What His Darkness Reveals

by Thea Frost

  Contents

  Title Page

  What His Darkness Reveals

  What His Darkness Reveals #1

  By Thea Frost

  Copyright © 2015, Thea Frost, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book contains sexual situations and explicit language, and is suitable for readers over 18.

  JACK

  Like a beacon of light, she catches my eye, and the urge to fuck her takes me by the throat. Her tight little body is perfect. Long black hair spills down her back, and her gorgeous lips were made to suck my cock. But it's more than the fantastic tits that her dress barely contains, the long lashes, or rich curves. It's an intangible. A sense. A premonition. She's alone. I can tell she's not waiting for friends to return. She's an innocent. I have to have her.

  I sip my whiskey and don't hide my stare. After a moment she glances up, her eyes large, and we make eye contact just as she goes to curl a strand of hair behind her ear. Immediately she looks away as if she's embarrassed. My suspicion solidifies. She's doesn't know it, but in this bar she's prey. She's standing in a den of wolves, and she has no idea how much danger she's in.

  Francesca, my most trusted lieutenant, steps up to me. Without turning to look at her I can tell she's agitated. Business. Something's happened. Something violent, something bad.

  "Trouble, boss," says Francesca, her voice velvety.

  "Not now." Whatever it is, it can wait.

  "That detective's been seen sniffing around the warehouse."

  I turn my head slowly to stare at her, and Francesca stiffens beneath the weight of my gaze. I don't say another word, but she nods her head and steps back before melting away into the crowd.

  There's always something going wrong. Tonight, I want something to go right.

  I finish my whiskey. Francesca can wait. The detective can wait. My growing empire of contacts, business associates, street teams, accountants and muscle can all wait.

  I can tell she's aware of me. She hasn't looked back, but she's standing awkwardly, as if she's trying to look relaxed. She's failing. She feels me across the room. Senses me in the same way a deer senses an approaching wolf. But she's not running. She's ignoring her instincts. She's waiting for me.

  Waiting for me to come in and make the kill.

  I can't help but smile. I just know she's going to taste delicious.

  BRYCE

  I've been trying not to stare at him since I walked into the bar. I've been trained to recognize men like him. The focal points. The center of gravity around which the whole crowd here rotates. He's got power. He's dangerous. He's absolutely fucking gorgeous. I know I should go. I know I've come to the wrong place. It's my first night out. My first night back on the streets. I should be home, catching up on six months of Netflix. Instead I'm here, at the most dangerous bar in the city. Trying out my new persona. Trying to see if I can fit in.

  And instead, I'm standing out. I can't seem to relax. I've barely touched my drink. Every sudden sound makes me want to jump. I feel out of place, exposed. I need to go. Pay for my drink and head home before I get into trouble. Tomorrow I start my assignment. My very first. I can't mess things up before I'm even given my job.

  But, oh, I can feel him looking at me. Not a passing glance, either. Even though I'm staring down into my drink, I can feel his eyes devouring me. Lingering. Studying. Wanting. Goosebumps run down the back of my neck, and I can't help it. I look up.

  He's staring right at me. Gorgeous doesn't begin to describe it. He looks like a Ralph Lauren model gone bad. His eyes sear into my soul, a sharp, burning green. His lips are wide and I can tell that when he smiles it's utterly devastating. Harsh cheekbones, a shadow of stubble across his jaw. A hint of a tattoo rises up from his neckline, curling around his neck like a strand of smoke.

  I immediately look away, heart pounding.

  Leave, I tell myself. No good can come from attention from a man like him. Everybody in here is tense on some level but him. He's relaxed. Who is he? Regardless, he's bad news. I'll dream of him later, when I'm alone in bed. Now I need to leave.

  "Hello, little girl." The voice is rough, slurred with alcohol. I look up and my heart sinks. Great. The man is built like a bear, and just as hairy. Balding in the front with long curly locks in the back, he looks like an appliance repairman from hell.

