Dancing in the Dark

by T. L. Martin

  But I stopped searching for someone to really look at me a long time ago.

  Although I have to admit: here, in a place where everyone around me is quite possibly as damnable as I am—some even more so—witnessing my own master, the one man whose essence tastes like mine, avoid my presence leaves a bitter sting of rejection in my chest.

  Tonight, when we reach Adam’s room, Aubrey is on a call so she mouths, “Goodbye,” as I slip inside.

  It’s not until I’m on the other side of his closed door, staring into the vacant room, that the fresh disappointment sinks in, settling right beside the rejection.

  I undress, take a long shower, and change into a nighty, just as I do every evening. An hour later as I lie on his bed, with thoughts swarming in my head and keeping me awake, the rejection twists into frustration. It bubbles for a while then seeps into my veins.

  He’s my master.

  He claimed me.

  He won’t allow me to serve him, even look at him, yet he keeps me so secluded I can’t serve or see anyone else either. Which means I can’t get any closer to figuring this place, or these brothers, out.

  I can’t do another week of this—getting nowhere. I didn’t come here to clean kitchens.

  Exhaling, I finally close my eyes for the night. Energy hums through my body, somehow riling me up and calming me at the same time. The rational part of my mind remembers what I came here to do. But as the anticipation builds inside me until my stomach tightens, the lines become too blurred to recognize what’s what.

  I fall asleep with one thought on my mind.

  Adam Matthews wanted a servant.

  That’s what he’s going to get.

  “The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin.

  This is the most important discussion you can ever have.”

  —Iain Thomas

  Fuck, I’m exhausted. I’m already unbuttoning my shirt before I reach my room.

  Among planning my hit on Murphy, prepping our next pickup, and avoiding Emmy Highland, I’ve been consumed. My blood is on overtime pumping through my veins, and the pressure mounting behind my eyes is barely being held together by a thread.

  I’m past due for a kill, and my body sure as shit knows it.

  Doesn’t help that I’ve gone over a week with hardly any sleep, thanks to a little mouse occupying my bed. I never did figure out what the hell she was up to when I caught her trying to sneak into the basement last week, but it no longer matters. Aubrey reports that she’s been good, no shady shit, so I’m having her moved back to her old room by the end of the day.

  I push the door open and stroll across the room, tossing my phone on the dresser and pressing my forefingers and thumb to my temples. Sometimes I think the pressure is thick enough to cut with a knife. I doubt a few hours of sleep will make a difference, but I can’t get any shut-eye in the guest room. The pent-up energy coursing through me is threatening to make me do something—or someone—I’ll regret if I don’t shut it the fuck down.

  I resume undoing my shirt when a movement to my left stills me. I glance over to find Emmy standing in the middle of my goddamn room. Her hair is bunched to one side and cascading down her waist. A silk slip hangs on her curves, barely reaching the tops of her smooth, porcelain thighs.

  Tension squeezes my muscles to the point it’s painful. I grit my jaw, my eyes narrowing on hers because if I let them wander lower, she’ll discover firsthand the reason I abstain.

  “Did I fail to make your schedule clear?”

  She shakes her head and starts to approach me. My expression must make her rethink because she stops and retreats a step.

  “Then why are you standing in front of me at nine-thirty in the morning? And why the fuck didn’t I already know about it?” I snatch up my phone, ready to chew Aubrey out, when five missed texts highlight the screen.

  Aubrey: Little situation with your claim, Master.

  Aubrey: She won’t leave your room.

  Aubrey: As in, she is standing in your room.

  Aubrey: I really hope you get this.

  Aubrey: Testing one, two, three . . .

  My fingers squeeze the phone before I set it back down. Then I fix my glare on the mouse instead.

  She swallows, juts out her chin, and murmurs, “I’m here to serve you.”

  Fucking Jesus.

  Heat flares under the surface of my skin. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I turn back to my dresser, fighting to keep my movements controlled as I pull the middle drawer open.

  “Believe me, you are serving me by staying in the kitchen. Now leave.”

