by Tina Donahue
SiNN
Tina Donahue
She’s every man’s carnal fantasy…and the target of one’s revenge.
At a gentleman’s club, Lea dances as SiNN, her body bared and vulnerable to her male partner, her features hidden behind a mask. To the men watching, she’s a sensual enigma, submissive and seductive with no face, name or history. Not even Lea knows her real origins. But a man from the past does, and he wants her dead.
Not on the watch of U.S. Marshals Jake Gabriel and Toby Quinn. Commanding and decisive, Jake not only wants Lea’s safety, but to have her naked and yielding beneath him. To Toby, she’s all he should resist but cannot. Protected by them at a secluded estate, Lea’s drawn to their potent masculinity and raw lust. Inviting desire and an emotional connection, she submits to both, surrendering to their shameless hunger along with her own wanton needs.
All while a killer edges closer…
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
SiNN
ISBN 9781419937088
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
SiNN Copyright 2011 Tina Donahue
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover design and photography by Syneca
Models: Shannon, Kevin and Brooks
Electronic book publication October 2011
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
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SiNN
Tina Donahue
Dedication
To D and those wonderful days we spent in Orange County.
Author Note
I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of two men craving the same woman, with her wanting both. Thus SiNN was born. My first ménage. I hope you enjoy the story of Jake, Toby and Lea as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Chapter One
She was already on stage when Jake Gabriel came inside, her naked breasts cupped and caressed by the male dancer’s hands.
Jake stopped mid-step.
From behind, another latecomer bumped into him, wanting Jake out of the way. He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
This was no ordinary strip joint.
Latin music rich with the strains of an electric guitar, bass and flute poured from the sound system, the rhythm decidedly unhurried and sultry, creating an accompaniment to the performance rather than an intrusion. Subdued lighting bathed the semicircular platform in a hazy glow. Threads of light glinted off the room’s dark-gold wallpaper, the leather wing chairs surrounding the stage and the woman’s skin.
Jake’s heart quickened, beating faster than the indolent music. He scanned her tawny flesh, ripe with good health and youth.
She wore little. Around her slender throat, a delicate gold chain shimmered in the muted light. Another chain hung from it, travelling down her torso to her navel where it attached to a diamond. Beneath the jewel, a series of chains draped her hips, then dipped to her cunt, barely covering it.
With each gentle sway of her body, the dainty chains rolled left, right, left, exposing snatches of her smooth, waxed mound and a hint of her cleft.
Forgetting to breathe, Jake hungered for a glimpse of her sweet opening, her pink lips damp with arousal, separated for a man’s cock.
Her practiced moves and the jewelry hardly allowed that.
Bad, bad girl.
Challenged, Jake stared a bit longer before regarding her silky thighs and gold heels. A tall woman, the stilettos added another three inches to her height. The top of her head would most likely come to his shoulder. He paused once more on her cunt—her rippling body jewelry—before glancing at her face. She’d hidden it behind an elaborate mask of peacock feathers in iridescent blues and greens, the plumage revealing no more than her eyes and mouth. Her plush bottom lip shone dully as though she’d just drawn her tongue over it.
A pulse ticked hard in Jake’s throat, making swallowing difficult. He ached to strip her of the mask and the gold finery. The heels she could damn well keep. Thinking of her long legs wrapped around his, he willed her to look at him.
She did not. Seemingly oblivious to the forty or so men in the private room, she kept her gaze above the audience, her back to the male dancer’s front as she lifted her arms, draping them around his neck, exposing her bared breasts even more.
Her partner flicked his thumbs over her nipples.
Air hissed through Jake’s teeth.
The male dancer stroked her nipples again.
An unconscious act on his part or was it an element of the performance? Did she enjoy his touch? The guy was in his mid-twenties, the same as her, his body ropy with muscles from working out in a gym.
Her curves were lush and natural. Jake liked that.
With a steady thrust of his hips, the guy tapped his body into hers.
Murmurs of rough male approval rose from the crowd, a mixture of young and middle-aged men, all affluent. The cover charge for this private room made certain of that. The chamber was one of three in The Second Circle, an upscale gentleman’s club in Phoenix. Its name was a tribute to Dante’s second circle of Hell…what the Italian poet had named lust.
A wise choice for an establishment where the dancer SiNN performed.
Responding to her partner’s erotic movements, SiNN dipped her head to the right. Her thick, shiny hair, as brown as cocoa, swept over the guy’s naked torso. He wore only a gold leather thong.
Was he sporting an erection?
Jake sure as hell was and it was beginning to hurt.
