Decadence After Dark: The Complete Collection (Dark Romance box set) : Owned, Claimed, Ruined, Lie With Me, Elicit (Decadence After Dark )

by M Never

  “Make me come, oh god, make me come.” I grab two fistfuls of his hair and hold on for dear life. Who is this woman I’ve become? Sincerely begging a man for pleasure? For release? Chasing after an orgasm I didn’t initiate. One I didn’t have to fight for or hide. The whole experience is so illicit.

  “Jett, I need more,” I exclaim. Just a touch more pressure and I’ll be soaring.

  With a nip of his teeth and a breach of his finger, my insides snap. My muscles seize, my breath catches, and my thighs quiver as an orgasm of epic proportions thunders through me.

  My head swims as I recover from the eruption. I wouldn’t believe it to be true, but that is the second time this man has taken me to a place beyond my own reality.

  With my hands still gripped tightly in his hair, he lifts his head, breathing as wildly as a rabid animal. His eyes are ferocious, and his body is tense as he licks the remnants of my climax from his swollen lips. There’s pure dominance flowing through him. He’s a completely different man. Dr. Jekyll just transformed into Mr. Hyde. My breathing speeds up to the pace of his as he devours me with a bloodthirsty stare.

  Stealthily, he opens and closes one of the desk drawers, producing a little gold foil packet. He holds it up. No direction, no instruction. I take it like I know I should, pull him closer by the waist of his pants and proceed to unleash the bulge beneath his zipper, deadlier than a loaded weapon.

  I sheath his pierced erection and sweat from the memory of those two little balls massaging my inner pelvic walls.

  Jett loses his shirt, and I get my first clear look at his entire physique. Perfected physique. Is it possible to expire from just the sheer sight of a man? Because Jett should be put on a pedestal and admired in a museum. Like Adonis. No, not like, he is Adonis. An immaculately sculpted body with a magnificent face to match.

  Boldly, I reach out and touch his chest, tracing my fingertips over the intricate detail of his brightly colored tattoo. It looks like a wave is crashing over his shoulder onto his right pec. He snatches my hand just as I brush over the ring pierced through his nipple. “Enough.”

  I try to pull my hand back, chastised, but he keeps a firm grip. “I like when you touch me. And you can explore my entire body later, with your fingers, with your tongue, with whatever the fuck you want, but right now”—he pulls my T-shirt off—“I want these hands”—he binds my wrists with the material, tightly—“right here.” He drapes my arms around his neck before leaning forward and bracing himself on the desk. Leaving me dangling from his body. “Bring your feet up and spread your legs as wide as you can.”

  I draw my legs up, anchoring my heels on the edge of the wooden desk as wide as they will go. Jett groans. “Perfect.” He rubs his erection through my soaked slit. “So fucking perfect.” He lines up the head then drills his cock so deep and so hard he lifts my hips right off the desk, causing me to cry out.

  “God, that sound.” He punches his pelvis again and again, hitting me in my very center, inducing the same high-pitched sound. I squeeze him tight, like I’m conditioned to do, as our hips continuously collide from the force of his hammering cock. “Kiss me,” he orders in a raspy voice right before his tongue invades my mouth. I open wide, yielding to his demand, to his body and our physical connection.

  “Jesus Christ, woman, how do you squeeze so fucking tight?” He looks down where we’re joined with a growl.

  “Years of obedience,” I offer, biting back my bitter tone.

  Jett slows his pace, settling into a slow rock. It’s so good like this. So deep, so penetrative, I can feel the balls of his piercing massaging my sensitive walls. It makes my clit ache and my pussy spasm.

  “You like that?” Jett picks up on my physical response.

  “Like what?”

  “Slow, deep.” He lays me down and pushes my bound hands over my head so they’re dangling over the edge of the desk.

  “I guess I do.” I’ve gotten quite the education over the past few minutes. It’s bittersweet. Much more bitter than sweet when I think about how my life was robbed from me.

  “Hey”—Jett clutches my face—“stay with me.”

