by Sosie Frost
“Sarah.”
He brushed his hand over my cheek. I wished I hadn’t shuddered. I was strong, but I’d never be strong enough to resist him, to fight him, to deny my every surrender to him.
And he knew it.
Max and Reed knew it.
And that was why my victory would ultimately end in defeat—a sweet, desperate defeat that’d forever bind me within his clutches.
“I’ll protect you,” he said. “We’ll all protect you.”
Promises. Always promises.
Only this time, I believed him.
Without the secrets restraining us, and with the ticking clock measuring my life in single, frightening moments of possession, I had no reason not to trust Nicholas Bennett.
“But it won’t work,” I whispered. “Keeping me here is a mistake.”
“It’s only our option,” he said. “The longer you’re here, the easier we can convince my father that you are our prisoner, the easier it will be to keep you alive.”
“And when I don’t get pregnant?”
“Leave that to me.”
“We can’t fake it.”
“Who said we’d fake it?”
The panic and fear, adrenaline and excitement poisoned me into quivered confusion. Nicholas’s touch provided the simple antidote.
Trust.
Devotion.
Passion.
I stilled. “But…you can take me as often as you can—”
“I plan on it.”
The fierce dedication in his words blistered me with heat. I blushed, but my perked eyebrow offered him a challenge.
“How?” I whispered. “You’ve all had me, and I didn’t get pregnant.”
“Then I try again.” Nicholas’s voice rumbled low and thick. “And again. And again. Every day.”
“Every day?”
He seized my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. His lips pressed hard against my throat, and I flushed as I caught the gaze of my step-brothers, stunned to silence.
“You’re not going anywhere, Sarah Atwood.” His breath heated my skin. “The safest place for you is right here. In my arms. In my bed. I’ll protect you. I’ll take you, and I’ll ensure you’re carrying my child before my father has cause to harm you.”
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re mine.”
His hands tightened against me, capturing me in a kiss before I could struggle away. Max and Reed watched in silent shock.
Nicholas didn’t care.
I gasped as he pushed me against his desk. He forced me down with that Bennett arrogance promising a dark, twisted, and primal act. It dominated us both.
Reed called our names. Nicholas didn’t look at him, his jaw clenching as he explored my prone body. He palmed my thigh, but I knew better than to refuse him.
He opened my legs and stepped between.
“Don’t move.”
Did he command me or his brothers?
“This is the beginning of the real takeover, Sarah. You belong to me. Your body. Your future. Your safety.”
My skirt peeled down. He ripped open the buttons of my blouse.
My breathing shuddered as the bra tugged away.
My step-brothers saw everything.
I paled, but my struggling ceased as his hand crept along my chest, sealing tight against my neck.
“Don’t fight me,” he whispered. “We’ve already had you. You know what we expect.”
The thought was once horrifying. Now it shivered through me. I’d never deny the sheer animalistic instinct roaring through him.
I won.
I’d keep my company and protect myself by threatening their empire. Nicholas demanded an heir, but my body would never betray me, not even to their hedonistic and primal desires.
I had won.
And my prize for my conquest?
Nicholas’s love.
Max’s aggression.
Reed’s kindness.
The possibilities and pleasures, victories and empowerment dizzied me.
Three men. Three step-brothers. Three protectors.
Three lovers?
Nicholas’s urges might have once shamed me. Instead, I welcomed his hand against my neck, and surrendered to the instinctual submission of a woman possessed within the strength of her man.
He admired me. His hardness pressed against my slit.
He moved to his zipper. I searched for Max and Reed.
Would he really take me in front of his brothers?
The answer came suddenly, a quick, fierce, demanding stroke of his cock directly into my core.
I arched, my gasp fading to a low groan.
His cock stretched me, filled me, and claimed me, and I only arched against the desk to accept more of his length.
My face flushed, but I’d never resist Nicholas again. His brothers watched his savage thrusts within my body, listened to my gasped moans.
And they waited with fierce stares and fiercer intent.
Hungry.
This was wrong.
God, everything about it was wrong.
I shouldn’t have let him do this. Welcoming him with such betraying wetness only sealed his command over me. I wanted to be free.
I wanted to be his.
I wanted everything he couldn’t give me—his love, my freedom, even his promise to be with me forever.
I groaned. He was my step-brother.
A Bennett.
My family’s worst enemy.
And I wanted nothing more than for him to lose himself within me.
“This is your life from now on.” Nicholas grunted as his motions were meant to take, not tease. I bounced against the desk, held in place only by a grip that would have been cruel had it not delivered me to pleasure. “You will be mine. Taken. Used. Fucked and filled until you’re bred, and nothing is going to prevent us from getting what we need.”
His words weren’t kind, but I didn’t care.
I felt the emotion behind them.
The anger. The devotion.
The utter fear that even his basest urges wouldn’t be able to save me from the hell he created.
