Worship Me by Chelle Bliss

From USA Today bestselling author, Chelle Bliss, comes the seventh book in the Men of Inked series. James and Izzy return on May 9th and they’re hotter than ever. Don’t miss the next installment in the Men of Inked series.

James Caldo needs to control everything in his life, even his wife, Izzy Gallo. But she’s headstrong and has a need to test her husband’s limits as much as he pushes hers.

When a case at ALFA Private Investigation takes a dark turn, James is forced to get Izzy involved in an undercover sting, and the assignment will test her sexual boundaries as well as the very foundation of their relationship.

Can Izzy hold her tongue long enough to keep them both safe? Or will her unwillingness to fully submit draw the eye of the very man they’re after?

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EXCERPT

“Izzy, please. Be reasonable.”

I loved when James begged. “Say it again,” I taunted him.

What the fuck with the be reasonable comment? I’m always reasonable. Okay, maybe that isn’t entirely true. I usually shoot from the hip and save the apologies for later. My big mouth has gotten me into more trouble over the years, and much of it I try to forget, especially when it comes to James.

He arched an eyebrow, and the same shitty smirk that I’d grown accustomed to flashed across his lips. “I could make you say yes.­”

“Doubtful.” I glared at him, feeling supercocky even though I was in no position to be.

James, my loving husband of over ten years, decided that tonight was a good time to tie me to the bed. I should’ve known he was up to no good because it’d been more than a little bit since he’d used restraints during sex. I figured we were just getting our kink on and that he wanted to try something new, but nope, the bastard knew I wouldn’t like what he was asking and made sure I didn’t have an out.

“Baby,” he whispered, running his thumbs across my bottom lip and trying to seduce me. “You know you can’t say no to me. Never have and never will.”

There were very few people in this world that could make me do anything, but James had a power over me since the first night I met him. Saying no to him had always been damn near impossible, and I almost hated myself because of it.

I never wanted to be that girl—the one who caved to anything her husband asked. Never in my life had I wanted to be her, an easy mark and a carpet for her husband to walk all over, but things don’t always turn out the way we plan. I learned that the hard way.

James wasn’t even on my radar until the night of Joe and Suzy’s wedding when he sauntered in with his good looks and charm. The arrogant bastard seemed to work me like he’d known me my entire life, and I fell for it.

I thought I’d won when I snuck out. I figured I’d never see him again, so what did it matter. Boy, was I wrong.

“I’ve said no to you plenty of times.” I refused to let him use his sexual prowess, which I’d done in the past, but sometimes I had to dig my heels in and find my inner bitch.

I pulled at the restraints and tried to break free, but it was useless. The man could tie the most wicked knots, and it had been years since I’d been able to wiggle out of them. Every time I escaped, he’d learn a new technique until he found just the right one to render me helpless.

His lips scorched a path down my neck, and my back arched as if begging for his touch. “Say yes, Izzy.”

I stifled the moan that formed low in my throat, but I squeaked instead when he sucked my nipple into his mouth. My body rocked on its own, moving toward him instinctively, wanting the bite of his teeth. His hand slid down my front, cupping my pussy, not hard enough to give me pleasure, only the sweet torment that he reveled in.

“Say yes, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He was playing with me. James was a master manipulator. I didn’t know if it was his background with the DEA or just something he was born with, but he used it perfectly when it suited his purpose.

I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth together. “No.”

He pulled my panties to the side before dipping two fingers inside me with the most sinful smile. “Last chance, baby,” he warned.

What was he going to do to me if I didn’t give in? The thought passed through my mind, but I pushed it away. I was lost in the feel of his hands on my skin and the ache between my legs, but my resistance held. “No,” I bit out.

Don’t forget to catch up with the Men of Inked series today and be ready for Worship Me on May 9th!

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Chelle Bliss is the USA Today bestselling author of the Men of Inked and ALFA P.I. series. She hails from the Midwest, but currently lives near the beach even though she hates sand. She’s a full-time writer, time-waster extraordinaire, social media addict, coffee fiend, and ex high school history teacher. She loves spending time with her two cats, alpha boyfriend, and chatting with readers. To learn more about Chelle, please visit chellebliss.com.