  “I’m right here.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true. I’m drifting away. From him and myself. Holing up in that dark mental space that keeps me safe. Keeps me sane.

  “No, you’re not. I see you slipping away. I see it in your eyes.” He circles his hips, filling me thoroughly and languidly as he fights to keep me with him. “One day, you’re going to tell me all your secrets.” He licks a hot line from the tip of my nipple, over my breast and up my neck. His statement and expression yank me back. I’ll never tell him my secrets. I’ll never tell anyone. They’re my cross to bear. My nightmare to live with.

  “I don’t have any secrets,” I lie for the umpteenth time.

  Jett freezes, buried balls deep inside me, and looks down with a pissed-off expression. “Stop bullshitting me, little bird. We all have secrets. Some bigger than others. Some darker than others. But when we’re together. Like this.” He thrusts and my core contracts. “There’s you and me, and then there’s everything fucking else. Got it?”

  I pant, trapped in the severity of his blue-green eyes.

  “London?” He bites my earlobe, and I respond.

  “Yes. I got it.” I just don’t know how realistic it is.

  “Say it. When we’re together, there’s you and me, and then

  there’s everything fucking else.” He slips his tongue into my ear jolting me to repeat after him.

  “When we’re together, there’s you and me, and then there’s everything fucking else,” I echo his words in a breathy rush.

  “Again.” He takes my face, forcing me to look at him.

  “When we’re together, there’s you and me, and then there’s everything fucking else,” I mutter again as the tension skyrockets between us.

  “Good girl.” Jett releases a disentangling breath, seemingly satisfied with my declaration and eager to seal the deal with a kiss. Or in our case, an orgasm.

  He begins to pump harder, pinning me beneath him, groping my breasts and owning my body. In my tethered, subdued state, I have no choice but to hand myself over.

  I absorb every disciplinary, body-jerking thrust as he drags me to the pinpointed pinnacle. Demanding my word and my pleasure, he works me over, filling me incessantly, stimulating me perpetually until the two of us are more flammable than propane.

  I tremble at the brink, my pussy throbbing and my clit burning. Lifting my legs, I provide the leeway we both need to get swept away.

  Jett latches onto one of my nipples as we both come, caught in a clash of climaxes. He tugs on the little nub, abusing it with his mouth as he wrings out every drop of our shared arousal.

  Once we’re both depleted, and there’s nothing left to give, Jett releases my nipple with a sloppy pop and rests his head on my heaving chest. I lay there incapacitated, a bound submissive, just listening to the sound of our choppy breaths.

  “You,” Jett huffs, “are beyond amazing.” He rests two more seconds before pushing himself up. “Stay right there.” He removes the condom and tosses it in the trash, then pulls up his pants. I stay still in my position. Hands draped over my head, legs spread, body naked.

  “Mmm.” Jett kisses up and down my torso, running his hands along my curves. “These are sexy.” He snaps the hem of one of my knee socks.

  “As sexy as a leash and lace?”

  He skims his lips up the center of my chest and along my neck, coming to rest his face in front of mine. “Yes, just a different kind of sexy.”

  “Good to know. I want to please my new Master.”

  “I’m not your Master,” he states. “That term is earned, not taken. And I haven’t earned anything yet. I do want your obedience.” He runs his fingertip around my lips. “But you’ll decide if and when you become my submissive.”

  I’m rendered speechless. He’s giving me the choice? “For now, we’ll just play. You
’ll learn to trust me. And then we’ll see how far we can fly.”

  I simply nod because words escape me.

  “Good.” He presses a soft, tantalizing kiss on my mouth before he pulls me up. “This is just the beginning.” He unties my hands and then redresses me in the wrinkled shirt. “One day soon, I’m going to steal you away, tie you up, and do whatever I damn well please with you,” he rasps in my ear, sending shivers right down my spine. Delicious, titillating, arousing shivers. How does he do that? If any other man said those words, I’d shudder with fear, not excitement. But he excites me. And that does scare me. It also makes me curious. Curious to see what else he’s capable of.

  I think I’m about to find out if curiosity really did kill the cat.

