by Carmen Faye
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Bloodmare copyright @ 2014 by Carmen Faye. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Bloodmare (Chrome Horsemen MC, #1)
Read on for an excerpt from the sizzling sequel | Rogue Stallion
And now, an excerpt from Rogue Stallion
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CHAPTER ONE
Nicole Bower never set out to be a call girl. After running the streets from age sixteen to nineteen, however, giving up her ass for a bit of cash, coke, and occasional place to stay became nearly routine. Survival sex is what they call it, she found out later, and a lot of kids lose themselves from its erosion. After a long-term stretch with an abusive boyfriend after that, she was introduced to the idea of being a call girl.
Prostitution wasn't a new idea and after leaving Jorge, she was at the brink of making it real, but this was a major refinement of that old idea. It sounded much better than working the streets alone. Safer, too, and despite her long history of bad decisions, this one seemed to turn out as planned – while resulting in some serious cash for the effort.
She went from a woman with no goals and no direction to a successful, highly sought-after call girl. One of the best, she had been told by many sources.
It still felt like fucking for handouts, though.
The only time it didn't feel dirty on her skin was with men like Max. He waited in his chair, working his laptop while she approached with rolling hips and warm eyes across the space of his downtown flat.
Max was the kind of successful that reaped in barrels of power, as well, but that wasn't what Nicole liked about him. What she liked was the open humanness he offered during his time with her.
He came to her broken and didn't try to hide his emotional state. His wife, who he dearly loved, had died recently and loneliness was tearing him apart. He was looking for comfort, not really sex.
She gave him both.
She picked up pieces and puzzled out where they fit inside of him. She soothed his heart and strove to fill the hole in his chest.
That was nearly two years ago. Max still paid top dollar to see her at least once a month, though five visits from him in a month wasn’t unheard of and he didn't seem to mind doing so.
Sleeping with powerful men like Max and getting great money for doing so wasn't an easy job. She spent most of her free time reading newspapers, watching financial reports, and studying areas of her clients’ interests.
She trained her body with the intensity of a world-class gymnast, and sought out unique sexual skills and seductive abilities. She took her job seriously. As a result, she found that the men she was with took her seriously.
It still wasn't what she wanted, though. Being a good whore simply wasn't fulfilling, but the likelihood of getting out and doing something with her life seemed like a pointless dream. She didn't even know what she would do or what might be interesting to her. She had no passions of her own. In spite of all her reading and efforts, nothing appealed to her personally. So, what was the point in stopping?
The thought of her new driver crossed her mind, and she indulged in a personal smile thinking about him. He was appealing, perhaps not in a life-altering way, but definitely appealing.
She brought Max his drink and then curled across the arm of his large, overstuffed, leather chair while he finished his workday on his laptop. Then they talked about some of the current world issues and discussed some stocks that could be affected. She had a personal portfolio worth nearly a million now, and growing. Not nearly enough to retire in the lifestyle she wanted, but some serious cash, nonetheless.
Max was the first of her clients to get her to develop that portfolio and to commit to building it up. Others helped her, as well, by suggesting investments, giving advice and tips, and developing her understanding and skills. Some serious leaps in profit came from what amounted to insider trading—pillow talk had its uses if you knew enough to take advantage of the situation.
She let Max talk and offered an engaging level of conversation for more than an hour. Max was a man who needed to decompress after his day if she were going to give him the level of pleasure he had come to expect from time spent with her. After that hour, though, she enticed him into the shower and scrubbed him down while guiding his attention away from the world and into her arms.
Max was a focused man, intense even, so this altering of attentions required skill and patient acts of will. Really, though, it was this seduction of his attention that made the night worth what he paid.
Men like Max were rarely out of their world-bubbles. Their minds didn't truly leave the boardrooms and investment portfolios. They had money and some had a great deal of power, but nearly no freedom. No freedom from their world-bubbles.
Pulling them out of those bubbles and letting them escape for an evening was worth more to them than the sex, much more, in fact. They could have sex with their secretary, or nanny, or wife, or girlfriend—and often did, sometimes with two or three of them in the same day. No, getting his rocks off wasn't the goal. Popping his bubble and letting him enjoy being himself for a few luxurious hours was the only goal worth going after with men like Max.
Her rate of success with this was why they paid her enormous fee and why they sometimes dropped as much as a grand on her table beside the front door on their way out. Max would slip it into her purse, because she came to him. Others had their own methods of tipping—some sweet, some blatant. Every one of them was happy to do so, just to remain on her list of acceptable clients.
All of her tips went straight into her portfolio—every cent. In addition, any gifts that she could sell were converted to cash and invested. Gifts of jewelry were common, but she often received tickets for cruises and resorts. Spa memberships were another common gift. Selling these was sometimes beyond her means, but what she could sell, she did and then invested the money. That was her commitment. She lived off the rest, spending it guilt free.
