He kissed me. Channing kissed me.
It must mean something – he who never kisses.
“Shit, they’re coming for us,” she hears a voice say.
Alarmed, they break the kiss. She looks up to see a large boat bearing down on them from aft. All its spotlights are on and several figures on deck are pointing machine guns at them.
“There’s another one behind us,” someone warns.
She swivels her head behind her. Indeed, there’s even a larger boat heading at top speed straight for them. They are sandwiched in between the two boats which appear to be on a collision course.
Channing says beneath his breath, “Fuck, I think they’re going to ram us.”
She can only watch helplessly as the two boats speed closer. Channing grabs her hand.
“Everybody jump!” he yells.
He helps her over the railing.
“Go, Susan, you can do it,” he says tersely.
She doesn’t think – she just leaps as far as she can out into the water. The cold impact is a shock to her senses. She sinks, the darkness rushing around her. She doesn’t know which way is up, and so she begins to swim towards where she thinks is the surface. But she kicks and kicks, and everywhere, there is water.
She hears the awful shrieking of a metal hull into another metal hull – a noise from the bowels of hell itself – coming from everywhere and nowhere. She feels someone’s hand clasping her waist. But before she can tell who it is, water rushes into her mouth and she finds her world winking out . . . slowly . . . until it is nothing but a big black liquid mass.
6
When she comes to, the stone floor is cold and hard beneath her. Her air passages feel chafed and burned, as though they have been thoroughly laundered. She is lying naked on her belly, with her face pressed to the ground. Her entire body is numb.
Am I dead? she wonders. But a tendril of hair teases into her mouth, and she blows it out slowly. At least she still has her lungs.
She slowly raises her head. Channing is beside her – immobile, his head bowed. He is seated upon an iron chair. Chains snake across his arms and shoulders and his wrists are tethered behind him. His ankles are manacled to the legs of the chair. There is something a little off about his posture. His knees are too bent, and then she realizes that his naked buttocks are sunken into a crude hole made in the seat.
The man before her is Channing, she assures herself. He has no rose tattoo on his right pectoral.
They are in a dungeon cell. The walls are of the same material as the floor. Although the room is humid, the temperature here is considerably lower than her former bedroom prison. She is certain they are on the island – somewhere in the bowels of the mansion. She has a bad feeling about that chair. It’s a torture device.
Her body feels as though it has been hammered all over, but she makes herself rise to her feet to crawl to him.
“Channing?” she says softly.
She lays her hand on his shoulder. Why did they shackle him and not her?
His eyelids flutter open. His shoulders heave as he takes a deep breath. His irises are blurry, as though he has just been awoken from a deep stupor.
“Susan?”
“Channing.” She kneels before him and grasps his shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“I should be asking you that.” He manages a wry grin.
“I’m alive. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” She strengthens her grip on him. She’s so glad he’s here. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if he were killed, although that might be a possibility within the next few hours. “You found me.”
“Yeah, but look where we are right now. Not exactly the Hilton.”
“What do you think he will do to us?”
The rueful smile has not left his lips. “Kill me. He kidnapped you to lure me here, I see that now. He knew I wouldn’t be able to raise the money on time. The lead he left me was too timely . . . too convenient.”
“You still raised two hundred and fifty million dollars for me,” she says in awe.
“It’s only money.” He shrugs as much as the chains will allow him to. “I can always make it back. But this . . . this isn’t about money.”
“I know. It’s about revenge.”
He sighs. “If he only knew the truth about it. What did he tell you?”
She relays what Hugh had recounted about what happened in the citadel. Her words tumble when she mentions Alia and the fact that Channing left her and his brother to their fate. Her heart thuds as she rushes her story. I don’t believe you’re a cold-blooded murderer, she beseeches silently between the lines.
Channing listens to all this without interruption. The set of his mouth is grim.
When she has finished, he says, “It didn’t happen that way.”
“Then how did it happen?”
He raises his brilliant blue eyes to hers. An unspeakable sadness fills them. He flits them away.
“What?” she cries. “What is it? Why can’t you tell me?”
He shakes his head. It is as though he is in great torment.
“That’s not how it happened,” he repeats.
She holds him for a long while, luxuriating in his presence and his warmth. He’s really here. He came for me. He did.
She says, “It doesn’t matter what you did in Iraq. It’s who you are now.” There’s a pain within her chest that is so turbulent and voluminous that she thinks she will explode.
Her voice is tremulous as she continues, “I have something to tell you.”
He gazes questioningly at her.
“I-I have to tell you before . . . ” she can’t get the words out. Before we are killed, she wants to say. “I l-love you, Channing. I think I’ve loved you the moment I stepped into your office.”
