MY SWEET VILLAINTINE Page 6

  My nipples hardened and my mouth fell open. My lips parted. My thighs shook with need.

  King took a step into the room and I backed up, almost tripping over my fallen pencil.

  “I thought I didn’t scare you anymore?” King asked slowly with a chuckle from deep in his throat. He raised an eyebrow, the one with the small white scar that ran through it. His words were dark and seductive, dripping from his full lips as he approached.

  “You...you don’t,” I stuttered. I turned and bent over to pick the pencil up off the floor. His thighs brushed the back of mine and when I stood up his hard body was behind me. His hands on my shoulders. He brushed the hair from my neck and I shuddered. The warmth of his body sent tingles of awareness over my skin which prickled with anticipation.

  “Don’t lie to me, Pup,” he said, trailing his hands down the sides of my arms and back up my torso, stopping to brush the underside of my breasts. My knees buckled but he held me up and pressed me harder against him. His impossibly large cock prodded my backside through his jeans and I moaned at the sensation. “Why are you in here?”

  “I had an idea for a sketch,” I said breathlessly. “I wanted to get the bones of it down while it was still in my head.”

  “What was it?” King asked, flexing his hips against my backside. He growled in my ear and I arched my back into him. He pulled my arms behind me and held my wrists together with one hand while the other trailed down my torso and popped the button of my shorts open. I shook my head.

  “Tell me,” King demanded, shoving his hand inside my shorts, his fingers playing with the edge of my panties, dipping inside only to pull them out again. I writhed my hips, needing more.

  “No, Pup. You show me what I want to see and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll make you come harder than you’ve ever come before. I’ll make you scream my fucking name so loud every single person outside will hear you over the music.” He tightened his grip on my wrists and circled his thumb over my damp panties. He groaned. My nipples were impossibly hard. “I can feel how much you want me. I can fucking SMELL how much you want me to make you come. Show me, Pup and I’ll make it all better for you.” His words released a flush of wetness between my legs and if he kept it up my entire body would be a puddle on the floor.

  “The desk,” I said, my voice sounding harsh and desperate.

  Without releasing me, King led me over to the desk. He bent down slightly in order to get a better view of the sketch I had just outlined. It was him, sitting on a bed in his room at the end of the hall. The light from the door shining on his face.

  “The night we met,” King said, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes,” I replied. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “It’s...it’s fucking beautiful,” King said. I was about to reply when he pushed me over to the couch and pressed my chest against the armrest. “Since you showed me what I wanted to see I’m going to give you what you need. But first, there is something else I want to see.”

  Before I could respond, my shorts and panties were around my ankles and King’s nose was against my pussy. “Fucking beautiful,” he said, taking a long inhale. I wiggled my hips, reaching for what I was seeking, but he grabbed my hips and held me still as he flattened his tongue and gave me a long slow lick from my clit to my ass. “You taste like fucking heaven.”

  The pressure in my lower stomach was building at an impossibly fast rate. Every single touch and lick set my nerve endings on fire. I was about to combust when he flipped me over, picking me up only to set me down with my back against the floor. He kneeled between my legs and unbuckled his jeans, releasing his massive cock which bobbed up and down between us. I licked my lips and a bead of moisture glistened from the top of the thick head. He fisted his shaft. “Why did you draw that?” he asked, his voice rough and scratchy.

  “It was going to be a gift for you. For Valentine's Day.” King pushed his index finger inside my pussy and I lifted my hips off the ground. He pulled it back out again.

  “Keep going,” King ordered, removing his finger from me. I groaned at the loss. He lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, revealing his beautiful body full of colorful tattoos.

  “I…” I stammered as he again pushed a finger inside me. “I wanted you to see how I saw you that night. I wanted you to remember it always.”

  King’s response was a groan. He crooked his finger slightly to reach the spot that had me pushing back against his hand. The pressure built and built. The walls of my pussy contracting around his finger until again he removed his hand.

