Twelve Nights

by Remy, Carole

  Praise for Carole Remy’s Erotic Romance Novels

  Beauty of the Beast

  “Awesome, sexy, and entertaining… This hidden gem of a book makes me want to read more of Carole Remy’s work. I could not put it down.”

  Fantasy Impromptu

  “There is real craft here, a real story... As fine a piece of erotica as I’ve read.”

  Twelve Nights

  Illustrations at Pinterest.com/caroleremybooks/

  Copyright ©2001 by Carole Remy

  Copyright ©2013 by Carole Remy

  Cover photo © by Olga Ekaterincheva. Used under license from Shutterstock.com

  Cover design by Marissa Lepe Preciado

  All Rights Reserved

  This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Twelve Nights

  Illustrations at Pinterest.com/caroleremybooks/

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 1

  Personal ad in the New York Times, October 28, 1997

  $120,000 + Expenses

  Rich man wants companion for 12

  nights. Attractive normal female.

  Never married. No children. Over

  30 years old. No prostitutes. Reply

  to box 74716.

  Angel examined her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. Shoulder length auburn hair, every gilded strand in curled place. Eyes jade green to match earrings. She held up her hand. The red-tipped nails contrasted nicely with the sheer ink black slip dress. She slid a hand across the fragile macramé-knotted skimmer that barely hid her mounded breasts. Men loved knots. Her lacy black panties showed just enough, she noted as her hand slid down a flat stomach. She cupped and squeezed her mound of Venus gently in passing. Time to get to work.

  The elevator doors opened and she stepped onto a plush oriental carpet. Her fuck-me high heels sank into the luxuriant wool and one ankle twisted.

  “Shit,” she murmured as she righted herself. She rotated her ankle, then stepped on confidently.

  Angel’s eyes flicked sideways as she approached the door to suite 1027. The room was the last in the hall and the elevator several yards and a heavy fire door away. She slicked her hands once again down already smooth sides and lifted her hand to knock. The door opened.

  “Come on in, honey.”

  Angel lowered her hand and smiled. The man was older and balding. They usually were. He wore a white dress shirt, no tie and dark gray pants. His belly paunched over a braided leather belt. Mushy thighs, Angel thought, and smiled harder.

  The man reached his hand toward Angel’s arm and she let herself be drawn into the room. Standard hotel-expensive. King size bed. Midnight blue bedspread. Matching sofa with red accent pillows. Card-size table and two padded armchairs. Armoire with entertainment. Small bar fridge. Probably a jacuzzi in the bathroom. She noted the expensive shoes aligned beside the dresser. A precise man, despite the paunch.

  She reached up to touch the man’s cheek.

  “Are you ready to have a good time?” Her voice was husky and moist.

  Angel’s hand slid down to cup the man’s crotch. He was limp and she squeezed gently.

  “What’s your name, honey?” she asked.

  “You can call me Captain.”

  The man lifted Angel’s hand from his crotch and squeezed it in his own.

  “Three hundred bucks an hour, right?” he asked.

  Angel nodded.

  “No rush.” The man grinned. “There’s a thousand dollars in my briefcase for you if you make me happy, sweetheart.”

  Three hours.

  “My name’s Angel.”

  “You’re very pretty, Angel.”

  “Thank you. Would you like me to strip for you?”

  “You let me decide what I want and when, girlie,” the man’s voice coarsened then smoothed as he continued. “I’ll let you know.”

  “That’s fine,” Angel agreed.

  She tugged gently to release her hand but the man held it firmly and led her to the table. He bent her wrist to seat her. Too late she saw the handcuff that dangled from one arm of the chair. She swung her free arm toward the man’s face, but he blocked her fist with his forearm and wrenched her other wrist down to the chair arm.

  “Go ahead,” he grunted. “I like a little fight.”

  Angel lifted her foot to kick his shin. She heard the click of the handcuff as her foot swung awkwardly past the man’s sidestepping leg. Her motion threw her across the chair and she cried out as the handcuff bit into the flesh of her wrist. The man righted her in the chair, then swung back his hand and slapped her across the cheek. The back of her head hit the chair and bounced forward. The same hand that slapped her then cradled her chin gently and turned her head from side to side.

  “A red mark from my fingers, but no bruising,” the man said. “Behave yourself or it’ll go worse for you.”

  “I am going to leave,” Angel stood slowly and grabbed the chair in both hands. She held the chair in front of her like a lion tamer.

  “I don’t think so,” the man taunted.

  He put both hands on a bottom strut of the chair and jerked it forward. His force snapped the chair out of Angel’s hands and the handcuff bit again deep into her wrist. She looked down at the trickle of blood that ran toward her matching fingertips. She started to cry.

  “I told you, girlie...”

  “My name is Angel,” she interrupted.

  The man twitched the chair and fresh blood trickled down Angel’s wrist.

  “Girlie, you do what I say and I won’t hurt you.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Say, ‘Yes, sir, Captain.’”

