to want her. Whether she was making the right decision or not was debatable, but she
was making the only one she could.
She could feel him tense against her and then he released a huge breath. Leaning
away from her, he yanked the tails of his black T-shirt out of his jeans and whipped it
over his head in one easy motion. He tossed it aside and reached for her.
If she'd thought he looked impressive with his shirt on, he looked even more
amazing with it off. It was as if a layer of civilized veneer had been stripped away,
releasing the primal male beneath it. His skin wasn't as pale as she'd expected, but
more swarthy. A crisp mat of hair spread from nipple to nipple before descending in a
thin line toward his navel. Thick muscles covered his torso, a not-so-subtle reminder of
his strength. She wanted to touch every inch of him and explore.
While she'd been admiring him, Zane had been busy. Her top was halfway up her
stomach. "Lift your arms," he murmured and she did. He whisked her top away,
leaving them both naked from the waist up.
She started to cover her breasts with her hands but then made herself stop. He
knew what he was getting. He gave a grunt of approval as he cupped her waist and
slowly began to slide his hands upward. His palms were large and warm as they
covered her breasts easily. She could feel her nipples pucker even tighter as he began to
caress the small mounds.
"You are so responsive to my touch." There was wonder in his voice and suddenly
Sophia no longer cared that she wasn't that well endowed. He shifted his hands lower
so that he was cupping her, his thumbs stroking her nipples.
"Only with you." That was true. She'd never really gotten much pleasure out of a
man touching her breasts before. Partially because she'd always sensed her past
boyfriends' disappointment. There was none of that with Zane. He was staring at her as
if she were absolutely perfect. And for the first time in her life, she truly felt that way.
Leaning down, he captured her mouth with his, his kiss slow and languid as he
thrust his tongue inside and toyed with hers. As if he had all the time in the world, he
angled his face to deepen the kiss, taking his time and tasting every inch of her mouth.
Sweat broke out on her forehead. The man knew how to kiss. Sophia could feel her
inner muscles contracting and releasing, sending thick cream from her slit to coat the
outer lips of her pussy.
When he finally released her lips, she was gasping. She needed air, but she needed
him more. "Zane," she pleaded.
"Tell me what you want? Anything. Everything." His voice wrapped around her
like silken cords, keeping her captive to the desire growing between them.
She licked her lips. "I want you to touch me."
His lips moved down her throat and she arched her neck back, wanting him to
touch her everywhere. His sharp teeth nipped. Not enough to break the skin, but
enough, she knew, to leave a mark. It was a primitive way to mark her as his, but it was
also incredibly arousing.
"Here?" He licked the curve of her throat where it met her shoulder.
She shook her head. "Lower."
"Hmm." He nuzzled her throat before stroking his tongue over her collarbone.
"Lower." Grabbing his head in her hands, she pushed his head down until it was
poised in front of one of her breasts. His thumbs had been stroking around and around
her nipples in a lazy rhythm that were driving her crazy. "Suck it."
"My pleasure," he murmured as he opened his mouth and placed it over the
swollen tip. Moist heat surrounded her, sending bolts of pleasure from her breast to
between her thighs. Her pussy ached and she arched her hips against his, wanting,
needing the pressure of his erection against her moist, swollen folds.
His tongue flicked over the tip of her nipple, teasing it. She gripped his head
tighter, her short fingernails digging into his scalp as she tried to pull him even closer.
"More."
Zane took the distended peak between his teeth and gently bit. Sophia cried out and
tilted her head back against the wall. She wanted him now.
Frantically, her hands went to the front of his jeans, plucking at the button until it
opened. She pulled the tab of the zipper down and shoved aside his underwear. His
cock sprang forward and into her hand. She marveled at the length and width of it as
she stroked him from base to tip. He groaned, releasing her nipple in the process. He
captured her hand, pulling it away from him and brought it to his mouth, placing a hot
kiss in the center of her palm.
"I'm too close. I'll come if you keep touching me."
"I want to touch you," she protested.
"Next time," he promised, and her stomach clenched. Next time. There would be a
next time for sure. "I want you, Sophia," he gritted out from beneath clenched teeth. "I
can't wait any longer." She realized then that his movements might have been lazy and
slow, but he was a man on the edge. It came to her then that he'd been giving her time,
making sure she was ready for him. It made her want him even more.
"Then don't wait."
His movements were jerky as he snapped the tie on her pants and shoved them
down her hips. They fell to the floor, trapped around her feet. Her plain white cotton
underwear followed. Then he spun her around until she was facing the wall. If he
hadn't been holding on to her she would have stumbled in the tangle of clothing
around her ankles. She struggled to get out of her clothing and managed to shake her
pants and underwear off her ankle.