  A second later something much larger was prodding at my entrance. Hot thick heat pushing inside of me. He stopped when only the head of his cock was in and it pulsed. I cried out. Needing more.

  “Thank you for making me look like a man and less like…” he paused. A criminal. A villain.

  I reached up and touched the side of his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into my palm. “My Sweet Villaintine,” I giggled. His eyes shot open and he surged inside of me, pushing himself in all the way to the hilt and I screamed in both pleasure and pain.

  “I think we both know that I’m not sweet,” King said, pulling out only to thrust back in even harder.

  “No?” I asked, meeting his gaze. “Then prove it.”

  King started to pump into me furiously, each stroke igniting the desire I’d never stopped feeling for him into an inferno of need and want. It was about more than sex and orgasms. It was about pure animal desire. A true feeling of being with the person made just for you. About being owned and owning in return. He fucked me like he loved me. He fucked me like he hated me. He fucked me harder and harder. I lifted up against each of his thrusts, each one more powerful than the last until we were both screaming out our orgasms into the small room, our cries echoing off the walls and ceiling. I didn’t just come. It was more like a powerful explosion of pleasure, pulsing from my pussy and extending to the rest of my body. King groaned long and loud when he finished, first inside of me before pulling out suddenly, jerking his shaft as he spread me open with his fingers, releasing long streams of wet warmth over my exposed pussy and clit.

  King collapsed onto the floor next to me, immediately pulling me on top of his strong chest while we both recovered from the mind numbing pleasure. “Happy early Valentine's Day,” I said with a chuckle.

  He smiled into my hair. “Don’t you mean Villaintine’s Day?”

  I laced my fingers through his, circling the wedding ring on his left hand with my thumb. I looked up into his deep green eyes and sighed deeply. “My sweet Villaintine.”

  T.M. Frazier is a USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR best known for her KING SERIES. She was born on Long Island, NY. When she was eight years old she moved with her mom, dad, and older sister to sunny Southwest Florida where she still lives today with her husband and daughter.

  When she was in middle school she was in a club called AUTHORS CLUB with a group of other young girls interested in creative writing. Little did she know that years later life would come full circle.

  After graduating high school, she attended Florida Gulf Coast University and had every intention of becoming a news reporter when she got sucked into real estate where she worked in sales for over ten years.

  Throughout the years T.M. never gave up the dream of writing and with her husband’s encouragement, and a lot of sleepless nights, she realized her dream and released her first novel, The Dark Light of Day, in 2013.

  She hit the USA TODAY bestsellers list for the first time with Tyrant in 2015 and the fifth book in the KING SERIES, Preppy Part One, was a 2016 Goodreads Choice Awards finalist for best romance.

  Her latest works include her USA TODAY bestselling KING series (as in, the possessive KING you’ve just met in this collection!) and All the Rage. Visit her at www.tmfrazierbooks.com

  Want to meet KING and his fucked-up, sexy-as-hell friends? Start the series with KING (and then continue with TYRANT, LAWLESS and SO
ULLESS) by visiting AMAZON and picking up the ebook!

  Lili St. Germain features her brand-new series over the page - can you handle the heat? Or maybe we should ask: Can you handle the darkness? Guess you’d better find out…

  LOVE IS BLIND

  BY LILI ST. GERMAIN

  ROME

  There is a girl on her knees in front of me. A beautiful girl. I don’t know her name, or her age, or what she loves or who she aches for; but I know her better than anyone has ever known her. Better than her mother, who grew her from a tiny seed and birthed her and fed her and nurtured her. I know her better than her father, who held her newborn feather-weight body and loved her so fiercely, it probably caused him physical pain; the knowledge all fathers of girls are burdened with, that one day their baby daughters will grow up and become things for men to inflict their own anger upon.

  I know her better than the family she grew up with, the people she knew, the people she adored.

