by Logan Chance
Oh god. He heard me moan his name. Before I slam the door shut in mortification, the side of his lip lifts into a smirk.
One sexy ass smirk.
Fuck me.
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Save Me
is the next novella in the Sex Me Series. Read on for chapter one.
Prologue
Answering questions. We all do it. What’s your name? Where are you from?
Life is nothing but a series of questions. They start out easy in life. Two plus Two. What color is the sky?
Then, they turn harder, not as easy to answer. Where were you last night, from your parents. Why haven’t you called, from a clingy girlfriend. All of these questions are to learn more about you. To pry for information.
As we age, life has a way of changing these questions into something more personal, more in depth. More soul searching.
Sometimes, avoiding questions becomes a skill. Over time, people perfect the skill.
Well, I’m a fucking master. There’s no one quite like me. I’m like a closed book. One that’s never been read. Just sitting on the shelf, in the hopes it remains lost in the stacks of life.
Because the answers to my questions are something even I can’t deal with.
Chapter One
Cryin’
Semper Fi Motherfucker
Life. Life has a funny way of turning things inside out and upside down. Joining the military was supposed to be fun, and it was at first. It was something I felt very deeply about, fighting for my country, defending our lands. College paid for? Sign me up.
But, it changed me. It took me from the boy I joined as and made me into a man. The journey wasn't always easy. It was hard as fuck, actually. There were many times during boot camp I was ready to give up. Many times, while stationed in Afghanistan I wanted to quit. But, I never did.
Of course, I never did. I didn’t fight for a greater purpose. No, I fought for my fellow comrades, the men serving alongside me. My friends.
I went into the military right out of high school, wanting to live a bigger and better dream. What I got was a culture shock to my senses.
I was a boot shipped to Afghanistan right out of basic training.
And my time there is something I want to forget. Improvise, adapt and overcome. That's exactly what I did.
“Wagner, Ryan Wagner?” the nurse calls out.
I nod my head to her before rising from my seat. “That's me,” I say, my 6’4 frame towering over her. She glances up from the chart she's holding and smiles.
The stark white room she leads me into makes my palms sweat. All clean and sterile. I glance at the instruments laid neatly on a silver tray and sit on the small bed, wrinkling the parchment paper.
“The doctor will be right in,” the pretty blonde nurse says as she smiles to me. It’s a nice smile, white teeth and full of reassurance.
The doctor enters, and spectacles and thinning hair encompass the room as his stocky frame takes a seat on the stool. His eyes are glued to my chart, and he hums softly, thumbing through the pages.
Finally, he glances up, observing the specimen sitting on the table. “Ah, Ryan. How are you today, son?”
“Great. The shoulder is still giving me problems.” I’d love to tell you it happened while I was fighting off enemy intruders on our camp or during a raid in the middle of the night, but, nothing that dramatic or thrilling. I injured it during a football game between me and my men. Private Hammel tackled me, and my shoulder has never been the same.
The doctor, Dr. James, slides his glasses further up his nose as he rises to his feet. He pushes and tugs at my shoulder, and the pain is a little unbearable. Ok, more like a lot unbearable.
“I’d like for you to meet with a therapist, a physical therapist. I’ll refer you,” he says, making notes.
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my tender shoulder as he sets the chart down.
Dr. James grabs the light shining thing and shines it in my eyes. “Any headaches?”
“No, no headaches,” I say, choking on the tongue depressor he’s now trying to kill me with.
He lifts his lips, only slightly, as he checks my ears and heartbeat.
After finishing his examination, and giving me his stamp of approval, he says I'm good to go.
I hop into my red truck, remembering back to when I arrived home only a few months ago. My mother picking me up at the airport with a big smile on her face. Her eyes lighting up two shades brighter than the sun as she saw her little boy return home. I was happy to be home as well. But, when the questions overwhelmed me of my time spent overseas, I clammed up.
I didn't want to talk about my time served.
Still don't. Once I get home, my brother, Devin, knocks on my door. “Ready to go?”
“Sure, where are we going?”
He shrugs. “Out. Bar. Anywhere there’s alcohol.”
I laugh. “Sounds good.”
Devin is not only my brother, he's one of my best friends. We’re close in age, and he’s always had my back.
We head out to South Beach, both of us ready to blow off steam. The bars are already packed with a good amount of people, and we decide to go into Mecca. Flashing neon lights bounce off the sweaty, gyrating bodies filling the dance floor as we weave through people on the way to the bar. My eyes roam from one hot chick to the next. A curvy brunette winks at me. Nice.
Devin smirks when he notices me eyeing up a few of the ladies and shakes his head as he orders us both a beer. Not to sound like an asshole, but he knows I'm a pussy magnet. Women love a military man. But, he's not hurting for attention. From what I hear, his band is well known in the local club scene. He’s the lead vocalist for some group, Twisted Monks, he and his friends started a few years ago. I’ve heard a few demo cd’s, but have yet to hear them perform live. That's what happens when you're gone for four years—your brother becomes a local semi-celebrity.
