Devious Resolutions
Page 35
I grip his hip, pulling out and slamming my dick so deep inside him I cause him to cry out as pain and pleasure rocket through us. We’re bound together, not just in body, but our souls are one.
The gun is pressed against his head as I fuck him into the mattress. Our limbs tangled, our bodies wet and slippery, and my heart warning me this is a bad idea.
My eyes shut tight as my orgasm attacks. Kasen’s groan tells me he’s just soaked my sheets in his release, and I finally let go. My finger on the trigger, my body filling him with my seed.
“Happy New Year, my love.”
I glance up and smile because I know it’s over now. The gunshot that rings out echoes in my ears as it finishes what I started ten years ago.
* * *
Can this be the end?
Also by Dani René
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Cruel War (Book #1)
Volatile Love (Book #2)
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Obey (Book #2)
Indulge (Book #3)
Ruthless (Book #4)
Bound (Book #5)
Envy (Book #6)
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Severed
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Shattered by Love
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From the Ashes - A Prequel
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About the Author
Dani is a USA Today bestselling author of a variety of genres, from romantic suspense to dark erotic romance and even BDSM romance. She loves to delve into the raw, emotional journeys her characters venture on, and enjoys the dark, edgy, and sensual scenes that fill the pages of her books. Dani’s stories are seductive with a deviant edge with feisty heroines and dominant alphas.
Dani lives in the beautiful city of Cape Town, and is a proud member of the Romance Writer's Organization of South Africa (ROSA) and the Romance Writers of America (RWA). She has a healthy addiction to reading, TV series, music, tattoos, chocolate, and ice cream.
www.danirene.com
info@danirene.com
GLAM
K Webster
GLAM
Copyright © 2019 K Webster
Editor: Emily A. Lawrence Editing
* * *
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Blurb
It started on New Year’s Eve…
* * *
They ridiculed him for his sexuality.
Dragged his name through the mud.
Blasted the most intimate parts of him all over the Internet.
Those fools thought they could ruin gay little Austin Mallari.
* * *
They were wrong.
* * *
Their hate killed the boy and GLAM was born.
An Internet sensation.
The shiniest star in Hollywood.
A dark prince in the bedroom.
* * *
He had everything he ever wanted.
Except revenge.
It was something he thirsted for daily for ten years.
Until it showed up at his annual party like a perfect gift.
And like the spoiled boy he is, he won’t wait until midnight to open it.
Glam
“Peter! Peter! Peeeeeeeeterrrrr!” I sing as a strut down the hallway, my black strappy leather, six-inch heeled, open-toed booties clacking on my Australian Cypress floors. “Peeeeter!”
He’s fired.
The little gummy bear causes me more trouble than he helps sometimes.
Definitely fired.
“Peeteeer!”
“I’m here, pooks,” Peter chirps, rounding the corner.
My eyes widen at him and I waste no time appraising his costume. Clear-glass stilettos, white fishnet thigh-highs, tiny little rose-colored shorts, a sparkling belly button ring. I’m about to whine and tell him he’ll embarrass me, but then I roam up his slender torso. Fresh roses have been affixed to his body somehow, creating a bustier of sorts. His hair has been slicked and combed over to the side, making him seem younger than he truly is.
“You’re walking art, you adorable whore,” I coo, waving my long, black manicured fingers at him. “Come here, lollipop, and let me take a closer look.”
He prances, his pink lips splitting into a wide grin. “Do you like it?” His long, fake lashes bat against his rosy cheeks that are sprinkled with glitter. He may be twenty, but sometimes I swear he’s stuck a lonely teenager, desperate for his daddy’s attention.
Running my fingertip along his jaw, I inspect the roses more closely. “How are these staying on?”
Peter gives me a coy smile. “Hot glue.”
My dick does a little appreciative jump in my tight leather shorts. Peter knows I have certain twisted desires. The fact he hot glued hundreds of roses to his torso has me itching to pluck every single one of them from him with my teeth.