  I know her better than anyone, because I know her sorrow. I have kissed my cracked lips against her hurt. I have seen inside her soul, every time I hold it between my palms and squeeze until it bleeds, and what a pretty soul it is.

  I know everything about her, but she knows nothing about me. She thinks I’m a madman, and that slams into me like a knife every time she raises those doe eyes to me and begs. I see the cogs in her brain turn as she tries to outsmart me, to outthink me, to outplay me.

  But what move could a naked girl on her knees ever have? What weapon? What thing that could save her? That could save us both?

  She has nothing of power in this place, and we both know it. Her only power is her obedience. Her silence. Her ability to endure.

  She is slipping. She is losing her mind.

  I don’t dare tell her that I am losing mine, too. Because there are three things I know for sure. Firstly, that we will die in this room. I think she’ll go before me, because I’ll have to choke the life out of her with my own hands; but I won’t be far behind her. My death will be far more horrible. I’ll need to preserve her beauty in death, but my role in this story is not a beautiful one. I am the monster. I am her torturer. Whatever my final moments entail, there will be rivers of my blood as I cut into my own guilty flesh and try to dig out an eleventh-hour salvation.

  The second thing I know is that I’m going to hurt her so much before this is over. Brutally. Sadistically. She knows it, too, her big eyes shining with unspilled tears and terror. There’s still hope inside her—a hope so thick I could almost plunge my hand into her chest and pluck it from her ribcage, along with her heart.

  The third thing I know is that this is not my fault. She thinks I’m crazy. Everybody will think I’m crazy. I am not a good man – I am a very, very bad man. I have lied, I have cheated, I have killed – I am a monster, but I am not this monster. I only hope that in her final moments, I might be able to tell her this. As I drain the life from her, I pray that I can send her off to sleep one last time with the knowledge that I only ever wanted to save her.

  * * *

  But I digress.

  There is a girl on her knees in front of me. A beautiful girl. She whimpers as I squeeze her cheeks, as I force her mouth open and glimpse her wet, pink tongue. I don’t know her name, or her age, or what she loves or who she aches for. I only know that in a moment, she will ache for me.

  AVERY

  The man I’m kneeling in front of looks pretty ordinary for a psychopath. I’m ashamed to admit that when I saw him across the bar at The Cleopatra Club in downtown San Francisco, I would have even called him handsome. Cheekbones that could cut glass and a gaze so intense a less confident girl would have looked away. I didn’t look away. I was a stupid girl, and now I am being punished. I caught his eye across the bar and my cheeks flushed. Moisture pooled in my panties, a damp spot that he found later, in this place, with rough fingers and a desperate need to sate himself while my bound arms went numb underneath me and my tears pasted his cruel red blindfold to my eyelashes.

  I do not think he is handsome right now. The word for the man looming above me, his jaw so tight his teeth might shatter inside his mouth, a long-stemmed red rose clenched in one fist? Definitely not handsome.

  No, the word I would use to describe my captor is terrifying.

  From his back pocket he pulls out a length of red fabric. More blindfold. Fresh. I bled too much over the last one. I flinch as he presses the new material to my eyes and knots it behind my head. He’s turning my world red, one blindfolded torture session at a time.

  “Stick your tongue out,” he says. His voice is always quiet, barely a gravelly rasp. He sang to me the first night I was here; fractured nursery rhymes and Christmas songs, the only words he claimed to remember. His voice is beautiful. He was nice to me then. Nicer, at least. He begged me to forgive him in those first hours as he dragged a washcloth over my broken and battered body. And when he pressed my thighs apart and raped me for the first time, I couldn’t see him crying, but I felt every single one of his tears fall upon my naked chest as I drifted in and out of consciousness. And then the singing. He held me to his chest and sang to me as I drifted back into the inky blackness.

  That was before I woke up with the collar around my neck. Now, he doesn’t hold me. He doesn’t sing to me. He stays as far away as possible from me unless he is trying to break me with the pain.