  “There’s something for you upstairs. Contrary to what you may believe, I came into your room for another reason besides sex.”

  “I didn’t think anything besides sex existed.”

  “There does. It just runs a very distant second.” He tucks some of my damp hair behind each ear at the same time, then brushes his hands lightly down my neck and arms, almost affectionately. Almost lovingly. Why does he touch me like that?

  I’m nothing. No one.

  “What is it?” I wonder aloud.

  “You’re just going to have to go upstairs and find out.” Jett smiles warmly. “You’ll have to tell me if you like it.” He helps me off the desk. “I have some things to tend to. Go play with your new toy.” He spanks my ass, and I jump. “You were just promoted to elite status.”

  “What does that mean?” I cock my head.

  “You’ll know soon enough,” he muses, and that devilish glare returns. “Now go.”

  “Yes, Jett.”

  I stare at the expensive, intricate, intimidating camera. That’s my new toy. I know I told Jett I was interested in photography, and he wants each of us to have a hobby and be well-rounded, but what the heck am I supposed to do with this thing? I have no idea how it works, and frankly, I’m scared to touch it for fear of breaking it. So I’ve just been staring at it the last few days, trying to decode the instructions. He couldn’t have gotten me something smaller? A point and shoot maybe? A camera with fewer settings and buttons and lenses. Why are there three lenses? It’s all completely overwhelming, and it makes me want to cry.

  I abruptly hear a loud, frustrated sigh in the large desolate library. I thought I was alone. I escaped in here hoping a change of scenery would jog my comprehension. Not so much.

  I get up and begin to search. Jett has the room set up like a real library, with desks and computers and rows of bookshelves. There are even reading nooks with plush red velvet chairs and Tiffany lamps, which is where I find Jenna, a.k.a. Spice, hiding.

  She looks as frustrated as I do.

  “Why did I decide to learn French?” She looks up at me from her odd position in the chair and scowls. She’s sprawled out over the armrests with one leg draped over the back.

  “Son langage d’amour?” I reply.

  She bounds up. “You speak French!”

  “Oui.”

  “Can you help me?” she pleads with her big green eyes. Jenna is young. Just nineteen. Adorable, bubbly, and so full of spirit. As much as I like being around her, I’m sad this is her life. That she has to sell herself to random men to survive when it’s plain to see she has so much potential. I wish I could rescue her. Save her from horrors that may be yet to come. I wouldn’t wish my existence on a snake. And thinking about this vivacious girl living through a quarter of the atrocities I have breaks my heart.

  “Of course, I’ll help you.” How could I say no when an overwhelming protectiveness takes over.

  “Thank you! Jett expects me to have a full conversation with him next week, and I’m shitting myself because I can barely string two sentences together. I have the basics, and I listen to the audio teachers but actually conversing . . .” She turns pale.

  “Don’t worry. Practice makes perfect. You’ll be conversing beautifully in no time.”

  “I’m going to need a lot of practice.” She curls her lip sardonically.

  “I have complete faith in you. If you can live in this house and survive the way you do, you can be anyone and do anything.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.” I lock my arm with hers and walk her out of the nook. It’s claustrophobic in there.

  “Jett says the same thing. That this is just a temporary stop on the train of life.”

  “He actually said that?”

  “Yup. Kinda hard to believe a pimp is being so positive, right?” She laughs. “He really doesn’t feel like a pimp, though. He’s more like a hot-ass Mr. Miyagi,” she giggles at her own joke. “He isn’t like any of the other ones I’ve had. He reminds me of a Master, no, a doting Dom.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a doting Dom,” I hiss pessimistically.

  “I don’t think there’s anyone else like Jett on the planet, so that’s maybe why.”

  “You’ve got me there. He is unique.”

  We both giggle now. I can’t remember the last time I did that.

  “Jenna? How many pimps have you had?”

  “A couple. Been on the streets since I was fourteen. My mom was a junkie, and I never knew my dad. I had to eat somehow. So one of her ‘boyfriends’ set me up. He was a real asshole. And it started from there.”

