by Callie Hart
It’s intensely fucking interesting how pain affects the body. I never make a lot of fuss when I’m suffering. For the most part I can let in the pain, absorb it, study it, accept it and ride it out, but finger probing around inside my body is nearly my goddamn breaking point. I’ll pass out before I complain, but I make a mental note: get the motherfucker back for this one day.
Michael’s brow creases with concentration as he jabs and prods inside me. I turn my head to the side, breathing deeply, getting ready to throw up. I feel him pause. “I think I got it.”
“Then get it the fuck out of me, by all means,” I grit out.
“You’re the boss.”
The next few minutes are excruciating. When Michael finally digs in my gut with the blade and pulls out the metal, it’s only maybe sixty percent of the bullet. He has to go back in, searching for the rest of it. He finds two more pieces, placing each fragment into the palm of my hand. “I can’t feel any internal damage, but I’m not exactly a doctor,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “You should get yourself one of those.”
I let out a hard laugh, reaching for the whiskey again. I need to pour some down my fucking throat instead of all over my bed sheets. “No, thanks. I’ve managed this far. I’ll think I’ll be fine for the foreseeable.”
“You realize that will get infected, right? You will need to see someone.”
I drink from the bottle, my head spinning, my body humming with adrenalin. Ripping a one hundred percent Egyptian cotton case off one of the pillows over my head, I hold the material to my stomach, staunching the wound. “We’ll see.”
I know my body. I know how it works. This isn’t the wound that will kill me. I’ll know it when it happens. I might be sore as fuck for a few weeks and I might be grumpy as hell about it, but other than that this injury will end up scarring nice and good and leaving me with another story to tell the girls.
I glance up at Michael, who’s standing with his hands on his hips with his head cocked to one side. “So, this is a pretty common occurrence. There’ll be a lot of blood involved. The hours are long. Mostly nights. I’ll ask you to do shit and I’ll expect you to do it without asking questions. Nearly everything will be illegal. You’ll probably get killed at some point. What do you say?” How could he possibly say no?
Michael nods, turning slightly to angle his body toward the laughter and chink of glassware out in the apartment. He seems to think about it for a second. And then he says, “Sure. Why not?” And that’s it. It’s a done deal. Michael now works for me. “You got bandages?” he asks.
I tell him where to find them in the bathroom cabinet across the hall. He’s gone for a moment and then he’s back with the whole first aid kit. He tells me he’s going to sew me up and I tell him I don’t need stitches. He doesn’t listen and does it anyway, which could be a problem in future, but I figure I’ll have time to mold him into the perfect employee as we go along. After that I’m bandaged up and slapped on the shoulder, and I realize that no one’s done that to me in…ever. It’s a brotherly thing. A sign of camaraderie that I’ve never been shown before. I’d probably murder any of Charlie’s other boys for even trying. I don’t try and kill Michael, though. I give him a hard nod—thank you—and jerk my head toward the party going on in my living room.
“You wanna stick around. I’m guessing you know what this is all about.”
He nods, laughing softly. “I had my suspicions. Which were confirmed when I risked the hallway just now.”
“It bother you?”
“Group sex? Voyeurism?”
“Any of it. Any possible sexual deviation you can imagine. You’ll see them all here.” Better to be honest right off the bat, I suppose. Once a month, this place is not for the faint of heart.
“I got my own things where that’s concerned,” he admits. “Not much fazes me these days.”
“No, I didn’t think it would.” I tense my abs and slowly stand, rising carefully, waiting to see if my intestines are about to tumble out of my body. Aside from hurting like a bitch, everything appears to be staying put, though.
“You didn’t think about calling this off?” Michael asks.
I laugh, enjoying the slightly manic edge I’m feeling as I make my way over to the walk-in closet and stoop, collecting a black duffel from the ground. “Now why would I do that? I’m good to go, brother. And there are women out there I got business with.”
He has curiosity written all over his face. It’s the first time I’ve been able to read what he’s thinking properly. He eyes the bag. “Should I even bother asking what you got in there?”
“Take a look.” I hold it out to him. He takes it from me, unzips it, and his eyebrows hit his hairline.
“I see.” I consider laughing, but the whiskey’s making me feel sharp. I retrieve the bag and kick it under the bed. Michael slides his jacket on, cracking his neck. “You got a woman out there? Someone in particular?” he asks.
I place both of my hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eye. “The day I bring a woman back here and tell you she’s mine to keep, Michael, is the day I’ve lost my mind. Put me the fuck down immediately.”
SLOTH
By
ELLA JAMES
I thought it might be fun to share an excerpt from one of my favorite authors! If you haven’t already discovered the amazing Ella James, then that are you waiting for? Sloth is out right now and it’s incredible!! Check out the excerpt below and let me know what you think!
Best,
Sloth: A Sinful Secrets Novel
By Ella James
Releasing Monday, June 22, 2015
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23716176-sloth
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=sloth+ella+james
For updates on Sloth, Ella’s Facebook page is www.facebook.com/ellajamesauthorpage
Book Blurb:
Dear A. –
I am writing to express my gratitude for your gift. There are no sufficient words, but please accept my sincerest thank you.
Yours,
R.
She writes me back.
I didn’t expect that.
She tells me she’s a lover of chicken pizza and video games, a hot sorority girl with the nickname Sloth. She wants to know something about me in return. She says I owe her.
This is how she saves my life. She doesn’t even know it. We’ve never even seen each other. But I need a reason. Just one reason to continue. She becomes mine.
The anonymity is good. She doesn’t need to know me, but I need her kindness. We both live our lives: a letter here, a post card there. For three years, I escape my demons. And then one day I’m pulled back in.