He hands me a beer and I glance the bar once over, and that’s when I see her.
Elizabeth Packer. Lizard. I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back. We were best friends growing up, from as long as I can remember. Since we were knee-high to a grasshopper, plucking seashells from the Miami shore. Since we both could stay the night at each other’s homes with no questions asked. Of course, sleepovers stopped once puberty hit, and I was waking up with morning wood.
Lizard, Lizzy Packer, sits with a group of girls, and I take in her clingy, little black dress and heels. Her long blonde hair tumbles past her bare shoulders. She’s pretty. Beautiful, actually.
“Look who’s here,” I say to Devin, pointing in the direction of Lizzy and her friends.
“Who’s that?” His eyes flit over to her and then back to me.
“Lizzy. You remember her, right?”
He turns back around to get a better look. “Holy shit. She’s hot.”
“Yeah,” I breathe before taking a long pull of my beer.
She’s definitely changed from when we were kids.
I set my beer down, square my shoulders, and make my way over to her.
“Lizard?” I ask, stepping up close to her ear to be heard over the loud beat of the music.
She looks over at me, and her light brown eyes go wide as she smiles. “Oh, my God, Cryin’?”
Her nickname for me makes me cringe. Let me explain something before you hear it from someone else.
Third grade. A huge tree. You’re invincible when you're nine. I felt I could climb to the top, maybe jump from the branches onto another neighboring tree. I was so wrong.
I’ll never forget falling, nothing to break my descent but a rock...I slammed into it hard. Luckily for me, nothing broke. Kid’s bodies are much more resilient to superhero actions and stupid conquests. A few tears might have been shed. Hence, the nickname Cryin’ Ryan.
But, if you call me that I may have to hurt you…and not in the fun, kinky way.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” I answer her, with the
biggest shit-eating grin on my face. It feels so good to be talking to her.
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Break Me
is the final installment in the Sex Me Novellas
Read on for Chapter One
Prologue
A brand-new day. A fresh start. Another chance at life. A new beginning.
Ever heard of these phrases? Yeah, well they’re all bullshit. Why? Well, I’ll tell you. The new life you think you’re having isn’t new at all.
Your past mistakes. The hurt you may have caused. The lives you’ve ruined. They’re all still there. Hiding. Dwelling deep within you.
I could have a thousand new lives, and it would never erase the people I failed. The mess I caused. The years of heartache I’ve dealt with.
I failed her.
She wasn’t meant for the life I caused.
She was meant for so much more.
But, she couldn’t see that. She hid her pain well. She cried herself to sleep every night, and I never noticed.
I overlooked her sorrow.
And then one day she was gone.
Leaving the rest of us behind. And breaking us all.
Chapter One
Katy
“Oh fuck, you like it when I choke you?”
Hell yes. His handsome face, with the faint scar jutting through his left eyebrow, blurs. No one has ever choked me during sex. It's not actually a full choke, just light pressure on my windpipe by his large hand. I am too far gone to even answer this sex God, so I nod. “You're such a dirty girl. Your pussy is so wet for me,” he husks out, tightening his choke hold and driving his thick cock faster into me. I am. I am so dirty. Filthy. I can't tell him, because I can barely breathe.
My ass slides across the cool marble of the bathroom counter as he rams into me. I bump and scoot along the small surface, and the basket of tissues flies to the floor when I reach out trying to get leverage. Tingles ignite low in my belly, fanning out. I'm going to come before he kills me. It's going to be epic.
The heels of my red Louboutin’s dig into his firm ass, pulling him closer to me. My head falls back, and pricks of light fire off behind my eyelids as my orgasm rolls through my body.
I can finally breathe when he releases my throat to grab my ass and lift me off the counter, thrusting into me until his tall, lean body shudders with his own orgasm. “Goddamn,” he mutters.
He slides out, removing the condom and tossing it in the trash can. The swanky bathroom is no longer filled with the grunts and groans of sex, only an awkward silence. My short, red evening gown bunched around my waist is a wrinkled mess. And ripped. Fuck. I shimmy it down covering myself, trying to fix the delicate lace hanging from the bodice. His deep brown eyes meet mine as he tucks his weapon of sex voodoo back in his black tuxedo slacks.
He grabs the tiny bit of dangling lace from my dress and rips it.
“There, you won’t be needing this.” He tosses the material into the trash. “Your eyes are a little bloodshot,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair. “They'll just think you're drunk.”
“What?” I ask, spinning around to look in the gold-framed mirror stretching across the wall. Shit. They are. Worse than the roadmap of my eyes is the love bite on my bare shoulder. Large and purple, where his full lips sucked. It was hot when he bit me, so hot I bit him back, but I'm not sure the wealthy people filling the ballroom will appreciate the hostess of the charity event to save their precious Dales pony looking like a two-dollar hooker.
I lock eyes in the mirror with the sexy stranger behind me. Yes, stranger. The only thing I know about him is his name. Pollux. I'm assuming he must like ponies since he's here tonight.
