by Dae, Harlem
I stared at her self-righteous expression.
“The thing is, Victor, you just didn’t know it about yourself before me. Before I took you under my wing and showed you what was beneath the layers.”
“That darkness is nowhere near as strong as my light. It was just you who encouraged it out. I’ll put it straight back where it’s always been. I’ll never let it surface again.”
“Oh, Victor.” She shook her head, furrowed her brow. “I wish I was going to be around to watch you try and do that. You’ll fail, you know.”
“Whenever I decide to do something I always succeed.” I gestured around the apartment. “Or hadn’t you noticed that little detail about me?”
“Building apartments and hospitals and fancy barns is a very different game to trying to deny your soul’s desires.” She stepped further into the hallway. “I hope you find what it is your heart is crying out for, Victor, because clearly it’s crying out for something.” She paused, then almost to herself said, “And thank fuck it’s not me.”
The door slammed shut. The sound echoed around my empty penthouse and vibrated through my chest.
Good, she’d gone.
That was the end of all that nonsense.
The Player Book #2 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy.
If you enjoyed Victor and Zara in The Virgin, check out the second book in the series The Player (first three chapters right here for you to enjoy) and discover what happens next in their rollercoaster relationship.
Want all the inside gossip? Find it in the Sexy as Hell Magazine which is full of information about the characters, locations and Harlem Dae. And did you know, there are also sexy short stories becoming available about the secondary characters in Sexy as Hell, more information on the Harlem Dae website.
Back Cover Information for The Player, Book #2.
Tuscany – New lovers, new lessons and an eruption of uncontrollable lust.
The real world was working for me, its pastel shades and straight-and-narrow route a familiar path to tread. It suited me, this normality; it was good for me too. Or so I thought, because the new light in my life, Catherine, was not quite fulfilling my needs. Her lack of colour, the weak whispers of her kisses were not touching my soul the way I’d become accustomed to. I needed more.
More of everything in my darkly addictive rainbow; the wicked wantonness of sin, the depraved pleasure of seedy seduction and the prism of delight I took in being struck…and of doing the striking. I missed the fireworks, the brilliant displays of Technicolor ecstasy that strung me out and bared me to my bones. I wanted to go there again, and take Catherine, too, see if I could have that pyrotechnic display with her. Did she have a riot of vibrant shades beneath her skin or was she magnolia to the core?
My teacher, Zara, told me I could discover her palette. That all I needed to do was show Catherine my world, my new world, the one I’d never inhabited alone. Zara couldn’t come with me this time, she had a new student now. I was on my own, it was down to me. Or was it?
It seemed my teacher had other ideas after all, and when she sashayed back into my life with her rules and murmurs of encouragement, I had no choice but to listen to her, take her advice, follow her lead, even though I knew nothing ever ended well with her. But resistance was futile, my protests fell on deaf ears. But that suited my plans, didn’t it?
Available from Amazon US and Amazon UK and all other Amazon sites around the world.
The Vixen Book #3 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy.
If you want to find out more about the games Victor and Zara indulge in, grab a copy of the final book in the series, The Vixen.
Venice – Two people, a shed load of baggage and a way forward that takes extreme to new limits.
In an explosion of clarity, the mist cleared and I understood what my lascivious teacher, Zara, really was beneath the surface. I couldn’t see her beautiful core. Like a dank fog warning off poor unfortunates who wandered her way, she wouldn’t let the darkness lift, refused to light the way. But she gave me a key. It was small, stiff, and I was afraid of what I’d find if I turned it. But I did. I couldn’t resist. She did that to me.
In a tumble of truths, I understood her bleak voids and why she filled them with sharp slicing reds and hostile bruising purples. What had happened, what they’d done had bled her of colour and created a woman who needed so much more and always would—for all of time. But I could give her back that vibrancy, I was sure I could; my colours complimented hers and I had plenty of them. My needs could switch to take her to those grey places she needed to visit again in order to obliterate the memories that caused her pain. In the space they’d occupied, I’d create a pile of shimmering, perfectly cut-diamond memories, a rainbow cloud of sugar mist to replace that dankness. I could do it; I would help her become more beautiful than anything I’d seen before.
