PLAY ME: A Kinky Reads Title

by Dukey, Ker

  PLAY ME

  A Kinky Reads Title

  Table of contents

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Trigger Warning

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Books by

  Acknowledgements

  About Ker Dukey

  About K Webster

  By Ker Dukey and K Webster

  A K&K KINKY READ

  Play Me

  Copyright © 2019 Ker Dukey

  Copyright © 2019 K Webster

  Cover Design: All by Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Wordnerd edits

  Formatting: KD Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  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.

  Blurb

  From international bestselling authors, Ker Dukey and K Webster comes a fast-paced, dark, hot, insta-love standalone lunchtime read from their KKinky Reads collection!

  I meet many women in my line of work.

  Play many roles and create elaborate scenes specific to satisfying their darkest desires.

  Making fantasy a reality is what I do.

  And I do it well.

  But nothing could have prepared me for her.

  Timid, beautiful, broken Quinn Washington

  She came to me with a specific fantasy.

  One that needed extreme caution.

  Dangerous and forbidden.

  Indulging in fantasies can heal you from the darkness of reality.

  As I stripped back her layers, I found more than either of us bargained for.

  She wants something only I can give.

  And there’s no way in hell I’ll deny her of it.

  This is a steamy but dark, kinky romance! A perfect combination of dark and sexy you can devour in one sitting! You'll get a happy ending that'll make you swoon!

  Trigger Warning

  This book has graphic, erotic roleplaying situations that may trigger some readers.

  The characters are all of age and behave as responsibly as they can within predefined guidelines and safe words they follow. If aggressive sexual situations bother you, please pass on this book.

  Thanks,

  K & K

  Fantasy is desire.

  Desire is a craving.

  Craving is an addiction.

  Addiction is dangerous.

  Dedication

  To the women who find strength after the worst situations…

  and reclaim their identity, their sexuality, and their mental freedom.

  Even if they’re blamed.

  Even if they’re judged.

  Even if they’re misunderstood.

  This book is for those brave women.

  Prologue

  The past…

  Music rattles the frat house hosting tonight’s party. Laughter and off-key singing echoes through the room. Sweat and alcohol cling to the stuffy air as bodies gyrate against each other. Same shit, different night. I hate that I even agreed to come. I should be home studying for my test coming up this week.

  Swirling warm beer in the cup I’ve been nursing for the last hour, I close my eyes and down the contents, almost gagging from the taste. Tonight isn’t really my scene, but I promised my roommate I’d make an effort. She’s a typical college party girl, making her way through every jock asshole on campus. I’ve never had a thing for people my own age or the party scene. My tastes are geared toward the more mature male, and my fantasies, if spoken aloud, would be frowned upon, so I keep them to myself and live in my little bubble.

  Pushing through the crowd, I enter the kitchen to seek out something to snack on. My stomach is eating itself from the inside out. I haven’t eaten since the soggy, brown banana I had this morning. We seriously need groceries. I could be late-night shopping to stock our cabinets instead of sitting at this lame party.

  No such luck.

  I flip the lids of pizza boxes left on the counter, finding half-eaten crusts soaked in beer. My nose wrinkles in disgust. I’d rather starve.

  My body jerks forward when I’m jostled from behind. My breath flees my lungs as the planes of a warm, hard body encompass mine, pushing me into the countertop and trapping me. The scent of a male invades my nostrils, making my heart race. Before I can react, the heat is replaced with cool air as the weight lifts, freeing me. Embarrassment flares inside me. For a spilt second, pleasure rippled through me at the possibility of what could be happening.

  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else. I’m so sorry,” a guy gasps, holding his hands up in surrender.

  I smile weakly and shrug my shoulders. “It’s fine.” I wave him off as his girlfriend or playmate appears, grabbing his wrist and dragging him away.

  My desire flared, wild and free within me, at the small sliver of fantasy slipping into reality. I’ve always dreamed of being taken by a powerful sex-fiend, pinned and needed in such a passionate, desperate way. He’s rough and eager, taking me and making me his—marking me, owning me.

  “Quinn, you okay? You look flushed. Are you drunk?” Amy breathes, entering the room, her mouth open, eyes wide for effect. Ever the animated drama queen.

  “No way Quinny would let herself lose control and actually have fun,” Rocko the Cocko snarks.

  I fucking hate that dick. He hates me too. Doesn’t like that Amy has a friend who doesn’t want to jump his bones. He thinks he’s the shit because his older brother just opened some sex club in town. It’s supposed to be under the radar, exclusive, members-only. Rocko has a big mouth.

  “I have fun,” I say, crossing my arms and glaring at them both.

  “Prove it.” He smirks, handing me half a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  I don’t need to prove anything to this jerk.