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Damnable Grace by Tillie Cole

 

 

Coming April 18th

 

 

EVEN THE BROKEN, THROUGH LOVE, CAN FIND GRACE…

Secrets never stay hidden.

The burden of guilt never lifts from the heart.

Born and raised in The Order of David, Sister Phebe knows nothing but cult life. Head of the Sacred Sisters of New Zion, Phebe was groomed from childhood for one purpose: to seduce. Prized as a harlot, as a New Zion whore, Phebe is taken from the doomed cult by Meister, the notorious leader of the Aryan Brotherhood. Taken as his possession. Taken to be the woman who will obey his every sexual demand. Under his heavy hand, Phebe finds herself in a place much worse than she could ever have imagined… with absolutely no one to help. And no glimpse of hope.

Xavier ‘AK’ Deyes is content with his life as Sergeant-At-Arms of the Hades Hangmen. Leader of the infamous ‘Psycho Trio’ and ex-special ops sniper, AK knows how to fight. Experienced in warfare and schooled in military operations, AK is vital to the Hangmen. When his Vice President needs help retrieving his missing sister-in-law, Phebe, from a Klan-funded trafficking ring, AK volunteers to go in. AK remembers the redhead from New Zion. Remembers everything about her from the single time they met—her red hair, blue eyes and freckled face. But when he finds her, heavily drugged and under Meister’s control, her sorry condition causes him to remember more than the beautiful woman he once tied to a tree. Saving Phebe forces hidden demons from his past to return. A past he can never move on from, no matter how hard he tries.

As AK fights to help Phebe, and in turn she strives to help him, they realize their secret sins will never leave them alone. Kindred broken souls, they realize the only way they can be rid of their ghosts is to face them together and try to find peace.

Despair soon turns to hope, and damaged hearts soon start to heal. But when their deep, painful scars resurface, becoming too much to bear, the time comes when they must make a heavy choice: stay forever damned; or together, find grace.

Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for age 18 and over.

 


