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Thank you for reading “FATE’S DEMAND” by Aleatha Romig. She enjoyed writing this sexy, dark, romantic short story for the anthologyONE MORE STEPentitled “THE DEAL” as a showcase for her writing style.
If you enjoyed this short story about Rett and Emma, the setting of New Orleans, the power of a man like Everett Ramses, the strength of a woman like Emma, and their instant chemistry be sure to find out what happens next inDEVIL’S DEAL.
Pre-order your copy by clicking on the link. And for a sneak peek, turn the page.
Devil’s Deal
By:
ALEATHA ROMIG
Emma
Rett gestured toward the door I’d just threatened to leave. “You won’t,” he said, “but as you are my future wife, I prefer not to hold you captive against your will.” He shrugged. “I will, but I’d prefer you cooperate.”
The sound of Rett’s deep voice combined with his New Orleans draw rattled through my mind. His dark stare met mine even as my eyes closed. My pulse raced with the memories of what he’d done, what I’d allowed him to do to me. Lingering in a place between pleasure and pain, my core remained twisted with the understanding that in a matter of a few hours or less, I’d put aside all I’d known—all that I had heard with my own ears and seen with my own eyes—for the words, no, for the demand of a man who somehow scattered both my body and mind.
It was too much. I couldn’t concentrate.
Much like driving on a dark night through a downpour, searching for an unknown street sign with the radio turned up, the driver reached for the volume and turned down the familiar song. It didn’t lessen the falling rain, bring sunlight to the night sky, or make the sign more visible; it simply reduced the stimuli.
That was what I sought as Everett Ramses’s demand lingered in the air, mixing with the concoction of the delicious aromas from the seafood smorgasbord, the remaining alcohol circulating through my bloodstream, and the dampness he’d facilitated between my thighs.
“Why should I believe you?” I asked.
“Because you know I’m right.”
His response was simple and while ridiculous, there was a part of me, deep inside, that wondered if he could be right—was right.
Rett stood, pushing back the throne-like chair from where he’d made his decrees. My breathing hitched as with each stride he came closer. There was no need to rush, he knew his audience was captive, not as captive as I would be, but still, my high heels were rooted to the floor as I gripped the chair before me. The seams of his white shirt pulled with his deep breaths. His handsome face showed no signs of emotion.
The enticing cloud surrounding him added to the overwhelming assault on my mind. Wine, seafood, and rich, spicy cologne filled my senses as he pulled out my chair and encouraged me to sit.
“You see,” he said as I sat and he stayed behind me. His slick timbre sliced through the air. “You know that what I’ve said is true.”
Before I could speak, his large hands skirted up my arms.
They were the only part of him that I could see, yet I felt him behind me, his presence dominating my thoughts, settling the chaos as I concentrated only on him. Closing my eyes, I let his deep rumblings infiltrate my mind, setting off reactions within me; much like the silver ball within an old-fashioned pinball machine, they ricocheted from here to there.
The warmth of his touch moved higher.
“Think about it, Emma. The times you wondered if by chance you left your door unlocked. The sounds you heard in the middle of the night. The times you walked along a dark sidewalk, your senses on high alert as you looked left and then right, wondering if you were being watched. And the instances when you wondered if things were out of place, knowing they shouldn’t be but having a feeling, one you couldn’t shake.”
Despite his warm touch, my skin cooled. With each of his phrases, I recalled an instance or maybe more. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized where his hands had landed, what they were doing, until the pressure on my neck became uncomfortable.
“Your life has been in my hands, as it is now.”
Alarm sent adrenaline through my circulation as I reached up, tugging and prying at his fingers. Though my painted nails scratched, his grip didn’t cease.
“You would be dead if it weren’t for me.”
Was I to die tonight?
He squeezed tighter. “Are you frightened?”
My lungs burned as I fought to fill them with air. I didn’t or couldn’t answer.