by Ashe, Karina
Keep Me in the Dark
In the Dark #2
by Karina Ashe
I thought I could take the fantasy, but everything is suddenly becoming far too real. It was supposed to just be about sex, but I'm starting to want too much, and I think he is too. But what happens when I start to want something more...and he refuses to leave the shadows?
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Copyright Information
Keep Me in the Dark (In the Dark #2)
Copyright © 2015 Karina Ashe. All rights reserved.
First ebook edition published May 2013 under the name "Love Me in Shadows (Behind the Mask, #1) by Tess Harper."
This book is a work of fiction. Names, celebrities, characters, places, businesses, trademarks and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons alive or dead is entirely coincidental. None of the celebrities, trademarks, works of art, artists, or businesses mentioned in Keep Me in the Dark endorse this book unless otherwise specified. All stock art and fonts were either purchased or made availalbe free for commercial use by the artists/designers. None of the models, photographers, artists, font designers, etc endorse Karina Ashe or her work unless otherwise specified.
Chapter 1
His voice is thick with an accent that I think is Russian, sort of like my midnight lover, but other than that he sounds nothing like him. His voice is too high. It doesn’t touch my soul. Still, I shut my eyes and feel myself sink into it—that longing always in my veins, on the tip of my mind, like a shadow, whenever I think of him.
“Okay, one dance,” I say. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Milaya Moyna.”
It’s a different endearment. I don’t like it. I swivel my chair around, frowning, and put a finger over his lips. “Bad name!”
“Okay, babe.”
I giggle at how he says babe and he gives me a lopsided grin. He’s actually kind of cute, with short cropped hair, steely eyes and boyish features…and I’m fairly sure that isn’t just the beer goggles talking. He’s a bit more muscular than I’d like, but that’s alright. But best of all, he looks as out of place in the club as I feel.
I let him pull me onto the dance floor.
“You’re beautiful, babe.”
I laugh. I feel more tipsy than beautiful, and I suspect my grin is a little wider than it should be, and my face is most certainly an unflattering shade of deep, alcohol-infused red. Well, he wants to get some so I guess he’d say just about anything. “I’m not interested in doing all that, fine sir. Just dancing.”
He pouts and I level him with a gaze that says he needs to stop or I’m going to stomp off. I’m not good at dancing. Never have been. But my stiletto’s and the three or four or five shots I just downed definitely don’t make things easier. I teeter back and forth, waving my arms to keep my balance, feeling a bit like a stork.
The guy puts his hand on my shoulder. “Relax.”
I don’t like being told what to do by strangers, but his accent is nostalgic and I do want to relax. The strobe lights start pounding with the rhythm of the song. The beat cascades through me. I feel it in my blood. I throw my head back, and my hair sticks to my bare back, my neck, and my face. I roll my head forward and the guy grins and puts his hands on my hips. I move next to him. My dance is perhaps a little riskier than I’m used to, but I like being a little wild.
That last shot kicks in. I feel giddy as I stumble forward. He puts his hands on my shoulders and whispers something in my ear.
You’re not getting lucky, I want to tell him, but I just giggle and push myself off. I turn my back to him and his hands find my hips. I’m too drunk to care, but when I feel his erection pressing into the small of my back, I decide that things have gone too far.
I look over my shoulder and shake my head.
“Come on, babe,” he slurs. There’s alcohol on his breath.
“I have someone,” I slur back.
“I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
A ring? Oh God, I had so much less than that to go on. I didn’t even know the fucker’s name! But did it matter? Hell no! He was all I wanted. “I like him a lot.”
“I can show you a better time, milaya moyna. I can be good to you.”
Suddenly he seems too close. His eyelids are heavy as he looks down at me. His tongue darts between his lips as his eyes lose focus as they look at my mouth.
Oh shit. This was not going well. “I want to get back to the bar, it’s worried about me. I mean, my friends.” Wait, does that make sense? I decide to explain more. “They’re like, all over the place.”
The guy’s eyes soften with concern. “If he liked you back, milaya moyna, he wouldn’t let you come to a place like this alone.”
“I said not to call me that! I’m Soho Hoho, not Emilio Montana!”
“Sorry,” he grins, and a dimple appears in his left cheek. “Babe.”
My semi-drunk, fuzzy mind starts to get irritated. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, not at all. Just saying that someone as pretty as yourself is going to get hit on if you go out, and if I were your man, I wouldn’t let anyone else get close enough to.”
“Don’t say that about him!” Raising my voice makes me unsteady on my feet. I teeter back and forth as I try to focus my attention on the man in front of me. What was it I wanted to say next? The lights above begin to sink in my peripheral vision, blurring as they spin. What is going on?
An arm snakes around my stomach, keeping me from falling.
I almost brush it off, but there was something familiar about it. I sink back into a warm chest, as a dark, glacial voice says, “Demetri.”
A shiver shoots through my body. I know that voice; these arms.
Demetri’s eyes go wide.
