Fueling His Hunger

by Sparrow Beckett

  Titles by Sparrow Beckett

  Masters of Adrenaline

  Stealing His Thunder

  Fueling His Hunger

  Masters Unleashed

  Finding Master Right

  Playing Hard to Master

  To Have and To Master

  Fueling His Hunger

  Sparrow Beckett

  INTERMIX

  New York

  INTERMIX

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2016 by Sparrow Beckett

  Excerpt from Pushing Her Limits copyright © 2016 by Sparrow Beckett

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  ISBN: 9780451488367

  First Edition: October 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Titles by Sparrow Beckett

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from PUSHING HER LIMITS

  About the Author

  Dedicated to coffee for getting us through early morning edits.

  Chapter 1

  “You’re wearing that?” Chloe crinkled her nose as she looked Ophelia over. “You can’t keep dressing like this, O. This is Vegas.”

  “No.” Priya clucked her tongue. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes and leaned on the edge of the vanity, watching her friends primp in the mirror. Two months ago, she would have agreed with them. Wearing black skinny jeans and a plain black tank top to a party would probably get her onto some “Worst Dressed” list on a celebrity gossip website. She’d tried to make her outfit more chic by adding her Jimmy Choos and a diamond necklace, but apparently it wasn’t enough.

  Funny how everything could change in just a day. A moment even. A phone call.

  Two months ago, she cared about fashion. Two months ago, she would’ve been worried about whether her lipstick shade complemented her complexion or not. But lately, she was having trouble giving two flying fucks about clothes or makeup.

  “This is the biggest party of the year,” Priya said, then turned to the mirror to apply her fake lashes. Like Chloe, she could contour like a professional makeup artist. Not that she needed it. Her complexion was perfect. The two of them didn’t just dress trendy either—they created trends.

  Chloe’s red hair hung in loose curls down her back, accented with a jeweled clip on one side. Both wore tight dresses designed to draw attention. Today, Ophelia looked like their uncultured cousin tagging along as their charity project.

  “Jason will be there for sure,” Priya said with a smirk.

  Chloe purred, “Mmm. Do you think he’s got a sock down there or do you think it’s the real deal?”

  “Chloe!” Ophelia yelled, trying to be offended for Jason’s sake.

  “What?” Her friend shrugged. “I know you’ve seen the bulge. How could you not?”

  Priya laughed. “Too bad he’s only got eyes for O.”

  Ophelia didn’t want his eyes. Or his bulge. Or his boring conversation, either. They’d been on a couple dates and he’d droned on and on about himself and his budding music career, barely taking a breath between sentences.

  Her friends called her a “chronic first-dater.” She rarely went on second dates. Her mother was starting to ask if she was secretly into girls. The guys in her social circle called her a frigid bitch. Neither was true. Even before her father passed away, she’d found most guys boring. But now . . . Now she couldn’t even imagine starting a relationship. Not when her heart still felt so raw from his death. He was the only person in the world she felt actually loved her. When she was a child she’d known the nannies just showed up every day for the money. Her own mother had skipped out on visitation half the time after her parents had divorced.

  Since he’d died two months ago, her heart had been aching and empty. Ophelia hadn’t been a picnic to be around. She wondered if guys were coming on to her because they liked the challenge, not because they were actually interested.

  She seriously needed to start reevaluating her social circle.

  But God forbid she missed the banquets and multimillion-dollar house parties. Her mother would have her head. Nothing was more annoying than Lorna Davis on a rant about preserving the family’s reputation. Sometimes being an only child sucked. The role of golden child or disappointment fell on her alone.

  Her phone beeped. She looked down, wondering who’d bothered to text her. Other than Chloe and Priya, who she’d grown up with, everyone else had faded away after her father had died and she’d shut down.

  The name Jason popped up on the screen. She scrunched her nose.

  Can’t wait to see you tonight.

  That made one of them. In fact, she was going to do everything in her power to avoid him. She felt bad the second she thought it. He was a nice guy—just completely clueless about how to talk to women. And yeah, maybe a little self-absorbed. If she were in a better place, maybe she’d give him some pointers. But right now, she couldn’t stomach the idea of flirting. Or happiness. Or feeling anything at all.

  She shoved her phone in her purse then looked at her friends. “Let’s get this over with. I’m in desperate need of a buzz.”

  “And a man to screw,” Chloe added.

  Ignoring her, Ophelia made for the door. “I’ll drive.”

  Priya shuffled behind her, muttering, “Why bother? We know you won’t be playing DD.”

  There was a vague sense of guilt, but she pushed it away. She’d been a little freer with her alcohol consumption lately, but it wasn’t as if she was out of control. That was just what people did at parties. Besides, nobody could blame her for wanting to feel numb once in a while.

