Five Years LaterMy husband is not a happy camper.I can see him just over the shoulder of the photographers, pacing and brooding like a big, angry bull, refusing to take his eyes off me, his hands balled into fists.The casino asked me to pose for some pictures for a national advertising campaign. They want me to be, "the face of The Palace." When they proposed the idea to me a few weeks ago, there was an argument between me and Daniel. It ended with his mouth buried between my legs and a fist crammed against my lips to keep from screaming and waking the baby, but still, it was a rare argument between me and the man I love beyond all reason.Obviously, he doesn't want to see my face on a billboard or in a magazine—or rather, he doesn't want anyone else to see it—but he has always been the main provider and I refuse to miss this chance to contribute. Besides, I'm fully clothed in my dealer uniform of a crisp, white shirt and black pants, albeit very tight ones. I'm dealing cards and s
When Julia was thirteen, Ramsy saved her from falling off the cliff outside her home on a steep hill. During that brief moment of being held close, in his arms, a fire like no other surged to life within Julia's chest. But she was thirteen, too young for him, too innocent, too sweet.Now, five years past, that fire has grown into a blazing inferno, tormenting and confusing her. When she comes face-to-face with Ramsey for the first time since she's been away, asking once again to be saved, she's dismayed to discover that the soft, caring man has hardened into something dangerous.A heartless monster.Ramsey is pleased to see that the little sweet girl he saved from falling to her death has matured into a beautiful young lady. When he offers Julia help in exchange for her body, Julia has no choice but to accept. He's her last hope. But when he recognizes that sweet, innocent girl he once pulled to safety — the girl he has now coerced into his bed, handling her roughly, without the gentl
As if it can keep my unruly nature contained, I pull my coat tight, tight, all the way up my chin, hiding as much skin as possible so Mr. Jones can't see that I've become flushed in his presence. Normally the dreadful throbbing between my legs comes from idleness. Being left to my own devices for too long.This is different. His sheer masculinity is causing the ache this time.None of the men in town have inspired this twisting ripple in my belly. Not ever. Not even close. It's only when I look at Mr. Jones do I think inexcusable thoughts. Such as...Would I be able to breathe with him on top of me?What would his hands feel like on my knees, the insides of my thighs, while pushing them open?How much hair does he have on his big chest? Surrounding his sex?God. It's humiliating."How did you get past the walls?" Mr. Jones drawls, though there is an underlying sharpness to his question. "They are built to keep trespassers out."The way he bites off the final word makes me gulp. "Would
There is no way in hell she's going to agree to be my live-in mistress.Not even for a single night.Mainly, I made the proposition because it amuses me to watch her cower inside that coat. A very expensive coat. And that tells me everything I need to know. Julia is probably a former rich girl who got herself pregnant and was cast out on the streets by her disapproving family. I'm surprised she's managed to hang onto the nice coat, considering the lawlessness of Harding these days. It should have been stolen by now.Her innocence certainly was.But not her scruples, apparently.Look at how she clutches at the sides of her jacket, giving me that prim and proper expression? The rich girl still hasn't learned her place, despite her obvious hardships. She might be fucking beautiful, but she's buttoned up. A prude. How any man convinced her to lie with him is beyond me. But...I find I'd like to track the fucker down and choke him for not stepping up and handling his responsibilities.For d
"Yes, girl. There is coffee, but it isn't made. I prefer whiskey in the evenings.""Oh, I'll gladly make it, thank you," she breathes, brightening. Twisting something inside of me. Something like guilt for tearing up her letter.Damn, I wish I'd read it now. It might have given me information about her. I find I'd like to know...everything. But I don't want her to get the wrong impression that I give a shit. When I show compassion, that's when people take advantage. That's when they pounce. When they begin to see an advantage to knowing me, having my sympathies.Not going to happen this time."Is there somewhere I can put Curtis?" she asks."Curtis," I repeat, clearing my throat. "Yes. There is a room beneath the stairs." I jerk my chin in that direction. "It was a nursery when I moved in, though the crib has been replaced by a regular bed. Will that work for him?""Considering he's been sleeping on stacked boxes, I'd say so." She's almost cheerful while imparting that dreadful piece
"Are you always this optimistic?""No. Sometimes I have to fake optimism until the real stuff kicks in." She shakes her head, shrugs. "That's everyone, though, isn't it?""No." I've never felt like more of an ogre than I do in front of this ray of sunshine. Yet I only want to move closer and bask in the warmth. Instead, I grip the edge of the kitchen island to keep myself stationary. Lest she know she's getting to me. That the soft way she shares herself, her unclouded philosophies, is eroding the concrete slab that guards my insides, leaving me vulnerable—a feeling that simply doesn't work for me. "But I can only speak for myself. I'm alone here. I don't exactly get a chance to observe a lot of human behavior.""Is that by choice?""Yes," I say, too harshly, making her inhale quickly."You weren't always..." She trails off, shaking her head."I wasn't always what?""Hardened."My heart starts to beat faster. "How do you know?""I don't," she says quickly, staring down into her coffee
Her fingers begin popping open the buttons of her coat, one by one, her teeth buried in that bottom lip. And Jesus, she wasn't playing me. This is happening. She's going to keep her word. She's treating me to the world's most innocent strip tease and somehow the slow removal of the coat turns me on more than if she was removing silk lingerie.It doesn't escape me that her fingernails are nubs and her hands are slightly dirty, nicked and red in spots. Guilt begins to creep in slowly, but when she drops the coat, lust comes swinging in like a wrecking ball."Oh fuck." My balls squeeze painfully and I have to concentrate on not ejaculating against my fly at the sight of her juicy tits, the generous swells of her hips. She's in need of a few meals, but in no way is she skinny. She's compact and curvy. Delicious. The pale blue dress she's wearing does not fit her at all. It's a rag that hides nothing. Not the big, beautiful tits about to spill free of the soaked material, nor her thighs, w
Pain claws at my insides. A foreign kind of pain.It's more like an invasion of pressure. Everywhere. It plagues my loins, my tummy, the walls of my sex. There's a definite stretching there, my flesh hurrying to accommodate Ramsy's larger than normal shaft. And of course I know he's well above average. I work in a factory with women twice my age and all they talk about is men and sex. They laugh and tell me to cover my ears, no idea that the act of intercourse, the wild tangle of two people mating, has always made my panties damp in my factory suit. Their stories replay in my head at night before I fall asleep, wedged in between prayers for forgiveness.I can't help it.I can't contain my wicked nature at all times. It's taxing.For a few moments, I accept this as my punishment. The pain. The fact that I've just had the barrier of my virginity torn by a man with a far above average penis size—it must be nine or ten inches! But then...oh then, the pain begins to recede and another issu