1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen

by Kristen Ashley

  With a teasing kiss, I stand. Giving him my back, I unzip, and slowly peel the fabric from my body.

  A hiss slips from between his teeth as my dress drops to the floor. He likes it.

  I peek over my shoulder to see him sitting, his eyes fixed on my bottom.

  He stands up and steps into my space, so close I can feel his heat against my skin. “Turn around.”

  I do just that, but step back, out of his reach.

  With a slow sweep of his gaze, I’m trembling.

  His eyelids drop low and a predatory glint flashes across his eyes. “Come here, Mrs. Slade.”

  My legs burn to obey his every command. But I withhold. “Uh-uh. You’re going to have to come and get me.”

  His eyes lock on mine, fire burning behind their hazel depths. He tilts his head to the side, eyebrows raised. Yeah, he likes the challenge.

  “You want to be chased.” He steps toward me.

  I step back.

  Like a shot, he moves, swiping at me with his powerful arm. Anticipating his move, I wheel around and dash toward the hallway. Excited giggles bubble up from my chest, flying out on a squeal. I make it to the hallway entrance before his strong arms wrap around me from behind.

  “Gotcha.” The word is spoken at my ear.

  I moan in response. He carries me the few short steps to our bedroom door. He releases me, and I flip around. His eyes are dark and hungry. My stomach flips and drops low.

  He advances on me, and with every step forward, I take one back. My legs hit the bed. He closes in. I roll my lips, eager for his contact. He traces the top of my white corset with a barely-there touch. My breasts push against the lace, overflowing at the top. He trails his fingers down the center of each breast where the dark-skinned tips show through the delicate fabric. He circles them with slow, agonizing motions.

  I part my lips to accommodate my quickened breath. He cups my breasts, finally giving them the attention they so desperately need. Bending down, he sucks my nipple into his mouth, a torturous ecstasy that drops my head back with a moan.

  “Jonah.” The urgent plea falls from my lips.

  His hands move down the ribbing of my corset to my hips. He slides his fingers beneath the barely there fabric of my g string. My body warms as he loves me with his touch.

  Feather-light kisses cover my neck as he slides his hand into my panties. A moan catches in my throat. My legs wobble.

  “Lie down, baby.” His words are spoken against my skin, my body obeying his command. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him as his fingers push me to the edge of my control.

  I lie on the bed. He pulls my panties down to my knees, but doesn’t take them off. They’re stretched taut between my bent legs, keeping them from falling wide open.

  He works between my legs, my body bending to his every whim. I need more. I pop my breasts from their lacey restraint and arch my back, offering them up to him.

  His eyes lift and widen. “Greedy little wife.”

  I roll my hips against his hand, affirming his words.

  His mouth locks around my nipple. Blood races through my body, muscles clenching in euphoric satisfaction as I cry out my release. Weak with satiated bliss, my legs strain to fall apart. He continues to nip at my breasts.

  I grab at his shirt, pulling at the buttons.

  “You first.” He rolls me to my side and unlaces the crisscross ribbon at my back, removing my corset. I kick off my panties, and he pulls his white dress shirt from his body.

  I suck in a breath as my eyes take in the circular scar at his shoulder. The evidence of his heroism. His bravery worn like a badge, forever imprinted on his skin, like his tattoos. A smile tugs at my lips as I study his newest. Right over his heart, my name in script with beautiful black wings extending from either side.

  “I love you, Jonah.”

  He doesn’t answer with words, but instead kneels between my legs. My knees fall open wide. He moves over me and lies in the cradle of my legs, the fabric of his dress pants rubbing against my bare flesh.

  He braces his weight above me with his muscled arms. “I want you off the pill, baby.”

  “Huh?” I’m not sure what my face looks like, but it feels as if it’s gaping.

  “I know it’s soon. But, since when do we do things on a timeline? I want to start our family.” He kisses my neck then bites me gently. “What do you say?” His mouth continues its torment.

  “Mmm.”

  “That a yes or a no, baby?”