“She says she has someone,” my masked lover purrs. He lowers his head and for the first time I feel his lips, or at least I think I do, soft and sensual, right below my ear.
I shiver again. I feel branded by that touch.
“I’m sorry,” Demetri babbles. “I didn’t—”
The masked man’s lips leave my skin. My neck feels so cold in his absence. His grip on me tightens, and he says something in a language I don’t understand. His voice is hard but the menace in his tone frightens me. Demetri goes white and completely still.
I feel my lover cock his head, and Demetri turns and leaves.
There are people all around us. Their bodies brush against ours, unaware of what just transpired. Even I don’t know what just happened. I tighten my body, beginning to turn.
“Stop,” the man behind me demands.
I stop.
His hand moves to the back of my neck. Hair spills over my shoulders. Through it, I feel his breath. “What are you doing here, solnyshko moyo?”
“My friends,” I whimper. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I think straight?
He leans forward. “What about your friends?”
“They took me dancing because they think you’re bad for me. I never say anything about you, and…” I don’t know how to finish. I can’t believe I just admitted all that. Thanks alcohol!
“Do you think so too?”
My mind is fuzzy. “Do I think what?”
“That I’m bad for you.”
“Maybe,” I admit, “but I don’t care.”
Bodies sway between us. The room is so hot—no, humid. There’s too much perfume and cologne. How could I dance for so long when it’s so hot? How can I breathe?
“Demetri was right.” My lover’s voice is barely
audible over the music. “I shouldn’t have let you come here.”
“I was just dancing.”
His grip on me tightens.
“You’re not my keeper,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond to that. “Meet me at the back of the club in five minutes.”
“What?”
He brushes my hair over the back of my neck, tucking the shorter strands behind my ear. “Please.”
I shiver.
“What do I tell my friends?”
His hand slides down my bare back to my ass. “Whatever you want. Just make sure they don’t follow. I don’t want an audience.”
My heart beats wildly. “Oh.” Goosebumps spread where he touches me. I want what I know is waiting for me. I want him to take me right now. I want him so bad that I don’t care who watches. I back into him.
He growls. “Don’t test my reserve, solnyshko moyo.”
I’m about to say something, but he steps away, leaving me alone on the dance floor. I stumble a bit as I turn. I don’t see any sign of him, all I see are people dancing. How the hell did he disappear that quick?
My hand shakes as I reach for my phone.
As I’m trying to think up an excuse for my friends, Cassie messages me. Where the hell R U?
I text: hey cass goinfg home
I don’t take the time to correct my misspelling or to include punctuation. My hands are shaking too much from excitement, not the alcohol.
About twenty seconds later I get my response. Im coming with! Guy just asked if I wanted 2 stick my hand down his pants.
I giggle, trying to form a response. Then I remember the man waiting for me in the alley.
Already left, I write. My hand freezes after I press ‘send.’ It’s just a little lie, I try to tell myself. It almost doesn’t mean anything. For a second, I almost allow myself to believe it.
R U in a cab?
I hiccup. She’s worried about me walking home. I swiftly type: Yes
I don’t like u riding alone but I guess it’s OK. I’ll tell Anna.
I sigh, relieved.
My phone beeps. WAIT DID U GO HOME W SUM1????
I swallow. Shit, how do I answer this? No, I type slowly. Men r gross.
Drink sum water & get sum sleep grl!
I smile. She’s worried about me. And then I remember that I’m still on the dance floor and I can’t let my friends see me! I book it to the back of the club, only tripping three four times but…who’s counting?
I glance around as I stumble down the steps in the back. This place really is nicer than the ones Dolly generally takes us to. The men’s room smells like Old Spice instead of urinal cakes. For some reason that observation makes me giggle, and giggling makes me fall into the darkness.
Oh shit!
Strong arms wrap around me as I crash into some guy’s chest.
“I—I—” I don’t say anything. I recognize his smell, his touch. I glance up and see that familiar darkness. He’s wearing a mask again. What the hell? Does he walk around with that thing in his pocket?
“Are you hurt?”
I’m a little dazed. Where did he come from? I didn’t even see him! “I’m fine.”
“I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry.”
“It was okay. Like a scavengerr hunt.” Nevermind that I’m not a big fan of those, or for some reason I added an extra ‘r’ on the end of scavenger, making me sound like a confused pirate.
He makes sure I’m on my feet. “Let’s get you home—”
I grab his shirt. “No.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Laura, how drunk are you?”
“Laura? I thought I was your sloshy mofo.”
His grip on me tightens. “Oh bozhe…”
I giggle. “Bobo he!”
He removes his left hand from my shoulder. “One second. Let me call my driver.”
“No!” I swat his descending hand. “I hate your phone!”
“What?”
I pummel his chest with my face. “Don’t send me away when I finally have you!”
He takes a moment to answer—or, more accurately, waits until after I stop pummeling to answer. “Is that a threat?”
A chill rushes down my spine. For some reason, I get the feeling he’s smiling.
My stomach flutters. “Maybe,” I admit.
