Hope waved at her. “I’m just going to lean on your pole.” She motioned over to the support beam a few feet away.
I smirked, unable to resist. “You can lean on my pole anytime.”
Her mouth dropped open, and I couldn’t stop from laughing.
It’d been two days since we defiled the church. Even though we hadn’t gone on a date, one was in the works. Until then, neither of us could stay away for too long, which was one reason she was in the middle of the gym.
It also happened that my client, Teri, was her roommate.
“Oh, come on! This is my hour.” Teri smacked my chest with a gloved hand. “You two can fuck later.” She pointed to me. “But stay away from the kitchen! I spent an hour bleaching it this morning.”
My devilish laugh came out, and I turned back in time to see her face drop. She was in for it. “Oh, you’re in trouble now. Blitz!” Usually Teri punched ten to each side before switching, then taking a break, but she was going to hurt for that comment. “Again.”
She glared as me and muttered “fucker” under her breath.
“Come on. Push it! Harder!”
She pummeled the sparring mitts until her arms had little fight and she gasped for air.
“Okay, break.” I tossed the mitts on the floor and reached forward, removing one glove before pulling on the other.
Hope handed Teri a water bottle, and she attempted to drink between hard breaths. A few rounds later, we were done. Hope was still leaning on the pole, and as soon as Teri went off to the locker room, I closed the gap, pressing my body against hers. I pushed her into the pole as I wrapped my arms around both, trapping her.
“Hi,” I said, smirking at her and pressing my cock into her stomach.
She nabbed her bottom lip in the fuck-sexy way she always did. Her being coy drove me and my cock insane. “Hi.”
“Come here often?”
She rolled her eyes and fought a smile. “My boyfriend works here.”
I quirked a brow at her. “Boyfriend?” We hadn’t really talked titles… Well, we really hadn’t talked—mostly fucked—but we were getting there.
“Boyfriend.” She was firm in her word choice and gave me a little attitude with it. “Got a problem with it?”
I shook my head. “No, but, baby, let me be your boyfriend. I own the place.” And soon I would fully own a place, without Monica.
“Own the place? Well, then, you have an enticing proposition.”
I leaned in and kissed her neck, humming against her skin. “How about I offer up another enticing proposition?”
“All right, break it up.” Teri tapped her foot next to us. “Come on, Hope, we have to get to class.”
She looked to Teri and then back to me, a small pout on her lips. “Sorry.”
I groaned and gave Teri the evil eye.
“Don’t look at me like that, you devil.”
I bent down and gave Hope a last kiss. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She nabbed her lip and looked at me from under her lashes. “Maybe I can act out one of my fantasies.”
I smirk and pulled her closer. “What’s that, my naughty girl?”
Her lips were close to my ear, tickling the hairs on the back of my neck. “I want to service my customer.”
I groaned and squeezed her ass. She pulled away, blowing me a kiss before turning to catch up with Teri.
I knew the Devil and lust were in us both.
But if I was going to hell, the trip would be worth it with Hope by my side.
About K.I. Lynn
K.I. Lynn spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn’t until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.
Since she began posting stories online, she’s garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination…or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain… Usually it’s cheese.
Kick
Songs of Perdition - Book One
CD Reiss
one.
My ankles were shackled. The chain between them clicked when I rolled over, and the steel bit my anklebones when I rested my feet together.
My brain chemistry had been set for arousal at the touch of hard metal edges on my skin, and even though I felt a growing swirl of lust when I pressed my legs together, I was preoccupied. Deacon hadn’t put the leg irons on me, nor had I squeezed them tighter than I should, just to feel them holding me while he played me like a musician at an instrument.
I didn’t know what had happened.
The last thing I remembered was rain.
No. The last thing I remembered was being in scene with Deacon and entering subspace, outside of myself, where pleasure and pain merged.
No.
Nuzzling Snowcone as he huffed and clopped his hoof on the stable floor, I held his bit. I thought, he’s slow, it’s over, he’s slow, he’s old, it’s over, he won’t take the bit, he’s slow. My thoughts repeated as if they were stuck.
The last thing I remembered was hanging from the ceiling, listening to rain on the windows. It never rained in Los Angeles—unless it did, and then it rained like a holy hail of fuck yous.
The last thing I remembered was wet thighs. Feeling so sore I couldn’t sit. Thinking about fucking. Finding someone to fuck.
There was so much fucking.
The last thing I remembered was snorting a line of flake off Amanda’s tits.
And then?
Nothing.
Anxiety sat in my chest like a kinetic weight, but I wasn’t scared. I knew I wasn’t thinking right, that I was little more than a jumble of emotions and half sentences. I thought in colors, and saw in bursts of silence. The aggressive white light above illuminated the angles of the corners. The tight space and soft white walls were the product of some kind of regulating entity. Was I in prison? A hospital? Was I even in the United States? When would Deacon come for me?
Soon.
He’d come soon, and everything would be in control again.
Until then, I’d submit to the fog of my half-formed thoughts and nothing would go wrong.
“Do you know where you are?”
His voice was so gentle in powder blues and jazzy notes, but he was a stranger. I’d never heard a voice like that—thick and soft as heavy cream, a satin sheet on a bed of sand. I opened my eyes to bright white fog and a charcoal blur that must have been attached to the voice. Not a cop. Not a lawyer. Not an ER doc.
“No,” I croaked.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. All right?”
I nodded. I didn’t realize how quiet it was until the noise of the sheet rubbing against my ear sounded like an electric guitar amp set to eleven.
“Can you tell me your name?”
It wasn’t loud, that voice. Like Deacon’s, it had its own kind of authority, but unlike my master’s, it was gentle.
I cleared the frog from my throat. “Fiona.”
“Hi, Fiona. My name is Doctor Chapman. But you can call me Elliot.”
My eyes cleared a little. The charcoal smear turned into a beige oval with two green-grey dots for eyes and non-committally colored hair. His skin wrinkled around the eyes, but his mouth was young. He was either in his late twenties, or forty-ish, like Deacon. Or maybe somewhere in between.
“Good,” he said, crouching to meet my gaze. “How old are you?”