“Well?” Ky asked.
Tanner ran his hand over his head. The brother hadn’t attended one of our cookouts or slutfests in weeks. Not that he ever entertained himself with sluts—still too hard for his piece of pussy down in Mexico. He’d been busy trying to track down Meister. Unlike most of the white-power shit Tanner and Tank grew up with, this Meister was untraceable and off the grid. As much of a computer whizz kid as Tanner was, Meister was proving to be one slippery fucking snake to pin down.
“Gotta be honest, I didn’t think I was anywhere close to finding anything on this prick.” Tanner nodded toward Tank. “We knew of him, of course. I knew he had dealings with my father and uncle, just never met him myself. He’s Aryan Brotherhood, but works closely with the Klan. And there’s nothing on him. No email traces, no invoices, no texts. Nothing.”
I gritted my teeth and glanced at Styx, who was listening closely. Ky wasn’t originally gonna tell the prez about the plan to get Phebe, because of his fucking wedding, but that didn’t last long. Styx knew something was up with his VP. He read him like I read Flame and Vike. So Ky fessed up, and Styx was all for the plan. He’d had to push his wedding back by a month anyhow to get the pastor Mae wanted to conduct the ceremony, so he had time to kill.
“But you found something?” Ky translated as Styx signed.
Tanner sighed, the black circles around his eyes showing how hard the brother had been working. “I got something.” He shook his head, and my blood ran cold. I knew whatever he had found wasn’t good.
Tanner opened the file in front of him and threw a photograph toward the prez. Styx looked at it, then gave it to Ky. “Some middle-of-nowhere ghost town?”
Ky passed the picture around. Vike handed it to me, and I studied it. It was an aerial shot, and the picture was grainy, but from what I could make out, it was just a huge piece of land scattered with decrepit old buildings.
I passed the picture along. “Fucker owns this?”
Tanner faced me. “Yeah, or at least his father did. He’s dead now, but the deeds are still in his father’s name. Been in the family for decades. Took me a while to trace it.” He shook his head. “Meister is notorious among the Klan. Right, Tank?”
“Yeah,” Tank agreed. “Never met him either, but we’d all heard of him. Prick has been mobilizing for years for the race war they think is coming. Real serious, Oklahoma-City-bomb shit. From what we’ve heard, the guy has a one-track mind when it comes to advancing the white race. You think Hitler was fucked up? Well, imagine if he had a kid who was one built motherfucker, with a fucking carbon copy of his psycho mind; and you’ve got Meister. Fucker ain’t even German. Just wishes he was, spouting German phrases around like he’s born and bred Berlin. Delusional asshole.”
“This ain’t gonna be easy,” Tanner finished, looking at me, Vike, Flame, Hush and Cowboy. It was the five of us who had agreed to go looking for Phebe. Hush and Cowboy nodded at me to let me know they were still in.
“So he’s in this ghost town?” Ky asked, translating Styx’s sign language again. “If so, we’ll all just go in and get him, make the fucker talk and tell us where he’s got Phebe.”
Tanner sat forward. “He ain’t just living in the ghost town or hiding out. That’s where he has his enterprise.”
“Enterprise?” Ky echoed. It was his own question this time.
Tanner nodded. “From what I can tell, it’s a fucking brothel. Members of the Aryan Brotherhood, Klan, or Klan sympathizers, can go there for a night or a few days at a time.” Tank shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Ain’t sure, but I’m thinking it ain’t just getting your dick sucked and fucked. It’ll be real fucked-up shit. If Meister’s reputation is anything to go by, we would be walking into an organized, armed hellhole.” Tanner’s eyes darkened. “I get the Klan has a reputation for being full of backward rednecks. I ain’t gonna lie—growing up, most of my father’s cronies were that way. Thick as fuck and couldn’t do shit without screwing it up. Skinheads, lower-ranked soldiers, you know?”
“But there were some members that weren’t,” Tank continued. He cast an embarrassed glance at Tanner. “We weren’t, for starters.”
Tanner nodded. “It’s not the norm, but some of us were good. Smart, strong fighters, or just outright fucking psychos. The skinheads and rednecks are the foot soldiers. The likes of us, the likes of Meister, are the fucking SS. The planners, leaders, the generals—the ones who believe in the cause so much that they’re fucking lethal with what they’ll do, what they’re capable of. Meister is true Aryan Brotherhood; he’s preparing for war. He’s the real fucking deal.”
“And now he’s in our neck of the woods to stir up shit?” I asked.
Tanner nodded. “Comes from northern Texas. Never moved our way before. But the Klan are building day by day, joining forces with other white supremacist gangs—like the Brotherhood—and with the shit that’s on the news twenty-four-seven, blacks and whites at each others throats, he’s moved to the headquarters.” The brother’s jaw clenched. “To my father and uncle, who’ll be protecting him from being found out by the feds.” He sighed and ran his hand down his face. “From what I can figure out, this ghost-town brothel of his has only existed in the last year or so. He’s looking to fund something.”
“They ain’t dealing guns?” Cowboy drawled. “I thought that’s what Rider said the contract with the cult was for?”
“Rider was sure it was guns. At least it was when he was dealing with the Klan—it was all about arms. The Klan was selling them on and taking a cut.”
“His fucking twin,” Hush spat. “He changed the arrangement, didn’t he? When Rider was locked up in cult prison?”
“Think so,” Tanner said after a few seconds of silence.
“Then what the fuck are they dealing? What was Judah giving them if not Israeli guns?”
“Women.”
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
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Truly, Madly, Whiskey by Melissa Foster

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Melissa Foster has a sexy new standalone, Truly, Madly, Whiskey coming out April 10th. Check out the excerpt she’s sharing with us and preorder your copy today!

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Title: Truly, Madly, Whiskey

Autor: Melissa Foster

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Day: April 10th

About Truly, Madly, Whiskey:

A new, emotionally riveting, sexy standalone romance by New York Times bestselling author Melissa Foster. Watch mysteriously sexy Bear Whiskey claw his way to his happily ever after with sassy, rebellious Crystal Moon. In TRULY, MADLY, WHISKEY… Eight months is a long damn time to have the hots for a woman who keeps a guy at arm’s length. But Crystal Moon is no ordinary woman. She’s a sinfully sexy, sass-mouthed badass, and the subject of Bear Whiskey’s midnight fantasies. She’s also one of his closest friends. Just when Crystal thinks she has her life under control, scorching-hot, possessive, aggressive, and fiercely loyal Bear pushes all her sexual buttons, relentless in his pursuit to make her his. The more Bear pushes, the hotter their passion burns, unearthing memories for Crystal that are best kept buried. But there’s no stopping the collision of her past and present, catapulting the two lovers down an emotional and sexually charged road that has them questioning all they thought they knew about themselves.