  A real family. One that we make together. “I’m ready.” I flex my hips.

  With shining eyes and his two glorious dimples, he gives me a smile that nearly stops my heart. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Without another word, he releases himself from his pants and in one thrust, buries himself completely. I lock my legs around his hips, our chests pressed together so tight I can feel his heart beat against mine. His hands cup my face and I place my hand on his jaw.

  He moves, slow and beautiful, loving me in a gentle rhythm that brings tears to my eyes. His gaze locks on mine, and the affection pouring between us threatens to overwhelm me.

  I watch the pleasure build. His perfect white teeth dig into his lower lip. His eyes fight to stay open against the mounting frenzy. Pleasure coils deep my belly. I arch my back and dig my feet into the mattress.

  I don’t want it to be over too soon. I lock down his hips with my heels.

  He stops and takes a deep breath. “No need to hold back, baby. We have forever.”

  Forever. The word echoes in my head and I release him to move.

  I’m free. Free to live happily with Jonah. No more threats to our future. Free to fly.

  His pace quickens, and his muscles tighten with each stroke. I lift my hips, searching for more, deeper, harder. Passion, trust, and love spiral together until it explodes from my body, and I cry out his name. He groans into my neck, biting down on my shoulder and his pace intensifies. With one last thrust, his body relaxes onto mine.

  Our chests heave in unison, the soft moans from the aftermath of our love-making fill the room.

  He slides in and out in lazy strokes. “Sorry our first time as husband and wife was . . . um . . . fast. I blame the dress. And the stuff you had on under it.”

  I run my hands through his hair, forcing him to look at me. His shy smile makes him look younger and almost embarrassed. “We have forever, remember?”

  He closes his eyes and leans into my touch. “Yeah.” His eyes flutter open and he turns to look over his shoulder.

  “What?” I lean to the side and look down our joined bodies to the end of the bed. “I guess someone’s feeling left out.”

  Dog is curled up in a ball at Jonah’s feet. He gives us a sleepy meow.

  Jonah turns back, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you talked me into bringing that thing home.”

  “Jonah. He’s my responsibility. I couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself like some kind of—”

  “Alley cat?”

  “Ugh. You know what I mean.” I give Jonah a playful shove and he rolls off and to my side. His fingers draw invisible patterns on my stomach. “I’d be sick if I moved away and no one was there to take care of him. Everyone needs someone.”

  “I never thought I’d have anything in common with a mangy cat.” His lips curl at the edges. “We both need you.” He moves from my stomach to my forehead to trace my scar. His smile falls. “I almost lost you.”

  “No, never. I would’ve fought. However long it took. I’d never give up until I was free. You’re my life, Jonah. My family, my love, my best friend. Nothing, not even destiny, could keep me from you.”

  He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. “Okay.”

  ~The End~

  A Note to my Readers

  I hope you enjoyed Fighting for Flight. Please take a moment to leave a review on Amazon.

  The next book in this series will be Fighting to Forgive.

  Fa
st and hard, just the way he likes it. Blake Daniels flies through life the way he burns through women: on his terms, no regrets.

  His fighting career in full swing, he has no need for attachments. He knows what he wants, but when a haunting secret from his past threatens his future, he teeters on the edge of sanity.

  She’s through with men. After the fifteen-year marriage that never should have happened, Layla Moorehead moves on to start a new life—one that focuses on making amends for the irreparable damage she’s caused her sixteen-year-old daughter.

  Saddled with shadows from their past, their lives come crashing together in a violent mix of passion and betrayal.

  Is love enough to overcome history?

  Or will they be left Fighting to Forgive?

  Enjoy the Prologue of Fighting to Forgive.

  Fighting to Forgive

  by J. B. Salsbury

  Click here to purchase

  Prologue

  It’s almost midnight, but I can’t sleep. The pounding of adrenaline still floods my veins. Riding high on the rush from earlier today, I stare at my ceiling while Iron Maiden’s “Wicker Man” blares through my headphones. My fingers drum against my Discman in perfect time with Nicko McBrain’s snare hits.

