Kindle Edition
©Slow Release
©Ebony and Ivory Series
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced. It may not be used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author.
Cover photo © Dollar Photo Club
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
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All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
To the Reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from, yet
you are drawn like a moth to a flame. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be
considered an obsession for the women they love. Each and every character I write about has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling, and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times, the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times, their love is dysfunctional, but nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty Two
Epilogue
Prologue – Shattered Pieces
Prologue – Her One Mistake
Prologue
I look around the concrete cellar where I’m being kept and pull at my manacled wrists, another futile attempt to escape the monster who imprisoned me here. This is not supposed to be happening. I have safeguards in place. I take every precautionary measure I know to take. Still, here I am, chained to the floor like an animal. I thought I was being so very careful. Apparently, it was not enough to ensure my safety.
I’m a high fashion model, but I only ever go on shoots with legitimate photographers, and I always research their reputations beforehand. It’s one of my rules, and it’s one I implemented because it’s supposed to keep me safe. That is what has me so baffled. When I hear the slap of footsteps on concrete, I’m pulled from my thoughts. I look up and watch as the metal door opens. It makes a horribly ominous screeching sound as the bottom scrapes against the floor.
“Okay, this is a joke, right? Some kind of kinky photo shoot for a high dollar magazine?”
He doesn’t answer my questions. The lifting of his hand is his only response, and that’s when I see it. He’s holding a Nikon D3100 camera, and he immediately begins to circle me, taking my picture. My eyes have trouble adjusting to the camera’s bright flash in the darkened room. When he speaks, his voice sends icy tendrils of fear up and down my spine while, at the same time, the commands he’s giving offer me a false sense of hope. Perhaps this is just some kind of unconventional photo shoot.
“That’s it, kitten… Let me see the fear in your eyes. I want to catch it all on film. Tell me you’ll do any fucking thing I want.”
“Please don’t hurt me. I won’t tell anyone. You haven’t done anything bad yet.”
He circles me again and continues to throw out verbal commands.
“Back away from me like you’re scared.”
That command is an easy one. I hurry to comply and end up scraping the back of my legs on the hard concrete as I drag my body away from him. I watch as he sets the camera up on a tripod that, in the darkness of the room, I hadn’t noticed until now.
I watch, horrified, as he pulls a knife from his pocket and makes his way towards me.
“Please, I’m begging you.” My voice comes out sounding weak, and I hate myself for being so afraid.
The last thing I see before a razor sharp knife slices through my throat like hot butter is the flash of the camera, set on a timer to immortalize my death. The moment of my murder will be given longevity, no doubt becoming a cherished piece of morbid history. A feeling of being suffocated overtakes me. I am drowning in my own blood, struggling to breathe, and I open my eyes to see the truth. It was only a dream.
It takes me a moment to get my mental bearings, and I have to look around just to prove to myself I’m not in a cellar. No, I am in the mansion of a man who has promised to protect me, a man who I believe is in love with me. Day by day, he pulls me deeper into his web of obsession simply because he is always there for me when I need him.
Damon came into my life at a time when I was in desperate need of help. I had no money, no career, and I lived in fear of a stalker who had, for some unfathomable reason, become obsessed with me.
Like the answer to a prayer, Damon showed up and not only helped me, but offered to help my family in Haiti as well. Any woman would happily jump into his bed and count herself lucky if he offered a relationship, but there’s a problem… He’s white, and I’ve never dated a white man. He’s also my boss. We come from two different worlds, and my logical side keeps telling me I’m just asking for problems if I give in to his advances. My heart isn’t listening though, and little by little, he is winning me over with his kindness and intense nature.
I don’t think I have ever met a more handsome man. He is tall, maybe 6’2”, with an athletic build that fills out his tailor-made suits to perfection. His onyx eyes are piercing, commanding pools of promise, and every time he pins me with that powerful gaze, I hear his unspoken oath that he won’t quit
until he has what he wants—me. His raven hair is cropped short on the sides but longer on top and makes my fingers itch to run through it. As if his looks weren’t enough to pull me into his vortex of passion and seduction, his demeanor is arrogant, cocky, controlling, and dominant. Everything about him is a total turn-on, and I’m not the only woman he affects like this; every woman he comes in contact with wants to be near him, wants to be with him.