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Exclusive Excerpt:

CRYSTAL FLEW THROUGH Truman and Gemma’s front door like wildfire, eating up everything in her path. Her raven mane was soaking wet, framing her beautiful, scowling face as she stormed into the living room. Her black hoodie hung open over a Rolling Stones T-shirt, and her piercing baby blues threw daggers. Her skintight black jeans had tears along her thighs and beneath her knees, revealing flashes of her tanned skin. Skin he’d like to touch and taste and have wrapped around him.

She stopped a few feet from Bear and set her hand on her hip. “Give me a paintbrush, or a roller, or a goddamn gun for all I care. Just give me something and get out of my way.”

They’d finished painting ten minutes ago. Bear chuckled at her vehemence. She was sexy as sin no matter what mood she was in, but this tigress before him made him want to comfort her and fuck her at once.

“Hard night, sugar?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Not hard enough. And I’m not your sugar. I need to work out my frustrations.” She thrust out a hand, obviously waiting for a paintbrush.

He grabbed that delicate little hand and hauled her against him. His entire body flamed. Several months of playing cat and mouse was way too long. Her eyes darkened and her breathing shallowed. Bear was done messing around. This brazen beauty not only wanted him, but she needed him. She just didn’t know it yet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She spoke in a low voice and probably meant it to sound threatening, but she sounded sultry and hard to resist.

He cupped her chin, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, and the air rushed from her lungs. His hand slid over her hip. She had the sleek, sexy curves of a ’61 Harley-Davidson Duo-Glide, and he couldn’t wait to rev her up and make her purr. “Giving you what you need. A wild Whiskey night is the perfect remedy for your frustrations.”

“Uncle Be-ah!” Three-year-old Kennedy ran into the room wearing a Dora the Explorer nightgown and clutching the Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed toy Bear’s younger sister, Dixie, had given her. She squeezed between them. Truman had rescued his younger siblings, Kennedy and Lincoln, from a crack house after their mother overdosed. He and Gemma were raising them as their own.

Crystal smirked at Bear and arched a brow.

He reluctantly released her. Cockblocked by a three-year-old.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Crystal gave Bear a snarky look as she crouched and hugged Kennedy. “This cuteness is all I need after a frustrating evening.”

“Why are you fwustrated, Auntie Cwystal?” Kennedy still had a hard time pronouncing r’s, and the way she spoke turned Bear’s insides to mush.

“I’m not anymore, thanks to you.”

“I came to kiss you and Beah good night.” She gave Crystal a tight hug and kiss, then reached her spindly arms up to Bear and went up on her toes.

He lifted her up, and she wound her arms around his neck.

“Thank you for letting me help you paint.” Kennedy yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. “The house will be pwetty for Mommy and Tooman’s—I mean Daddy’s—wedding.” Although Kennedy and Lincoln were Truman’s siblings, when Lincoln had begun talking, he’d called Truman Dada, and Kennedy had said she wanted to call him that, too. Sometimes she forgot and called him Tooman.

Bear ran his hand down her back. It was hard to believe it had been less than a year since Truman had found them. Kennedy had gone from a rail-thin, frightened little girl to a healthy, happy member of not just Truman’s family, but Bear’s, too.

“You’re the best painter around, sweetheart. Thank you for helping me.” He lifted his eyes, catching Crystal watching him with a warm—interested?—look in her eyes. He liked that a whole lot.

Crystal’s eyes skittered away. “Hey, Ken? Where’s Mommy?”

“She’s giving Lincoln a baf.”

Crystal smiled. “Want me to take you up to bed?”

“Yes,” Bear and Kennedy said at once.

Crystal rolled her eyes at Bear and reached for Kennedy.

Bear put an arm around Crystal’s waist, ignoring her glare. “I’m escorting two of my favorite girls upstairs. Deal with it.” He guided her toward the stairs, where they ran into Truman on his way down.