  I force my mind to the mundane world of freshman year of high school, finals, and which cheerleader I’m asking to the homecoming game, but even that doesn’t calm me. My thoughts keep going back to this afternoon. I breathe through the rush of excitement.

  It was stupid. Sneaking around made it more exciting, but if I get caught… No, next time I’ll take better precautions. I can’t risk—Boom!

  My bedroom door flies open and slams against the wall. Oh shit! I rip off my headphones and jump to my feet. Light pours in from the hallway. Shadows of men, hunched low to the ground, filter into the room. My heart slams against my ribs, and icy fear rockets through me. I try to run, but strong hands seize me at every limb.

  “No.” I buck hard against the hold. This can’t be happening.

  “Fighting will make it worse.” A man, his face masked by the dark, tightens his grip.

  It’s a dream; it has to be. My head spins, and I search for consciousness. Wake up. Pain from the violent hold on my body confirms my fear. This is real. My legs shudder with each panicked breath.

  “Help!” I lean toward the open door, praying my parents can hear me.

  A shove to my legs drops me to my knees. I try to punch, but a man pulls my arms tight behind my back. The cool metal of handcuffs surrounds my wrists.

  “Dad.” My voice cracks. “Mom, Braeden.” I thrash. My shoulders burn. “Let me go.”

  I don’t understand. Where is everyone? Did these guys get to my family first?

  Dread and fear chip away at my strength. I swallow against the ache in my throat. I’m outnumbered, outmuscled, and overpowered, but I refuse to sag into their hold.

  “What did you do to my family?” I can barely hear my own words over my heaving breath.

  “Hang in there, kid,” says the man at my back, too casual to be comforting.

  This is bad. “Take whatever you want. I won’t call the cops, just let us go.”

  The dense silhouette of a man fills the doorway. I squint into the darkness, fearing the worst. Is this the one who’ll finish me off? He steps farther into the room, and I drop my head back to see his face.

  Oh, thank God.

  “Dad.” I try to break free, to get to him, but I’m held in place. “Help me, they’re holding me.” The words tumble from my lips before what’s going on around me sinks in.

  I stop struggling.

  My dad’s not helping me. And the men who busted into my bedroom don’t seem surprised to see him. My blood turns ice cold, and a chill runs through my body.

  He’s sending me away.

  “Dad?” I search his face for compassion but find nothing close. “Don’t do this.”

  He warned me this would happen. Threatened to send me off if I didn’t stop.

  A flash of what my future holds lies in the compassionless faces that study me now. Trained monkeys who live by orders, brainwashed to give up their free will. That’s what he wants from me. Fuck no. I jerk hard, and my joints burn in resistance.

  “Stop fighting, son.” My dad steps closer and squats to eye level.

  The spice of his cologne rolls my stomach as my vision adjusts to his nearness. His military-approved haircut only makes his square jaw seem more angular. His mouth is a rigid line held so tight that the muscles in his cheek jump. The usual dark green of his eyes looks almost black, and I struggle to hold his stare. He studies me for a few seconds then grimaces. Even though it’s a look he gives often, it’s still upsetting.

  “You crying, Blake?”

  “No, sir.” I sniff back the tears that burn behind my nose and try to hide the fear that pollutes my veins.

  “The hell you aren’t, son.” He shakes his head. “And herein lies the problem.” His words are mumbled. He pushes to standing then paces back and forth. “I won’t tolerate my teenage pussy-ass excuse for a son crying like a girl.”

  The room fills with the snorted laughter of the soldiers holding me. Even as my cheeks flame, I ball my hands into fists, and my muscles go rigid. My tears dry, and the roar of my pulse thunders in my ears.

  “As if that shit you do in your free time isn’t gay enough, now I got you crying?” He’s not asking a question.

  “I quit, sir. I told you that.” I stare at the floor and hope he doesn’t see my lie. The truth is, I can’t quit. His threats to send me away and to beat the urges out of me haven’t cured me. I’m helpless against the draw. But how did he find out? I was so careful.