And within that new, delicate ‘thing’ was us. Victor and Zara. Unconventional, extreme, romantic, we spanned every shimmering stroke of the rainbow and all the coal-black shadows on the way down to Hell. But together we could fight demons. I would be her knight in shining armour even if it pushed me to the very limits of what I ever believed I could do to a woman. And what thrilled me, was if I bared my soul, found the courage to be a monster as well as an angel, I had a very real chance of making her mine—or did I? Because the only thing predictable about Zara, was that she was completely unpredictable.
Available from Amazon US and Amazon UK and all other Amazon sites around the world.
About the Authors
Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae have been writing together for several years now on top of their individual author projects. Their joint name is now Harlem Dae. They enjoy being represented by traditional houses including HarperCollins and Total-E-Bound as well self-publishing their sexy stories on Amazon. Both live in the UK and gain great satisfaction from bouncing characters and their raunchy antics back and forth, growing, nurturing and stoking plot lines until they steam off the page and push boundaries. They consider themselves to be solitary, whacky, spontaneous and desirous for many things including perfection and are frequently caught sending messages back and forth referring to each other as Rodney and Delboy.
Find out more about –
Harlem Dae
Natalie Dae
Lily Harlem
Sexy as Hell Magazine
Sexy as Hell Secondary Character Short Stories
Keep reading to enjoy the first three chapters of The Player for FREE!
The Player – Book #2 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy
Chapter One
Suck my cock.
The dirty demand screamed through my mind, galloped down to my mouth and sat heavily on my tongue, trying to eke its way to the tip, to my lips, where it could take control, form, spill into the air and shock the shit out of Catherine Jane MacKenna.
Sweet, pretty, wholesome Catherine; public school education, successful interior designer, and niece of my faithful, long-serving secretary Mary.
Just the sort of girl I needed. No slutty job, no kinks that involved stuffing things up my arse, and no beefy slave who followed her around hoping for the chance to lick her boots or receive a beating. And was Catherine likely to turn up at my office, crawl under my desk and suck my dick for breakfast? My bets were on that being a very unlikely situation—at least until the sun rose in the west and set in the east.
Yes, Catherine was perfect for me, and this, our fourth date, had proven that she was exactly what the doctor ordered. I felt great. My heart had been beating regularly and my ectopics minimal—so the consultant told me at my check-up yesterday. The twenty-four-hour heart monitor had given me the all clear.
I intended for it to stay that way.
And it would. Because with Catherine in my life, casting a predictable, ordered, sensible essence into my world, there would be no forgetting my tablets, no roller coaster ride of desire and lust that had my head spinning and reality fading. No, Catherine was as safe as safe could be.
I swallowed those sinful, filthy, cock-sucking words with a wedge of foie gras on a sun-dried tomato cracker. They would have to stay unspoken, remain in my head for as long as I lived. That was how it should be. Men shouldn’t go around demanding their cocks to be sucked, no more than ladies should request their cunts to be licked.
Catherine was chatting about a Tuscan villa she’d stayed in the year before. It belonged to a friend apparently. Beautifully appointed with antiques and decorated in hues of orange and chocolate. She was always especially careful to describe décor, down to the most minute of details.
She paused to take a swig of a 1994 Malbec, and I studied her mouth. Would she be any good at sucking cock? Would she be the sort who tolerated it for a minute or so and then switched to something else, or would she relish the fucking of her mouth? Get into the moment, open wide, let me sink deep, suck and ripple her tongue around my dick, and then swallow. God, I hoped she was a swallower, wasn’t sure if I could live without that now. I’d been spoilt.
I held in a huff. Spoilt. I guess that was one word for being blinded by lust, infatuated with a sexual deviant and my world leaving the rails without me even noticing.