Truman stood eye to eye with Bear, his dark eyes moving between the two of them. His lips curved up and he shook his head. He must have read the annoyed expression on Crystal’s face, because he reached for Kennedy. “I think I’ll intervene. Thanks, guys.”

After he went upstairs, Crystal said, “You can let go of me now.”

“No thanks.” He kept ahold of her as she stalked back to the living room. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”

“No. I want to paint.” She squirmed out of his grip and he tugged her back.

“If you think I’ll let this go, you’re wrong. Talk to me. What’s got you so irritated?”

“Jesus, Bear,” she snapped. “I’m not yours. You don’t have to protect me.”

He ignored her comment because she knew damn well how things worked with the Whiskeys. More importantly, she knew him well enough to know he’d never sit idly by and let her get hurt. If someone had pissed her off, he’d straighten them out.

“You’re not mine yet,” he conceded.

“God, you’re so arrogant and handsy and…Ugh!” She pushed away. “I just had a rough visit with my mom, that’s all.”

“What happened?” Her not wanting to go into specifics didn’t surprise him. She’d always been cagey about her parents.

She grabbed the ladder and dragged it toward the far wall. He took it from her, and she glared at him again. She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever known. She was also sharp, confident, and possibly the most sensitive person he knew, though she’d never admit to it. Those were just a few of the things he found utterly entrancing about her.

Her arms were crossed, and he was pretty sure if it were possible she’d have steam coming out of her ears. “Can we just paint?”

“Sorry, sugar, but we’re done for the night.”

“Seriously?” She looked around the room, and her stomach growled. Her lips curved up at the edges as she spread a hand over her belly.

Perfect. He whipped out his phone, texting Tru and telling him he was taking Crystal out for a bite to eat. “Grab your bag. We’re going out to eat.” He draped his arm over her shoulder and headed for the front door.

“I’m not hungry.”

He gave her his best deadpan stare.

Challenge rose in her beautiful eyes. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

“All right. Your stomach’s growling. Obviously you’re hungry. Let’s go grab something to eat.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “That’s telling.”

“Christ, woman.” She had no idea how much he adored this side of her. They’d never been on an official date, but they’d gone to grab a bite to eat spur-of-the-moment like this plenty of times. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Great,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh my God. Really? Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to ask a woman if she’d like to go out to eat?”

“Are you telling me to ask you out on a date?” He slid his arm around her waist again and waggled his brows.

“No.” She laughed.

He loved her laugh. It was brazen and loud, like her. “Damn. Thought I got lucky. Crystal Moon, would you like to grab a burger with me?”

She picked up her bag from the floor. “Fine. But I need to tell Gemma. You’re so bossy.”

“You totally dig bossy, and I already texted Tru and told him.”

“Presumptive and bossy.”

 

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About Melissa Foster:

Melissa Foster

Melissa Foster is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling and award-winning author. She writes sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance, new adult romance (M/F, M/M, F/F), romantic suspense, thrillers, and historical fiction with emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last page. Melissa’s emotional journeys are lovingly erotic and always family oriented. Her books have been recommended by USA Today’s book blog, Hagerstown Magazine, The Patriot, and several other print venues. She is the founder of the World Literary Café. When she’s not writing, Melissa helps authors navigate the publishing industry through her author training programs on Fostering Success.

Melissa has painted and donated several murals to The Hospital for Sick Children in Washington, DC. Her interests include her family, reading, writing, painting, friends, helping others see the positive side of life, and visiting Cape Cod.

Melissa is available to chat with book clubs and welcomes comments and emails from her readers. Visit Melissa on Facebook or her personal website.

Never miss a brand new release, special promotions or inside gossip again by simply signing up to receive your newsletter from Melissa.

 

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Affliction by Jenika Snow

 

 

Coming April 4th

 

 

 

It wasn’t until Cameron that I knew what real darkness was…or that I’d crave it so much.

I’ve let the world weigh down on me; pull me under until nothing makes sense anymore. Maybe that’s how I let myself get into the mess I’m currently in? Maybe that’s how I’m in my current situation with a man I knew could save me from a fate worse than death. Even if being with Cameron, giving him the very part of me, the only part that’s worth anything—my body—might very well ruin me, I have to survive.

