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Authors: Jo Carlisle
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of fate.
Her pussy heated, and she whimpered. She made another helpless noise when Kai again took up his jar and began to rub the cream on a nipple, making it instantly harden under his expert touch. Then the other.
The real torture came when he applied the same care to her exposed, pouting pussy lips, getting them nice and slick. She groaned, tilting her hips as he rubbed her slit and teased her clit, creating whorls of unbearable delight that spiraled from her cunt outward to every nerve. Then he stopped, leaving her right on the edge and ready to scream.
“No coming, honey,” he said. “Not yet.”
Not yet? Did he mean . . . ? Her eyes widened and she stared at him.
“That’s right. You will come, but you’ll do it for the audience, before the bidding starts. Gets the prospective buyers all excited so they’ll drop more credits.”
This time, she broke the rule and stammered, “I-I’m going to orgasm in front of an entire club packed with people?”
“That’s right. It’s part of the show. Gets the audience riled up. And now my part is done. The handler has volunteered to master your body for the crowd.”
“What?” Oh, gods, she burned. Her pussy was on fire.
Kai smiled. “Relax and enjoy the ride. It’ll be a high like nothing else you’ve experienced, and before this night is over, you’ll be the perfect, dirty little slut your master is going to devour with a spoon.”
She moaned, writhing in her restraints, helpless against the burning need consuming her.
Dirty little slut. Devoured.
Oh, please, yes!
“Curtain time!”
The velvet slowly parted, and the crowd no longer mattered. She needed to be fucked. Owned.
She finally knew—this was Harley Vaughn. All those lonely years of searching ended here tonight.
At last, she would have a place to belong. And with any luck, a master who’d appreciate and cherish his slave.
4
“W e have your table waiting, Lord Soren!” a blond twink chirped. “Right this way.”
Soren eyed the interior of the club as he and Leila followed, wishing he hadn’t let the witch talk him into coming here. His Helena would never have been caught dead—or undead—in a place like Lash, with its sleek decadence, lust heavy in the air. That she was an innocent in such a depraved world was a big part of what he’d loved about her; she’d been his refuge from the excesses of indulgence.
There would be no refuge here.
The club itself was living, breathing sex. The waitstaff wore little, were young and beautiful down to the last male and female alike. They existed to tempt, to fuel lurid fantasies and drive customers insane with the thought of what treasures were for the taking, if they cared to reach out and grab them.
His fangs throbbed and his groin tightened in black pants that were suddenly much too small in the crotch. There was no use pretending he wasn’t affected, so he didn’t try. Here he was just one aroused male among many, and acting differently would make him obvious in a place where standing out wasn’t good.
The twink showed them to one of the best tables: near the stage, yet off to the side in a private alcove. Soren didn’t like sitting in the middle of a crowd or having people at his back in the dark. The Fontaine name alone ensured the brothers had enemies, and he had no desire to entice one of them to bury a knife between his shoulder blades. It wouldn’t be the first attempt.
Leila scooted into the booth beside him, flicking her black hair over one shoulder with a toss of her head, a calculated move he loathed. There was nothing more unattractive to him than a female who knew she was physically perfect and wanted to make certain everyone else noticed, as well. One night, he’d take a pair of shears to the gleaming tresses while she slept. Butch her up a bit and then watch the fireworks.
Better yet, he’d help her really toss her head—by using his sword to cleave it from her neck. Too bad he wasn’t carrying. But he’d
Her pussy heated, and she whimpered. She made another helpless noise when Kai again took up his jar and began to rub the cream on a nipple, making it instantly harden under his expert touch. Then the other.
The real torture came when he applied the same care to her exposed, pouting pussy lips, getting them nice and slick. She groaned, tilting her hips as he rubbed her slit and teased her clit, creating whorls of unbearable delight that spiraled from her cunt outward to every nerve. Then he stopped, leaving her right on the edge and ready to scream.
“No coming, honey,” he said. “Not yet.”
Not yet? Did he mean . . . ? Her eyes widened and she stared at him.
“That’s right. You will come, but you’ll do it for the audience, before the bidding starts. Gets the prospective buyers all excited so they’ll drop more credits.”
This time, she broke the rule and stammered, “I-I’m going to orgasm in front of an entire club packed with people?”
“That’s right. It’s part of the show. Gets the audience riled up. And now my part is done. The handler has volunteered to master your body for the crowd.”
“What?” Oh, gods, she burned. Her pussy was on fire.
Kai smiled. “Relax and enjoy the ride. It’ll be a high like nothing else you’ve experienced, and before this night is over, you’ll be the perfect, dirty little slut your master is going to devour with a spoon.”
She moaned, writhing in her restraints, helpless against the burning need consuming her.
Dirty little slut. Devoured.
Oh, please, yes!
“Curtain time!”
The velvet slowly parted, and the crowd no longer mattered. She needed to be fucked. Owned.
She finally knew—this was Harley Vaughn. All those lonely years of searching ended here tonight.
At last, she would have a place to belong. And with any luck, a master who’d appreciate and cherish his slave.
4
“W e have your table waiting, Lord Soren!” a blond twink chirped. “Right this way.”
Soren eyed the interior of the club as he and Leila followed, wishing he hadn’t let the witch talk him into coming here. His Helena would never have been caught dead—or undead—in a place like Lash, with its sleek decadence, lust heavy in the air. That she was an innocent in such a depraved world was a big part of what he’d loved about her; she’d been his refuge from the excesses of indulgence.
There would be no refuge here.
The club itself was living, breathing sex. The waitstaff wore little, were young and beautiful down to the last male and female alike. They existed to tempt, to fuel lurid fantasies and drive customers insane with the thought of what treasures were for the taking, if they cared to reach out and grab them.
His fangs throbbed and his groin tightened in black pants that were suddenly much too small in the crotch. There was no use pretending he wasn’t affected, so he didn’t try. Here he was just one aroused male among many, and acting differently would make him obvious in a place where standing out wasn’t good.
The twink showed them to one of the best tables: near the stage, yet off to the side in a private alcove. Soren didn’t like sitting in the middle of a crowd or having people at his back in the dark. The Fontaine name alone ensured the brothers had enemies, and he had no desire to entice one of them to bury a knife between his shoulder blades. It wouldn’t be the first attempt.
Leila scooted into the booth beside him, flicking her black hair over one shoulder with a toss of her head, a calculated move he loathed. There was nothing more unattractive to him than a female who knew she was physically perfect and wanted to make certain everyone else noticed, as well. One night, he’d take a pair of shears to the gleaming tresses while she slept. Butch her up a bit and then watch the fireworks.
Better yet, he’d help her really toss her head—by using his sword to cleave it from her neck. Too bad he wasn’t carrying. But he’d
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