  “Shh,” Chloe scolded Priya. “I’ll drive us home. I’m on a body cleanse anyway.”

  They piled into Ophelia’s SUV—Priya in back and Chloe in the passenger seat. Her two friends prattled on about the latest gossip, but Ophelia’s mind hazed over. She let herself get caught in the familiar blank space between feeling incredibly lost and just not caring.

  It was a place she was finding herself in more and more lately.

&nbs
p; The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Music pulsed, vibrating the floor beneath her feet. The inside of the mansion had been transformed into a club. Servers poured drinks as lights flashed to the rhythm of the rave music.

  Ophelia pushed her way through the dancing crowd, grabbing a drink from the bar on her way. She chugged it quickly. The faster she could get a buzz going, the better. She was having a hard time tolerating this shit lately.

  Chloe and Priya motioned they were going to the dance floor. Ophelia nodded and waved them away. Instead of following as she might have done at one time, she made her way to the sliding door that led to the patio.

  Outside, girls in tiny bikinis strutted by the pool. The music was muted at least, and she was glad for the break in the assault on her ears.

  Christmas lights hung on the patio railing and above on the canopies. Two guys and a girl were by the waterfall, laughing and drinking. Men lingered on the side of the pool, flirting with anyone who happened to have a chest above a B cup. Hers barely made the cut.

  She sighed. Sometimes she felt like these were nothing more than upscale frat parties.

  Most of the attendees were the offspring of celebrities and moguls. Spoiled rich kids who handled the pressure of the spotlight by doing dumb things that embarrassed their parents. At one point she’d fit in here among the designer clothes and expensive jewelry. But now she didn’t know where she belonged.

  Before committing to a lingering spot, she scanned the patio for Jason. He was exactly the kind of guy a girl like her should want at this stage in her life. Tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement. He was beautiful. The kind of gorgeous women wanted to make babies with. Dark skin, golden brown eyes, a wide toothy smile, and dimples. Fucking dimples! He had a stable financial situation, thanks to his wealthy movie-director parents. Speaking of his parents . . . They were well loved and respected in her social circle.

  Really, what more could a girl ask for?

  She didn’t know why but he just wasn’t doing it for her. It wasn’t only his lack of conversational skills. Even his suave appearance didn’t get her libido going. At this point, she wondered if she even had a libido. Was nothing working down there? Maybe her girlie bits were broken. When everyone else’s tingled for Tom Hardy or Chris Hemsworth, hers just went meh.

  Maybe she should see a doctor.

  She almost laughed out loud. Of all the things she should see a doctor about, not getting turned on by hot guys was last on the priority list.

  A server came by with tray of mojitos. She grabbed one and sipped it hastily.

  “There you are,” a voice boomed from behind her.

  Dread crept into her gut, despite the alcohol. She swigged the last sip and turned to face Jason.

  She gave him her best smile.

  His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re in pain.”

  Her face went slack. So much for trying to be nice. “I’m fine.” She grabbed another drink off a moving tray.

  “Oookay.” He smiled then—one that should make her swoon. She was swooning all right, but it was more from the alcohol she was knocking back like her survival depended on it. Maybe it did.

  “Did you hear the news?” he asked. “A record producer is interested in my demo.”

  “Wow . . .” Was that her voice sounding so excited and impressed? Weird. “That’s awesome!”

  Jason flinched back, his smile gone. “Are you okay?”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “You’re talking really loud.”

  The world spun and she swayed a little. Ah, here we go. Now she could forget everything. Speaking of forgetting . . . What were they talking about?

  Jason gripped her elbow. She looked down at his big hand, all manly and . . . big. Then she giggled. Sooo not into him. She pictured him moving that hand to her waistband then down to her panties.

  A snorting laugh bubbled up.

  Fuck. Was she losing her mind?

  She smiled up at Jason and purred, “Get me a drink?”

  An hour later—or maybe it was more—her head started to throb. Jason was still lingering even as Chloe and Priya dragged her onto the dance floor. With enough alcohol, anything was possible. Soon she was laughing and dancing, just like the old Ophelia, only poorly dressed.

  “Fresh air,” she yelled above the music.

  Her friends nodded and she stumbled out the front door. Her feet felt swollen in her shoes so she yanked them off and carried them as she headed down the driveway. Her head spun and she focused on inhaling deep breaths.

  Where the fuck was her SUV?

  She walked, barefoot, on the cooling asphalt for what felt like forever before she found her car in a lineup at the end of the driveway. Even this drunk, she knew better than to drive. But it was so stuffy in that house, she suddenly felt like she’d die if she didn’t get out of there.

