by Mari Carr
God bless Emma. The lights began flashing once more, the music reverting back to the lullaby.
With the dimmer lighting, Parker was able to reach into the pocket of his jeans with the hand invisible to the crowd. He increased the speed of his fake fucking as he pressed on the remote button.
Becca jerked as the toy sprang to life inside her. Her eyes closed and Parker sensed she was very close to coming.
Time to up the ante.
“Who do you belong to?” His voice was stern, his tone demanding.
Becca’s back arched. “Please.”
He pushed harder, making sure she felt exactly how much he wanted her. God. What would he give to be inside her right now? “Who, Becca? Who?”
“I—I—” Becca shook her head against the pillow, her arousal growing. She looked so incredibly sexy as her back arched off the bed. He continued thrusting against her, working his covered cock against her clit as the vibrator beat powerfully inside her, the plug filling her ass tightly. He grasped one of her breasts and squeezed it firmly, before pinching her nipple.
“Goddammit! Tell me,” he commanded when he realized she was at the edge.
“You,” she screamed. “I’m yours. Always.”
Her climax crashed over her. God. There was no way the audience wouldn’t know it was genuine. Her reaction was too genuine, too beautiful to be faked.
As the last tremors racked her body, he drew closer, kissing her gently.
“And I belong to you. I love you, Becca.”
Becca’s gaze captured his once more. “Parker,” she whispered.
“Marry me.”
Want to find out how Becca and Parker’s red-hot romance ends? Check out Over the Threshold (coming soon).
And while you’re waiting, why not read about Emma, Jack, Travis and Shea in the other Scoundrels books, Black Jack and White Knight, available now.
Black Jack
By Mari Carr
When pirate Black Jack captures a ship at sea, he considers the territorial governor’s haughty daughter part of the spoils of war. Tying the fiery beauty to his bed, Jack claims Emma as his…over and over again.
Jack has a secret. One he’s kept hidden from his best friend Emma…
When she calls in a favor, asking Jack to perform in a pirate fetish fantasy at the nightclub she manages, Emma inadvertently opens Pandora’s box—for both of them. As portraying a dominant pirate forces more of Jack’s secret desires to light, Emma finds herself enmeshed in sensual explorations of BDSM, wax play, bondage and sex in public that leave her questioning her vanilla existence.
When a second heated interlude on the stage finds her submitting to Jack, Emma suspects she’ll never find her way back to her simple missionary lifestyle. But with Jack in control…she’s not sure she wants to.
An Excerpt From: BLACK JACK
Copyright © MARI CARR, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Chapter One
“Let go of me!”
“Take it easy, lass. Come peacefully and no one will be hurt.”
“No one will be hurt because I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Black Jack Carlysle tightened his grip on the young woman’s arm. He wasn’t accustomed to backtalk from any of his subordinates and he sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to it from a mere female.
“I don’t think you fully understand your position here. My men and I have taken over your ship. Now we’re seizing our reward.”
“Stealing is more like it. You haven’t earned anything on our ship. You’re a thief and a heathen and—ouch! You’re hurting my arm!”
“I may be all you say and more, my dear, but the fact remains, I am the captain of this ship and you are part of the spoils of war.”
The haughty woman slapped him. Hard. “We’ll see about that.”
Jack was shocked momentarily. He heard a sharp gasp behind him and knew his men had witnessed her assault. He’d intended to take her below deck and lock her in the room next to his. He knew who she was. As daughter of the territorial governor, she’d fetch a fair price in ransom.
Her blow and fiery rage ignited his temper and his final destination changed as he pushed her toward the ladder that would take them to his cabin.
“You will pay for that, my lady. In my bedroom.”
His threat pulled her up short and her struggling ceasing. “You can’t be serious. Do you know who I am?”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “I think the question that should be asked is, do you know who I am?”
Her gaze narrowed, drawing his attention to light blue eyes surrounded by thick, long black lashes. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely pink due to anger and exertion. Her breathing had accelerated, each hastily inhaled breath thrusting her full breasts forward. She’d fill his hands nicely.
No, Jack thought. It wouldn’t be a hardship bringing this hellion to heel.
“I know exactly who you are, Black Jack. And if you think I’ll quiver at the mere mention of your dreaded name like the rest of the fools on my father’s ship, then I fear you’re destined for disappointment.”
He grinned, pushing her harder than necessary toward the ladder. She stumbled slightly before catching herself. She was provoking him, daring the devil inside to come out to play. She’d struck him in front of his men. At that point, she’d lost the right to be treated with courtesy. Now he needed to make an example of her. Regardless of how much that idea rubbed against the grain.
He liked to consider himself a gentleman—usually beyond kind with the terrified women they’d kidnapped in the past. More than a few times, he’d had to gently convince the captive ladies to return home once their ransoms had been paid.
Clearly that wouldn’t be a problem this time.
She turned to face him once more, but before she could speak, he raised his finger. “Silence, woman!”
He didn’t intend to wage this battle in front of his men. It was high time she realized who she was dealing with.
