Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

"Cara mia," he says gently, his voice laden with emotion.

  I don't look over my shoulder again, simply glancing at the floor and smiling as shyly as I used to, because even when it's all said and done, he still makes me feel like a princess. Like I'm a priceless jewel he's lucky enough to hold in the palm of his hand, and like there's no one whom he'd rather share these moments with.

  He groans, and I hear him putting down the blush.

  He reaches me in three long steps filled with intent. His fingers wind their way into my hair, pulling, making me snap my head back. My blue eyes look up at his brown ones, his gaze filled with all the emotion, all those feelings we've been sharing for years. These days, there's no need to speak them out loud. After so many years together, I'm in Mason's head as much as he is in mine.

  I look up at him adoringly, looking for signs of trouble in those dark pools of his eyes.

  Of course, there has been trouble. Over the years, we've had our fair share of it.

  But moments like these, it doesn't matter. It doesn't even exist. All there is in the world is just us. His hands holding me, his eyes imploring my own to find out my secrets. But I stopped hiding those a long time ago. I gave myself to Mason freely, and completely.

  "Open your mouth," he groans, and my lips part for him just like they always do.

  Slowly, his spit trickles into my mouth, leaking down my lips and pooling in the hollow of my throat. He grins when I moan, still pleased by the sound of ecstasy he brings out from my body when nobody is looking. I always have been and always will be his muse.

  "Such a beautiful girl for me," he mutters to himself.

  I don't remind him that I'm a woman now.

  He knows, because he made me into one.

  "Kneel for me, Cara," he says, and I slide down from the stool I'm sitting on until my knees hit the ground.

  The beautiful marble floor is messy, clay dripping everywhere. He painted my body with it, made me play with water and get as messy as I possibly dared for his painting. This is for our own private collection. Nobody sees this except Mason and me. They're for our eyes only, and just because of that, they feel even more special than they are.

  I love it when he paints me. Still, after all this time. Love it when I know he's touching brush to paper with my image in his mind. I'll never get sick of it.

  The painting is long forgotten though. Now, all that matters are his fingers in my hair, his spit in my mouth. The need to have my pussy filled, the absolute unbearable desire, the lust that's clouding my vision. He renders me speechless when he acts this way. So dominant, so dark, so very inviting at the same time.

  He gathers all my hair in his fist and watches me kneel obediently with my hands placed on my knees. He pulls my hair up, making me look down. Maybe it's better, because looking into his eyes has me more nervous than ever before, and I'm too afraid to keep doing it.

  "What are you going to do to me?" I ask him shakily, and he laughs the same dark chuckle I've known and loved for so many years.

  "What haven't I done to you?" he asks me gently, tipping my chin back with his pointer finger placed beneath my jaw.

  I look up, and he turns my face side to side, examining me, seeing if I am as beautiful as I used to be.

  That's what I imagine, at least. But the hunger he displays when he's around tells me I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

  "What would you like me to do?" he asks next, and I dare a look into his whirlpool eyes. "Come on, you can tell me, cara mia. Be honest with me. I promise I won't get angry with you no matter what you say."

  "Take advantage of me," I whisper. "Hurt me... Do something I don't want. Make me."

  He laughs out loud, leaning down and leaving a rough but fleeting kiss against my lips.

  "You can't force the willing, my dear," he says gently, and I stick my tongue out at him, which makes him laugh.

  But the next second, he slaps my face as if it's nothing.

  I grab my cheek and glare up at him.

  "Is my sweet Cara angry?" he asks me with a grin. "Poor spoiled little girl isn't used to being treated roughly anymore, is she?"

  "Try me," I grind out through my teeth. "Try me. See if I can still handle it. I'll bet you anything you want I win."

  "Bet me?" he asks, his mouth lingering close to mine. "You want to bet me, cara mia? What are we betting for? I've already taken all of your virginities."

  "True," I say, giving him a wicked stare that makes him laugh out loud.

  "No," he says, shaking his head. "I'll never let you do that."