“Saying ‘maybe’ after you threaten someone ruins the impact,” he whispers.
“When it sounds like you like it when I threaten you, it kind of ruins the impact as well.”
“I don’t mind you being possessive. I certainly am.”
My body aches as it remembers just how possessive he can be.
“But you don’t need to worry, Laura.” He rests his chin on my neck. “You already own me.”
I own you? I can’t move. Can’t think. Can barely breathe. The crowd yells as the music stops briefly. The DJ is making some sort of announcement before the next song, probably. I don’t hare any of it.
My nails dig into his arms.
“Careful,” he warns, but I don’t know what he’s warning me about.
I frown as I try to to distill all of these dark, complex desires I don’t fully understand into a single word that could somehow communicate everything I feel to him.
I lean forward. Run my tongue over my lips. “I’m horny.”
He chuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
Why the fuck is he talking about home right now? I glare at him. “You don’t think I’m sexy!” I whine childishly.
He sighs. “Trust me, that’s not it.”
“What is it then?”
“Laura, you’re…”
He doesn’t want to tell me. I’m immediately suspicious. “I’m what?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No I’m not!”
He sighs again and reaches for his damn phone. Well, he’s not going to get that past me! I swat his hand again.
“Laura.”
“I’m not drunk!” How many times do I have to tell him before he’ll believe me?
“You’re not yourself.”
“Oh whatever! It’s not like we haven’t fucked fifty billion gazillion bajillion times already! Besides, I’m really not that drunk. Just a little bubbly. I always get a little bubbly when I’ve had too much bubbly.”
I laugh, thrilled with my pun.
He does not.
“Bubbly,” he repeats, voice darker.
My body shivers as I feel him studying me. Yeah, he’s pretending to take the high road, but I can tell he wants it almost as much as I do. Gotcha. “You have a huge dick,” I tell him. “I don’t even know how you get it all inside me.”
His breath catches. “Well, I’ve had a lot of practice, since we’ve supposedly done it fifty billion gazillion bajillion times.”
I frown. Why isn’t my seduction working? “You’re making fun of me!”
“No, I’m…actually making fun of myself.”
I’m about to ask why, but then I lean forward and feel it pressing into my stomach—his huge, thick, hard cock.
Desire slices through my foggy mind, sobering me. My throat feels tight to speak, but somehow I squeak out, “Oh.”
I hear him swallow.
Before he has time to say something else, I grab it.
His hands flex on my arms. For a second, the pressure hurts. “What are you doing?”
“Rubbing your…” I start to giggle, “cock.”
He takes a deep breath. “Laura, I…”
“I told you, I’m horny.”
“Laura…”
I squeeze him a little harder.
He gasps.
I smirk. “I’ll let you take me home after you fuck me.”
“This is so wrong.” He sounds like he’s in pain.
I arch my back like a cat, pressing all my good bits that are practically bursting out the top of Dolly’s ‘dress’ into his chest. “If this is wrong, Mr. Mask, then I don’t want to be right.”
&n
bsp; I probably could have thought of a better name than ‘Mr. Mask.’ I probably also could have thought of something to say other than the stupidest, most clichéd pick-up line known to man. But we’re both so ready to go we don’t care.
He pulls me further into the darkness. His hand shakes under the red exit sign as he grabs the handle, opening the door leading to the alley out back.
The light above is dim and murky. The haphazardly tagged dumpster in front of us aptly reads “Fuck.” There’s trash in the corners. Used condoms on the ground. Cigarette buts wedged into the corners. Wet newspapers are melded to the pavement, their printed words bleeding into and over one another like the ramblings of a street prophet.
He pulls me behind the dumpster and pins me against the brick wall. “You’re so bad, Laura.” He brushes his hand over my cheek to my lips. “Is this really what you want?”
My eyes lose focus. I part my lips and he pushes his finger into my mouth. I swirl the tip of my tongue around it, sucking, and nod.
He lowers his head slowly. He’s checking me out, drinking me in. I wish I could see his eyes.
“I can’t believe you wear shit like this out,” he says.
“Shit like what?”
“Shit like this.” He lowers his face again. “It’s barely even there. Everyone can see all your curves...everything.”
I moan as he steps forward, pressing himself against my stomach once more. “It’s not so bad,” I say.
“Yes it is. You don’t know what all those men are thinking.”
“And what would that be?”
His cock twitches. He removes his finger from my mouth and plants his hands on my hips. “You really are bad.”
Before I can respond, he spins me around. He plants his hand on the wall and then pushes me against it, pressing his knuckles to my cheek, firm but far softer than the brick.
“Um, are you sure this is okay?” He’s going to hurt his hand if he’s going to do what I think he is.
“Hmmm?”
“Your hand. It’s going to get scraped up.”
“It’s fine.” His other hand is playing with my skirt. Touching my panties. “God damn, I want you.”
Somehow, I’m getting even wetter. My legs are already aching with anticipation.
He steps forward. Through his pants, I feel his hard cock hit my ass. “I saw you dancing. I couldn’t stop looking.”