“How dare you speak to me—”
Jack growled. Bending forward, he put his shoulder to the lady’s middle and lifted until her upper body hung upside down along his back.
“What the—”
“I’ve warned you more than once, my lady. Now you’re going to pay the piper.”
“Awesome,” Emma Potter said, wiggling loose from Jack’s hold. “That was perfect.”
Jack pulled the bandana off his head and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. “I feel like an ass.”
Emma laughed. “I owe you a big one for this, Smacker.”
Jack ignored her use of the annoying nickname. After years of friendship, she still persisted in calling him by the silly name. She’d given it to him after they’d gotten more than a bit tipsy at a bar the night Emma turned twenty-one. She’d tripped and spilled her strawberry daiquiri down the front of his shirt. He’d spent the evening smelling like a little girl’s tube of Bonne Bell lip gloss. Emma had teased him the entire night, calling him Lip Smacker. Sadly, fourteen years later, the shortened version of the name still stuck.
“I don’t think there’s a favor big enough in the world to repay me for this.” Jack leaned against the railing of the fake ship, looking out at the empty tables and chairs of the nightclub as he considered the fact they’d soon be filled with clubgoers, all watching his weak attempt at piracy.
“True that,” Emma conceded. “You’re a lifesaver, Jack. Really. I was at my wit’s end this morning. I bet I made at least fifty phone calls.”
“Glad to know I’m so high on your list,” he said sardonically, chuckling.
“Believe me, that call list isn’t one you want to be on top of.”
He looked around and shook his head. “Still find it hard to believe that you plan fetish fantasy shows for a nightclub. I’ve got to admit, when you were making your valedictory speech in high school, this wasn’t exactly where I pictured you ending up.”
“Maybe not, but I bet you knew I
’d be organizing awesome parties attended by all the biggest names, right?”
Emma had been the queen of the social scene in high school. Jack thought it had probably surprised more than a few of their peers to discover she had such good grades, given her love of partying. Begrudgingly, he had to admit she was one of the most naturally intelligent people he’d ever met. She had a razor-sharp mind with a quick wit to match. Her photographic memory didn’t hurt either. Quite frankly, it had taken very little work for Emma to maintain her position at the top of their class. Not that it had been a very large class.
They’d both enrolled in USC and moved to Los Angeles from Bumfuck, North Dakota, determined to escape their small town. The third in their small gang of friends, Travis, had come along for the ride as well, mainly because he thought living in L.A. would be a lark. Little did Jack and Emma know their unmotivated, antisocial best friend would find his niche in the City of Angels.
“Yeah, I knew you’d plan awesome parties.” Jack reached up to rub his cheek. “Hey, did you have to slap me so hard?”
She rolled her eyes. “You big baby. It wasn’t that hard. Besides, the sound has to carry through the room to make it authentic.”
Jack crossed his arms. “I hope your actress doesn’t have your right hook or I’m likely to suffer a concussion.”
“Not my fault. If you’ll recall, it was you and Travis who taught me how to fight.”
“You were supposed to use those moves on the frat-boy assholes at college. Not me.”
Emma shrugged. “Looks like I got a bonus from my lessons.”
“Yeah, well, you try to lay another one of those bonuses on my face and I’m gonna return the smack. Only I won’t be aiming at the cheek on your face.”
“Promises, promises.”
White Knight
By Mari Carr
A sequel to Black Jack.
Shea Landon knows this is a bad idea. But when you’re broke, tired and homeless, you do crazy things. She decides to crash in her new place of employment, a fetish club, borrowing the big, comfy bed that’s used as a stage prop. She doesn’t realize she’s not alone…
Travis Knight knows this is a bad idea. As he views his new waitress sneaking around the club after hours, he realizes he should fire her, call the police. Instead, captivated, he watches her on the same security monitors that separate him from the world. Until watching isn’t nearly enough…
Two people—one desperate, one broken, both hopelessly alone. Two people assuaging their needs through spanking and sex games, bondage and taboo fantasy. It’s enough. It has to be—when the biggest secret between them might be a tragedy neither can overcome.
An Excerpt From: WHITE KNIGHT
Copyright © MARI CARR, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Pulling out her tips for the night, Shea counted the money. She had a little over two hundred dollars. She sighed with relief, so happy to have money in her hands. It was enough for a room at the fleabag motel—as she liked to call the crummy place she’d been staying—and some food. Unfortunately it was two a.m. and she didn’t like the idea of venturing into East Hollywood so late. While she was desperate for a roof over her head, especially after spending last night dozing in a Laundromat chair, she wasn’t stupid enough to put herself in danger.
She rubbed her eyes wearily, too tired to think. She couldn’t keep trying to exist from day to day. When she’d come to L.A., she’d had a plan, a goal. She looked one last time at the comfortable bed, wishing she could lay her head on the pristine white pillow. Then she stood up and headed back to the bar.
“How you doin’, kid?” Bill asked.
Shea had instantly liked the bartender. He was a gruff-looking man—ex-Marine, according to Emma—in his mid-forties. He was quick to laugh and just as quick to eviscerate rude drunks. As long as patrons behaved at his bar, all was well.