He kissed me. I whimpered against him, struck by the ferocious gold of his gaze.
His cock drove inside me. I grasped him, clenching over every offered inch of his depraved protection. I couldn’t hide my thrill, not when Nicholas knew exactly how to hold me down and force me to accept his love the only way he’d offer it.
He fucked with brute strength. Claimed me with unrepentant dominance. Nicholas tangled us in a passion so twisted he’d capture me, ravish me in front of his brothers, and claim me as his captive all to prove his devotion.
I tensed. I’d never fight him. He assaulted me on his desk, his aggressive thrusts brutal and frightening. But I accepted him and every shudder that bound me to his lust.
He promised he’d protect me.
The orgasm overwhelmed me within his strikes. I crumbled against him, offering my hips despite my silent and tempted step-brothers watching as he pounded me.
I cried out, whispering his name, drawn into utter pleasure and the sheer intensity of his strength.
A surge of heat jetted inside me. Nicholas claimed me, forced my submission, and offered me his adoration. He shuddered over me, but his words excited me more than his raging aggression.
“I love you,” he growled. “More than you can possibly know. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means sharing your body to save your life.”
I panted, but Nicholas didn’t give me time to rest. He hauled me off the desk and faced his brothers. I was forced to my knees before them—trembling, weak, and slick with his claiming.
“Everything has changed,” Nicholas said. “We have no time. If we want to save her life, Sarah has to conceive.”
Max and Reed hadn’t moved, but their eyes feasted over my every quivering movement. I shuddered, looking up to Nicholas—so stern and still it was as though he hadn’t spilled his
every secret and longing inside of me.
“This isn’t about pride or ego.” His authority drew his brothers’ attention away from me. “This is about ensuring her survival. I need your help.”
I twisted my fingers in the carpet. My body hadn’t broken the haze of pleasure. The thrill whipped me, and the raw aggression and arrogance of his conquering left me breathless.
Nothing would stop Nicholas Bennett from securing his heir and path to the Atwood fortune.
He’d do it by taking me until I surrendered in my own selfish desire.
Then he’d offer what remained to his brothers.
He spoke the truth. I belonged to him.
And what should have terrified me only sealed my fate in endless passion and strict, unforgiving pleasure.
He pushed me forward. I fell onto my hands, bowing to my step-brothers as the air thickened with their own instinctual urge to dominate and take.
Nicholas’s voice growled with ambition, hardened with challenge, and threatened with lust.
“Who’s next?”
The End
Déjà Vu
By Sosie Frost
Déjà Vu
Copyright © 2016 by Sosie Frost
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations
Model: Travis DesLaurier
Photographer: Lisa-Marie Photography
Created with Vellum
To L.G.
Bet you didn’t think I could write a “Secret Mommy” romance
1
What was the most annoying thing about not knowing who I was, where I’d come from, or how I got there?
Trying to make a breakfast order without having any idea what I liked to eat.
Eggs? Bacon? Smoothie?
Some problems were bigger than others. Breakfast fell somewhere in the spectrum between I have no memories of anyone or anything and I hope I’m not allergic to soy.
This information—or lack thereof—was also perplexing to the pretty doctor who sat on the end of my hospital bed.
“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asked.
I didn’t like what my answer would be. She didn’t like the hesitation. At least we were of one mind about this sticky situation…even if mine half appeared to be broken.
“You go first,” I said. “I’ll keep thinking.”
“Fair enough. I’m Doctor Rory Owens. Do you know where you are?”
Swing and a miss.
“Well…” My smile wouldn’t fool anyone, least of all me. “I’m not seeing any complimentary shampoos or minibars…so I’m guessing this isn’t the Ritz Carlton.”
“The food isn’t nearly that good.”
I shifted against the bed. The sheets tucked up tight, and I attempted to adjust them. The bed won. A sharp, unexpected, and thoroughly unwelcomed ache shot through me. That answered some questions.
Not all, but it was a good start.
I frowned. “So I’m probably not in Vegas either?”
“Care to make another wager?”
“Not sure I have anything left to bet.”
Doctor Owens tapped her fingernails on the clipboard, manicured and bright pink. I might have admired them more if I wasn’t also stained by flecks of pink. Splatters of pastel colors freckled my dark arms. Splotchy, like I bludgeoned a sugar plum fairy. The pixie must have won though. It was my butt in the hospital, and the fairy gang played rough. If Sugar took my memory, then Tooth probably stole my kidneys.
Doctor Owens continued her interrogation. “Do you know why you’re here?”
I concentrated. Nothing came to mind, but there wasn’t much in there anyway. Names, numbers, locations, goals, secrets, fantasies, scores of the last Rivets’ game…gone. My chest squeezed tight. I didn’t like that panic.
I gave her a shrug. “Breast implants?”