But, alas, he is Peter. My assistant. The boy who cries sometimes when I have a meltdown and makes me feel like a monster. He’s good at what he does, which is everything, and I cannot afford to replace
him. Peter is invaluable. Irreplaceable. I won’t run him off because I want to ruin his pretty little asshole. It nearly happened once before—I’d managed to get my cock down his tight little throat before I realized the error of my ways—and I vowed to both of us it would never happen again.
“You are a beautiful boy,” I praise, kissing his plump pink lips. “How is my party?”
He beams at me. “They are waiting on their guest of honor.”
“Is everyone here?”
“Everyone.”
I slip into a powder room and inspect my costume in the full-length mirror. I’m a gladiator prince. Not something from the Roman Empire days. No, I am something fresh. Something new. If Lady Gaga and Marilyn Manson created an outfit together, I’d be wearing it. My pale legs are bare and shaped with lean muscle. The bulge in my shorts—still slightly turned on by Peter’s adorable outfit—is prominent. I admire my pectoral muscles and my abs, taking the time to flex them. Peter scoots in behind me with a bottle of oil and sets to smoothing his gentle fingertips along the grooves of my muscles, making me twinkle.
“The metal pinches,” I complain, tapping one of my nails on my fitted collar.
“But you look breathtaking, pooks,” Peter praises, his smile flashing at me in the reflection of the mirror.
I do look breathtaking.
I think it’s the crown.
The metal piece sits tall on my head. Sharp edges and severe lines shooting two feet above my head. It glimmers in the light. Demands attention. There is no mistaking who the prince of the party is. My metal shoulder pads are heavy and clamp around my upper biceps to keep them from sliding. Black, silky fabric stretches along my upper back, attaching to each shoulder pad and running straight to the floor behind me. A cape. Every dark prince needs a cape. Each time I move my arms, the unforgiving metal gives me an uncomfortable squeeze, but the cape flutters behind me in a pleasing way.
“These are sexy,” Peter says, taking my hand and lifting it. The metal bands wrapped around my wrists shimmer brilliantly in the light.
“But is it sexier than last year’s costume?” I ask, pouting out my black painted lips.
“Every New Year’s Eve you outdo yourself,” he assures me.
His big blue eyes are reverent. Sometimes staring at the boy makes me wish I could be more than just a boss to him. But as his innocent eyes shine, I know I’d ruin him in one night. They’d lose their luster. Peter is too beautiful to destroy with my monstrous ways.
“Thank you, lollipop. Let’s go greet our guests.”
He offers me his elbow and I take it so he can usher me down my grand staircase. It’s tradition. Poor Peter is jittery with nerves. Part of his contract requires that he not see anyone romantically or sexually while working for me. Some days I feel sorry for him and wish he had someone to share his bed with. Most days, I am selfish and find great satisfaction that no one touches my pure boy.
“These people crave to be here,” I remind Peter. “They’re at our mercy. Each and every one of them wants to be with me, wants to be me, or wants to be better than me. And you are mine, so they wish to be you too.”
He smirks at me.
“But they are not me, my sweet gummy bear.”
“No one could ever be you,” he says breathily, gifting me with an adoring smile. His smile falters. “Will you be choosing one tonight?”
I don’t tell the boy I’ve grown tired of these annual games. Each year, I party with celebrities and billionaires. The crème de le crème. I select one to share my bed and my wicked proclivities with. A night where I let my true fantasies run wild. Then, with the start of a new year tomorrow, I’ll be back to work. Mulan, Paris, Tokyo. I have a jam-packed international schedule in January. Money doesn’t grow on trees. I must travel the globe, make my movies, and pluck every glorious dollar available for myself.
“Of course, lollipop. Don’t I always?”
As we reach the top of the stairs, the chatter of people downstairs quiets. Peter and I are the stars. He escorts me down my marble steps as I wave and blow kisses to some of my celebrity friends. Some, the more well-known they are, prefer to have costumes that show their faces. They like to be splashed across every magazine and identified. Others hide behind deceptive masks. Before the end of the night, I will uncover each one and come face-to-face with my guests.
Once downstairs, I’m met with adoring colleagues who are smitten with me. I bask in their praise and air kiss their cheeks. We laugh and share drinks. When I manage to pull away from an actor I worked with on my film Runaway Queen—a harsh light put on the issues drag queens faced in the nineties—I slink over to the corner where a familiar, broody man stares at a giant painting over my fireplace.