With her seduction of Max begun in the shower, she toweled him off and brought him into the bedroom. She skillfully altered their conversation, now engaging him in more personal interests and humor, which was intended to lead him farther from his boardroom.
After another hour of her firm body arousing his own and her sharp wit seducing his mind, the bubble popped and he was present in the room with her once again.
Nicole began her love making with Max using her mouth, lips, and tongue, advancing into her throat soon after. Max's hips slowly convulsed as he strained for control. She let him strain. He was already hers, mind and body. She brought him to the brink of climax, right at the point where the agony of bliss threatened, and then let him escape. Then she brought him to the brink again.
Toying with his libido was a pleasure Max never seemed to tire of, but he had to be out of his bubble to enjoy the game. Inside his bubble, he would simply fuck her and go about his day like he did with his secretary this afternoon. There was no interest and no energy inside his world-bubble for games, or luxurious expenditures of time. Time was money and power—no one sane wasted time.
Once he was close to losing the cat and mouse game with his climax, she straddled him and worked his hard, vibrantly aroused cock inside of her pussy. Then, sh
e gave him a surprise.
"Holy shit, Nicole! What are you doing?" Max gasped, as she began her special technique. She only recently decided that her skill was strong enough for the show.
"Do you like that, lover?" she asked, playfully lifting the corners of her mouth into a mischievous grin.
"Fuck! It's, it's fucking amazing!"
"It's called Pompoir. It is a technique that uses my pussy muscles to massage your cock without all that humping around stuff," she explained with a sly grin.
"I kind of like that ‘humping around stuff,’" he said, returning her grin.
"Do you want me to stop? I promise, climax this way is going to be very fulfilling for you," she said as she leaned down and kissed him deeply.
As they kissed, she focused more energy and concentration on the rhythmic, rippling pulses of her muscles, enticing him to greater heights of arousal. The stimulation of this technique was reported to be quite a delicacy, as well as very intimate and intense.
"I can't believe you are doing that. I can fucking feel individual muscles," Max gasped as his hips twisted and rocked with pre-climax spasms. "How the fuck did you learn how to do that?" he groaned, fighting against the sensations in an attempt to prolong his time before orgasm. She liked to watch him struggle, knowing that if she altered her movements and squeezed him a little harder, he would climax explosively, but this was his time, not her time.
"Ben Wa balls and other things," she answered with innocent tones in her voice. "I wanted to give you something special tonight, something you will remember."
"Shit, I'll never forget this," his voice promised, but she knew that was at least a partial lie. Once he was back in his office tomorrow morning, he wouldn't give pompoir another thought. Pussy was only for the release of distracting tensions in Max's normal world and not thought about at other times.
After fifteen minutes of intense pompoir, Max's hip and ab muscles contracted and spasmed wildly. His cock heated up and hardened. Then with savage movements, he gripped her hips in his hands and thrust his cock convulsively into her. The orgasm rolled his eyes. With careful observation and perfect control, she worked his cock with sporadic blasts of deep kneading and strong, gripping applications of pompoir stimulation in an effort to prolong his climax. She thought of these efforts to be comparable to normal pompoir, as sprinting dashes are comparable to running a five-kilometer course.
It wasn’t long at all until Max’s body was overwrought from the prolonged throes of his climax. His hands opened, then seemed to clutch and grasp at nothing for a moment, and then they fell helplessly away to the bed while his hips twisted and thrust and clutched in a way that suggested live wires were popping inside. His chest heaved and gasped with sporadic attempts for air. Then she let him go and his body thrashed for another set of brief spasms before coming to rest.
She lay beside him, her head on his chest, listening to his heart. When she felt he had come down enough, she said, "An ocean retreat would be nice right now, don't you think?"
"I'll be going to San Diego in the morning," he told her.
She lifted her head up and looked at him, "Visiting Sarah?"
"Yes. I'll be gone for at least a month, probably two."
"I'll miss you, but Sarah needs her father. It is good you have decided to take the time."
He looked briefly away and then met her eyes again.
After seeing this, she said, "I see. Not all personal, is it?"
Searching her face, he said, "No, it's not, but I'll spend most my time with her. I promise."
"You don't have to promise me, Max. I just care about you and I was really happy to hear you were going to spend a month with your daughter. It's something you really need. Hell, you've needed it for a long time. Both of you do."
Max nodded his head, "You're right and I'll use the time wisely with her."
She returned her cheek to his chest, nuzzling him a little, "Good, Max. This heart of yours will thank you. It's so good to hear it not broken, but there are still missing beats, beats only she's going to fill for you."
After an hour of conversation, kisses, and soothing, he began rubbing her more intently and seeking her breasts. She lifted herself up, coming fully into his arms, and then let him make love to her slowly. She performed for him as sensuously as her training currently allowed. She dove into his needs, offering intimate connections to her. She remained fully focused on his body and the level of his arousal, so that she could moan at the right time or gasp in surprise at his thrust, or, perhaps, suddenly become vulnerable and shed a tear. She climaxed for him, just the way he enjoyed feeling and hearing that conquest of her body.