Doctor Owens shared my smirk. “You’ll reap the benefits without a surgery, I promise.”
I glanced down. The heaving surprises were impressive, but I didn’t feel like I could take credit for the particularly feminine fiesta under the hospital gown. I didn’t recognize my own body.
I was black. Good to know.
Young. That was a plus.
I hurt, but at least my butt was parked in a hospital.
But how long had I been here? My teeth were fuzzy and my hair went frizzy. It wasn’t an accurate measure of time, but coupled with the various aches and pains, I concluded that whatever had beaten my memory out of me had happened at least a day ago.
Maybe longer.
Yuck. Toothbrush first, memory later.
“You’re at Ironfield Regional Hospital.” Doctor Owens spoke slowly. “I’m taking care of you. I want you to do me a favor. Remember these five words. Bottle. Rattle. Milk. Crib. Diaper.”
“I’m sensing a theme.”
“There’s been an accident.”
“Isn’t that what the diaper is for?”
“It’s more serious than that.”
I took a breath. Okay. Hospital. Aches and pains. No memory. The accident must have been bad. A car crash? Had I been attacked? Was I in danger? I wiggled my toes. They still worked, but a dozen other terrible things might have happened. Spleen lacerations. Brain prions.
Maybe I really was allergic to soy!
Oh God. I stared at the doctor.
“Give it to me straight,” I said. “Am I going to live?”
“You were struck by an ice cream truck.”
The fear fizzled away. Shame took its place, chasing away my dignity and pride as it settled in nice and cozy beside my disgust.
“An ice cream truck?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“But…how?” Granted my head wasn’t working now, but surely I once possessed some common sense. “Don’t those…make noise? Am I deaf too?”
“Well…it was playing music. Loud music. In fact, most of the ER nurses had run to the parking lot thinking it was a chance for ice cream rather than a truck delivering a patient. Fortunately, that meant you were triaged very quickly.”
“Right after the Klondike bars.”
“Happy nurses make for faster healing. But, unfortunately, you did sustain a concussion from the impact. However, the driver did help. He applied ice to the bump on your head…a cherry and lemon flavored slush, actually.”
Well, at least I hadn’t been killed. Death by chocolate seemed a decent enough fantasy, but in practice it was quite unwieldy and sticky. Also tainted with motor oil.
I examined my body. No tire tracks. No track marks of any kind. Always an encouraging sign. Except that meant I smacked head-first into a patrolling ice cream truck stone-cold sober. But it wasn’t worth dying to an ice cream truck unless it was diabetes related.
At least I’d invented the best crash diet.
Doctor Owens didn’t push me. I respected her for that, even if she looked entirely too young to be a doctor. She was beautiful—nice smile and skin a shade darker than mine. I wished I recognized her though. I had a feeling this wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation.
“How long have I been here?” I asked.
Honesty was the best hospital policy, just not always a comforting one. Doctor Owe
ns rapped her fingers on the clipboard.
“Three days,” she said.
“Risen from the dead, huh?”
“You weren’t that bad. Besides, you got your very own miracle. Do you remember?”
I wished she’d stop asking me that. “Can’t say that I do.”
“Do you know your name?”
My stomach knotted. “Pass.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want you to panic.”
“Who’s panicking?” I studied the hospital room. No cards. No flowers. No nothing. Strange. “I mean, I can’t remember what I’m missing, so that’s keeping me calm. And you didn’t have to scoop me off the Rocky Road, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”
She didn’t believe me.
I didn’t believe me.
“Concentrate,” she said. “Can you think of any names? Anyone we could call for you?”
“Call? Isn’t my family here?”
She cleared her throat, bracing me with a smile. “Not right now, no. We haven’t been able to contact your family.”
“No one?”
“Unfortunately, you arrived with no identification, and you’ve only become lucid now. But we’ve spoken with the local authorities, and the police will alert us as soon as any missing person’s report is filed. And, just in case, we’ve put out information to local colleges, churches, and community organizations in case someone recognizes you. We should hear something soon.”
“Let me get this straight.” I rubbed my temples. “I was hit by an ice cream truck. Raced to the hospital. I’ve been here for days. And no one knows? There’s not anyone in the waiting room who might be relieved to know I’m not a splatter of fudge on the side of the road?”
“Technically, there is someone who might help us with the investigation. Someone I’d like you to meet.”
I brushed a hand through my hair—curly, natural, and in desperate need of a headband. “I’m not sure I’m hit-by-a-truck presentable right now.”
“Believe me. You’ll look perfect to them.”
“Please tell me it’s a Chubby Hubby?”
“More like a…little shortcake.”
That was it. The concussion won. I collapsed onto my pillow as Doctor Owens paged a nurse to fetch my visitor. Not that I was in a visiting mood. Everything hurt. Belly. Chest. Head. Legs.