To the left, a TV screen hung from the ceiling, giving the patrons a better view of the show. SiNN’s coffee-colored areolas had puckered from her partner’s stroking, making the tips seem that much longer. Jake’s mouth went dry at the thought of their heat and slightly salty taste on his tongue, her skin sweetly scented. The camera continued to angle up. He saw a mole on her collarbone, another just below her jaw line. For a moment, she seemed to look at him from the screen, her hazel eyes glassy with what appeared to be desire.
Drawn to her image, Jake stepped closer.
Instantly, a hand gripped his arm. Leaning close, Toby Quinn whispered in Jake’s ear, “We should wait in her dressing room or outside.”
Not a chance. When Jake had first heard of SiNN’s performance, he’d been amused at her stage name and what he sensed was no more than a routine striptease or a pole dance.
How wrong he’d been.
Pulling his arm free, he moved behind the leathe
r chairs. Each seat cost an extra three hundred bucks for the twenty-minute show. Men of varying ages filled them, their casual clothing or suits impeccably tailored, their colognes as pricey.
For those who’d declined to pay the extra fee or had arrived too late for a chance at a seat, their only option was to stand behind the chairs. More than twenty men did so. Jake knew he should have regarded them carefully, assessing any risk as he’d learned during his training.
Guessing Toby was already doing that, Jake’s attention remained on SiNN.
With the grace of a ballerina, she sank to one knee at the edge of the stage, her other leg outstretched. The male dancer held her arms above her head, trapping her in the position, exposing her dewy body to the crowd. Submissively, she lifted her face to his, revealing her long throat.
Waves of heat battered Jake. He stared at her breasts. The weighty globes quivered slightly with her heightened breathing. Leather squeaked as several of the men sat up and leaned forward for a closer look. A few left their chairs to slip crisp bills beneath the chain caressing SiNN’s belly and the strands draped over her cunt. Didn’t matter that the money fell quickly, drifting to the stage. The men simply wanted a chance to get nearer to SiNN or to capture her attention.
Her hazel eyes made momentary contact with a few. More bills made their way from the men’s pockets to her body jewelry.
Glancing at the TV screen, the closeup it afforded him, Jake saw the men hadn’t offered mere tens or twenties as tips. Oh no, these guys were serious, gifting SiNN with nothing but hundreds.
“Jake.”
Toby. For three years now, Toby had been his friend and partner in the U.S. Marshals Service, and if Jake had allowed himself any sentimentality, the younger brother he’d never had and certainly didn’t want now.
With an equal mixture of reluctance and frustration, he looked over. At thirty, Toby had the clean-cut features and short blond hair of someone who was determined to look corporate. Similar to the other guys here who were also dressed in suits. Like them, Toby was now watching SiNN. His Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard, lusting swallow, but his expression was far more neutral than the rest.
Those in their forties and fifties seemed wistful, as though witnessing a carnal dream they’d never experience in real life. The Generation-Y crowd leered openly at SiNN. Surprisingly, a few were also checking out the screens on their pagers or cellphones, though none dared take pictures of the show. The club would ban a man for life if he did anything that stupid.
“Aw hell,” the guy to Jake’s left muttered.
He seemed too young for a place like this, given his spiked black hair and cherubic features. His focus kept darting from the performance to a baseball game playing on his iPhone.
Jake noticed the others were checking on what appeared to be stocks or text messages. Many didn’t seem happy at what they saw, especially one man on the other side of the stage. Cellphone in hand, he read whatever was on the screen, his Latino features absorbed, his mouth turned down, accentuating the thin scar on his chin.
So what was his story? His team was losing? His stocks had plummeted? His wife or girlfriend had texted that he better get his ass home to take care of their kids?
“We should wait somewhere else,” Toby insisted, his husky tone undermining his demand.
Jake wasn’t about to leave even if he’d been able. On one knee, the male dancer now had SiNN’s body draped over his leg, her ass exposed. Was he going to spank her? Was that part of the act?
The already subdued crowd grew even quieter. A cellphone rang, playing Beg for It by Chris Brown. The phone’s owner shut off the ringtone promptly, which left only the room’s music. Percussion instruments joined the guitars and piano, their rhythm accelerating like a quickened pulse.
A bead of perspiration ran down Jake’s neck.
Head bowed, SiNN appeared ready to accept her punishment. Ass lifted, she seemed to welcome it.
“Jake.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said.
“We shouldn’t—”
“Then don’t.”
SiNN’s partner ran his fingers over her naked buttocks—rounded and firm. He stroked the furrow between her cheeks, the fragile chain resting there. The small of her back arched.
Images flooded Jake’s mind of her on all fours before him, face lowered, legs spread, willingly offering him her juicy cunt. She’d smell of female need and animal lust. Her opening would be hot, tight, wet…his cock, rigid and thick. He’d ease inside her inch by inch until her flesh hugged the root of his shaft and his balls tapped her ass. Would she enjoy that or did she prefer a man to take her quick and rough, pretend dangerous, like a fucking modern-day pirate?