  “No.”

  Slowly, I turn back to her. “What was that?”

  She clears her throat, but her fiery expression doesn’t waver. “No, sir.”

  My blood runs hot, her words waking my cock without my permission.

  She carefully moves forward. “I’m here to serve you, and right now”—closing the distance between us, she reaches toward me. When her fingers touch the partially undone buttons of my shirt, brushing bare skin in the process, I tense—“you look like you could use me.”

  She undoes a button, then her fingers drift lower and she works on the next. I should tell her to get the hell out. Reassign her to one of my brothers. But having her this close, her exhales teasing my skin, her floral scent flooding my nostrils, black hair close enough to fist—it’s fucking with my sleep-deprived head.

  “Don’t test me, mouse,” I growl softly. “You know a lot less than you think.”

  Her fingers tremble against me as she moves down a button, and she lifts her blue eyes to meet my tired ones. “That makes two of us,” she whispers.

  I flick my gaze between her eyes for a second. When I pull back, her hold tightens on my shirt, and I snatch her small wrists in my grip with a snarl. She shouldn’t be this damn close to me right now.

  “I get it, okay?” She looks up at me with a soft fire in her eyes. My gaze narrows, registering the quiver in her voice. Both sides of her at once, the mouse and the lion, and I hate both of them for the way they set me off. “You need to rest. That’s fine. Just stay still for me so I can help.” After a moment, she adds a rushed, “Sir.”

  Slowly, I release my grip, then shove my hands in my pockets, where they can’t touch her.

  Her eyes scan my face. “Thank you.”

  She finishes with the last button and starts loosening my cuffs. The relief in her voice makes my jaw tick. I’m many things, but selfless isn’t one of them. She should know better—if she doesn’t, she’ll learn soon enough.

  When she dips her hands beneath the opening of my shirt, pressing her soft palms against my abs, every muscle in my body pulls tight. She slowly slides them up until the shirt slips from my shoulders. It sticks, my hands in my pockets keeping it from dropping fully, and she goes for my belt.

  I stop her midway by a fist in her hair. She freezes. I sweep my hand around to her upper throat and force her to look at me.

  “Step. Back.”

  A swallow moves beneath my palm, and I drop my arm. When she backs up, I let the shirt fall to the floor, yank a pair of sweats from the open drawer, and disappear into the bathroom. Fuck. My body feels like a damn furnace. I change swiftly, tucking my knife into a drawer for good measure, and pull open the door.

  Emmy’s staring at me like she’s never seen a man in sweats. Her jaw is dropped, her eyes raking over my torso like she wants to lick me. My cock twitches at the image.

  Running my thumb down the side of my cheek, I shake my head and stroll to my bed. She’s still staring at me when I pull down the covers and drop on my back, finally shutting my eyes and covering them with a forearm.

  After another second of feeling her watching me, I mutter, “Go.” Not that I’ll be able to sleep now with my dick hard as stone.

  I sense her moving and open my eyes, keeping them partially shielded with my arm. Following her movements as she makes her way toward me, I grit my teeth. Every step she t
akes fuels the blood coursing through my veins. She tugs at the blanket at the foot of the bed, then gently pulls it up and over me. Discomfort fills my gut. What the hell is this?

  When she turns to leave, the bottom of her slip snags on the bed frame, revealing a tight, round ass and tiny G-string.

  Shit.

  My throat tightens, my skin burns, and the energy pulsing through my veins spikes so fast my vision blurs.

  I blink, and she’s tugging at the snag.

  Another blink, and she’s twisting around, her bare, plump ass facing me head on.

  Another blink, and my hand is wrapped around her throat, pulling her slowly toward me and onto the bed. I never claimed to be a predator, but right now she’s certainly the prey.

  “Love me like my demons do.”

  —Akif Kichloo

  Somewhere between the lust drowning my sanity and my black soul clawing to get out, I flipped her onto her stomach. While I hover over her, my grip pins her wrists above her head as I roughly drag my free hand up the back of her soft thigh, then the curve of her ass.

