grasped her tight and knew he’d have to hold on to her for a nice long while as the two of them stripped away his clothes. Got those workman’s trousers off of him, his thick thigh and calf muscles exposed. Then came the shirt and tank beneath, exposing the hard ridges of his well-defined abs, bulging pecs and rock-solid biceps.
In return he simply tore open her blouse, popping off more than a couple of buttons as he grabbed her and lunged his mouth for her breast, his greedy mouth sucked a teat in.
God, it felt good, having her soft, supple flesh surround his lips as he drew out that hard nipple. She was horny for him. His dream woman, and she was even more desirous for him. He didn’t question how or why, and she moaned with such a pleasant, throaty sound.
Questioning such a beautiful turn of fortune would be madness. Instead he simply satisfied himself with suckling her big, beautiful tit. Flicking his tongue over the stiff pink nub. Making her moan and whimper with his hard affection until he had his fill and pushed her onto the bed.
He slid away those formfitting boxer briefs next, showing his big, meaty cock as he pounced over her on the bed.
“You need me.” He repeated her words back to her as he grasped her shoulders and looked over her form before him. Her splayed legs, her exposed breasts with the one nipple and areola glistening wet with his saliva. “You got me, babe,” he declared, groping along her thighs, tugging her skirt up until it was barely more than a belt about her waist.
A body made for sin. She was gorgeous. She should be a model or something, not some executive. She’d shaved her pussy for him, and it was so swollen with arousal. The outer labia swallowed its smaller petals, leaving her so clean and delicate looking but for the slickness that marred her.
“I can take it,” she pleaded with him.
He grinned at her eagerness to put herself to that test. Even though he didn’t want to break her—not yet, anyway—her words prodded him on, and he couldn’t help but take hold of those hips of hers and line up his bulging cock, with that prominent crown, along her slit.
“We’ll see,” he remarked with a smug grin, digging his thumbs into her so hard as he held her in place that she’d undoubtedly bruise. In one swift motion, he stabbed his massive girth into her like a dagger, impacting deep inside her as he hilted. The noises of his grunts and the squelching of his dick with her honey and his come from his last orgasm filled the room as he began to pump into her.
There was no easing into it again; he’d been without so long, and she was begging for it. Begging for it! Such an eager bitch, he marveled inwardly as he built up his pace, that hard ass of his clenched as he bucked his hips.
Despite the fact that she knew what had happened to the last girl. The last person who had tested her ability to take it, to keep him satiated.
She’d pleaded with him for the story, for every gory last detail. She’d wanted to hear it, and it only made her hornier.
Vivian was sick, and he loved that about her.
Her legs wrapped around his ass, and she drew him in. “Tell me again!”
Thirty years old, successful, more gorgeous than any woman had a right to be, and perverted to the core. Sean couldn’t help but grin in rapturous delight at his good fortune as he rewarded her depravity with a harder stab of his cock, slamming his crown against her cervix with each jarring impact.
“You wanna hear about how I fucked that little bitch’s womb open?” he said between grunts, the slap of his balls against her ass growing louder and louder. “How I smacked her pretty lil’ face around to get her to stop crying? Or just how I choked her with my bare hands while I was still inside her little twat?”
The questions were teasing, giving her some of what she wanted while being such a controlling prick about it.
“All of it!” she pleaded and begged, her legs taut around his ass, her body arching and writhing beneath him. He was driving her crazy with his own sick perversions. Though really, she’d brought it out of him. Moved him past any negative feelings, any shame, any regret, and just turned his horrific past into arousal.
Pure, disturbing arousal.
He couldn’t help but moan, his cock swelling within her, forcing her narrow little canal out wide as he plunged into her and yanked out with the strong, smooth motions of his well-defined hips and ass, her heels digging into his buttocks as he continued his merciless pace.
With one hand he grasped one of her breasts, clenched that fleshy, supple mound. With the other he reached up and slid his powerful fingers around her neck slowly. “Or do you just wanna feel what it’s like personally?” he said in a dark, ominous voice.
He bent over her, his fingers tightening around her neck, choking off her breath almost entirely. “She wasn’t even the first, y’know.” His confession was punctuated by the slick noises of cock sliding along puffy, tight folds, honey-soaked balls striking her fleshy ass.
Her eyes widened, but with glee. With excitement, and even though she could barely breathe, she nodded. Encouraged his story.
“They never found out about the other,” he confessed with sick pleasure, angling his hips so he jabbed his steel-hard weapon of a dick into her, causing her free tit to jiggle and sway with the jarring impact.