Drug lord. Crime Boss. Murderer. I should fear him, be horrified by what he wants from me, by who he is. But instead, I find myself wanting to please him, wanting to give myself over completely.

Because I know that gives me control over him.

Cameron Ashton reins over the gritty underworld, the danger and violence of depravity, from his throne. A pistol is his sword, and apathy is his second-in-command. I know he’s dangerous, know he’ll break me and not think twice. But he’s my only chance, the only way I’ll survive.

        He’s possessive and controlling. And he does own me, every part of me. The darkness in him runs stronger, deeper than it ever had in me. Maybe we’re not so different? Maybe giving up my control to Cameron, giving him my very soul, makes me the powerful one?

Maybe, in the end, I’ll be the one who owns him.



Warning: This is a filthy, dark romance. There may be subject matter and triggers that are sensitive to some readers. In the end, this IS a romance, albeit a twisted one. If you’re looking for a story that gives you the warm and fuzzies, this is not the book for you.
Chapter One



The sweat running down the valley between my breasts was reminiscent of fingers moving along me. I was hot, my body flushed, my heart racing. Everything in me felt alive, ready to tear through my skin like another entity wanting to escape.

I was drunk, and I felt incredible.

The bodies pressed tightly against me, moving sexually, suggestively, made me feel even better. It made me feel alive. I moved with them, swaying to the music, inhaling the scent of sex and alcohol that seemed to surround me. I was sure a lot of people would be fucking tonight. No doubt it would be dirty, their inhibitions having been left at the club as they took home a random person. It would be the kind of sex that drunk people had, sloppy, carefree.

I wasn’t a good girl. I didn’t follow the rules. And my life was less than memorable. I lived like today was my last, because for all I knew it would be. It could be.

I came to this club when I couldn’t stand the box that was my life, the one that was sealed tight, no airholes, no light getting through the crack. I got wasted, danced until my body was covered with sweat, my muscles sore, and some poor, hard-up frat guy got off in his jeans by grinding against my leg. I was a wreck in many ways, and I had no doubt that people assumed I was slutty by the way I dressed, by the way I moved on the dance floor.

 

But how I dressed and acted didn’t make up who I was: a virgin who was lost, who had no one, nothing. I was an inexperienced woman who came here and danced because I wanted a little bit of release…the only kind I ever got. How I felt here was like being consumed by the water, of being helpless but weightless, of being sucked down to the very bottom where no light was permitted.

I wasn’t light. I was darkness wrapped up in a five-foot-five frame, with dark hair, a wild streak, and no one to stop me.

Maybe I was a contradiction to myself, a lost girl who didn’t know what she wanted in life. But it’s who I was, how I got through each day.

I embraced it, knowing that maybe my upbringing made me this way, that having an absentee mother, a drunk for a father, and a penchant for getting slapped on occasion by said parents had shaped the woman I now was.

I wasn’t broken, but I was damaged.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with my parents or what I didn’t have growing up: love. Maybe I was just born this way.

Either way I didn’t try and stop it. I didn’t try and change.

 

“You look good out here dancing, girl.” The feeling of a guy behind me, of his hands on my hips, his hard cock digging into my lower back, had dual sensations moving through me. “You feel good,” he said again, his voice thick, aroused, slurred from the no doubt many drinks he’d consumed. “What’s your name.”

I thought about lying, pretending I was someone else. Instead I said, “Sofia.”

The truth.

I wanted him to get off, because knowing I had that kind of control, that kind of power, fueled me. But on the other hand I felt disgust, mainly for myself. I felt and smelled his hot, liquor-laced breath along my neck. I shivered, and the way he groaned made me assume he thought it meant I was into this.

I wasn’t, but I didn’t stop from grinding on him.

I lifted my hands, closed my eyes, and just thought about something else. I wasn’t here, wasn’t trying to get this guy to come in his pants. I was far away, so distant that nothing could touch me. I was the one who had control, and that control made me feel free, alive.

“Come home with me. Hell, let’s go back to my car.”

 

“Come home with me. Hell, let’s go back to my car.”

I shook my head. He needed to shut up.