  I grab a twenty dollar bill from my purse and slide it across the bar. I'm not even going to talk to this guy. But when I move to stand, he steps so as to block me. "What? Not even going to say hello?"

  I take a breath, then stare right into his eyes. "Get out of my way." I'm proud that there's no tremble in my voice.

  "Ooh, kitty's got claws," he says, grinning foolishly. "You here alone?"

  That's when I notice the bar has gone quiet. Sure, the music's still playing, but the laughter has stopped. The sound of raised voices. Everything. I blink, and see that everybody is staring at me.

  My stomach sinks. If this is how my first night out is going, I don't have a hope in hell of pulling off my assignment.

  The drunk guy finally notices the silence and turns, blinking in confusion. My sexy stranger is standing behind him. Only now do I realize how big he is. He's easily six foot three, maybe more, just as tall as the drunk guy. And all muscle. All deliciously sculpted and toned muscle, the tight black t-shirt doing nothing to hide his panty-wetting body. Tattoos writhe around his strong forearms. He radiates danger like a furnace radiates heat.

  "Oh, uh, I'm sorry." The drunk guy actually sounds scared. "I was, uh, just leaving." With that, he actually ducks his head and scurries away. My sexy stranger doesn't say a word. Hasn't moved a muscle. Only after the drunk guy is gone does that sense of menace go away. He turns back to me, and oh, those eyes, those green eyes that stare right into my soul.

  He looks at the twenty dollar bill I've placed on the bar. "Don't leave."

  Is that an order or a request? "I - thank you. For that. But I really have to go."

  I've never been this close to such a beautiful man. He's breathtaking, but without any softness. Like hammered iron. He has the relaxed poise of a natural athlete. Completely at home in his body. He's older than me. Almost thirty, perhaps?

  "Stay." He knows I want to. He can tell my protest wasn't sincere. He signals to the bartender, raising two fingers. The man nods and immediately drops what he was working on to pour us two whiskeys. I've never seen a bartender do that.

  "You're here alone," he says.

  I know I should lie. Never admit you're without backup. Yet his smoky green eyes have me mesmerized. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.

  "Yes," I whisper. Why am I telling him this? My heart is pounding. He's done nothing to threaten me, he's actually rescued me, but I feel in danger. Run, a voice is telling me.

  "This isn't a safe place for you."

  The rest of the bar seems to have faded away. I'm supremely aware of his body. I want to study his ink. I want to run my hands over his hard muscles. But I can't tear my eyes away from his.

  "What do you mean?" I'm fighting to keep my voice calm. Controlled. Collected.

  I'm failing.

  He takes the whiskey and steps in. Raises the glass to his perfect lips, and smiles for the first time. I knew his smile would be devastating, even a slight, half-mocking one like this. "There are predators here."

  I take my whiskey and nearly spill it. My hand is shaking. "How do you know I'm not a predator?"

  His smile widens for a moment, and then he drinks, the cubes of ice clinking. He doesn't bother to answer. Never takes his eyes away from me. Never studies the crowd. You'd think I was the only one here. The onl
y one who matters.

  I sip the whiskey, and for once in my life relish the burn as it goes down my throat. It grounds me. Brings me back to earth. I can't take the silence. I know I should wait it out. Prove myself tough. But he's something else. He's like nothing I've ever dealt with.

  "Are you a predator?" It's the worst thing I could have said, I realize. Flirtatious, innocent, foolish, provocative. Any and all of the above.

  He lowers his glass and moves in closer again. Only an inch separates my knee from his thigh. He radiates a raw charisma that makes it hard to breathe. He has such authority. A natural air of command. Who is this guy?

  "Why do you think I approached you?" His voice is low. Quiet. Intimate. A faint, wry amusement smolders in his eyes.

  "To help me with that guy?" I feel like I'm drowning.

  "No." He makes no other explanation. Just drinks from his whiskey. The cubes clink, and for some reason that sounds so damn sexy. How is he so relaxed when each moment in his presence is winding me up more?

  "Then why?" My mouth is dry. My throat is tight. My stomach's clenched. My panties are soaked.