  “Yes, sir, Captain.” The words were a thread that bound her to him as securely as the handcuffs.

  He righted the chair.

  “Sit down,” he commanded. Angel sat.

  “Now the rule is very simple,” he explained. “You don’t hurt me, and I don’t hurt you.”

  “Yes, …” she began.

  “Maybe,” he interrupted and laughed. “Are you scared?”

  “Yes,” she paused, “sir, Captain.”

  “Good. Feel my cock. Gently.” Angel reached her unbound hand forward and patted the bulge in his pants. “Thought I couldn’t get it up, huh?”

  Angel lifted watery eyes.

  “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Let’s see your titties, Angel. How do you get that dress off?”

  “Over my head.”

  “Well, go ahead.”

  The captain stood inches in front of Angel as she twisted in the chair, trying to bring her left shoulder down to her handcuffed right hand. At last she gra
sped the macramé skimmer and stretched it out to pass beneath her elbow. Once her arm was free, she slid the knotted garment over her head and down to rest against the bound wrist. She glanced up then at the captain and found his eyes eagerly probing the sheer fabric that barely shadowed her breasts.

  “Lift your arm,” he commanded.

  Angel raised her unbound limb and closed her eyes as the Captain stroked her underarm. She flinched automatically away from even the gentle touch.

  “Hold still.” His voice was calmer now, as though he spoke to a skittish animal.

  Angel forced her nerve endings to relax as he ran first the pads and then the nails of his fingers up and down her smooth armpit.

  “Stand up.”

  Angel shifted her weight forward and held her arm aloft as she tipped onto her feet. She could not stand erect, but hunched toward the handcuffed wrist. The man grasped the slip dress at the hem and pulled it slowly inside out as he raised it across her body. The silk slid over exercise-taut curves and the heat of the man’s fingers reached out through the sheer fabric toward Angel’s skin. At last the dress lay puddled on the arm of the chair. Angel watched as her blood stained the black silk to a shiny gloss.

  “Bend over the chair.” The man’s voice was hoarse.

  Angel stood, placed a hand on each arm of the chair and bent at the waist. Now at least she knew what to expect. She heard the snick of a zipper sliding down. Maybe he would be quick. She knelt forward to rest her knees on the padded front edge of the seat.

  “Spread your knees.”

  “My panties.”

  “Take them off.”

  Angel crouched and wiggled as she stripped off the black lace one-handed. She started to step out of her shoes.

  “Leave them on.”

  Angel resumed her position and spread her knees as far apart as the chair would allow. She ducked her head and rounded her back, lifting her hips in invitation.

  “You like to butt-fuck, girlie?”

  “I don’t do that,” Angel protested. “Didn’t the secretary …”

  “I guess the connection wasn’t too good,” he laughed. “Don’t you tense up now.”

  Rough hands grasped the twin globes of Angel’s rear and pulled the flesh apart.

  “Use a condom,” Angel gritted through clenched teeth.

  “I’m clean,” the man boasted.

  “Maybe I’m not,” Angel insisted. “There’s a condom in my purse.”

  The hands left her backside and a moment later Angel heard the rip of a foil pouch. She sighed in relief. Beside the safety factor, the condom was well-lubricated and would make his entry easier. She braced herself as the uncouth hands again parted her rear. The man thrust hard and missed the opening by a fraction of an inch.

  “Go slower,” Angel gasped. “Guide it in.”

  “Glad you’ve decided to be cooperative, girlie.”

  The man eased the tip of his cock into Angel’s anus and she breathed deeply to contain the pain and pressure without struggling. Then he clenched his fists on her hipbones and thrust hard. Angel cried out as the sudden assault stretched her beyond silent endurance. The man’s hands were a vise, pinning her bottom to the unholy shaft.

  “That’s it, girlie. Fight a little,” the man encouraged.

  He stroked out once, too far for comfort, and slammed back in too quickly. Angel bit her lip and tasted salty sweet blood. She tried to focus on the sting and the blood and to block out the greater pain of the lower assault.

  “Pretty big, huh?” the man bragged.

  “Yes,” Angel gasped.

  The man pumped in and out, each time too much, too fast, too brutal. Finally his cock swelled in Angel’s rear and she prayed for an ending. The last strokes were beyond her endurance and she cried out with each until her scream became a continuous whimpering protest. She never felt the feeble spurt of cum as he continued pumping until his cock wilted. At last he withdrew.

  Angel sighed and slumped forward into the chair though the man’s hands still cradled her hipbones. His fingers would leave long yellow and purple bruises. She would not be able to work until they faded. Angel stopped short. Work? If there was a God, she’d never work again. She breathed deeply as she waited for the man to undo the handcuffs.

  Instead she felt the hands clench on her bruised bones. She shifted with discomfort and tried to ease away from the pressure. The man lifted her buttocks so that she perched on her elbows and toes, then sank his teeth into her bottom. Angel cried out at the unexpectedly sharp pain. The man licked the bite mark.