  I stick my tongue out, because I don’t want to be punished. My entire body is on edge. I loathe the dark. I hate that I can’t see, even though I know what happens next. Something warm and hard will enter my mouth, and he’ll push into my throat until I gag. He’ll do it until he comes down my throat, and only then will he let me pull away. Last time he was so rough I threw up, and he hasn’t let me eat since. I have no measurement of time, but I’ve gone to sleep and woken up twice since then. I’ve been sticking my finger down my throat and practicing suppressing my gag reflex ever since.

  So when something small and sharp presses into the centre of my tongue, I scream, bringing my hands up to knock the blindfold from my face. He’s threatened to cut my tongue out before. Is this is? Is this what he’s doing? God, please no.

  A crack erupts at the base of my throat as electricity sears into my skin through two metal prongs. When I’m bad, he delivers a shock to me through the dog shock collar that he’s locked on to my neck. I am bad a lot.

  I get shocked so many times I’ve lost count. My captor specializes in cruelty.

  I’m screaming, because it hurts, and because the vibration in my throat when I make a noise pushes the two metal prongs just a tiny bit further away from me. I don’t know if the shock is any less intense, because sometimes it is so blinding hot and sharp-stinging that I lose consciousness.

  “Put the blindfold back on!” he snaps, my nameless master. I hear what sounds like worry in his voice. Desperation. Does he not want me to see as he cuts my tongue out? I wait in suspension as the electricity passes through my body, my existence temporarily halted as I see bright white stars explode in my vision, the taste of metal thick and cloying on my tongue.

  I am beginning to forget things, and I am sure the shocks are the reason why my mind is starting to betray me.

  The shock finally passes, my fingertips itching and the hair on my head wild with the static left behind. I reach up with tentative fingers and start to replace the blindfold, pausing as I see the red rose still in his hand. The long stem is still dotted with thorns, and as the inside of my mouth begins to itch, I realize this is what broke the delicate tissue of my tongue open until blood pooled in my mouth.

  “Are you going to cut my tongue out?” I whisper. My throat hurts from the sharp metal electrodes. My tongue hurts from the rose thorn. My head hurts from the knowledge that this could go on until I die.

  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Almost as if he’s waiting. Then he opens his eyes again, fixes his cool gaze on me, and stares.

  “No.”

  He doesn’t normally answer my que
stions. Normally I’m screaming them instead of murmuring them. Emboldened, I decide to ask another, even if it ends up hurting me.

  “Why’d you cut my tongue?” I ask. “Why the rose?”

  He looks at the ceiling, a small noise coming from his throat as he unzips his jeans and holds his erection in his open palm.

  “Lubrication,” he says finally. Before I can really hear what he’s said, my blindfold is knotted back in place over my eyes and I’m gagging on hot flesh again.

  ROME

  There are rules that the voice in my head gives me and rules I make up myself.

  The voice has simple rules: Do everything he says. Make her suffer. Never disobey.

  My rules are murkier: Be as merciful as possible. Make her suffering quick. Only hurt her as much as the collar would hurt her. It frightened me, the first time I saw its effects on her body. It can deliver small warning zaps, but on the first day, when she was having a meltdown and clawing at the walls, the collar must have been turned up to the maximum settings, because it shocked her so badly she lost control of her bladder and pissed all over herself. She had a seizure, too, just for a few seconds, convulsing on her back on the hard floor. The collar’s since been turned down. She hasn’t lost control again when the sharp crack sounds at her neck, but she still screams every time.

  I try as much as I can to limit her suffering. I know she hates me, and I don’t blame her – I hate myself more. If the voice tells me to rape her, I do it as quickly as possible. If I have to do something that would kill her, I let her be shocked instead. Right now, I’m rutting my dick into her throat. The blood from her tongue does indeed provide a nice lubricant, but I’m not getting any enjoyment out of this. No, I’m repulsed. The only reason I can get hard in the first place is because the voice makes me take these pills that make my dick rock-hard for hours at a time.