He bit his lower lip to suppress the deep, loud moan his body insisted on emitting, muffling the sound before he continued. “She was such a tight little treat too. Much like you, my sweet pet,” he said in such a growling voice, moving his thumb up over her cheek even as he continued to choke off her air.
He could see the panic begin to play behind her eyes, behind her excitement, and knew that only added to her pleasure. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? He’d read about it in one of the psychology books, about people who craved fear and pain. They needed it, like he needed to give women those things.
His lover’s deep satisfaction was echoed back in him,
and his eyes rolled back into his head. His manhood twitched, and his scrotum tightened up beneath his ass.
Such a loud, rumbling roar of satisfaction traveled up out of his broad chest, and he hammered out another spine-tingling climax, the thick rivulets of come shooting up against her cervix, coating her insides and adding to the last explosive unleashing as he loosed all he had.
It wasn’t until he was done that he softened his grip and let her breathe again, to fall atop her voluptuous form and pant.
He wasn’t sure how many hours had gone by, filled with dark pleasures. At some point he must have passed out, though, as there was no way he remembered the feeling of tight pressure around his bare wrists and ankles.
Cold steel cut into him, and he opened his eyes groggily to stare at his bombshell with a Taser pointed right at his chest.
The cold smirk told him all he needed to know. She elaborated anyways.
“You’re mine now,” she purred in that once-sensuous voice, “and you’ve got two women’s lives to pay for. All in your new cell.”
Playing with Fire
Tamsin Flowers
Cassandra watched as her sister got dressed, gingerly pulling the clothes up over her bruised flesh, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was pale and scrawny thin. The dark rings around her eyes made her look like a panda, and her red nail polish was chipped halfway down her bitten nails. It seemed such a short while ago that her kid sister had been a happy, healthy coed, going off to college with her friends, bubbling with laughter. Now she was a wreck, a shadow of her former self with track marks on her arms. And Cassandra held one man responsible.
The doctor handed her a prescription.
“Your sister needs to go to rehab,” he said. “But if you can’t afford it, you’ll have to monitor her yourself. It’s going to be tough on both of you.”
Tough? Cassandra wondered if the doctor had any idea. She knew she needed to get Melly out of town, away from the drugs and the men who gave them to her. And away from Aston Moore, the man to whom she owed so much money and who wanted to sell her body to pay off the debt. But Cassandra wasn’t stupid. She was well aware that if she didn’t sort things out before they left, Moore would have them followed. He was a violent man, and Cassandra was all too familiar with his reputation, even though she’d never come across him in person.
Now, though, she had no choice.
“How much do you owe him?” said Cassandra when they were back in the anonymous motel room, a place where Cassandra hoped Moore and his henchmen wouldn’t think of looking for them.
“Stay out of it, Cass,” snapped Melly, tugging her fingers through a tangle in her dirty blonde hair.
“I’ve got savings, Melly,” said Cassandra.
“It won’t be enough,” said Melly. “Nothing will ever be enough for those greedy bastards. It’s my mess, Cass. Please don’t get involved—I don’t want you hurt as well.”
“You don’t get a say in it, Melly. What sort of a sister would I be if I let you carry on…”
“You can’t even say it, can you?”
Melly slammed the door of the bathroom behind her, and Cassandra heard the lock click into place.
* * *
Cassandra was five years older than her sister, Melly, and after their mother had died, she’d stood in for five years of mothering. And apparently she hadn’t done a very good job. So she wasn’t going to let Melly down now.
Aston Moore owned a club downtown, a strip joint or worse, where he hung out with his cronies. Cassandra had never been inside—hell, she didn’t even know anyone who’d been in there. Apart from Melly. She picked her time carefully, just after lunch when the place would be quiet but not totally deserted. She picked what she was wearing even more carefully. She wanted to look tough, though she knew she’d never fool a man like Moore. But the biker boots and the ripped jeans gave her confidence, and the leather jacket was all she could use as a shield. She made up her face with harsh black kohl and dark red lipstick. She needed to be strong.
Before going to the club, she went to the savings bank and withdrew the money she had been squirreling for a rainy day. This was a bloody shit storm, and she couldn’t think of a better way of spending it than helping Melly get her life back.
Cassandra’s heart pounded in her chest as she walked into the dark club. Her blood thundered in her ears louder than the heavy drums and bass blasting out of the speakers at the back of the tiny stage. There was a pole, and a girl in cheap lingerie with mottled, pale skin was gyrating round it, making no attempt to keep time with the music. Most of the customers were sitting in the booths along the wall rather than within touching distance of the stage—apart from two leering older men who both had trails of spittle down their chins.