"Lean forward and support yourself against the wall. Spread your legs and give
yourself to me. I want to see the sweet globes of your ass and the hot, wet folds of your
pussy. I'll bet that your thighs are wet too, you're so ready to be fucked."
Never had a man said such things to her. Instead of being disgusted, she was
aroused by his excitement and obvious need. She could hear it in his voice, feel it in the
way he thrust his cock against her bottom, rubbing it along the crease.
She spread her legs and leaned forward, planting her hands wide. It left her in a
very vulnerable position, not able to see him. She had no idea what Zane would do
next. His hands covered hers as his body seemed to surround her. He slowly trailed his
hands over her arms, leaving a line of goose bumps behind.
"I know I said that I would taste you first, eat you until you screamed, but I can't
wait."
"Next time," she gasped.
He stilled and chuckled. "Yes, next time I'll do everything that I want."
Sophia shivered at the raw promise in his voice. Whatever he wanted to do to her,
she wanted to experience it. Her head fell forward as he stroked his hands over her
shoulders, down her sides and around to her breasts. His cock slipped between her
thighs and he flexed his hips so that it was sliding back and forth over her aching flesh.
Every time he pushed forward, he brushed over her swollen clit, making her groan. It
wasn't enough.
"Zane." She tried to angle her hips so that he'd slip inside her, but he always moved
at the last second.
"Tell me what you want."
She knew then what he wanted and she gave him the words she'd never given to
another man. "Fuck me, Zane. Make me yours."
He growled low in his throat as his hands wrapped around her breasts. He pulled
her back toward him, shoving her legs wider with his foot. He pushed the head of his
cock just inside her. She could feel the muscles expanding and contracting, accepting
him.
"From this moment onward, you are mine." He thrust inward in one strong stroke.
Sophia gasped, partly from pleasure, partly from pain. She hadn't had a lover in years.
She was tight and he was large and thick. Her fingers curled against the wall and
flattened again. There was nothing for her to hold on to. "Just relax," he crooned.
She felt invaded, filled to the brim, and she knew that he wasn't even all the way in
yet. Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly, moaning when his hands began to
caress her breasts, teasing the sensitive nipples.
"That's it," he praised as he pushed himself deeper. Her inner muscles expanded
and contracted, pulling him inward. "You can take me, sweetheart. I know you can."
The pain had receded now and only pleasure remained. She pushed her hips back
toward him, encouraging him. With each stroke he went a little bit deeper until he was
seated to the hilt with each plunge of his cock.
Sophia couldn't take it any longer. Her skin was tight, her breasts ached, her pussy
felt as if it were on fire. She needed to come, couldn't take any more of this sensual
torture. "Zane," she groaned as he shoved himself so deep she could feel his balls
hitting her damp flesh.
One of his hands slid downward between her spread thighs. He began to stroke her
clit with his finger. His other hand teased and tormented her swollen nipples. His
strokes became harder and quicker as he fucked her. She planted her palms onto the
wall's flat surface to keep her head from hitting it. She cried and squirmed and tried to
push back against him as he plunged forward.
Fire zipped through her veins, making every nerve in her body tingle and burn.
This was beyond anything she'd ever experienced. Sweat covered her skin as the smell
of sex surrounded them. Their gasps and grunts were the music to which they moved.
Her inner muscles contracted impossibly tight and Zane grunted.
Sophia screamed as she came. A gush of pleasure washed over her as she shivered
and shook, her muscles contracting and relaxing in an unending rhythm. Zane yelled
and then she felt the hot rush of semen release inside her. It felt incredibly good. Too
good. She realized then that neither one of them had thought of a condom.
The thought disappeared as she felt him leaning over her back. His breath was hot
on her neck, his teeth sharp as they scraped over her skin. She wanted it. Tilting her
neck to one side, she offered him what he needed, giving herself fully to him.
The pain was piercing and she gasped. Then it was gone as pleasure flooded her
again. She could feel the sharp pull as he began to suck and knew he was drinking her
blood. Incredibly, her orgasm, which had begun to subside, heated up again. Another
rush of release flooded her body as she came again and again and again.
The world dimmed as he continued to drink and she slumped toward the wall. She
heard him swear and then the world went blank.
Chapter Six
Blythe Nixon shivered, pulling the lapels of her jacket closer together as she crossed
the dark, rainy street. Her sneakers made no sound on the pavement. No one looking at
the mop of wet hair, her bare face devoid of all makeup and her faded jeans would ever
mistake her for Bliss, the sultry singer who entertained at The Club for almost a year.
She shivered again. A whole year as prisoner of one Jethro Prince. He hadn't had to
physically lock her up, but he alone had held the key to her imprisonment. But those
days were over.