  A deep shiver quakes her little body, and I squeeze. I’m unrelenting, filling my palm with as much of her as I can get. My fingertips bite into her skin, but, instead of tensing in fear, she lets out a breathy moan that makes my pulse pound in my ears.

  When she grinds her ass against my cock, my entire body constricts, my lungs close in, and fuck, it’s been so long—I need to breathe.

  I need her.

  Dropping my forehead to her hair, I lift her slip as high as it will go and trail my nose down her spine. I suck in a mix of flowers and clean sweat, then part my lips, pressing them barely against her so my exhales warm her back. She trembles beneath me. I release her wrists as I prowl down her body.

  The sweet scent between her legs hits me, and my nostrils flare. I yank the thong off her, and when she tries to turn to look at me, I crush a hand against her back to keep her still. Her breaths come out in pants as she squirms.

  Pulling her ass up so she’s on her knees—her back dipped and her cheek still pressed against the pillow—I spread her legs and lower my face. My stubble brushes the insides of her thighs, and she groans.

  Right now, she is my oxygen.

  I suck in another lungful of her scent, breathing in her need for me, and my fingers bite into her thighs as the primitive urge to taste her consumes me. I drag my tongue across her slit, from one end to the other, holding her still when she jerks, then I go back for more. Opening my mouth, I suck and pull and lap up her juices, barely registering her mewls beyond the ringing in my ears. It’s been so long since I’ve tasted pussy, and fuck, she tastes so good.

  Her fingers find my hair, and she bucks against my face. A snarl rumbles through me as I pull back to bite the inside of her thigh—hard enough to break skin.

  “Fuck,” she moans, ready to rub against me again when I stop—frozen.

  A drip of red leaks from the bite mark on her thigh. Crimson on porcelain, a magnetic contrast that pulls a hypnotic rhythm from my pulse. A dangerous thrumming stirs inside me. I inch closer, blowing lightly on the graze.

  A quiver rolls through her, her ass perking up for me, and my cock strains painfully against my sweats.

  Black clouds my vision as I lean in, gripping her thigh, and drag my tongue along the small cut.

  With her arm still outstretched behind her, she tugs at my hair, trying to pull me up, but I ignore her, draining each new drop that emerges until the wound swells and turns a seductive pink. I tighten my grasp on her, letting the combination of her tastes blissfully consume me as images of red flood my mind. She pulls again, and a burning frustration tears through me, until my narrowed gaze finally locks on her lust-filled one. She stares at me for a second, panting, her skin glistening with sweat as heat mixes between our bodies.

  I grit my jaw, my muscles flexing with need. Her taste is fresh on my tongue, her scent fueling my lungs, both swollen pink spots still in my line of sight. Hunger, greed, turmoil, hatred, and lust splinter down my body, forming a fiery ball of conflicting, violent urges inside me.

  Something flits across her eyes.

  Something I recognize.

  Something dark.

  She lifts herself up, the movement taking me with her so I’m sitting back on my calves, with her right across from me. Irritation gnarls in my throat. My eyes turn to slits as I prowl forward, but her slip is on the floor within seconds, and she’s climbing on top of me like the bed is scorching lava and I’m her only chance for survival.

  Perky breasts brush my chest, her legs wrapping tightly around me as she grinds against my cock through my sweats. She finds my neck and licks, sucks, then pulls my skin between her teeth. A rough groan leaves my mouth. My palms squeeze her ass, and I move her against me, barely containing the agonizing need to pull my fucking pants off and plunge into her until she screams or passes out. She drags her lips to my pecs, then slowly travels down my abs as she licks me, my jaw clenched tight and my breathing ragged.

  My cock throbs, aching more the closer she gets to it. I pull her back up by her hair, torment bleeding through my veins at the restraint.

  Surprise crosses her features, but it fades as she stops and examines me. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips plump. After a pause, she brings a hand to my right bicep and digs her nails into me. I track her movements as she drags her nails down my arm, tearing the surface as she goes. When she stops, blood seeps from my skin.