  I listen to her sadly. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She chews on her fingernail. “There are worse places to end up than here, right? Beautiful mansion, fancy clothes, high-class johns. No one hits you or beats you or rapes you or tells you that you’re worthless.”

  This is the sickening truth.

  “There are definitely worse places,” I agree dejectedly.

  “Something tells me you’ve been there.” The girl is wise beyond her years, but has no idea.

  “Is that your camera?” She perks up when she sees the body and lenses scattered all over a table.

  “Yup. And I have no idea what to do with it.”

  Jenna hurries over excitedly and picks it up. “This is awesome.” She starts snapping away.

  I’m glad someone isn’t afraid to use it.

  “Maybe we should switch. I’ll have the conversation with Jett in French, and you can be the photographer.”

  “Sounds like a fair trade.” The shutter clicks. “Tell you what. You help me with French, and I’ll help you set up a Pinterest page so you can learn how this thing works. Twinkie did that when she wanted to learn how to apply all this crazy makeup. She’s killer with cosmetics now.”

  I consider her suggestion. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

  “Definitely not. And what did you just tell me? Practice makes perfect, right?” She hands me the camera. “Don’t think. Just point and shoot.”

  I take the Canon. “That seems too easy.”

  “Gotta start somewhere. I’ll even be your first model.” She strikes a pose.

  “I’ll direct you in French.” I snap her picture.

  “It’s a done deal.”

  I CAN’T MEDITATE FOR SHIT.

  All I can think about is London. For the past two months, she’s done nothing but occupy my mind. I relive her sighs when I touch her, her moans when I fuck her, and her submission when I demand it (which is almost always).

  She’s my most dangerous distraction, and I don’t even care.

  I inhale a deep breath, maintaining my balance in an advanced toe stand—crouched on the ground with my right foot tucked in the crease of my hip—searching for my center, but all I find is London and the hidden treasures of her body. Recalling all the things she allows me to do, and all the heights she allows me to take us to.

  I’ve been with countless women. Too many to even put a number on, and I can’t recall one of them possessing the ability to slither into spaces within me the way London does. How far she reaches without even trying. All the things she gives without even realizing it.


  She truly is otherworldly. A deity among men. The shrine I secretly worship.

  But I can’t breathe a word about how I feel. About how my affection—my obsession—is rapidly growing. It could jeopardize everything. Erode the tangled and intricate world I’ve erected. There’s too much at stake, so I keep her at arm’s length, hoping we can weather the storm. Hoping that when I touch her, when I murmur her name, I subconsciously communicate the depth of my emotions. The irrevocable connection I feel.

  My skin prickles from a sudden gust of an insidious energy. All my senses go on alert, but I don’t move a muscle. I just stay crouched and cross-legged, continuing with my meditation.

  I lay in wait, and at the precise moment, I stretch out my hand and catch the foot flying toward my face. With an iron grasp, I open my eyes to find my elusive uncle standing over me, one second away from getting taken down. I smile cunningly before I flick my wrist and send him spinning to the floor. He lands with a thud and then laughs.

  “How did you know?” he asks with mirth.

  “The student has surpassed the teacher,” I declare peacefully in my toe stand. “It’s nice of you to resurface.” I slip out of my position and rise, offering a hand to Alistair.

  He smacks it away amicably before bounding onto his feet like a cat. He’s as proficient in martial arts as I am, and the reason I turned to it in the first place. It saved my life and helped mold me into the man I am today. Martial arts and Alistair both did.

  Alistair is the only father figure I’ve ever known. He’s only seventeen years my senior, but I’ve looked up to him my entire life. He and my mother fled Ukraine when she found out she was pregnant with me. They didn’t want me to grow up in the same impoverished, exploited environment as they did. My mother was groomed for the sex trade early, and by the time she was fourteen, she found herself pregnant. She doesn’t know who my biological father is, but I’ve always loved the man who raised me. Nothing in my life feels like it’s missing. I’m whole, and I always have been. They made sure of it. I don’t need the genetic makeup of a random man who spent one meaningless night with my mother to help define who I am.