Was that only a fortnight ago? It seems like a lifetime.
His cheekbones wince, as though he’s flinching from a physical blow. A dagger twists in her heart. She’s bleeding all over, but she scarcely feels it because she is so numb.
He doesn’t love me . . . oh, he doesn’t love me. And yet he came for me. It doesn’t matter. I needed to tell him, and I did.
He says hoarsely, “Kiss me.”
She raises her head to his, and they mold their mouths together. It’s a passionate kiss – full of feeling and yearning and regret. They kiss and kiss with mounting hunger. Her hands roam all over his shoulders and arms and chest. As she brushes over his nipples, they perk up and become erect. Her palm trails on its own volition down to his cock. It is as hard and thick as she remembers. She cups his balls, which are dangling in the hole.
He parts for air.
“God, Susan,” he gasps against her lips, “you drive me crazy.”
It isn’t exactly what she hopes he would say, but it would have to do. The bizarre circumstances they are in only serves to fuel their desire for each other. It’s as if the realization of their mortality makes them understand how fragile and fleeting their happiness is.
They kiss and kiss, and it seems like she’s been kissing him forever. She kisses his chin, and then his throat, and back to his always hungry lips. Their kisses are voracious and sublime, as though they are falling into each other in a mind mesh of souls. Her clit throbs with need and her juices begin to copiously flow. She needs so much for him to fill her.
He whispers, “I have never kissed anyone for the longest time since . . . ”
He falters. He doesn’t have to complete the sentence. She knows what he will say.
Since Desert Rose.
Hope swells within her chest. If he loved Desert Rose and he kissed her, it might mean –
Her resolve to maintain propriety in this place crumbles. To hell with the dozen hidden cameras here, she’s going to seize a final piece of happiness with the man she loves. She may never get the chance again.
His body responds to hers. She straddles him and positions his upright penis against her starving little hole. She pushes herself down on him.
“Aaah,” she gushes as gravity fuels her.
He hisses between his teeth. His eyes are closed once again, savoring her sweet, wet bed.
The thick firm column of flesh invading her wet tunnel cleaves apart her walls like a sluice. The pleasure is almost too intense. His cock is meant to be inside her. It was perfectly made for her. His flesh embeds every crevice and every nook of her velvety passage, every fold and every cleft. His crown pushes against her cervix, buoying her up. Her weight causes his buttocks to sink in further into the hole, but his strong thighs strain to counter gravity.
“You all right?” she asks.
“Never been better.”
She begins to rock against him, sliding herself up and down his cock.
“God, Susan.” He closes his eyes. “There was a time I thought I would never experience this again.”
“Experience what? Me?”
“Yeah.” The look on his face is one of pure unadulterated bliss.
Her breasts rub against his chest. Nipples brushing against nipples. Erotic skin tingling against erotic skin. She moves her hips purposefully, her abdominal muscles tensing and relaxing as she navigates the length of his cock. Her pussy clenches his rigid cock – squeezing, oscillating, grinding herself around and against him.
She’s building and building her volcano of desire. She can feel the tendrils of compressed need gathering in her groin.
He seems to want a quick release this time, perhaps sensing that they don’t have much left together. He thrusts his hips upward to meet hers – stroke for stroke. She matches him. Her downslide into his upslide. Her hands clutch at his shoulders for leverage as she increases her rhythm. She cries out with each crunch of her muscles, and he grunts and breathes heavily into her neck. He nuzzles her skin, softly licking her sweat off with his tongue. And then he bites softly down into her flesh.
“Ahhh,” she moans.
She throws back her head and allows her orgasm to crash through her body. At the same time, he gives a strangled cry and jettisons his fluids into her. He’s so deep that that she doesn’t even feel the spurt. Whatever he has gushes into the deep, deep secret hollows of her womb – so deep that she can feel him quaking her soul.
She contorts and arches her back. She cries out again and again with the spasming of her pelvic musculature. The florid sensations worm into every part of her, assaulting her spine and zooming right up to the part of her brain that logs for lust and satiety.
She collapses on top of him, her forehead on his sweaty, heaving shoulder and her tousled damp hair flowering over his skin. Their harsh breathing echoes one another – twin concerts of taken and given pleasure. She feels his semen trickling out of her and she basks in the orgasm’s afterglow, slowly recovering her senses along with the realization that this may be their last act of love with each other.
He bends his head to kiss the side of her face. She turns her head again to engage his mouth in another spellbinding kiss.
“I love you,” she whispers against his lips. “I don’t care if you don’t love me in that way. I just wanted to say it again.”
Indeed, her heart swells with a piquant resonance that cannot be quenched.