He reaches out and releases the snake pit of black curls on my head. “Now you really look like you've been fucked.” White teeth rake across his bottom lip. “Should've done that a while ago. I could've wrapped it around my fist.”
Let me just say, I'm not used to men saying these things to me. The men I've been with would rather get off to stock portfolios than pulling my hair. Katy Dale Vanderlin, daughter of a prominent New Jersey physician, senior consultant of Master's Consulting Firm, and semi socialite, does not have sex with strangers in bathrooms. Actually, she doesn't have much sex at all, which is probably why I ended up with my panties by the door. The panties he’s now sliding in his pocket.
“Okay, listen,” I tell him, “I don't usually do this kind of thing.”
“Why?” he interrupts. “Too busy mingling with the stuffy asses out there?”
Well, the tall sex God has good looks and brains. That's exactly why I don't. Fear of judgement, I guess.
A knock on the door halts our self-examination of me. “Katy,” my assistant, Anne, calls out, “are you in here?”
I hold a finger to my lips and shake my head at Pollux. “Yeah,” I answer.
“James is looking for you.”
Of course, he is. Anger courses through me. This prick has been on my ass all night. His neediness led me to seek solace in the hallway leading to the restrooms. That’s when Pollux stumbled upon me, and well, one thing led to another.
I peer over at Pollux, smile, and rustle my fingers into the now mess of wild hair on my head, smoothing down the ends. “See ya around,” I say, as we walk through the bathroom door.
A smile lights my face. Spur of the moment sex with a stranger is so not me. Not even a little bit. But it felt good to let my hair down, metaphorically speaking.
I only get a few steps before James scowls in my direction. His balding head reflects the lights from above, blinding me momentarily.
“Hi, sir. Did you need to see me?”
“Yes, I know we’re not working, but did you get the AR-2 file to me this afternoon?” As if I would forget. I’m up for partner, and I wouldn’t make any mistakes now when I’m so close. I can almost taste the sweet victory of it all.
“Of course,” I answer.
“Who’s this, Katy?” James asks, sizing up Pollux.
I can't exactly tell him this is the guy that choked me in the bathroom, so I step closer to Pollux and smile, or at least I try to in this awkward predicament. “This is, uh, um,...”
Pollux cuts in, “Pollux Clark. I’m Katy’s boyfriend.” He smiles, extending his hand out toward James’s.
Our eyes meet, and right now, I wish I could telepathically scold him. But, I weigh my choices and go with the charade. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before.”
“Nice to meet you,” James says, shaking Pollux’s hand.
Pollux drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Yeah, Katy here loves these events, but she needed some quiet time. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
His hand moves further south, smacking my ass cheeks as he winks.
I want to strangle his neck. “Yeah, honey. Sure,” I say through clenched teeth.
James is unimpressed. In fact, he appears like he wants to murder us both.
I step out of Pollux’s grip.
“Pollux, are you coming Sunday to the company picnic at the park?” James asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Great. See you then.”
James leaves, ambling back to the twinkling lights of the party, and I turn to Pollux. “What are you doing? What was that?” I want to scream more things to him, but he laughs slightly, crossing his strong arms over his chest.
“Calm down, princess. You looked like you could use the help.” He steps closer, pulling me against his firm chest. “I’ll see you Sunday, sugarplum.” He salutes me with a wicked grin before striding away.
Asshole.
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Chapter One
Rhiannon
/> It takes a lifetime to fall in love, and for me, a moment to fall out. Right now, on my knees, in front of my executioner, is when I fall out. I hate him. Red trickles from his knuckle, down his fingertip, forming a red teardrop that falls on the tip of his designer shoe. It splatters and spreads across the glossy black leather. Such a shame his five hundred dollar shoes are ruined. My scalp screams for mercy when he fists my hair tighter and yanks my head back. His handsome face I dreamt about for years is contorted into a mask of rage I don't recognize.
“Answer me, Rhiannon,” he demands.
“No.” My knees scrape against the pavement when he pulls me closer.
He bends down, until his icy blue eyes are an eyelash width from mine. “Rhi,” he whispers. “I won't show you any mercy.”
“I don't want your mercy, Xavier,” I whisper back. “Kill me.”
The lifeless eyes of my bodyguard lying an arms width away tell me that's probably not the wisest thing to say to the man who ended his life moments ago. I don't give a fuck, though. I've loved this monster since he was ten years old. Now, I feel nothing. I'm glad he never knew how I felt about him. My nanny’s son with the bright blue eyes who wrote poetry and kept me company when I was five is gone. In his place is a cold blooded killer. Like my father.
His warm lips brush against my ear. “What about Ian?”
My heart races. “You wouldn't.”
His suited men watch in the darkened parking lot, waiting to see who comes out the victor in this battle of wills.
He pulls me to standing. “No? Haven't you learned yet I mean what I say?”
“Do it,” I taunt. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don't want this life.”
The breeze rustles through his dark locks. He releases my hair and turns away. “Put her in the car,” he orders.