Max liked to see her scratch and claw weakly while she begged with a feeble helplessness in her voice against the power of the climax he brought her to.
She had to be careful, though. It was a serious turn on for him to see her like that, so if performed too deeply, he would climax quickly and spoil the grander fulfillment she had waiting for him down the road.
CHAPTER TWO
He was in the shower when she woke. She pulled out fresh day-clothing from her overnight bag, then slipped into the shower with him, and sucked him off. They dressed together and discussed his trip to San Diego. His plane left at ten, so they didn't have much time for each other. She ate a light breakfast with him, focusing more on making him laugh than being sexy.
She read somewhere, back in her teens she believed, perhaps in a magazine or a trashy novel she was fond of reading, that people might not remember your name, or the facts you discussed with them, or your birthday, or what day you were with them, but they will always remember how you made them feel.
Nicole believed that; in fact, it was the basis of how she chose to act and when she chose to act during her performances with clients. Right now, at this portion of the show, as their time drew to a close, the sex was over. She had already fulfilled him, so being sexy right now was a wasted effort.
At this portion of the show with Max, she wanted him to remember she was fun—fun, energetic, and a pleasure to be around. That would bring him back to her. It's what brought all of them back to her. She could pop their bubble and with her, life was fun.
She left after breakfast, giving him a quick peck on the lips, and skipping out and down to the elevator, as if she were his young lover, not his call girl. She kept this energy expenditure up until she was in the elevator and then became herself again.
Ruthlessly, she examined her night's performance and found it acceptable. She checked her purse, as a matter of course and found a tip of one thousand dollars folded inside. Closing her bag, she nodded her head. Apparently Max found her performance acceptable, as well. She was pleased with the tip, because she wanted to get in on a rush that was sure to happen with a biotech company this month.
When she came out of Max's building, her driver was waiting for her. He got out of the short limo and opened the door for her. She told him, "The bank, then home, and I'll be calling you this afternoon."
His amazing blue eyes held hers without a flinch of emotion, but she thought there might be fire back there anyway. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see—and she did want to see fire for her in this man.
Cole Porter was six-foot-four with thick, wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and extremely flat abs. His suit couldn't hide the thickness of his arms or his thighs. The large hands were marvels to look at, as well, and she had spent several pleasant trips in the back of her limo, visualizing those hands on her body.
But, how to cross the line.
Cole was not only tough; he was also intelligent and highly professional. He was the best driver Nicole ever had. When problems arose, which was extremely seldom and generally with new clients, he dealt with them politely and convincingly. His professionalism in that area allowed her to salvage a new client and now that client was one of her best tippers.
So, under no circumstances did she wish to lose Cole as a driver, but she definitely wanted him as a man, a
s well. The gnawing lust for him grew each time she sat in the back and watched his eyes in the mirror.
They also rarely talked with each other, which they both seemed to prefer. At least she preferred it that way with her other drivers. With Cole, though, she couldn't think of what to say.
It would have to be her, as well, to reach out. She had to breach the barrier if it was going to be breached. It was a violation of edict and professionalism for him to make the first sexual or personal move toward her, and he was far too good of a driver to consider that move. So, it had to be her. She had to start things.
Nicole crossed her long, vibrant legs and tossed her bright blonde hair a little away from her face. She knew men found her physically attractive. She wasn’t too tall, coming up to five-seven, perfect for heels. Her breasts were not too large and had a tear shape to them with pale nipples that hardened, displaying arousal at the slightest provocation – whether she was truly aroused or not. Her skin was creamy white and her eyes, deep water blue. High, expressive cheekbones and full lips tied up the sexual promise of her package with a face made for flirtation.
"Is that suit fitted?" she asked, deciding that, after three months, enough was enough. She had to start somewhere.
He glanced at her in the mirror. "No," he offered.
"You should have a few tailored. At least three, better with five. Perhaps Thursday we can stop by a tailor. I know a good one," she offered.
"If you think it's necessary to do my job properly," he agreed, conditionally.
"Probably not necessary for you, but highly desirable for me. Your arms and chest need more room, and your abs, much less," she described with a slightly lower tone in her voice while watching his eyes in the mirror.
It was a good performance with well-executed innuendos, especially with the addition of her low, husky voice. After she said it, though, her gut tightened and doubt descended brutally. Was that too much? Too little? Could he tell she was flirting?
"You are, after all, a reflection on me," she added after only a breath of hesitation, allowing her to retreat from the contrived flirtation back to the safer area of professionalism. She looked away from his eyes in the mirror and frowned. Shit, I can't even flirt with him! What am I? A schoolgirl?