  She leans forward, her eyes never leaving mine. Softly, she presses her lips to the scratches. My biceps ripple under her touch, and a swallow passes through my throat when she darts the tip of her tongue out to taste.

  Motherfucker.

  I close my eyes for a second, the pounding in my ears splitting straight through my head and threatening to pulverize any remaining control. She trails a finger over the laceration, the same way I once did to her. My heavy gaze follows her finger as she presses it to her neck, sliding it down to her collarbone and leaving a faint line of red in its wake.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask coarsely, the flawless image before me burning into my mind—me staining her flesh, marking her perfect skin.

  She wraps her arms around my neck and inches closer. Her sky-blue eyes hazy and at half-mast. Cocking her head to one side, she parts her lips and lets out a breath, inviting me for a taste.

  “Letting you see me,” she whispers.

  A low grumble moves up my chest. I slide a hand under her hair and palm the back of her neck, telling myself to stop even as my grip pulls her to me. Running my nose along the curve below her ear, I breathe her in. Her naked body goes limp in my arms, but I see the racing pulse in her delicate neck, feel her fingers curl into my hair.

  Finally, I taste myself on her, and a slow tremor quakes us both.

  A taste turns into a nibble, then a bite. Then I’m sucking on her skin, and her hair is tangled in my fist. My chest hammers, need ripping through me. She claws my neck and mewls when I move off the bed, standing with her naked body coiled around me.

  I lift her high enough to pull her nipple between my teeth, my heartbeat drowning out her moans. With one hand still in her hair, I dip the other between us and stroke her wet clit. She jerks and tugs my pants down slightly, rubbing her hot pussy against my cock, and my lungs constrict. I stiffen, a surge of adrenaline seizing my muscles as I faintly recognize that I’m spiraling. She squirms and tugs at my sweats again, then pulls my ear in her mouth and sucks.

  My blood pumps so hard it’s blinding, specks of black appearing and dissipating.

  Fucking shit.

  I throw her on the bed and whirl around, fixing my sweats. Running both hands through my hair, I squeeze and pull at the strands as I pace across room.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Bracing one palm on the wall, I drop my head and close my eyes, forcing the blistering heat inside me to die down so I can breathe oxygen again and regain a little fucking control.

/>   I haven’t lost it in six years, and even then it wasn’t like this—spiraling before I even got my damn release.

  The bed creaks, and my back stiffens. “Don’t.”

  She waits in silence for a long moment while I steady my breaths, my pulse. My cock doesn’t seem to get the message, no thanks to Emmy’s scent still clouding the air, her touch lingering on my skin. When I speak next, my fingers dig into the wall as though it could restrain me from pouncing on her again.

  “What do you need?” I bite out.

  “Wh-what do I need?” Her voice is out of breath and confused, and it only frustrates me more.

  “What’s it going to take to get you to follow some goddamn instructions?”

  “What?” She sounds stunned at first. But when she opens her mouth again, fire coats her words. “What’s it going to take? I want you. I—”

  “More money? A different master? A plane ticket home?” I pummel straight through her answer as if she wasn’t speaking, because the one thing she named isn’t a fucking option. “Name your price, mouse.”

  The bed creaks again, and this time I hear material shifting before she’s approaching from behind. She pauses. I can picture her body tightening in anger without having to look at her.

  Pushing off the wall, I turn to face her.

  She’s put her slip back on, her hair a mess and her skin still flushed. Her eyes are fuming, but her chin is held high.

  Because deep down, she’s not a damn mouse.

  “If that’s the way we’re doing this,” she finally says, “fine. I want different duties. No more being stuck in the kitchen or other housekeeping jobs. I want to do something of value. And without a babysitter glued to my hip.”

  My gaze narrows, suspicion spiking inside me. “Something of value.”

  She nods. “Things that actually matter for your businesses. Like what Stella and Aubrey do.”

  Taking a slow step toward her, I mutter, “And what do you know about my businesses?”