Catherine a swallower? Mmm. She sure could swallow wine, she’d drained that glass already. I hadn’t taken more than two sips of mine.
I topped her up and she thanked me. Continued to describe the Tuscan way of designing kitchens to be modern but look rustic.
Catherine and I had yet to enjoy more than a quick kiss at the end of our dates. Perhaps that was why my mind was wandering down the cock-sucking route. I was getting ready for some deep-throat action. It had been three weeks since I’d seen ‘her’ with all her rampant exploits and going down on me whenever she had the chance. Jesus. She had in here, The Savoy, right at that table over there, the one in the corner.
I shifted on my seat, my cock stiffening at the memory. It made me angry that it did that, my dick—blighter had a bloody mind of his own. I pulled my attention away from the elderly couple who now sat at that table, staring blankly around. Had a lifetime together used up all of their conversation? Had everything been said? Nothing new to discuss?
I couldn’t imagine my previous girlfriend—who was I kidding, that was not the word to describe Zara, my former bed partner. Nope, there hadn’t been much action in the bed. She preferred sex dens and cold summerhouses, the cleaner’s cupboard, here, at The Savoy… Anyway, I couldn’t imagine her ever running out of things to say. Or via text or email for that matter. She’d always had some demand, some obscene instruction waiting to be said, be it with words or letters.
“So maybe, Victor, we could have a weekend there, in the spring.”
“What? Sorry, Catherine.” I fumbled, trying to recall the chain of our conversation. “Oh, Tuscany. Yes, sounds lovely. I’ve never been to that part of Italy before.”
She smiled prettily. Her pale pink lips were shiny, just a little, and nearly always set in a soft approving curve. Not like Zara’s scarlet slashes that pouted and turned down as readily as they turned upwards. I couldn’t imagine Catherine pouting, or smiling at me with a large globule of my cum balanced on her bottom lip.
Jesus.
I squirmed again, wished my dick would bloody behave. But the memory of Zara slowly poking out her tongue to scoop up my jizz, making a show of drawing it into her mouth, savouring it, enjoying it and making my cock bloat again even though she’d just drained me with her wicked sucking was an image too powerful to ignore.
I pressed my cock, pretending I was adjusting my linen napkin, and thought of Mary, Catherine’s aunt, polishing those brass horseshoes she told me she collected. With rollers in her hair, Hilda Ogden style, a flowery pinny on and Val Doonican warbling in the background. That helped diminish my lusty imaginings.
“Great, I’ll probably speak to Samantha and Tristan over the Christmas holidays,” Catherine said, “they usually ski, of course. But I’ll catch up with them and see when the weather will be just right. It would be good to get it booked up as soon as possible.”
“Yes, something to look forward to. An escape from this blessed rain.” I sipped my wine and my erection began to calm.
“Flights are from Heathrow, so nice and easy,” she said.
“Mmm, suits me.” But I’d book a private plane to take us there, one of the things I liked to splash out on if ever I did take a break away. “It’s been a while since my last holiday.” That was if you didn’t count the week after Zara had left. Not that I’d gone anywhere, I’d just stayed home, watching TV, drinking beer, mucking around on the ’net. Seemed silly to pay for a hotel when I had such a great London pad. Too big for one person, really. Besides, I hadn’t been in the mood.
“They have a blog,” Catherine was saying. “Samantha and Tristan. They add to it whenever they make an improvement to the villa or buy something new. It really has been quite an adventure for them, and of course, for their little kids, Fifi and Raif.”
Fifi. I knew a Fifi. She’d been a wild thing, by all accounts, though not quite as shameless as Zara. Who was I trying to fool? Of course she was. There’d been that show, with Carlos, and then Zara telling me about them sitting on each other’s faces, offering me a private performance.
“Sounds lovely,” I said, setting down my knife and fork, starter demolished. “The villa, that is.”