Damon is here in my life, and he’s made it quite clear he isn’t going anywhere. For better or worse, this is our story.
Chapter One
Damon
It may be a slow release but when she lets go, I’ll be there; she will fall and when she does, I’ll be there to catch her.
“I want her, enough said.”
“She’s in Haiti.”
“I don’t give a fuck if she’s on the moon. I. Want. Her.”
I sat back down behind my large cherry wood desk and eyed my assistant seated in the chair across from me. I could tell by his body language that he was about to start lecturing me. Times like this always made me wonder what I was thinking when I hired him.
“She’s not your standard model, Damon.”
“Oh hell, Marcus, why don’t you just say what you mean?”
He squirmed and took a deep breath, no doubt trying to get the balls to tell me things I already knew.
“She’s dark skinned, very dark skinned, and her hair is short. It’s so short that she’s practically bald, like cut down to her scalp.”
A growl escaped from somewhere deep in my chest, and when I spoke, my tone of voice betrayed the anger I felt building within me. “I’m not running some fucking cookie cutter, blonde hair, blue eyes, fake tits, modeling agency. Now granted, I’ve got no problem with hiring Caucasian women, but what I do have a fucking problem with is hiring cardboard cutouts. We have a string of women who all look the same. I want diversity, and I want this. This woman has got an exotic, sexy as hell ethnicity about her, and the camera loves her.”
I tossed the picture across the desk so hard that he had to scramble to catch it before it fell to the floor. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that woman isn’t beautiful?”
“Oh, she’s definitely beautiful. She’s intriguing as hell with that dark skin and those blue eyes, but will she sell jeans that are geared towards size zero women?”
“The models who are stick skinny don’t sell size zero jeans; they sell magazines. Most real women can’t squeeze their asses into a size zero. As badly as I hate to admit it, our models sell an ideal that is not only impossible to attain, it is unhealthy to pursue.”
“Let’s get realistic here, Damon. I bet if I looked over that desk, I’d see that your cock is hard. You saw her, got turned on, and now you want her.”
“You’ve got until the end of today to get her on the phone, and you’ve got until the end of the week to get her on a plane. Make it happen, Marcus, or you’re out of a job.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You heard me. Now, get out of my office.”
As soon as the door hit him on the ass, I pushed down on my hardened cock and reached for the picture. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked at the woman staring back at me from the glossy print. Her skin was so dark and smooth it looked like satin; it literally shined like a beacon calling out to me. I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever seen a woman that black or that beautiful. Her allure moved me, and I was going to change the way the industry and members of society perceived their standards of beauty…
Skye
In my family’s one room hut in Haiti, I sat on my bed and looked through the magazine the man named Damon sent to me. None of the women in the photographs looked like me at all.
All of the women pretty much looked the same. They were the standard Caucasian models with blonde hair and blue eyes. There was some variation with a pair of hazel eyes thrown in every once in a while or dark blonde hair with highlights, but most of them looked the same. Every single one of them was skinny with long hair. One thing was for sure; none of them looked like me.
I picked up the 8x10 glossy of the white man—the very good looking white man. He sat with a cigar in one hand and a glass of bourbon in the other. He had coal black hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that gave him a very distinguished look. It was his eyes, though, that drew my attention and ensnared me. They were also coal black, but they held such an intensity within them that it was like he was looking right at me—no, right through me. Even through a photograph, I could feel his dominance. He was demanding an answer, wooing and pulling me in to join him in New York City.
In the letter he enclosed with the magazine, he revealed that he already set up everything I would need upon my arrival in New York. I’d stay with him in his mansion and to counter any reservations I might’ve had about my living arrangements, he sent referrals. I can only assume he knew I would be wary of staying with a complete stranger. He also sent pictures of the bedroom I would occupy, and goodness, it looked more like a very large suite in a five star hotel.