  “Like that?” he asked.

  He bit her again and Angel could not suppress the whimper that rose from deep in her throat.

  “Please don’t,” she begged. “Please.”

  She felt the teeth sink in and the tongue suck as the man wrenched her flesh. Would he bite out a piece of her buttock? Tears of pain and terror ran down Angel’s face and dripped onto the brocade seat of the chair. Then mercifully the teeth lifted, leaving only the throbbing ache of mangled flesh.

  Angel waited for the next assault. Her knees buckled as she heard the rip of another condom wrapper. She turned and sat in the chair.

  “No,” she protested.

  Angel watched as the man walked toward his briefcase. Thank God. Just pay me and let me leave. But what did he want with the condom? Visions of sadistic sex toys shriveled the breath in her chest. But the man withdrew only a wad of cash. He peeled off three bills and waved them at Angel.

  “Three hundred dollars, girlie,” he sneered. “You didn’t last long.”

  Just let me out of here, Angel thought, but her voice protested, “You said a thousand dollars.”

  “You don’t have any stamina, bitch. Be glad I’m paying you at all.”

  He rolled the bills tightly and pushed them to the bottom of the uncoiled condom as Angel watched in growing horror.

  “Back in position, girlie,” the man directed.

  “No,” Angel refused.

  “I can make you,” the man reminded her.

  “I don’t want the money. Just let me leave.”

  The man raised his hand to slap Angel’s face.

  “Get in position.”

  Angel stood and bent over the chair.

  “Say ‘yes, sir, Captain,’” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir, Captain.”

  “Beg me to give you your money.”

  Angel was silent until she felt warm breath against her buttock. As the teeth pressed slowly into her bruised flesh, she whispered, “Please give me my money.”

  “Say, ‘Please put the money up my ass.’”

  Again the words resisted in Angel’s chest until she forced them through her teeth.

  “Please put the money up my ass.”

  She felt the fingers as they separated her buttocks and then the slim greasy rod as it slid inside. Not too far, she silently begged. The man pulled her buttocks further open and slid two fingers in behind the condom-wrapped bills. He pushed and the rod scraped as it moved deep inside her. He withdrew his fingers, then inserted one again as he tucked the loose ends of the condom deep inside her.

  “You can shit your money, bitch.”

  Angel barely contained the gorge that rose in her throat.

  “Can I go now?” she whispered.

  “Put on your clothes.”

  “Could you undo the handcuff?” Angel asked. “Please.”

  “Put on your clothes first.”

  The man lay back on the bed. Angel struggled to pull the slip dress over her body. The bodice, sticky with blood from her wrist, stuck to the side of her breast in a foul wet kiss. She sat down and pulled on her panties. The small packet in her rear was a barely felt reminder of further indignities to come. Last she attempted the macramé skimmer, but could not get it over her unbound shoulder. She looked at the man.

  “Will you undo the handcuff, please? Captain, sir.”

  The man unlocked the cuff and Angel stood and reached for th
e macramé covering.

  “Leave it,” the man ordered.

  I’m too bare, Angel thought. I don’t want to leave you a souvenir. But she dropped the skimmer without protest and walked awkwardly to the door. The little obscene packet shifted in her bottom and she clenched her buttocks. A moment later she took a deep breath as the elevator door closed behind her. Never, she vowed. She would never sell herself again. She turned her eyes away from the elevator mirror.

  Outside, Angel took in great gulp of New York’s smoggy downtown air. Then she took a cab to an all night medical clinic. The nurse cleaned her cut lip, bound up her still bleeding wrist and gave her a tetanus shot. Angel found at the last moment that she could not ask the woman to remove the condom and money from her ass. Later. She would deal with it later.

  The next morning Angel left her apartment early. The captain wouldn’t have recognized her in her morning persona. Her hair was swept back in a loose pony tail. Her eyes were their true color, an indiscriminate gray/hazel/blue that assumed the tint of whatever she wore. Today her sweatshirt was a faded gray and so were her eyes. Still her cheekbones rose gracefully high and her nose, now red tipped, was slim and straight. Her lips had lost their carefully applied pout and met the world battered but unadorned.

  Turning out of her apartment doorway, Angel strode off briskly down the sidewalk, swinging her arms to keep warm and stretching her legs to ease the ache in her buttocks. She rounded the first corner and stepped into an ornate doorway. She dropped three hundred dollars in the collection box of the open church, though she didn’t stop to kneel or pray. Her stomach rumbled and she decided to walk to a diner for a bagel and coffee. On the corner before the diner was a familiar newsstand.

  “Angel!” the proprietor greeted her. “You’re up early today.”

  Angel shrugged and reached for a New York Times.

  “Hey, check out the personals, Angel,” her friend advised. “Some nut case is offering a hundred twenty thousand dollars for a twelve-night stand. Takes all kinds, huh?”

  Angel smiled and handed him sixty cents.

  “I’ll take a look,” she promised.