“This one is priceless,” I tell the man, leaning in to air kiss his cheek over his mask.
He turns, his dark eyes flashing from behind the slits of his mask when he sees me. Hades Pierce isn’t the friendly type. We don’t go out on the town or have dinner together. No, Hades and I share particular interests. Interests that others might frown upon. Interests that only have one place…in the dark, private corners of our homes. Often, he’ll watch me as I unleash my filthiest fantasies in the bedroom on some poor, unsuspecting sap. Silent. Still. Hungry. Watching, but never participating. Like Peter, I don’t mix business with pleasure. As much as I’d love to have a romp with Hades, I don’t want to end up as his next muse. Artists are odd creatures, especially my friend. And he doesn’t particularly like the spotlight that never leaves me. It would be disastrous.
“One of my favorites,” Hades agrees, his voice a deep rumble.
I finger the red latex on his face. It’s as though he dipped gauze in red latex and wrapped it around his head like some kinky mummy. It doesn’t go to his neck. Just his face and head. The only open parts are a slash showing his dark eyes, a small slash just under his nose, and a much larger slash revealing his perfect, full lips. “This mask is positively wicked, lollipop.” I finger the lapels on his black suit. “The costume would be better if all this were gone.” I wave at his entire outfit.
His lips quirk into a grin, drawing my gaze to his mouth once more. “This is your favorite night of the year, GLAM. Don’t let me distract you.”
Smug bastard.
His body is beautiful, but he’s right. I’m horny as fuck tonight. The party has barely started and I’ve been ready to sleep with both my assistant and my friend Hades. He drags his amused stare from me as he tracks one of the other guests. I recognize the tall, slender man as a runway model.
“Enjoy yourself,” I chirp, giving him another air kiss before I go on a hunt for Peter.
Two men—television execs—have him cornered. He’s smiling politely, but I don’t miss the unease. I know the likes of sharks like these guys in the industry. They prey on young, innocent boys like my gummy bear.
“Evening, Mr. Goosefoot and Mr. Danton,” I greet, venom barely hidden in my sugary tone. “I see you’ve met my Peter.”
Mr. Goosefoot, a heavyset man in a horrible pirate’s costume, turns to grin at me. He’s blackened out one of his teeth and wears a rubber eye patch.
My eyes!
Oh, God, they burn!
Just looking at his cheap, poorly put together costume has me shuddering and letting out a little squeal of displeasure.
“You okay, GLAM?” Mr. Goosefoot asks, gripping my hip as though he has the right.
I snag his wrist in my powerful hand. It takes everything in me not to twist until I break it. “Perfect.” I pull his hand from my body and meet Peter’s stare. “My assistant and I are making our rounds. Toodaloo, lollipops.”
As soon as I have Peter’s hand, I tug him away from them, hissing sharp words at him. “I’ve told you to specifically stay away from those two. They’ll eat you alive.” We stop and I turn to check him over. His blue eyes well with tears and his bottom lip wobbles. “Don’t cry or you’ll mess up your makeup, gummy bear,” I croon. “I protect you because I lo
ve you. I want you to be safe.” I kiss his pretty lips. “Understand?”
He nods, blinking his long, fake lashes so the tears will go away. When he’s sorted, he gives me a smile. “Thirsty, pooks? The signature shots are absolutely divine. One is gold and it sparkles. It tastes like butterscotch.”
I kiss his pouty mouth once more, this time, teasing my tongue across his. Yummy. My dick thickens once more.
Bad, GLAM!
I’m not fucking Peter no matter how delicious and vulnerable he is.
Peter is never an option.
Pulling away, I nip at his lip because I can. That’s not inappropriate. “Let’s party, my beautiful boy.”
Rage
“We’re so going to get laid,” Cord says, turning his head as a woman walks by with her ass practically hanging out of her dress.
“We’re here to work,” I grumble lowly. “Don’t fucking forget it.”
Field Agent Corduroy Hanson is my partner and longtime friend. We went to high school together. Played basketball together. Joined the Marines together. And now, we work for the FBI together.