What I couldn’t come to grips with was why he wanted me. I had only sent my portfolio to him at my mother’s insistence. From the day I was born, she said people were mesmerized by my looks. By Haitian standards, I was considered very beautiful, but what did this Caucasian know about black women’s beauty? Much like the man wanting me to model for his agency, it was my eyes that always intrigued people. They were a startling blue and, against my dark skin, really stood out. Though his eyes made him appear worldly and mine seemed to exude innocence, we did share the trait of our gazes being equally intense.
I hadn’t even met this man yet and already the feelings he inspired not only confused me, but intrigued me as well. His good looks made me wonder why he wasn’t modeling rather than running a modeling agency.
“Child, what is on your mind, girl?” My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“This is a lot to process, Mommy. It’s a whole new world and customs I’m not familiar with, and it’s like starting over with no idea of what I’m getting into.”
“Child, I understand your fear, but this is what you’ve always wanted. You’ve waited for this all your life. From the time you could walk, you made the family and any visitors we had watch your runway shows. You were so cute setting up everything just the way you wanted. I used to cry because I didn’t have money for a camera. I so wanted to take pictures of the sweet little shows you set up. This isn’t just about money, Skye. This is your dream. A new beginning can be a good thing. It’s not only good for you, but it could be good for the whole family.”
I knew this was the chance I needed to take care of my family. This job would enable me to financially care for my five siblings and single mother. Money wasn’t easy to come by in the impoverished village where we resided. I live in the small village of Meille and after January 12, 2010, our lives became even more desperate when a catastrophic earthquake hit our area. As if that wasn’t enough, on the 14th of October, my baby brother died from a case of Cholera, an intestinal illness. He was just two years old when he died, and it devastated my family. We had once been seven children, and now only six of us remained.
“I know, Mommy. I’ll go for the good of the family. Nothing would please me more than to move you all out of this village. I love you, Mommy, and I’m going to do what I can to get us all out of this terrible living situation.”
My mother’s hand gently stroked over my cheek as she spoke. “You do this for you too. I want you to have a life, a good life. You deserve the chance I never had.”
So, it was settled. I would board a plane and go to New York. Though I was scared of my new beginning, I was even more fearful that more members of my family would die in poverty. The simplest of things were hard here. Even our water source was tainted, and we suspected it was what had killed my brother. Anything had to be better than this, and only time would tell if I was making the right decision.
Chapter Two
Damon
I sat in the backseat of a luxury car and tried to avoid looking at the perceptive eyes of my business partner, who seemed intent on studying me in his rearview mirror. As if he picked up on the fact I was aware of his perusal, he spoke, “Do you need more air back there?”
“Everything is fine, Jerome.”
Though he was my business partner, he also served as my bodyguard, and he was a damn good one. He stood at a very large 6’5” of pure muscle. He probably knew me as well or better than anyone else in my life, and he was much more than an employee; he was my best friend. It irritated me that he knew me as well as he did sometimes, and this was one of those times. Because he was my best friend, he was well aware of my sexual preferences. He was also well aware how captivated I was with the model we were on our way to pick up from the airport.
I haven’t always had money. I grew up very poor and even back then, Jerome had my back. I met him when my life was a torrential downpour of dealing with bullies who picked on me because of my small size. It was Jerome who took me to the neighborhood gym and taught me how to box. After we finished school, we went into the modeling industry together. We pooled our resources and launched into an industry we knew nothing about, full of hope and determination. Now, we both live in mansions on a ten acre estate. It was one of the first things we did when we started making real money—building our houses on adjoining land. At that point, he insisted I put him on payroll as my bodyguard so that he was always with me. More than once, we’ve seen issues arise with other agents and working together has not only ensured our success, but our safety as well. He was there for me when I had no one else. He was a true friend when I had none, and I have never forgotten it.
“I’ve never known you to meet one of your models at the airport. Normally, you just send a driver to pick them up.”
I knew he was fishing, but I had no intention of revealing the real reason I was going myself today. “I’m certain the young lady is nervous about coming to New York. No doubt, the culture shock will be an issue for her. I want her comfortable and settled in, so she can begin working as soon as possible.”
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