The Pleasure Series: Complete Box Set

by Parker, M. S.

  I knew I cared about him, that I'd let him get closer to me than anyone, even Lily. I trusted him, which was huge. The question was, did any of that add up to love?

  How could I tell him that I loved him if I didn't know what that meant? All I knew of romantic love was the entertainment version of it. Even my experience with platonic and familial love was limited to the short time I'd spent with Lily. What if I told him that I loved him and then realized that what I felt wasn't love?

  But I couldn't love him. That wasn't allowed. I'd forbidden myself from letting anyone have that power over me, the power that being in love gave. So it didn't matter that I didn't know if what I felt was love because I'd never call it that.

  I sighed as I climbed off of the bus. So much for clearing my head.

  The moment I stepped onto the sidewalk, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I tensed and glanced around, but didn't see anyone. I hurried into the building and didn't relax until I was in my apartment with all the locks turned and the curtains closed. Even then, I still had a nagging feeling that someone was watching me. I checked the entire apartment, but it was empty. I sighed. I needed a hot shower and comfortable pajamas. Hopefully, by the time I was curled up in bed, Rylan would call.

  Unfortunately, when I checked my phone once I got out of the shower, the screen was blank. No texts or missed calls. It wasn't exactly late, but I'd been hoping that whatever Rylan was doing with Zeke wouldn't take him that long.

  I missed him.

  The realization hit me.

  I missed him. The sound of his voice. The way he'd chuckle at something I said. Hearing about his day.

  Dammit.

  I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands.

  Even though I'd told myself not to, I'd fallen in love with him.

  Chapter 17

  There were people all around, but I somehow knew that no one could see us. We were hidden from everyone's sight in the shadows. He was behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of him. Though I supposed some of that heat was mine. I couldn't be near him and not feel like I was on fire.

  His hands slid down my arms and then around my waist. I knew that if anyone looked up, they would see us here on the balcony, but I also knew that no one would. It was merely the suggestion of being caught that turned me on.

  I leaned back against him, my head falling back on his shoulder. I turned my head, my mouth finding his as his hands cupped my breasts through my shirt. My nipples were hard, chafing against the soft cotton. I wasn't wearing a bra and the sensation of his hands moving over the thin material was making me wet.

  “I want you,” he whispered in my ear. His lips moved down my neck, sucking on my skin until I knew I was marked. “And I want everyone to know you're mine.”

  “No more hiding,” I said.

  “No,” he agreed.

  One hand slid beneath my shirt to caress my stomach and then up to my bare breasts. As his thumb brushed over my nipple, his other hand pulled up the front of my skirt. I was bare there too. No panties, just a thin layer of curls that his fingers skimmed through.

  “Someone could see.” My protest was half-hearted. His fingers were doing magical things to my nipple.

  “Let them look,” he said. His voice was low, possessive, and it sent a thrill through me. “But they better keep their fucking hands off. You're mine.”

  His fingers moved over my clit, rubbing with just the right amount of pressure. I closed my eyes and let him have his way with me. I didn't care if anyone saw us. I only cared that he kept doing what he was doing.

  Even as my climax burst over me, I became aware that our surroundings had changed. Sand was hot under my back and I could feel cool water lapping at my toes. I opened my eyes and he was leaning over me. His eyes were blazing.

  “I love you, Jenna.” He stretched his body out on mine, the weight of him comforting.

  “I love you, too.” The truth of the words was clear as I reached between our bodies and found him hard and ready.

  He slid inside me and I was wet and open. Our bodies danced together on the beach, the sun pounding down on us as we made love. Our sweat-slicked skin slipped and slid even as the waves moved up our bodies, cooling us. It was more than sex, it was magic and hope and all of the light and good things I could never let myself think when I was awake.

  I was sleeping. Dreaming. But it was too nice of a dream. I didn't want it to end. I wanted to stay here with Rylan, making love. I wanted to dream us into another time and place. A palace. A hotel suite. Some place romantic. Some place common. I didn't want it to end.

  I held him close as another orgasm approached...

  I jerked awake, my breath coming in pants. My entire body was tense, on high alert. I'd woken hot and bothered in the past, but this wasn't it. Something had woken me up, pulled me out of a dream that should've kept me going until morning. I took slow, deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart. I started to reach over to my bedside lamp, then froze.

  A noise.

  Had that been what woke me? It wasn't loud. Little more than a dull thump. It could've been any of my neighbors. Maybe one of them had knocked something over when they got up in the middle of the night. It was possible. Hell, I'd done it myself before. Knocked it off heading for the bathroom, and that's what had woken me up, then kicked it or something on their way back.

  Yes, that was it. My neighbors and thin walls. Usually, everyone was quiet, but I couldn't fault an accident.

  Still, I couldn't shake the icy chill snaking its way down my spine. Something didn't feel right.

  The part of me that feared the dark reared its head, demanded I turn on the light, that only the light could chase away the monsters. Except I knew better. There were plenty of monsters who weren't afraid of light. I'd learned at an all too young age that the monsters who thrived in the light were often worse than the ones who hid in the shadows.