  "Well, if you're so sure you're going to win, you have absolutely nothing to worry about," I shrug innocently. "So, do you want to play?"

  "And if I win?" he challenges me. "What happens if my little girl can't handle me disciplining her like I used to?"

  "I'll let you choke me," I say, my eyes steady on his. "I'll let you choke me until I pass out, and I won't resist like I usually do. I'll even beg you to fuck me. And you can only stop choking when I'm passed out or coming for you."

  He contemplates his decision, but by the bulge in his pants I can tell he is already sold. He didn't need much convincing, either.

  "Do we have a deal?" I ask in my best seductive voice.

  Mason gives me a single curt nod, before pulling on my hair so hard I bite back a scream.

  "Let the games begin," he tells me with a wicked grin.

  It must be hours later.

  I'm lying on the cool marble floor, still covered in the clay which has now hardened against my wet, hot skin and is pulling at it none too gently.

  Mason thrusts into me, still on top of me, still pumping into my cunt so fucking fast it's a miracle he hasn't covered me in his creamy essence.

  "Cara mia," he mutters. "Cry for me, princess. I want to hear you fucking crying."

  "No," I choke out, even though I have tears in my eyes, even though he's been torturing me for hours.

  I won't give him what he wants, as much as he fucking wants me to do it. I won't. I'll never give it to him, because I want to win. I bite my bottom lip harshly to stop myself from crying out, but it only makes more tears gather in my eyes.

  "You will cry," he tells me darkly, and my vision darkens when he fucks me even harder than before.

  After all this time, I should be used to his thrusts, the way my body reacts to his. But again and again, I find my own body resisting.

  "Such a good girl," he grunts to himself, driving his whole length inside me. "Doesn't it hurt, Cara? Doesn't it feel fucking good like this? Tell me this is your favorite way to be fucked. Tell me you love it most when it fucking hurts."

  "I love it," I whisper. "I love it most when it hurts."

  His hands go up to my throat and I claw at them desperately.

  "Maybe I should just take what you promised me," he says, gently sliding his fingers all over my burning skin.

  It feels like the mere touch of his fingertips is going to set my whole body on fire. I don't understand the effect this man has on me, but it's a universal truth he will always, always be able to do this to me.

  "What if I squeeze the tears out of you?" he asks gently, stroking my throat. "What if I press right here..."

  His fingers circle the indentation in my throat.

  "I could stop your air supply so easily."

  How can his voice be so breezy when he's thrusting inside me like a damn bull? The man has the stamina of an animal. I could never deny that.

  "Don't," I whisper, begging him with my eyes because we both know my words won't last long.

  In moments, I'm going to be begging him to do it, anyway. Because it feels to good to resist Mason's charms. I don't even want to. All I want, all I need, is for him to take advantage of me. I've laid my body bare before him like so many times before, and it's his turn to do whatever the hell he wants to me. And I will love every fucking second of it.

  "Cry," he urges me, and I bite my bottom lip to stop myself. Maybe the difference in pain
will make me able to ignore how fucking horny his hands on my throat feel.

  "No," I manage to get out. "You can't make me."

  I feel my pussy barely stretching wide enough to adjust his growing girth. It feels like he keeps getting harder even now when he's already thick and throbbing so much I'm convinced he's going to come any second. But he won't stop fucking himself into me, gently holding my throat. Holding me like I'm a porcelain doll but fucking me like I'm nothing but a cheap, dirty slut. He fucks me with need and no respect, and I love him for it. For making me feel like a whore even now. He'll never stop. When Mason says it's forever, he means it.

  I feel the first prick of tears in my eyes. Mason doesn't say a word, just keeps fucking me as viciously as ever. His cock throbs inside me, his length making me open up wider and take all of his cock even though it almost never fits. I bite my lip, harder this time, but even that doesn't help.

  The first tear slides down my cheek and Mason growls at the sight of it. His hands tighten their grip on my throat. He's holding onto me as he fucks me now, and it feels really fucking incredible. Like I'm the only thing tying us together. Like he needs to hold me down if he wants to keep fucking me like some kind of savage.

