I turn back to look into his eyes. His gaze locks with mine, mesmeric, dizzying, sweetening the poisoned air. Making a protective cage around us. He is looking at me so hungrily, it is as if I am food or prey. I latch onto the hunger eagerly. This is my mate. And only mine.
‘Baby,’ he growls. His voice is so full of hot lust, its vibration sizzles through me, intoxicating me. I exhale, almost a moan. He gets harder and bigger inside.
I grip him with my thighs. Looking deep into my eyes he grabs my bare ass with his powerful hands, ramming me all the way down that pillar of meat. ‘It’s all for you,’ he says with a dark laugh.
‘Fuck, yeah,’ I cry hoarsely. And I feel myself flush with the feeling, the indignity of total possession.
He begins to slowly move my body up and down the shaft. The first few strokes are shallow, then it is to the hilt and my breath gets knocked out of my body. My flesh shivers as my muscles clench tighter.
‘You won’t believe how hot and tight you feel,’ he whispers, his hand sliding down my belly, and between my legs to play with my clit.
That makes me swoon. Surely I am not going to come so quickly. My body arches like a bow. I grasp his arms—the muscles are bulging with the effort of holding my body and moving it up and down his shaft. I lock my jaw as my chin lifts up, to stop from screaming. And then it comes, a liquid explosion inside me. It is powerful and totally different from any other orgasm I have experienced. It is dark and thick and flavored with something forbidden. On and on until my energy is spent.
My dazed eyes return to his eye level. His are smoldering darkly with fresh intent. His c**k jerks within me as he lifts my body and drops it hard and fast on his shaft. My mouth opens involuntarily. My sated flesh purrs and comes alive again. I balance myself on his shoulder and rise to my knees. My limbs slick with sweat, I f**k him as hard and as fast as I can. The wet heat and friction are delicious.
He comes snarling my name, his seed shooting into my body, mixing with my fluids in a long, hot release. His breath is rough and ragged. I put my hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat, swift and loud. An African drum in Thailand.
‘I want to go home and finish this,’ he says.
My eyebrows fly upwards. ‘After that.’
He grins. Feral. ‘I want to take your bra off and suck your br**sts, deep pulls that will leave you squirming and delirious.’
Not taking my eyes off his, I uncouple from his cock, making a most unladylike sucking sound. He pulls my dress over my dripping sex. Cum is still trickling out of me as we leave the nightclub.
Twelve
Victoria Jane Montgomery
That night I wait until it is late. I lie in my bed and watch the low-lying mist shroud the vast expanse of green outside this dreadful mad house until the phones by the nurses’ station have stopped ringing. Until there is no more noise other than the odd screaming that will suddenly pierce the night. Until the lone night nurse thinks everybody is asleep and she is busy watching p**n on the Internet.
Then I get under the covers and shine the little torch my mother brought me on my musical box. It is an old antique. A ballerina in a lilac tutu. The tutu is almost gray now. I touch the delicately painted porcelain face. It belonged to my great grandmother and came directly from her to me. It did not pass my grandmother or mother so they do not know about the secret compartment it conceals at the bottom of the figurine.
Carefully, I depress the lever that opens it. So many years since I opened it. It is a little sticky and I pull it, but that just jams the drawer. I come out of the covers and look for something to pull it open with. A knife or anything sharp, but there is nothing sharp in the room or the bathroom. In frustration I bang the ballerina with the side of my fist. It still will not open. For some reason this infuriates me to unreasonable anger.
I guess that is what road rage is. Someone cuts you up and you react as if someone has raped your daughter. I throw the musical box against the wall. The sound of it shattering is almost a profanity.
For a moment I don’t move. I listen. No one comes. I walk toward the box. The drawer is open. I reach into it and take out the small, folded document inside.
I open it out and look at it in the light of the torch.
For a moment I remember, tangled with him, bonded skin to skin, sharing breath. The way Blake had felt deep inside me. Then I remember—that was not him. That was some other random man that crawled into my life at three a.m. Forget that.
This, this tiny piece of paper in my hand is my ticket out of here.
Blake Law Barrington, you’re about to get the shock of your life. You shouldn’t have double-crossed me.
Thirteen
Lana Barrington
It is during the end of the second act, when the Prince sings to Turandot, ‘You do not know my name. Tell me my name before sunrise, and at dawn, I will die.’
I turn away from the stage and look at Blake. His phone must have vibrated in his pocket, because he is checking the lighted screen. He smiles at me and leaves the box to take the call. It could have been anyone, calling about any number of urgent matters, but it is as if my heart already knows: the unthinkable has happened. For a moment I do nothing, simply sit terrified where I am, and listen to the cruel Turandot accept the Prince’s challenge.
By dawn he will be dead.
Then I stand and follow Blake out. As I open the door I see him terminating his call. His body is stiff and tense. When he looks up at me he looks ashen. I see his hands tremble as he puts his phone away. I stare at him aghast. I was right. The unthinkable has happened.
‘What’s happened? What is it?’ My voice sounds hollow and scared.
He starts walking toward me. ‘I’ve called Tom to pick us up. We have to go home now.’
Fear. Fear. Fear like I have never known coils around me, crushing me so hard, I can hardly take my next breath. I know what he is going to say. I know exactly what he is going to say. I realize I don’t want him to say the words. My head is shaking.
‘No, no,’ I whisper, and start backing away from him.
The second act is over, and all around us people in their finery are streaming out of their boxes, heading toward the restrooms and the bars. I take another backward step and collide with a man in a black suit. He steadies me with his hands. He has dirty blond eyebrows and concerned, muddy brown eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
I gaze stupidly at him with my mouth hanging open.
Before my confused, frightened brain can even formulate a reply, Blake appears at my side and takes my arm. The other man drops his hands. He smiles oddly at me and with a nod to Blake leads the woman with him away. My mind reels and incongruously notes that her velvet dress has a tiny stain on the right sleeve. And yet she seems happy. She doesn’t have bad news waiting for her at home. Suddenly I feel nauseated. My fingers shake as they rush to cover my mouth.