“Fine. I finished cleaning in the theater.”
“Great. The other gals took care of the dance floor area and the bar. I’m just about to finish a few things. You mind checking the bathrooms for me one last time? Make sure there aren’t any drunks curled up in the corner and the lights are off.”
She grinned. “I don’t mind. I’ll do it before I head out.” The back door to the club led to a parking lot. Shea recalled seeing an all-night diner across the street from the lot. Maybe she could have a cup of coffee there, caffeine up and try to figure out her next move. If she could remain awake until daybreak, she could hit the subway with the commuters and head back to the cheap motel to catch a few hours of sleep on the lumpy mattress.
“Oh hey. Here’s your bag.”
She’d asked Bill to stow her duffel behind the bar. She was ashamed to say everything she owned in the world was in that bag. He’d remarked on the size of it when she’d come to work, but mercifully hadn’t questioned her. “See you tomorrow, Shea.”
She took the bag and hitched it onto her arm. “Good night, Bill.”
Walking down the hallway, she heard Bill humming as he worked. She opened the door to the men’s room, peering inside. The place was empty. Switching the lights off, she crossed the hall to the women’s bathroom. It was also deserted.
She recalled the bed on stage…the clean sheets, the soft mattress.
An idea formed. A terribly stupid idea.
Glancing back toward the bar, she noticed Bill had gone to the kitchen. She took a deep breath for courage—then walked into the bathroom and turned off the lights.
The room was plunged into darkness and her heart began to race. Her earlier exhaustion gave way to nervousness and fear. What the hell was she doing?
Feeling her way across the room, she let herself into the stall farthest from the door. Sitting down on the toilet, she waited in silence. Too many minutes later, she heard the sound she’d been dreading and anticipating. She lifted her feet and sat frozen. The back door opened then closed. She heard a lock being thrown into place.
Shea remained where she was for fifteen minutes longer then lowered her feet and stood.
She’d done it. She was locked in the club. Christ, she was insane. She’d just gotten the job and with one foolish, rash act, she’d probably jeopardized it.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her mini-flashlight. Switching it on, she pulled off the white blouse and black mini Emma had supplied her with earlier. She didn’t want to wrinkle the material since she’d have to wear it again tomorrow and she certainly didn’t have an iron.
She pulled on a t-shirt and loose sleep shorts, brushed her teeth then left the bathroom, walking toward the stage, grabbing a blanket from the hutch along the way. If she was going to lose her job, she’d at least make it worth her while. When she reached the bed, she slipped off her shoes and lay down. She covered herself with the simple blanket but didn’t dare crawl between the sheets, already feeling guilty for taking advantage of Emma’s kindness. She took out her small travel alarm clock and set it for eleven. She prayed no one found her. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, she’d be smarter, be able to figure out what the hell she should do next. For tonight, she was too tired and the bed was too soft.
Travis watched his new waitress curl up on the bed and fall asleep. He had watched her all night as she’d worked. Emma had stopped by after the show to tell him how impressed she was with the new girl’s waitressing abilities.
He didn’t give a damn about her drink-slinging talents. Travis had been fascinated by her face. She was pretty, but it was the look of determination and—for lack of a better word—hunger that caught his eye. He recognized the exhaustion, the desperation and fear written there. He’d come to know those emotions well. He also felt a definite attraction. That would come as a surprise to Emma, who often accused him of taking the California-girls dream too far. He typically surrounded himself with tall, slim, suntanned blondes. Shea, with her dark hair, pale complexion and curvaceous body, didn’t fit that bill.
He’d watche
d her walk into the women’s room on one of the security monitors and been surprised when she didn’t come back out. After Bill locked up, he’d waited patiently. She didn’t disappoint him. Travis watched her sneak out with flashlight in hand. He picked up his phone, ready to call the police. However, her attire confused him and he paused. She appeared to be dressed in pajamas.
When she walked to the stage and lay down on the bed, he rose, watching her through the two-way glass. That was when he realized her goal wasn’t robbery, it was rest.
He stood watching her for nearly half an hour. Once he decided the exhausted girl was deeply asleep, he quietly crept down the stairs at the back of the stage. Shedding his shoes at the foot of the staircase, he padded across the stage until he stood next to her. Dim lighting from his open office door illuminated her face.
Shea Landon. Emma had told Travis her name. While he was typically absent from the main parts of the club, there was very little that happened in the place he didn’t know about.
He was curious about the petite woman. Reaching down, he picked up her duffel bag, retrieving the mini-flashlight she’d used earlier. He didn’t feel guilty about searching her stuff. After all, the woman was squatting in his club. Best to make sure she didn’t have a weapon.
Her bag didn’t answer his questions. If anything, it added more. There were several changes of clothing, some toiletries, a wallet and four books—all of them reminding him of the romance novels he’d been reading lately. Who the hell was this woman?
He replaced her things and put the duffel back on the floor. Shea rolled over and curled into a ball, nearly losing her blanket in the process. Travis slowly and carefully pulled the blanket up until it once more covered his sleeping waitress.