  He leans in, not touching me, bringing his lips to my ear. I can smell him, a masculine scent, clean and arousing beyond measure. I wait for his words, his warm breath on the curves of my ear driving me wild. I'm frozen. I don't move a muscle. To do so would mean risking brushing against him, and right now, that would be just too much.

  "You know why," he whispers. My toes curl in my pumps. I want to close my eyes and groan. How is he doing this? Circumventing all my self-control?

  I don't know what to say. I'm out of my league. I just sit there, helpless.

  He still hasn't touched me. His fabulous body is right there. He moves slowly, his nose brushing my hair, then briefly tracing the outer curve of my ear. The contact is electric. I feel a jolt of desire run through me, savage and immediate.

  I almost groan, but bite down on my lower lip at the last second. My pussy is throbbing with need. I haven't been with a man in far too long. Haven't been touched. Caressed. Needed. Wanted.

  My sexy stranger wants me. Wants to fuck me. Wants me for my body. And I want him. But I can't. I shouldn't. I need to leave. To run.

  To flee.

  He pulls back. Straightens, and as if nothing strange is going on, finishes his whiskey in one smooth pull. Sets the glass down on the bar. Damn him for being so at ease. So confident. So fucking in control.

  Then he takes my hand.

  My heart leaps.

  And he pulls me from my stool.

  He doesn't look back at me, but rather turns and begins to lead me deeper into the bar. Toward the back.

  I follow. Helpless. I should yank my hand out of his, but his grip is so firm. The crowd parts before us. Nobody wants to stand in his way. I catch people staring at me. The men are curious. More than that: I see lust sharpen in their eyes. Because of me, or simply because my sexy stranger has chosen me? The women stare daggers at me. I've never received that kind of jealous stare from so many hot women before.

  We reach the back of the bar. I'll hear him out, thank him for his attention, and then leave. I'll be polite. Courteous.

  We don't stop. He pushes open a door and leads me into a dark room beyond. Where are we going? I go to pull my hand free but it all happens too fast. Then we're going through a heavy steel door and out into an alleyway.

  I'm confused, surprised. Is he taking me to his car? Another bar? A club?

  None of the above. He turns and pushes me back against the wall. My heart is pounding fit to burst.

  "I - wait -" It's all I can manage.

  He leans in close, taking my face in his hands. He runs his thumb over my lips, tilting my head back so I'm looking up at him. His eyes are cruel with desire. Need. For me.

  "Do you want to leave?"

  And like that, I realize I've decided to go with it. What will it be like to fuck a man this strong, this ripped, this fucking sexy?

  He smiles. He sees the truth in my eyes. He leans in, my face still cupped between his callused hands. "I didn't think so," he whispers, and then he kisses me.

  I've never been kissed like this before. His lips press against mine, and this time I do groan, the heat between my legs becoming a fire. He kisses me hungrily, and his hard body presses against mine, the ridges of his muscles distinct, his cock an achingly hard rod that I can feel even through his jeans.

  I close my eyes. The bricks are harsh behind me, the night air almost shockingly cold. But wherever his body touches mine, I'm on fire.

  His tongue slides between my lips, without hesitation or doubt. I'm his. He's going to do what he wants to me. Take me. Right here. In this alley. And oh god, I want him to. I want him to so bad.

  He breaks the kiss and leans back. I can barely catch my breath. I stare up at him, suddenly afraid. He's completely in control. What is he going to do to me?

  He takes my hand and slowly, almost courteously, turns me around. Leaning in, lips to my ear again, he whispers, "I'm going to fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked."

  My hands are against the bricks. My cheek. I feel him lift the hem of my skirt. The air is cold against the back of my thighs, my ass. I hear his fly unzip.

  It hits me all over again. I'm going to be fucked by a complete stranger in an alleyway. Caution, panic, and then his hand pushing aside my thong panties. To my amazement, I push my hips back, arching my back. And I realize: I need this as much as he does. Release. Pleasure. Human contact. I need to be fucked. I'm terrified about my assignment tomorrow. It's been a brutal past six months.