I’ve resigned myself to what I know is coming. Until the girl I’m spanking gives her safe word: Sloth.
And then the lie I’m living starts to unravel.
--
Sloth is an erotic romance. It’s a dark mystery, so if you’re sad, read another book. This one is real, and hard. Not that kind of hard. (That kind of hard, too). Consider yourself warned.
P.S. The book ends on a beach. That’s all I’m saying. As for an HEA, you’ll have to read and see.
P.S.S. Sloth is long—about 500 pages. It was supposed to be short and quick. Instead it’s a behemoth that consumed its author for six months. As such, the price is going from $2.99 to $4.99 shortly after release.
Excerpt:
I read once that everyone has a finite supply of willpower, and tonight I’ve used up all of mine. Not going after Cleo and giving her the whipping she earned. Not calling one of the girls on my list of dirty fucks.
I pull up the text feature first, but I know as soon as I see it that I’m not going to text Cleo.
I need to hear her voice.
I punch her number in and sit at the top of the front staircase, looking down on the foyer: a dark cavern, sparkled and polished—all for naught. No one who comes here
cares about those sorts of things.
No one but me.
I like order.
Cleo lets it ring so many times, I’m surprised when the ringing gives way to silence. A little rush jolts through my body when I realize she’s breathing into the phone.
“Cleo.”
It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, she sounds…young. “It’s me.”
I curl my fingers around the phone, remembering how good she tasted on my fingers. My dick hardens, and as it does, my balls draw up and ache. I ignore the pain and focus on the pleasure. My hand drifts down and wraps around the thick head of my dick. I tug and grin, imagining how I’m going to discipline Miss Whatley as soon as I get the chance.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask.
I know she’s got something to say to me. Otherwise she wouldn’t have answered my call. I wait a minute, stroking myself through the opening of my robe.
Finally she says, “What do you have to say for yourself? You made me feel cornered and set up. I don’t trust you. If you try to rat me out, I’ll say you lured me to your house and tried to force me. The bruise between your legs can back me up.”
I laugh—a low hoot, surprising myself. “Can it?”
“Yeah, it can. I don’t like you, Kellan. I don’t want to talk to you again.”
“Tell me—how does your pussy feel? My cock is wounded. Even now, as it salutes you, it feels…misunderstood. Discarded.”
“Are you really trying to sexy talk me after what happened today?”
“No trying to. I am. Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”
“Is that a threat?” Her voice is high, like she really thinks it might be.
“Cleo. Cleo, Cleo… We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid. If you think I would hurt you, I’m forced to wonder if you’re fanaticizing. I’d never hurt a woman who didn’t beg for it.”
“What does that mean?” she whispers.
“Have you ever been whipped?”
“No.” Her voice is still a whisper.
“Have you ever had your cunt spanked?”
“No.”
“Ever been bound?”
She hesitates.
“You have.” My pulse quickens.
“Not really. My ex tried to tie me to the bed posts with one of his ties.”
“What did you think of it?” My throat is so dry, the words stick a little.
“It was fun I guess, but he wasn’t very good at knots. I got out in like ten seconds.”
“Maybe you’re just good at escaping.”
“Maybe.” Another pause. “Kellan, can I go now? I’m sorry I offended your dick or whatever. I did that because I was freaked out. Thank you for not following me, and for not threatening me or being any weirder. I enjoyed…” She fumbles for the words.
I stroke my cock. “You enjoyed my mouth on your pussy?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “If you have to put it that way.”
“My tongue in your slit? My lips on your clit? I know you enjoyed it. I’d like to do it again.”
“Not happening.”
“What will it take? How many bricks?”
“You want to pay me like a prostitute, with marijuana?”
“I’d make an exchange involving that, yes.” I add, “Don’t say it on the phone, Cleo.”
“And you would get what?” She scoffs. “My body?”
I picture her lying in her bed, shirtless with her nipples hard, cradling a phone to her cheek. “And I would get….a bunch of free weed?”
“Exactly. And you give me a cut of what you sell.”
“How big a cut?” she asks.
“Sixty.”
She scoffs. “That doesn’t sound so great for me.”
“You have no overhead. You pay me nothing. It’s all profit to you.”
She sighs. “Thereby making me a whore.”
“My whore. I treat my whores better than most men treat their wives. I should add…you would get my body, too.”
I went with an arrogant voice, and it did the trick. She giggles.
I arch a brow as I stroke my aching dick. “What’s so funny, Cleo?”
“I can’t believe I’m talking about this. With Kellan Walsh of all people.”
I lean back against the wall and lift my legs up onto the second-story floor. I raise my knees and spread my legs slightly. “The insults keep coming.”
She snorts. “You’re an uptight, rule-following douche—or so I thought.”
“I do make a strong—and wrong—first impression.”
I hear her yawn. “I never thought I’d be discussing stuff like this with you. I can’t believe you called me after I got you in the balls.”
“I didn’t call to chat.” I’m going for stern, but I feel like I can hear a smile when she says, “What did you call to do?”
I imagine her pussy, spread open—pink and dripping. “I wanted to give you one more chance to work with me. To live with me. To be fucked by me.”
“Your arrogance astonishes me, Mr. Walsh.”
I try to analyze her voice and find it curious. Soft and feminine and definitely curious, despite claiming she was scared.
She wants me.
Just like I want her.
“Let me make you come—right now. With just my words. When I do, you’ll move in with me.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Callie Hart is a bagel eating, coffee drinking, romance addict. She can recite lines from the Notebook by heart. She lives on a ridiculously high floor in a way-too expensive building with her fiancé and their pet goldfish, Neptune.
*****
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