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Links to my Other Books
Savage Souls Series
Broken – (Book 1)
Damaged – (Book 2)
Vicious – (Book 3)
Shattered – (Book 4)
Redemption – (Book 5)
The Shadow Ops Series
Danger’s Desire – (Book 1)
Danger’s Heat – (Book 2)
Danger’s Passion – (Book 3)
The Cajun Murder Mystery Series
Bayou Roux: The Complete First Season
Bayou Backslide: A Cajun Murder Mystery Series Special Edition
A Darker Shade of Blue: From Public Servant to Professional Deviant; Policing’s Special Operations Culture: A Darker Shade of Blue
Cop Culture: Why Good Cops Go Bad
Sneak peek at Book 2
Damaged
His usual self-assured, commanding mien was vacated for twisted lips and a pinched brow that signaled disapproval. She heard his heels drive into the reconstructed wooden floors. The large glass pane windows were thrust open. Abigail’s skin tingled at the wind swept kisses of a warm afternoon’s breeze. She unintentionally moaned.
Justice’s wrath toward his brothers was illustrated as he tried to speak through lips contorted by emotion. She felt a sense of gratefulness by his protective nature. Without thinking, her fingers dallied. Not for circulation, but for making human contact with the one who took her in and protected her—sometimes.
She’d become a victim of the Stockholm syndrome, where captives begin to sympathize with their captures. She’d arrived with hate in her heart and revenge racing through her veins. Maybe it was Justice’s skill in dominating others, but at times she’d forgotten why she was there. Fuck, at times all she could think about was being dominated. She really didn’t give shit about anything, anymore—or so she thought.
Justice stood beside her—she stroked his thigh with as much motion as she could muster with her arms still restrained.
“Baby, please untie my hands. I’m not going to hurt myself anymore.”
She rolled her hips side to side. Her groin area had begun to warm. She was already so swollen from the repeated sessions from the brothers that her mind blanked on how she could now desire more sex. It was her daddy after all.
He held up one finger and pressed it to his lips—the cell phone to his ear.
She clawed at his leg. His look remained fixed on something far away from whatever was in that room. Finally, he reached beneath the bed to unclasp her right hand’s strap. Abigail circled her wrist and stretched all five fingers until they burned with a flush of blood to the nerves.
Her rocking hips turned into a grind—her hand slid down her belly and onto her clit. She nibbled her bottom lip once her eyes met his wink of approval. He dropped the free hand and ran it across her nipple. Her back arched—mouth pouted for more.
Fingers fumbled for his zipper, and then his belt. He turned toward her, but was ensnared with the conversation. She dug beneath the denim until she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft. Justice wore no boxers or briefs, so it was one less layer to defeat until she’d freed his manhood. He began to talk less to his caller and grunt to agree more. It felt good to feel like she had control of something, even if it was a dick—for the moment, it was all hers.
Justice fumbled his fingers through her matted mane. He tugged at it, and it felt good to have him pet her. She squeezed the ridge behind the big heart-shaped head of his cock. His knees buckled. She maintained the pressure, but pulled back against him. Her circle-shaped hand pressed against his balls, and he delighted at the sight of his full measure suspended above her face. Strings of clear colored pre-cum draped from his meatus.
What a perfect name for the opening at the head of his cock, Meat-us.
He stretched across her nude torso until the left hand was freed. Abigail mouthed a thank you as she flexed those fingers to encourage blood and feeling to return. She held his dick in her right hand like her life depended on it. Her clit throbbed—she waved for his attention from his phone call to ask if she could masturbate. He nodded.
Her right hand stroke never interfered with the circular massage of her left hand across her clit. She thrummed his dick until it grew even thicker and more reddish. Her fist whipped between his balls and the head’s tip. First faster and tightly held and then slow with barely a hint of skin-to-skin contact. Abigail regaled to see her daddy respond to the efforts to please him.
He held the cell above her chest. She looked up, her expression puzzled. He nodded.
“Hello?” her voice was weak.
Justice held out a glass of water. The sight of it caused her breath to hitch in her chest. Her dry heave pressed it out across a dry tongue. Her knees knocked and clamped together as her gut knotted. She released his dick to press knuckles against her teeth as a whine escaped.
Her mind flashed back. The warm, dingy-colored water in the spotty glass reminded her of one of the last times in her apartment before she torched the thing to head east to Colorado.
It was two days after Jack was murdered. It was three days before she’d buried him. It was almost four weeks before she’d surrendered any hope of life. She couldn’t take it out on Ricky Geneti—his worthless ass was dead. It was being hunched over on the edge of her scrawny mattress, watching that putrid tasting glass of warm water bounce every time a fucking eighteen wheeler bound for anywhere but the hell hole of Las Vegas, that she realized she’d try life. If only for revenge, she’d give it one more chance.
Yet, here she was, with the man who took her life away. She lay bound to the bed like his pet, stroking his cock like his whore. She shook her head—she didn’t want his water.
Justice must’ve sensed her attitude. He clanked the glass on the mahogany nightstand. He motioned for the cell—she forgotten it was there. Her left hand fumbled for it. The phone had snuggled behind her left ear. Pressed against her head, she asked whom was she speaking with. Justice made another swipe for the cell, but Abigail heard St. John’s voice on the other end.
Her eyes pleaded for another chance to hold this conversation. St. John had treated her with dignity—to keep Justice at bay, she reached over to smash her fingers around his semi-erect cock again. She pumped it until he arose with a renewed hard on. He vaulted his back and allowed her time to talk, but not allowed privacy.
“Hi, Abigail, how’re they treating you?” he asked.
She hesitated to bask in the sincerity of his question. He sounded like her favorite teachers back in high school. They’d ask her each morning and she felt special—like they really cared.
“I’m fine James. Why the call?”
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