  He steps in front of me, and I can feel his eyes on my head. “A liar and a pussy.” He’s on the verge of losing his temper, and experience has proven, that’s never a good thing. “You’re just like your mother.”

  My mom. She’s the only one who knows. My head struggles for clarity. Why would she rat me out?

  Then, I notice her small figure just outside the doorway. She watches helplessly, her hands wrapped around her stomach and her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Present, but completely powerless.

  I try to lock eyes with her, but I can’t see her features well enough in the dark room. “Mom, why…?” My questions freeze on my lips. She won’t have anything to say. She never does when it comes to him.

  I’ve always been the strong one, taking every blow in my dad’s verbal assaults with my chin held high, proving that I can handle it. It’s the best way I can protect her.

  I suck in a deep breath and throw my shoulders back. If she thinks I’m okay, then she’ll stop crying. Convincing her that I want what he has planned for me will make this easier on her.

  “There’s no looking to your mommy to save you. Not this time. How long has she been lying for you, Blake?” When I don’t answer, he shoves his steel-toed boot into my shoulder.

  I rock back but refuse to fall. My usual plan is to diffuse his anger by apologizing and stroking his ego. But here, in the middle of the night, being held by a team of my dad’s men, with the knowledge that where I’m going I’ll be free of his daily taunts… I’m done eating his shit.

  His intimidations may have worked on me before, but I’m not his puppet, jumping with every pulled string. Heat coils behind my sternum and stokes the smoldering embers kept hidden for years into a flame. I drop my gaze to the green shag carpet and breathe deeply, allowing my anger to fester.

  “It was only a matter of time before you got caught. This sneaking around behind my back won’t be tolerated.” He crushes tracks in the rug with his combat boots just like he stomps through life, breaking spirits and leaving victims in his wake. First my mom, now me, and my brother will no doubt be next.

  “My men here are gonna take you to a place where soldiers are made. Won’t have a choice but to man up around this crew. You hear me, boy?”

  Rage pulses from my chest, through my veins,
and coils my muscles.

  “I asked you a question, faggot. Answer me.” His demand for my cooperation echoes off the walls.

  I cringe at the sound of my mom’s whimpering. He won’t be ignored. One chance to cooperate is all I get. It’s all any of us have ever gotten. I’m pushing him too far.

  For the first time, I don’t care. My breath hits hard, and my nose flares to keep up with my intake of oxygen.

  “Answer me, you sorry son of a bitch!” He puts the sole of his boot to my chest and shoves. “Weak, just like your mother.”

  My body lists, but I’m numb to his abuse. I tilt my chin up and lock eyes with him, glaring so hard my eyes burn. “She’s strong enough to put up with your shit.”

  He smiles and laughs, but nothing about his expression says he thinks it’s funny. “Little momma’s boy. Still holding on to that woman’s apron strings. Pathetic.”

  Those words, like lighter fluid to my resentment, kindle the flames into a raging inferno. My teeth grind, and fury shreds through me.

  My dad waves me off with a flick of his wrist. “Get him out of my face.”

  “Yes, sir,” his minions say in unison, taking orders from the colonel like the good little disciples that they are.

  They’d probably slit their own throats if the order was given.

  That will never be me.

  I’m pulled to my feet by my biceps and walked to the door. My mom hurries out of the way to let us pass. She’s clutching her robe to her neck, her usual pretty face splotchy and wet with tears. Her light brown hair looks as if she’s been running her hands through it for hours. My chest clenches at the pain I see in her eyes.

  I lean back. “Hold on.”

  They ignore me and continue to move me through the house.

  “I just want to say goodbye.” I dig my bare feet into the carpet.

  “Duke?” Her soft-spoken calling of my dad’s name brings us to a stop.

  The asshole rolls his eyes, but he waves off his men. “Stand down.”

  She takes a few steps toward me but stops just shy of arm’s length. “Blake…” Her chin quivers, and tears shine in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”