by Jesse Joren
After all, fat floats.
I swallowed hard, watching his face as his eyes moved over me. Already I could tell that nothing got past that gaze.
My eyes begged me to let them close, but his threat had found its mark. The shirt and panties weren't much, but right now they were the only game in town.
Part of me wished he'd say something. Part of me dreaded what it might be.
He finished his slow assessment before he looked into my face again, seeming to search for something. When his eyes took on a new gleam, it seemed as though he'd found it.
He leaned in again, nuzzling against the side of my neck, inhaling deeply. His scent curled around me like a living thing.
"Not the smell on the panties, but in the same neighborhood. I need to be sure about a couple of things before we proceed."
He pulled away from me, reaching again for the black nylon bag.
"Get the hell out of here," I said. "I'll scream if you don't. There are seven other units in this building. My neighbors –"
" – have no part in this. This is between you and me."
I screamed anyway, shrieking until my voice cracked in my throat. It didn't free my hands, but it might be enough for someone to call the police.
His smile held approval.
"You didn't take my word for it. Good. I could have been lying. You'll realize soon that I lie only if there's no other choice."
"Yeah. I can tell you're a man of deep integrity," I said mockingly. Probably a bad idea, but his calm arrogance enraged me in spite of my fear.
"Don't count on your neighbors," he went on. "Most of them aren't even home. Just sweet old Miss Evans. That nice Holloway family. Wally Sikes and his loud-ass Camaro."
He located something else in his bag. Gloves. Black leather, sinister, plainly being made ready for some sort of crime.
My heart thudded as he began to pull them on. I barely heard his next words.
"It's convenient that all the units have separate A/C ducts. It was very easy to get access and rock everyone to sleep with a little whiff of gas."
He finished pulling on the gloves. Again his fingers traced my face. This time the cool leather made me shiver.
"I want to know if that was real Eva on those fake panties," he said.
I worked my wrists harder as his hands began to map my body. They skimmed my throat, then the heavy curves of my breasts under the thin cloth.
Slowly his palms brushed over my nipples, grazing them with the lightest of touches. Traitors that they were, they rose up under his hands.
When he reached my hated lower stomach, I turned my head away, unable to meet his eyes. I didn't want to see myself reflected there, afraid of what I might see.
"I'm not going to hurt you. You have my word," he promised.
But you are hurting me, a silent little voice sobbed inside of me. Please just leave me alone.
The leather slid under the waistband of my panties. My thighs pressed together on reflex, hard enough to tremble.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated. "I could have done that months ago when I first found you. I could have done it tonight when you slept."
"It's too late to say no," he went on. "You already gave yourself to me, a long time ago. Now open for me, Eva. I'm waiting."
Something in his voice made me more helpless than whatever held my hands. In his mind, I really was already his.
But there was something even worse. In some dark and twisted corner, part of me agreed.
(END OF PREVIEW)
MASTERFUL and MASTERFUL 2 are now available. MASTERFUL 3, the final chapter of Hex and Eva's story, will be available in fall 2015.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jesse Joren is a life-long Southerner who speaks fluent y'all. She understands the whole deal about sugar and spice, but really thinks the spice should get top billing. Her romances feature unexpected heroines who give their guys a run for the money on the twisty road to true love.
J.J. currently resides with her fiancé in Houston, along with a four-legged son who thinks he owns the whole city.