She pushed her shoulders back and strode up to the bar, where a kid who didn’t appear old enough to drink was polishing glasses with a gray cloth.
“I’m looking for Mr. Moore. Is he here?”
“Depends why you want to see him,” said the boy. “If you’re here about dancing, you’ll need to see the manager, not Mr. Moore.”
“I’m not here about dancing. Like I said, I need to see Mr. Moore.”
“Who’s asking for me?” said a rich baritone from behind Cassandra’s shoulder.
She whipped round, and she knew immediately that she was face-to-face with Aston Moore. He wasn’t a big man, but the strength of his presence was undeniable. The barman melted away, and Cassandra felt herself wilt perceptibly under the glare from Moore’s dark blue eyes. His features were lupine, gaunt and hollow-cheeked. His dark red lips had a cruel twist to them, and his coal-black hair was cut short and peppered with gray.
Cassandra swallowed, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
“I’m Melly Black’s sister. I understand she owes you a certain amount of money.”
Aston Moore’s lips quivered slightly as he looked her up and down.
“I would never have guessed you two were related,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You look so…wholesome, compared to her.”
Cassandra bit her lip, leaning forward on the balls of her feet. Anger surged through her like a torrent. It was this man’s fault that her sister was a wreck, that Melly would need years of treatment and rehabilitation to get back to the way she was before.
“How much does she owe you?”
“Surely you don’t expect me to know exactly how much each little druggie owes me individually?” he said. “Anyway, we have an arrangement by which she’s working it off.”
“At the same time as building up even more debt. I wasn’t born yesterday, Mr. Moore, so don’t patronize me. I’m here to clean my sister’s slate, so perhaps you could go and look up, or ask whoever you need to, how much it is.”
This time his smile was friendlier but still not to be trusted.
“You’re a fucking firecracker compared to her, aren’t you?”
“The amount?”
“It’s more than you can afford.”
“Try me.”
As fast as a striking cobra, Moore grasped her upper arm with one hand. He pulled her close until her chest was practically touching his.
“I might just do that, Miss Black,” he said. There was real menace in his voice, and Cassandra didn’t have to wonder if she was getting into something that was out of her depth. “Would you mind accompanying me to my office?”
His grip on her arm gave Cassandra no real choice. He yanked her roughly away from the bar, toward a plain black door to one side of the stage. Neither the girl on the pole nor any of the clientele batted an eyelid in their direction, even as Cassandra stumbled against and upended an empty chair.
“Wait…” said Cassandra as Moore pushed against the black door with one shoulder.
He turned to look at her.
“I thought you wanted to help your sister?”
“I do but…” But she didn’t trust Aston Moore.
“I don’t bite,” he said.
“At least not until I know you better.”
Reluctantly Cassandra allowed herself to be propelled through the door and into a dark corridor. Moore flicked a light switch to turn on a bare bulb hanging overhead. Along the corridor wall were photos of girls pole dancing, most completely naked and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Cassandra let her gaze drop to the floor. What if one of them was Melly? Moore pushed past her to lead the way and then showed her through another door into his office. It was a small room, walls painted the same dark red as throughout the rest of the club, and a grimy window facing a brick wall did nothing to brighten the place. Moore sat behind a scarred, old-fashioned writing desk and turned on the green glass and brass banker’s lamp that was the only thing to grace its surface.
“Sit,” he ordered.
Cassandra did as she was told, clutching her bag in her lap and wondering where this was leading.
Aston Moore pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.
“Darcy, get in here.”
Within seconds the door opened and an older man stepped into the room. He had a scar on one cheek and a nose that had been broken more than once. And the cold-eyed, cynical expression of a survivor.
“Boss?”
“How much does Melly Black owe us?”
Cassandra’s head jerked up at the mention of her sister’s name. She looked at the man, Darcy, and wondered if he actually knew who her sister was. The glance he gave her melded sympathy and disdain in equal measure.
“Twenty-one thousand,” he said without a pause for thought.
Cassandra gasped. It was far more than she’d expected. And way more than she’d ever be able to afford.
“Her payment terms?” said Moore.
“Ten hours a week on the pole until…” said Darcy.
“Whenever,” said Moore. “That’s all.”
Darcy left and closed the door quietly behind him.
Cassandra realized she was gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles. She made a conscious effort to relax her hands.
“Your sister’s gonna be dancing here for the foreseeable future, so you better get used to the idea.”