  My heart was still racing despite my attempts to calm myself and I knew that the only way I'd be able to convince my paranoid imagination that I was safe would be to check the entire apartment. There wasn't much to check, but I wouldn't be able to start calming down until I did it.

  I turned on the lamp, squinting against the sudden glow. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust, then looked around my room. It was empty, just the way I'd left it before going to sleep. I forced myself to swing my feet over the edge of my bed, my knuckles turning white as a gripped the side of my mattress. For me, it had never been something with claws and sharp teeth hiding under the bed, only people who wanted to hurt me. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, thankful I'd worn an over-sized sweatshirt to bed rather than my usual camisole.

  “There's no one here.” I spoke out loud, my voice much more firm than I'd thought it would be. That was good. Maybe I could convince myself.

  I bent down and looked under the bed. Nothing but the boxes I stored under there. They served the dual purpose of storage and making sure there wasn't room for anyone to hide. It also meant I wouldn't be able to hide under there if I needed to, but I'd made a promise to myself that if I was ever in a situation where hiding was an option, I wouldn't take it. I'd had enough of cowering in corners. I'd be smart about it, but I'd fight.

  Once I cleared under my bed, I went to the tiny closet across from it. Like the space I'd just looked at, my closet was too packed to offer any room to someone bigger than a toddler. Still, I looked. The repetition of finding myself safe was as much a part of this ritual as the actual looking itself.

  I turned toward my bedroom door. It was partially closed. Enough so that someone would have to open it to surprise me, but left open enough that I could peek into the hallway before opening it. I did just that and frowned. The short hallway was dark, as was the bathroom, but I saw a faint glow from the living room. If I left the curtains open, the moonlight could create that sort of effect, but I was pretty sure I'd closed them. I could've been mistaken. I had been pretty tired when I came in from the gym
.

  I glanced over my shoulder at where my phone was sitting on the table next to my bed. There was every possibility that the noise I heard came from one of my neighbors and that I hadn't closed the curtains in my living room. The goose bumps covering my entire body and the metallic taste of fear in my mouth said someone was in my apartment and they had made the noise I heard.

  It would be easy to gently close the door and lock it. Move my small dresser in front of it. Pick up my phone and call the cops. I could tell them to go ahead and break in if they needed to. Fort Collins police were great for getting to crime scenes in record time. They prided themselves on helping make CSU a safe school. That had been one of the main reasons I'd chosen to live here.

  I knew if they came and it was a false alarm, they wouldn't fault me, not really. A young woman in her early twenties, living alone, no gun. I didn't have a history of calling in about nothing. I was employed and didn't have any neighbors making complaints about me. They'd chalk it up to a bad dream and a bit of paranoia. They might be a little condescending, particularly because of my appearance, but they were used to college coeds, which is what I was still young enough to look like.

  I didn't want to be that girl though. I didn't want to be the one that the cops talked about around the station as being the hysterical freak who thought she saw the boogieman and called the cops. I was an adult. An educated, self-reliant woman who ran her own successful business. I'd spent the last nine years telling myself that I was never going to be a victim again. I wasn't about to let all of that hard work disappear simply because I was too scared to go out into my own apartment.

  No one could've gotten in without me hearing it, I reminded myself. Someone could've picked the main lock, and even the deadbolt, but the chain lock was more difficult to get off. There were easier apartments to get into. Plus, a thief would have to be pretty desperate to break in here. Everyone in the city knew that these apartments were low-rent, mostly young families. Nothing really worth stealing. Granted, I had a lot of electronics, but there'd be no way for someone to know that.

  Unless they'd been following me, I suddenly thought. I remembered how, earlier tonight, I'd felt like someone was watching me. What if I'd been right? What if it hadn't just been me freaking out? If someone saw me coming out of Archer Enterprises, carrying the laptop I took too and from work, they might've decided that I'd have more toys like that at home. I doubted anyone who worked at Archer had only a single laptop at their house. Well, maybe people like Emmaline and Christophe whose jobs were more of the office type, but it wouldn't have been that much of a stretch for someone to think that breaking into my place would be an easy way to make a couple thousand bucks.

  Except I didn't hear anyone moving around out there. If there were a person in my apartment looking for computers, I'd expect to hear them picking things up, moving things around. If it was just the laptops, they could easily have them all together and be getting out right now. If they were going to take my desktop, I should hear them moving all of the wires and plugs.

  My heart gave a painful thump. What if it wasn't a thief? Assault was always a possibility, though around a college campus it was much more likely to happen after some frat party or a case of a date gone badly. There weren't many random assaults. But, again, there was always the possibility that it wasn't random. Someone could have been watching me after work or at the gym and followed me home.

  I gave myself a firm mental shake. I couldn't keep doing this, running scenarios through my mind. It wouldn't do any good. If there was no one, I'd keep standing here until I eventually had to go to the bathroom or the sun came up. Since it was late in the year, I'd be waiting a while for that last one. The alternative was that someone was in my apartment and he – or she, I supposed – would eventually make their way down to my bedroom in search of either money or sex and I'd be caught.

  Proactive. That's what I had to be. Go out there and take control.