Stopping just outside the door, she stared. This place had been one of the most
popular spots in the city before the hurricane, but to her it was hell. She'd have never
come back except someone from the club had called, informing her that the new owner
had been going through the books and was paying former staff wages that had been
lost when Jethro Prince and his goon, Smith, had been found murdered, in hopes of
luring some of the staff back to work there. There was nothing on the face of this planet
that could entice Blythe to return here to work, but she wasn't so well off that she didn't
need the money.
Swiping her hand over her wet face, she thrust her memories away, closing them
behind a steel door in her mind. Not now. The grief was still too fresh and she couldn't
afford to show any weakness. When she was safe at home, locked inside her single-
room apartment, then she could let down her guard.
Feeling the dampness seeping through her jeans, she forced her hand to clasp the
handle of the door and pull it open. She ignored the fact that her fingers were
trembling. Just the cold, she assured herself. It had nothing to do with returning to the
place that held such horrific memories. She thought that coming here in the morning
would lessen the impact of the place, and maybe it would have if the sun had been
shining, but the gloom added to the oppressive feeling that threatened to choke her.
Taking a deep breath, she made her feet take one step forward and then another.
The door slammed shut behind her with a finality that made her jump. She clenched her
jaw and ignored the chills running down her spine. She could leave here any time she
chose. She was no longer a captive to a madman's whims.
"We're closed," the man behind the bar called out. "We don't open until this
evening."
The bartender laid the glass he'd been cleaning down on the glossy countertop and
leaned forward. "Bliss?"
Blythe shuddered at the name as she strolled toward the bar, trying to give the
appearance of being relaxed. Her heart was pounding so hard she was surprised that
Barney couldn't hear its frantic beat.
The name had been his idea. Nobody had called her by that name since she'd fled
here the night that Prince had been killed. "It's Blythe. That was a stage name and one I
never particularly liked."
The big, dark-haired man shrugged good-naturedly. "Sure thing, Blythe. You cut
your hair."
She ran her fingers through the short cap of light hair. She'd worn it long her entire
life and had loved it. Prince had loved it too and had ordered her never to cut it. The
minute she'd been free of him, she'd chopped it all off.
"You coming back to work?" Barney's voice brought her back to the task at hand.
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she shook her head. "No, I've got another job. I'm
just here because I got a call saying they had the money I was owed when things fell
apart here."
Barney nodded soberly. "Yeah, that was a mess. Prince's death and the police
investigation shut this place down for months. It didn't even have time to get back up
and running before Katrina hit." He shrugged again. "But it all worked out okay."
Blythe remembered the sheer giddiness of relief that had come with the news of
Prince's death. "Yeah, it all worked out okay."
"You'll neve
r guess who's running the place now."
Frankly, she didn't care. All she wanted to do was get her money and get out. But
Barney had always been kind to her and she didn't want to be rude to him. "Who?"
"Prince's younger brother, Adrian."
Her stomach lurched and Blythe laid a hand across it to try to calm herself. Bile
burned in her throat as she swallowed. "Really?" Jethro had mentioned his brother, but
had assured her many times that no one knew about them. He was afraid that his
brother might want a piece of her if he knew their little secret and Jethro Prince wasn't a
man who shared.
"Yup. Came rolling into town about three months back and started renovating the
place."
Blythe couldn't keep up the pretense of being calm. If she stayed here much longer,
she was going to toss her cookies all over the pristine floors, and wouldn't that leave a
lasting impression on the new management? The last thing she wanted to do was bring
attention to herself. "Where do I pick up my money?"
Barney's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth as if he might say something, but
at the last second, he changed his mind and shrugged. "The accountant is back in the
office."
"Thanks." Turning, she headed toward the back. Each step farther into the bowels
of the place was hard, but she forced herself to do it. She could feel Barney's eyes on her
until she disappeared around the corner and headed down the short hallway.
Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to steady herself as she knocked on the door of
the office. "Come in." The voice was male, and thankfully, not one she recognized.
Grasping the doorknob, she twisted and pushed inward. The man seated behind the
desk was older than she was, his hair threaded with gray. A pair of wire-rimmed
spectacles perched on his nose and his gaze flicked toward her for a second before
returning to the journal in front of him. He finished entering some numbers and then
laid his pen aside.
"I'm here for my check. My name is Blythe Nixon. I got a call." It had taken her
three breaths to say those few words. Sweat coated her body beneath the clammy
clothing and her stomach continued to roil.
The man in the chair, however, either didn't notice or didn't care. He grabbed a file
folder from the corner of his desk and began to riffle through it. "Nixon. Nixon," he