  That's what we both are.

  Lying on the Italian marble, messy with clay all over us. We're fucking savages, and I laugh as more tears fall and the realization dawns on me.

  "I love you," I whisper to him, just as my vision goes black.

  I like the darkness. It feels so soft, so warm, so inviting. It feels like a cashmere blanket, enveloping me in a space so safe, so sacred, nobody could hurt me in it. It's like being in Mason's arms, falling asleep to the soundtrack of his beating hard. It's an addicting feeling, and I have no idea why I always resist.

  Maybe it's because I am dependent on it. Maybe because it gets me off so much I see fireworks in the darkness, and some too-far-gone part of me knows I just came all over my master's cock.

  I open my eyes slowly, carefully, my lashes fluttering and seeing him still above me, pounding harder than ever. His hands are gentle, but I feel the prints of his fingers on my throat, and I know he's bruised me so beautifully.

  "You look so peaceful," he grunts, fucking me deeper.

  His cock is in my womb.

  I know that after tonight, I'm going to be pregnant again, even though our youngest isn't even a year old yet.

  "You look so fucking beautiful passed out," he tells me, and I moan when I feel my pussy coming.

  I can't even help it. He just gets these reactions out of me so very easily, as if he'd just pressed a button to make me come. And I love every second of it.

  "That's right, cara mia," he groans. "Come on my cock, let me watch you soak it."

  I fight to keep my eyes open, but if I do, the tears keep flowing. But for once, I don't care about playing games with Mason. All that matters is that I get to come all over him, that he comes inside me. And just at that moment, when he thrusts so very deep one last time, I feel him fuck his cum inside me. It's like planting a promise inside my womb, letting me know I'll be carrying a child for the next nine months because he decided that was the way it had to be.

  "Such a good fucking girl," he growls as he finishes, and my own body keeps spasming right along with his as he pulls his cock outside. I still feel him inside me, and my pussy clenches tightly, holding onto the gift he left in me. "You're perfect, Cara. Will I ever have enough of you?"

  I smear a smudge of clay on his cheek and he laughs out loud at me.

  "Still just a little girl," he tells me affectionately as I get up on my elbows and kiss him with as much love as I had for him the day I decided to stay in Italy.

  "Your little girl," I remind him, and his tongue dips into my mouth, playing another vicious game with me.

  This time, I let him win willingly.

  AFFLICTION

  JENIKA SNOW

  SYNOPSIS

  It wasn’t until Cameron that I knew what real darkness was…or that I’d crave it so much.

  I’ve let the world weigh down on me, pull me under until nothing makes sense anymore. Maybe that’s how I let myself get into this mess. Maybe that’s how I’m in my current situation with a man I knew could save me from a fate worse than death. Even if being with Cameron, giving him every part of me, the only part that’s worth anything—my body—might very well ruin me, I have to survive.

  Drug lord. Crime boss. Murderer. I should fear him, be horrified by what he wants from me, by who he is. But instead I find myself wanting to please him, wanting to give myself over completely.

  Because I know that gives me control over him.

  Cameron Ashton reigns over the gritty underworld, the danger and violence of depravity, from his throne. A pistol is his sword, and apathy is his second-in-command. I know he’s dangerous, know he’ll break me and not think twice. But he’s my only chance, the only way I’ll survive.

  And I didn’t know how true that was until he owned me.

  He’s possessive and controlling. The darkness in him runs stronger, deeper than it ever has in me. Maybe we’re not so different. Maybe giving up my control to Cameron, giving him my very soul, makes me the powerful one.

  Maybe, in the end, I’ll be the one who owns him.

  Warning: This is a filthy, dark romance. There may be subject matter and triggers that are sensitive to some readers. This is a romance, albeit a twisted one. If you’re looking for a story that gives you the warm and fuzzies, this is not the book for you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE SWEAT RUNNING down the valley between my breasts was like fingers moving along me. I was hot, my body flushed, my heart racing. Everything in me felt alive, ready to tear through my skin like another entity wanting to escape.