At the thought, Jake went dizzy with need.
Again, Toby leaned close to speak.
Jake stopped him before he could, muttering, “If you don’t want to stay, go outside and have a cigarette.”
“You know I don’t smoke.”
“Maybe it’s time you learned.” Jake stepped away, ignoring Toby and the duty that had brought them here tonight.
The male dancer lifted a paddle from the edge of the stage. The object was small and covered in black material. Velvet?
“Go on,” a man in the crowd urged. “Give it to her good.”
Jake shot the guy a frown. A faint crack sounded, followed by a buzz of approval from the spectators. Jake watched the male dancer bringing the paddle down once more. SiNN’s buttocks vibrated slightly with the measured discipline, its noise barely registering past the music.
It still seemed too loud to Jake. He waited for her wince of pain.
The corners of her mouth tilted up in a feral smile. She lifted her buttocks, wordlessly begging for more.
Jesus. Jake’s cock stiffened to the point of discomfort. His balls ached. SiNN’s partner continued to discipline her in an impossibly erotic manner, interrupting the paddling to run his fingers over her spanked cheeks, now faintly pink. Her mouth fell open on a pleasured gasp. The young man trailed his hand over the swell of her breast. As she mewed in delight, he began punishing her again, and by the looks of it, arousing her even more.
One of the guys who’d been texting stopped to applaud. Others followed, the noise competing with the Latin music. Men of all ages flung hundred dollar bills onto the stage, proving this part of the performance was a success they wouldn’t soon forget.
A good thing for an erotic dancer who called herself SiNN. Not so good for a young woman who was known as Lea Baptista outside this club.
She was on Cubrero’s hit list. She had once been in witness protection.
She should be keeping the lowest of profiles.
As wantonly as she could, Lea whimpered for the audience’s pleasure. In response, Kit again cupped her ass, his fingers caressing her spanked cheeks.
Appreciative murmurs pulsed through the cozy room.
Experience told Lea it wasn’t yet enough. The men wouldn’t be satisfied until Kit chastised and displayed her in every way possible. Despite their lewd desire, she maintained her calm, so unlike those first days she’d performed as SiNN. Then, she’d been all too aware of her own nudity, the hungry look in too many eyes.
Tonight, she concentrated on the act. The money she needed.
Waiting until the drone of voices subsided, Lea parted her lips, pulling in a measured breath. As the crowd grew even quieter, she lifted her face, but didn’t allow herself to look directly at any of the men. Trained to tease, she had to make them ache for the moment when her eyes would connect with and linger on theirs, the wait encouraging them to open their wallets a bit more.
Predictably, several guys left their chairs to fling tips onto the stage. Like confetti, the crisp bills showered down on her and Kit, a sweet young man who wanted to flee Phoenix for Hollywood and an acting career. Because of his ailing mother, he worked here so he could take care of her.
Sorrow for his delayed dreams sluiced through Lea as she awaited his fingers o
n her nipple. When he rolled the tip between his thumb and forefinger, she inhaled deeply, catching her light melon fragrance and those of heated male bodies heady with musk. Beneath it was the distinctive odor of liquor.
The music slowed, its torrid beat becoming tame once more, signaling her to behave even more submissively. What many of the patrons liked most, witnessing her on her knees before Kit, arms entwined around his muscular legs, her cheek on his hard thigh, her face raised, lips parted, nearly touching his groin.
At that point, only those in need of Viagra would fail to sport an erection. With rigid cocks, they’d fantasize about mounting, using, enjoying or punishing her.
How close were they now to losing control?
Curious, Lea glanced at the men in the wing chairs. They no longer noticed their cellphones and drinks. Her breasts, ass and what they could see of her cunt were all that they cared for now. Some looked expectant as though they hoped she’d remove the body jewelry, showing them her naked pussy, the flesh waxed to smoothness and oh so vulnerable.
For that type of show they’d have to go elsewhere. The delicate chains, the elaborate mask, the promise of seeing something they should not kept them coming back night after night.
She recognized the regulars. The short, thin guy to the left always drank Scotch while dividing his attention between the stage and her image on the flat-screen TV. The older man to the right, a distinguished Latino with graying hair, reminded her of a banker who would turn her down for a loan if she were foolish enough to ask.
Here, she held him in thrall. Here, she had the power.
Brimming with confidence, Lea slid off Kit’s leg.
He pushed to his feet, looming over her, his shoulder-length hair artfully mussed, its brown tint streaked with gold highlights. For a breath, the music swelled. In time with it, Lea pushed to her knees, running her hands over Kit’s naked ass, his impossibly firm cheeks. Playfully, she pinched one.