  After fumbling with her keys, she managed to unlock the doors and fall into the backseat, closing the door behind her. She just needed a break. A few minutes to lie down. Just to cool off.

  She shut her eyes, focusing on the music in the distance. Soon the music faded away and she felt nothing.

  Chapter 2

  Night brought a welcome coolness to the desert as their car prowled the exclusive, nouveau-riche neighborhood. The trip home after Fox’s stag party had accidentally turned into a recon outing. Luke shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d been stealing cars so long that they were always either on a job or looking for new opportunities.

  “What I don’t understand,” Atlas grumbled, “is how the two of us are sober.”

  Luke glanced over at his cousin and chuckled at his sour expression.

  “Well, I was supposed to be the designated driver, and you were supposed to get drunk with Fox. One of us fucked up.”

  “I was planning on drinking, but by the time I was ready to start, he’d managed to convince Addison to meet up with us.” Atlas sighed. “We probably should have explained to him that inviting your bride-to-be to your bachelor party is a major faux pas.”

  Luke shrugged. It wasn’t as though any of them lived by society’s rules, so expecting Fox to ditch his wild fiancée for his bachelor party had been asking a little much. Watching the two of them go shot for shot had been funny as hell—they were both so damn competitive—but getting the bachelor party kicked out of three bars before Atlas had finally driven their sorry drunk asses home was fucking hilarious. Addison was the perfect addition to their family. There was no question why Fox was crazy about her.

  Then there was their sex life. Fox had never been one to throw out gory details, but living in the same house meant Luke and Atlas often had to crank the volume on the TV when the two of them took off to their bedroom downstairs.

  If Luke and Atlas were lucky enough to find girls like her, it would be a miracle.

  “You’re lost, fuckerrr,” Jimmy slurred from the backseat. “This is not the way to my house.” He frowned at the parade of estates that flashed past. “How much money do you think the garage makes me?”

  Luke turned in his seat to keep an eye on the denizens of their backseat. They were both completely hammered, and had been hilarious since about 9 p.m.. He had plastic bags in case one of them started puking, but they’d been feeding Carlos coffee and driving around for about an hour, hoping they wouldn’t have to dump him off at home in this condition.

  “I bet . . .” Carlos said, a rolling chuckle interrupting his thought. “I bet this is a fucking job, man. They’re turning us into fucking car thieves.” He leaned closer to the window until his forehead bumped the glass. “Oh shit. If I start stealing cars, my wife is going to kick my ass.”

  “Your pregnant wife!” Jimmy crowed, smacking his buddy in the shoulder. “You knocked her up! Your life is o-ver! No more poker nights—no more naughty librarian s
ex. You’re fucking done for. You should just take up shuffleboard now, because you’re going to start wearing cardigans and driving a minivan.”

  Carlos turned to look at him, narrowing his eyes and swaying in his seat. “A minivan is about function, you fucking doorknob. When you have a baby, you need a lot of stuff. Like a stroller, and a car seat, and . . . and tits! Fuck. Julia had awesome tits before, but have you seen them lately? They’re fucking huge!”

  “If you stuck your face in there, she might suffocate you.” Jimmy got the giggles. “Be careful. Bring a fucking snorkel.”

  “You’re my best friend, Jimmy. You’re like a brother to me. But if you ever try to snorkel her tits, I’ll kick your ass.”

  Now they were both howling with laughter, leaning on each other.

  “I give up,” Atlas muttered. “We need to bring them home, but I think they’re immune to coffee. If Julia kills us, so be it.”

  “No, no!” Carlos protested. “This is my last big night to do crazy shit. I’m going to be a daddy any day now, then I have to settle my ass down and be a family man.”

  “Dead man walking!” Jimmy shouted, making Atlas wince.

  “Well, you’re shitfaced and you’re probably going to pass out before we get you home,” Luke said. “So what do you have in mind?”

  Atlas leaned back in his seat and shrugged. “Yeah, where do you want to go? Fox and Addison already got us kicked out of pretty much everywhere except Fitte, but that place was too much for you anyway.”

  Carlos shook his head. “You guys are into some crazy shit. Me and Julia like to mess around, but that place was too fucking creepy for me. Did you see that girl getting whipped?” He whistled, like he still wasn’t over it. “That was a real whip. The guy showed it to me. He wasn’t fucking around.”

  Jimmy grimaced and shuddered. “I was glad when it was time to leave. Girls in little plastic skirts are one thing, but I’m way too vanilla for that place.”

  The BDSM club their metalhead tattooist friends owned had been pretty shocking to their poker buddies, no matter how often they joked about kink.