  I was drunk, and I felt incredible.

  The bodies pressed tightly against me, moving sexually, suggestively, made me feel even better. It made me feel alive. I moved with them, swaying to the music, inhaling the scent of sex and alcohol that seemed to surround me. I was sure a lot of people would be fucking tonight. No doubt it would be dirty, their inhibitions having been left at the club as they took home a random person. It would be the kind of sex that drunk people had, sloppy, carefree.

  I wasn’t a good girl.

  I didn’t even feel like the girl they called Sofia.

  I didn’t follow the rules. And my life was less than memorable. I lived like today was my last, because for all I knew it would be. It could be.

  I came to this club when I couldn’t stand the box that was my life, the one that was sealed tight, no airholes, no light getting through the crack. I got wasted, danced until my body was covered with sweat, my muscles sore, and some poor, hard-up frat guy got off in his jeans by grinding against my leg. I was a wreck in many ways, and I had no doubt that people assumed I was slutty by the way I dressed, by the way I moved on the dance floor.

  But how I dressed and acted didn’t make up who I was: a virgin who was lost, who had no one, nothing. I was an inexperienced woman who came here and danced because I wanted a little bit of release…the only kind I ever got. How I felt here was like being consumed by the water, of being helpless but weightless, of being sucked down to the very bottom where no light was permitted.

  I wasn’t light. I was darkness wrapped up in a five-foot-five frame, with dark hair, a wild streak, and no one to stop me.

  Maybe I was a contradiction to myself, a lost girl who didn’t know what she wanted in life. But it’s who I was, how I got through each day.

  I embraced it, knowing that maybe my upbringing, that having an absentee mother, a drunk for a father, and a penchant for getting slapped on occasion by said parents made me this way.

  I wasn’t broken, but I was damaged.

  Or maybe it had nothing to do with my parents or what I didn’t have growing up: love. Maybe I was just born this way.

  Either way I didn’t try and stop it. I didn’t try and change.

  “You look g
ood out here dancing, girl.” The feeling of a guy behind me, of his hands on my hips, his hard cock digging into my lower back, had dual sensations moving through me. “You feel good,” he said again, his voice thick, aroused, slurred from the no doubt many drinks he’d consumed.

  I wanted him to get off, because knowing I had that kind of control, that kind of power, fueled me. But on the other hand I felt disgust, mainly for myself. I felt and smelled his hot, liquor-laced breath along my neck. I shivered, and the way he groaned made me assume he thought it meant I was into this.

  I wasn’t, but I didn’t stop from grinding on him.

  I lifted my hands, closed my eyes, and just thought about something else. I wasn’t here, wasn’t trying to get this guy to come in his pants. I was far away, so distant that nothing could touch me.

  “Come home with me. Hell, let’s go back to my car.”

  I shook my head. He needed to shut up.

  “Come on, girl.” He ground his dick against me again. He felt small, even though he was hard.

  “No. Either shut up and dance with me, or go find someone willing to go home with you.” I didn’t even know if he heard me over the rush of the music, but if he said one more word, I’d just go get a drink.

  He tightened his hold on my hips, digging his small dick into my back. “I bet you’re wet for me right now, aren’t you?” His breath was hot, humid. It was acidic and I gagged.

  I was bone-dry, not even the teasing of arousal playing over me. I never felt anything when I danced with these guys. It was what made me feel free, made me feel powerful in an otherwise unstable world. I might not have any kind of control with my personal life, with my finances, with anything that could ground me, but at this club, where the drinks flowed, the sex was potent, and my power was immense…I was the one in charge.

  I’d been called a dick tease, a bitch, whore, a cunt…any and all of the above. None of that mattered. They were verbal bullets, and in this club I wore my bulletproof vest.

  I pushed away from the guy and made my way to the bar. He was either cursing me out or had hopefully moved on to someone more receptive to what he was actually after. But when I got to the bar, the people crammed together, shouting, lifting their hands to get one of the three bartenders to come their way. I decided tonight was done. I’d hit the bathroom, then call a cab.