“Come on, girl.” He ground his dick against me again. He felt small, even though he was hard.

“No. Either shut up and dance with me, or go find someone willing to go home with you.” I didn’t even know if he heard me over the rush of the music, but if he said one more word, I’d just go get a drink.

He tightened his hold on my hips, digging his small dick into my back. “I bet you’re wet for me right now, aren’t you?” His breath was hot, humid. It was acidic and I gagged.

I was bone-dry, not even the teasing of arousal playing over me. I never felt anything when I danced with these guys. It was what made me feel free, made me feel powerful in an otherwise unstable world. I might not have any kind of control with my personal life, with my finances, with anything that could ground me, but at this club, where the drinks flowed, the sex was potent, and my power was immense…I was the one in charge.

I’d been called a dick tease, a bitch, whore, a cunt…any and all of the above. None of that mattered. They were verbal bullets, and in this club I wore my bulletproof vest.

 

I pushed away from the guy and made my way to the bar. He was either cursing me out or had hopefully moved on to someone more receptive to what he was actually after. But when I got to the bar, the people crammed together, shouting, lifting their hands to get one of the three bartenders to come their way. I decided tonight was done. I’d hit the bathroom, then call a cab.

Pushing my way through the throng of bodies, the air stale, humid, the heat suffocating, I said a silent prayer that the line to use the bathroom wasn’t up the ass. But there were still a few girls ahead of me. I leaned on the wall, resting my head back against it, and stared up. I noticed the video camera aimed right at me. There were several in this hallway, two in the back, one pointing at me, and another aimed at the dance floor.

I had no doubt there were a dozen more at other locations. Although this place was wild on most nights, it also had a reputation for being safe—well, as safe as a nightclub could be. It had just been renovated by the new owner over the last year, a man I’d heard rumors about, and one I never wanted to meet.

Dark and dangerous. Violent and psychotic. He’s not a person you want to meet in a dark alley. He’d just as soon slit your throat for looking at him the wrong way.

 

Rumors, of course, but it was those words, whispered by everyone and anyone, that told me there had to be a little bit of truth behind them.

I feel sorry for anyone who pisses off Cameron Ashton, because he’ll solve that problem with a shovel and a six-foot-deep hole.

Pushing off the wall when it was my turn inside, I used the facility, went over to the sink to wash my hands, and stared at myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back looked sad, and not in an emotional way. My reflection showed a hot mess. My eyeliner was starting to smear under my eyes, pieces of my dark hair stuck to my temples, and the lipstick I had on, once red and vibrant, now looked dead and colorless.

I finished in the restroom, pushed my way through the crowd, and finally opened the door that led outside. The cool night air washed over me, and I involuntarily closed my eyes, moaning softly. It felt good out here, the crush of bodies and heat a distant memory the longer I stood here.

The alcohol that had once numbed me, clouding my head with the nothingness, started to clear. Maybe I hadn’t been as drunk as I’d thought. Being behind those doors was like another world. The lights, music, the people trying to get off any way they could, brought you down low to a depraved, sticky and disgusting level. It’s what I loved.

 

I needed to get home now, had work in the morning, had to get back to my shitty life. I fished my cell out of the miniscule handbag I carried with me, dialed the cab service I had memorized, and told them the address. Coming here for the last year should have had them knowing me by name. As I waited for them to arrive, ten long fucking minutes, I moved away from the front doors and leaned against the wall off to the side.

I glanced up, the streetlight close by bright but not quite reaching me fully. Looking to my left, I noticed another security camera, this one pointed at the front doors. Never let it be said this place didn’t have their shit together.

The sound of a lighter going off to my right had me glancing over. I saw the flare of the flame, smelled the scent of the cigarette as its owner inhaled and then exhaled.

“Hey, girl.”

I exhaled. God, of course the guy from inside, the one with the small dick and the need for me to go home with him, would be out here. I didn’t bother replying, didn’t want to engage. Instead I turned my head in the other direction and glanced at a few people across the parking lot smoking. I felt the lightest touch on my arm.

 

The hell?

I glanced to my right, and before I knew what was happening, that light touch from the asshole turned into him pulling me farther into the shadowy side street.

 

Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.

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