  I want this. So badly. More than I could have ever dreamed.

  I feel the head of his cock press against my pussy lips. I moan as he slides inside me. I've never been so wet. His cock is huge. I'm worried for a second that he'll be too large, but then after a moment's resistance he's in, his shaft sinking to the hilt. Filling me. Stretching me.

  I groan against the wall, pressing my face against the cold brick. He reaches around me. Pulls my dress down so my breasts spill out, and then squeezes them, my nipples aching in the cold and with my need.

  I want to feel him fucking me. I move my hips, but his hands immediately drop to take hold of them. "Don't move," he growls.

  I freeze. I just stand there and luxuriate in the sensation of his cock pulling free.

  I hear voices. People walking by the mouth of the alley. Sudden panic. What am I doing? This isn't me. I've never even had a one night stand.

  "You're mine," he whispers, and the sound of his raw desire turns me on even more.

  "Yes," I whimper as he starts fucking me, strokes long and hard and controlled.

  "Your body is mine," he almost growls. I nod, but then he sinks his hand in my hair and turns my head around to look over my shoulder at him. "Say it."

  "Yours," I gasp, tears coming to my eyes from the pain. I've never been so wet. Never been filled so perfectly. He kisses me roughly, then drops his hands to my hips, holding me tight as he slams into me again and again.

  "Yours," I whisper again, to myself, pressing my forehead against the wall.

  He fucks me harder. I've never been with someone so athletic. So fit. So primal and powerful. I'm a curvy gal, and usually guys make me self-conscious in bed, with their not being strong enough or big enough to handle me. But my sexy stranger has no difficulty. I'm nothing in his hands. He holds me easily, his body curved over mine, his breath rasping in my ear.

  I bite my lower lip. I'm going to come. I can feel it building. The excitement, the pleasure, the fear, being so outside my comfort zone. It's all growing, towering up like a tornado of ecstasy with each thrust. I want it never to end. I need release right now. I need to come. I need it so badly.

  Harder. Deeper. His fingers digging into the flesh of my hips. Over and over, and then he growls, "Come for me."

  And, oh god, I do. A thunderous, wracking orgasm hits me, and I cry out, unable to control myself, pressing my body back agai
nst his to take him as deeply as possible.

  "Fuck," he growls. "Like that. Just - like - that." And he comes, deep inside me.

  I can't breathe. Think. Move. My body shivers as the orgasm washes through me. I close my eyes, feeling his cock spurt jet after jet of hot cum deep inside me. My pussy clamps down on him, and when he finally withdraws, my knees nearly give out.

  I hear him zip up his pants. I lower my skirt, still panting, and then he turns me around. His breath has already smoothed out. He traces the curve of my cheek with the back of his finger. Presses his lips to mine. To my surprise, I see real kindness in his green eyes, as if something that's always knotted within him has for the briefest moment unclenched. Relaxed. Let go.

  I've never felt so alive.

  I've never felt so conflicted.

  "What's your name?"

  I don't know why, but I give him my new persona's name. "Bryce Fischer."

  "Bryce," he says, testing the name. I feel so vulnerable. Exposed. I want to connect with him. I want to ask him his name. But something holds me back. Shyness? Fear?

  He leans in again and kisses me on the lips, softly, tenderly, and I know it's a goodbye kiss. I close my eyes. I try to brand the sensation in my mind for later. Try to memorize how it feels to be kissed by this man.

  Then he pulls back. Gives me that devastating smile of his, and is gone.

  *

  I make my way home in a daze. The cold air helps me come back to myself, but each time I think I've finally cleared my head I see his smoky green eyes. I can still feel the bruises he left on my hips. The sweet ache between my legs. People move past me, intent on enjoying their night, laughing, calling out to each other, engaged in conversation, but I stand apart. I'm alone.

  Alone with my memories of my sexy stranger.

  Part of me feels satisfied. It's been so long since I've connected with a man on that level. Felt so wanted. So sexy. It's been too long since I've had that kind of release.