He says, “The last woman I said those words to . . . died in bad way.”
Yes, she knows.
Now he’s afraid to say it anymore.
It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. What matters is that they are both still alive and with each other.
He says, “This contraption I’m in . . . the way I’m tied up now . . . it was how Alia’s father punished me when he found out I was fucking his daughter.”
The slow horror that is simmering below the surface is starting to seep out from within her bones. She did suspect there was something amiss.
“He’s reenacting everything that happened?” she whispers.
“Yeah, there’s more where it came from. A lot more.” He grimaces.
The sound of a key in the lock of the dungeon door alerts them. She quickly gets off him. His cock is still semi-hard and wet from their collective juices, leaving anyone who comes in with no doubt whatsoever as to what they have been doing.
She expects to see Hugh, so she’s taken aback when someone else appears at the doorway. Someone who is shrouded in diaphanous white veils and a long robe. Not a he but a she. The skin of her face is dusky in the half of her face which is exposed. The other half is covered by an obsidian mask. Her eyes are a soft doe-like brown.
The woman says to Channing, “I wanted to see you for myself, you monster.”
Susan flits her gaze to Channing’s face and takes a step back in alarm. Channing has gone as white as a ghost. And it would appear that he has seen a ghost because the next word that comes out of his mouth affirms it.
He says in shock, “Alia?”
EROTICA BY APHRODITE HUNT
The ‘Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire’ series
His Indecent Proposition
His Indecent Demands
His Indecent Desires
His Indecent Secrets
The ‘Initiation’ series
Open Your Legs for Me
Blindfolded and Spread-eagled
Thighs Wide Apart
Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy
The Final Initiation
The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories
The ‘Initiation 2’ series
Open Your Legs for my Family
Bend Over for my Family
Publicly Display Yourself for Me
Sex Slave at Sea
Paraded before the Billionaires
Sex Slave at the Auction
The ‘Initiation 3’ series
Sex Slave to the Dictator
‘The Royal Captive’ series
Prince Miro’s Capture
Prince Miro’s Submission
Prince Miro’s Enslavement
Prince Miro’s Punishment
Prince Miro’s Escape
Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation
The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3
The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6
The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series
I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac
Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me
Gang Banged by the Chain Gang
Tempting the Hot Navy SEAL
The ‘Delicate Piercings’ series
Her First Clit Ring
Her First Clit Ring 2: Menage
Her First Clit Ring 3: Desensitization
The ‘Undercover’ series
Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor
Undercover: Stealing from the Sexy CEO
The ‘Alien’ series
Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens
Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens 2
Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)
When He’s Inside You
My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper
The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense)
WORKS BY ARTEMIS HUNT
EROTIC ROMANCES
The ‘Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male’ series
A Virgin Enslaved
The ‘Maid for the Billionaire Prince’ series
Mysterious Desire
Forbidden Desire
Infamous Desire
Royal Desire
ROMANCES
The Body Snatcher Wears Lipstick
Snow White and the Alien
Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://artemishunt.blogspot.com/ and http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates. I write as Artemis Hunt for erotic romances with a more romance feel and Aphrodite Hunt for pure erotica and erotic romances which are slightly kinkier. So please be aware of what you’re getting into, dear reader, when you read one of my stories. Thank you so much for your support.
EXCERPT FROM ‘DOMINATING GRACIE’ BY L
ILIANA HART
Gracie McGuire liked it rough.
So you can imagine her disappointment when her current lover continued to plunge in and out of her body with all the enthusiasm and finesse of a lame horse put out to pasture. Her lover’s sweaty, going-to-flab, body was a testament to too many hours behind a desk, and his farmer’s tan was attributed to too many business meetings on the golf course.
John Johnson was a stud in the banking world, but he was a dud in the bedroom.
Gracie watched with detached amusement as he gave a final thrust and groaned out a climax. His face mottled bright red with the exertion of success and the veins in his forehead bulged. She thought briefly of faking her own orgasm, but decided he was already past the point of noticing that she hadn’t been satisfied. At least he was starting to last a little longer. She’d had time to go through her entire grocery-shopping list before his Big Finish.
“Oh, Gracie, you are one hot little number. It just keeps getting better and better,” John panted, giving her breast one last squeeze before he pulled out of her and discarded the condom.
“Mmmm,” she moaned and rolled her eyes. It wouldn’t do any good to expound on his false virtues. His ego was already inflated enough. Not to mention she was afraid if she opened her mouth to speak she’d tell him how much she hated being called a hot little number in that condescending Texas drawl. She was a tax attorney for God’s sake, not an exotic dancer.
His Indecent Secrets (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire, BDSM Erotic Romance) Page 4