  “You promised you’d be fun Quinn, not mom Quinn,” Amy comments, batting her lashes at me.

  Mom Quinn is responsible Quinn, who has to be that way because there’s only one version of Amy. Fun Amy. No in between. Rolling my eyes, I snatch the bottle and gulp down three big swigs to their lame cheering. Swiping my lips, I cringe a little from the burn down my throat and tingle on my tongue. When Amy snatches the bottle and drinks, I try to grab it back.

  “You’re designated driver for once,” I growl through gritted teeth. She promised.

  “She’s already done shots and played beer pong,” Rocko snorts. “Find me when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll walk you both.”

  “Oh, our hero.” I gag. “We can make it a few blocks.”

  “Suit yourself. Don’t bitch me out if you’re mugged.”

  “What? Are they going to rob her of the whole three bucks she has to her name?” Amy cackles. Bitch. I have two hundred and three dollars actually. Enough to get some groceries I won’t be sharing with her drunk ass.

  “Hopef
ully they take her attitude and her three bucks,” Rocko jokes.

  “Eat shit,” I deadpan, holding up my middle finger.

  “I’ve got better things to be eating.” He grins, grabbing Amy and nuzzling her neck.

  Gross. When did they start this shit up again?

  “Amy, you ready to go?” I pout.

  “Just give me thirty more minutes.” She giggles as Rocko scoops her up, tossing her over his shoulder and slapping her ass.

  “Make that an hour.” He winks.

  “That’s ambitious. You going to watch a movie after?” I bite out. But he’s already leaving, offering me the finger over his shoulder.

  Ugh. The buzz from the Jack mixed with the warm beer swirls in my gut. I think I’m going to throw up. I should have eaten before I came out. Pushing through the people gathered in the hall, I make it out the front door and swallow at the air, easing the queasy feeling.

  I can’t be bothered waiting around another hour. Pulling out my cellphone, I shoot Amy a text.

  Me: I don’t feel good. Meet you at home. Make sure Rocko walks you!!!!

  The night has turned cold. The wind teases the trees, bristling the leaves as I begin the short ten-minute walk to our apartment. A pit forms in my stomach—and it has nothing to do with hunger or alcohol. I feel like I’m on a survival walk as shadows dance and the music from the party fades to silence. Every murmur of sound becomes a potential threat. Rocko made me paranoid.

  The dead of night whispers to me, making chills break out over my skin. I pick up the pace, grateful I wore sneakers and not the heels Amy tried to get me to wear.

  Hugging my arms to my body, I almost break into a jog. It’s so quiet for being near campus. There’s always people milling around, but tonight, there’s nothing but eerie silence.

  I’m so eager to get home, I don’t check the road before I step out. A little squeak slips past my lips when I nearly collide with a car. Their lights aren’t on. I didn’t even hear the engine. Stepping back, I hold a hand to my heart, letting out a heavy breath when the familiar-looking vehicle houses a cop.

  Rolling down the window, he looks me over. “Have you been drinking, ma’am?”

  Shit.

  “A little bit, officer,” I admit. “It’s why I’m walking home and not driving.”

  Jerking his head, he gestures to the back of the car. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”

  “It’s only around the corner, sir.” I smile, relieved he’ll no doubt still be cruising up this road by the time I make it home. No more stressing about being mugged.

  “Get in. I can’t let you be on the streets drunk,” he grunts, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

  Pulling the handle, I open the door and slip into the back seat, jolting when the doors lock in place once I’m seated. He looks at me via the rearview mirror and the sickness returns. I’ve never been in trouble with the police before. Dark brown eyes assess me. He’s young for a cop, mid-twenties. Light brown hair neatly cut military-style. Square jaw that’s rigid tight. I can’t determine if he’s mad, but there’s something off with him. I can feel it.

  “I’m not drunk, sir,” I assure him. “Just a little tipsy—if that. I haven’t eaten.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “No. I have a roommate.”

  He pulls off, making me squirm. I worry my lip, trying again to assure him I’m not drunk. “I was walking home. I live right there.” I point to the building he drives past, a nervous ache building in my chest. My eyes dart out the window as I watch us get farther away from my building.

  I’m going to jail.

  Shit.

  Tears well and fall from my eyes. “What did I do?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  Silence.

  And this is why I never let loose.

  It’s never the Amys or Rockos of the world getting reamed for their consequences; it’s always the girl who messes up once.

  God, life is so unfair sometimes.

  He pulls down a gravel-paved road bordered by trees, making my worry intensify. Nowhere near the police station. Where the hell is he taking me? The car rolls to a stop, and he once again looks at me via the mirror. “You’re drunk and disorderly. You tried to damage my car.”

  What?

  I gape at him.