“Maybe I could show you later,” she said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“I’m sorry?” God, I really needed to step up. I wasn’t concentrating on my date at all tonight. It had been a mistake to bring her here. Too many memories of the erotic variety. Odd in a Michelin restaurant I agree, but that’s how it was. Oh, and then there was also the lingering image of mine and Zara’s ex’s having dinner together, at that table there. The slap-in-the-face shock Zara and I had experienced when we’d seen them.
And then, God, what we’d done afterwards. Having sex in the cleaner’s cupboard. Driving all that way to St Albans. Sneaking into the grounds of her ex’s barn conversion home and watching them. Watching them in action, full naked action, and…
“I said perhaps I could show you later, when you drop me home.” Catherine smiled.
Damn, it was a sugary-sweet smile. Perfect white teeth, cheeks balled into little apples, and a flutter of lashes, just a bit.
“We could have coffee at mine,” she went on. “I’ll find their blog on the Mac and you can see what you think of us spending time together there.”
I swallowed, and fuck, my dick rose from its semi to a stiff discomfort again. Was this it? Was Catherine inviting me to stay? Perhaps tonight I’d get more than just a peck. Perhaps tonight I’d get to savour her body. See what lay beneath the neat silky blouses and the smart black trousers she favoured. I’d bet money she had a great body lurking under there, what with being a member of the most exclusive gym in Hampstead and all. That wasn’t a place you went to in order to get into shape, it was one you had to be in shape to join.
“I’d like that very much.” I smiled and studied her eyes, to see if there was an invitation to join her in bed beneath the words.
I couldn’t see any such welcome.
But I consoled myself. Catherine, I suspected, wasn’t the type of girl to demand a good fucking. She’d no doubt require some gentle persuasion, a hefty dose of foreplay, and then, knowing how ‘most’ women were, the lights would have to be way down low and the duvet pulled up tight.
The waiter cleared our plates. I took another swig of wine. Allowed the pressure in my pants to sit there, content with the warm feeling of arousal circulating in my veins. For the first time in weeks, perhaps it wouldn’t be my fist helping me to shoot out my load tonight. Perhaps I’d get some hot, wet pussy to empty into.
Catherine lived in a cottage. Except it wasn’t a cottage at all, it was just what residents in this part of the city called their terraced houses. For me cottages were all about thatched roofs, lead-paned windows and roses growing over ar
ched doorways with brass fox-head knockers.
But it was a nice-looking home. One big bay window and a set-back red front door with an arch of stained glass above it.
After we’d taken off our shoes and coats, I followed her into the kitchen. A fussy pine room with something on every shelf and every inch of wall space. Not what I’d expected at all. I’d thought Catherine would be more into minimalism. Suppose that just went to show, you could never tell.
A bubble of hope grew in my chest. Perhaps she’d be wild in the sack. There was me thinking on the drive here that she’d be a bag of potatoes, but maybe she’d have a fantastic range of kinks. Who knew, she could have a specially designed cabinet holding a whole selection of butt plugs, vibrators, bondage equipment and dressing-up clothes. Oh, yes, maybe she’d have a nurse outfit. I still remembered how that one had appealed to me in the sex shop where I’d bought my paddle.
Catherine filled the kettle, and I leaned my bum against the counter, crossed my arms and stared at her as she set about making coffee, fussing over cream or milk, brown sugar or white. She had a great arse. High and pert from what I could make out. It would look good in that little dressy-up nurse thing. Maybe I should sound her out about it—if tonight’s first shag went well, that was—see if she’d be up to taking something like that to Tuscany.
She bent over, double, to reach a teaspoon that she’d allowed to clank to the wooden floor. Her trousers strained around the globes of her buttocks. I wondered if her pale skin would colour quickly with my paddle. I was sure it would. She’d pinken and ripen to a flushed scarlet. I could see her now, bent over my knee, my initials, VP, branding her arse. I’d check to see if she was getting wet with each whack. No doubt she would be. I’d help her along, though, give her little treats, a few fingers into her pussy, a fret of her clit, just to keep her on the edge and, knowing what the finale would be, how fantastic I’d make her feel.