  For the first time, I wished I had a weapon. Right now, I didn't even have a kitchen knife or rolling pin. I made a mental note that in the morning, even though all of this would surely seem pointless and silly, I would at least pick up a baseball bat to keep in my bedroom.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door. Fortunately, it didn't squeak, so if someone was in my apartment, they wouldn't know I was coming. I was confident enough in my self-defense training that I thought I could at least immobilize someone long enough to get back out the way they'd come in. As I slowly made my way down the hall, I ran through the various moves my instructor had taught me, the ones I'd recently practiced as well as the others that were more reactive.

  I was a couple of steps away from the living room when I heard the low murmur of voices. Men's voices. Laughter. I couldn't make out any words, but there was a strange, distorted quality to their speech. It wasn't until I was at an angle to see most of the room that I realized where the voices and the light were coming from.

  The television.

  I rolled my eyes. I'd just about given myself a heart attack over leaving the television on. The thumping I'd heard had probably come from it too. Could've been anything from an explosion to someone knocking on a door. Something on a stupid TV show woke me up.

  It wasn't until I crossed the room to turn off the TV that I saw a dark shadow move from the corner of my eye. With a sudden clarity that only true fear can provide, I remembered that I hadn't even turned my TV on tonight. Someone was definitely here… and he was sitting on my couch.

  Chapter 18

  My brain wasn't sure what it wanted to register first. The television screen or the man on my couch.

  “Don't scream.” His voice was low, but almost bored. He raised his hand and I saw that he was holding a gun. “I may not look it, but I'm a good shot, and I'd hate to have to shoot you because you screamed.”

  Screaming wasn't actually the first thing on my mind. I was trying to figure out if I could make it back to my room and the phone I'd so stupidly left on my end table. The only light in the room came from the TV I was trying not to look at. He might be a good shot, but could he see in the dark.

  “Don't run either,” he said, his tone still conversational but quiet. “I don't care how fast you think you are, a bullet's a hell of a lot faster. And a gunshot in the back isn't a lot of fun.”

  He could've been bluffing, but I wasn't sure I wanted to take that chance, not before I knew what was going on. If he'd been a stranger, I probably would've taken the risk. But I knew him and if I could talk to him, connect with him, there was a chance I could get him to give himself up and no one would get hurt.

  “Okay,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “I won't run and I won't scream.”

  His eyes flicked up to me now, looking black in the lack of light. “Don't lie to me. Don't be a naughty girl and make me punish you.”

  I tried not to show him how repulsed I felt at his words. I didn't know if he was the kind of man who got off on reactions, but I wasn't going to take that chance.

  “I'm not lying,” I said. “How about this? I promise not to lie to you, no matter what.”

  He didn't need to know that I was an accomplished liar, taught practically from birth to tell men what they wanted to hear.

  He cocked his head to the side, considering me with those dark, chilling eyes. Then he nodded and patted the seat next to him. “Good girls don't lie,” he said. “And you always were a good little girl. Pretty little Snow White.”

  I was halfway to the love-seat, thinking about ways I could get the gun off of him when his words registered. My chest tightened and I started to shake my head. It wasn't possible.

  Then I sat down and saw that my nightmares had come true. The glimpse I'd caught of it before had told me that it was a homemade movie, but I hadn't let myself really see it before. Now I knew why. My mind had been trying to protect me from what my brain had known.

  On the screen were half a dozen men. Naked. Erect. And standing around a bed.

 
The girl on the bed was slender, her body still at least a couple years away from the curves it would eventually have. Her hair was to her shoulders and a deep, rich black. Ebony. That, plus her pale skin had caused her to be billed as the fairytale princess Snow White.

  Everyone loved a fairytale princess.

  She was still wearing her princess dress. They wanted to fuck her in it first.

  When they eventually ripped it off, I knew I'd see the burn scar on the girl's side because that had happened at least six years before. Glimpses of the underside of her left forearm showed the scar from four years ago. There were no tattoos yet. No piercings. She wouldn't get those for another six years, when she turned eighteen. When she became Jenna Lang.

  The images on the screen froze.

  “Snow White.”

  I turned toward Christophe and wondered how long he'd known who I was. How he'd known. He smiled at me and I repressed the urge to rub my hands across my arms. How had I not seen it before? That look. I'd seen it so many times, I thought I'd never miss it, but I had. I'd thought I was safe because of Rylan, but the wolf had been there the whole time.

  “I was twelve the first time I saw you,” he said. “Surfing on my mom's computer for anything with sex in it, and I saw a preview for a video called Snow White Takes a Nap.”

  It wasn't one of the titles I recognized from the depositions, but when I'd scrubbed my image from the internet with an intricate and beautiful piece of coding, I hadn't done it by a word or title search.

  “It was easy enough to use my mom's credit card to buy it,” he continued. A wistful sort of expression came over his face, but his grip on the gun didn't relax. “She thought it was a cartoon.”

  I wondered how many wives had seen similar purchases and thought their husbands were so sweet, buying cartoons for their kids.

  “You were younger in that one,” he kept going. “You didn't have any scars yet.”

  I must've been younger than six then, the age I'd gotten the scar on my side. Christophe must've been younger than I thought, closer to Rylan's age.