  He gets out of the car and pulls my door open, grabbing my arm to help me out. His grip is firm and painful, making me whimper. I’ve had dreams of this sort of thing, but in my mind, I’m still in control and it’s safe. This is wrong. Something bad is going to happen. I feel it in my soul.

  “You’re under arrest,” he barks, pushing me toward the hood of the car and pressing a hand into the middle of my back. “Hands on the hood.”

  Tears burn my eyes, making the scenery blur. Should I run, or will that get me in more trouble? He’s a police officer. He can’t hurt me…right?

  A sharp pain rips through my ankle when he kicks my feet to part them before grabbing my wrist as he forces my chest and face to hit the hood. Cold metal cuffs snap in place, holding my arms hostage behind me.

  “Do you want to go to jail?”

  “No,” I choke out.

  “Maybe we can come to some arrangement.”

  No. No. No.

  His eagerness pushes against me, and a sob rips from my chest.

  “Please, let me go,” I plead.

  “Bad girls who break laws need to be punished.”

  “Take me to jail.” I nod my head manically. I’ll t-take a fine—or whatever they want. “Please, I’m sorry. J-Just take m-me to jail.”

  “Shhh,” he orders, rubbing his hands down my body.

  No, this isn’t real.

  “Help me,” I call out desperately, needing to be seen, heard, saved.

  He rips me away from the hood, a hand tightening around my throat, cutting off my airways as hot breath blasts over my cheek into my ear.

  “I am the fucking help. I’m here to help you stay out of jail. You scream again, and I’ll leave you in those woods for the animals to find when I’m done.”

  Bile races up my throat and spits past my lips at the true horror of what is happening.

  “Look what you did. Your clothes are all messy.”

  My face crashes back into the hood, almost robbing me of consciousness.

  I wish it had…

  I stand, numb, watching the headlights fade. Only once the pitch-black night swallows the car do I let a scream rip through the silence, echoing my trauma to the moon, the only witness to my horror. Pain throbs all over my body, but I force myself to move. Picking up the scattered remains of my tee, I hug them to my chest. My torn underwear hangs from my waist in shreds. I pull my jeans back up my legs and begin walking home. Before I know it, I’m running, wind whipping against my exposed flesh. I run like I’ve never ran before, tears and anger leaking from me like a broken faucet. My building comes into view, and I cry out seeing it, offering me light and safety.

  I bulldoze through the door, climbing the stairs two at a time until I’m on my floor. Rummaging through my jeans, I find my key in the pocket. He took my cellphone and wallet with him, reminding me he knows who I am, where I live.

  “I’m a respected officer. Little girls fabricating things aren’t tolerated. We can make your life hell if you even think of telling anyone about this. Nothing happened tonight. Nothing, Quinn Washington.”

  Slamming the door behind me, I collapse to the floor, dragging my knees up to shelter myself. Tears flow, weeping for the girl who met her first ever monster tonight—the girl who became forever changed by him.

  The door suddenly opens, crashing into my back and nudging me across the floor.

  He’s come back for me.

  I get to my feet and grab the baseball bat hanging on the wall as a decorative piece. Amy’s face appears around the door before she steps fully into the apartment, her eyes tracing over me.

  “Quinn?” she asks, her voice shaking. Rocko pushes in from behind her, his eyes
widening and hands reaching out attentively.

  “Quinn, put the bat down. It’s us.” He frowns, taking another step toward me.

  I tremble as hot tears leak down my cheeks.

  “I’m calling the police,” Amy chokes, tears pooling in her vivid blue eyes.

  “No.” I almost vomit. The bat clanks against the floor as I release it. “No police. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” she cries.

  “Quinn, you’re bleeding and bruised. We saw you running down the street in just a bra and jeans. We called out to you. Couldn’t you hear us? What the fuck happened?” Rocko pleads.

  Nothing. I just want the pain to go away.

  This nightmare to be over.

  To wake the fuck up.

  “Quinn?” Amy whimpers.

  “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

  Nothing happened tonight. Nothing, Quinn Washington.

  1

  Present…

  Please don’t judge me.

  I think about the parting words on her last email. As if I have room to judge anyone. I own a sex club for fuck’s sake. But still, her request gives me pause.

  As long as you have consent, it’s fine.

  When a woman named Violent Q reached out to me via email asking if roleplaying was something we offered at Hush, I happily detailed out everything. Plenty of people were willing to join in on everything from boss/employee, officer/criminal, strangers, professor/student, lesbian/straight woman, and on and on. It’s the part of my job that makes my clients frequent visitors: I deliver what they crave. I know my clients better than they know themselves and have brought people with similar needs together countless times over the years to get their kinky fixes. I thought Violent Q wanted something I’m accustomed to providing.