by Jasmin Quinn
“He gave me a passport and a plane ticket. He promised he would never contact me again. I would be free of him. He promised he wouldn’t kill you.”
Michael barked out a bitter laugh. “Lucky for me I made no such promise to you about Jack.”
Isabelle’s blood went cold. “Did you kill him?” she whispered.
“Not yet.” He kicked his chair to the side as he stood up pulling her to him. She grabbed onto his waist to anchor herself as he lowered his head to hers and claimed her lips, savagely, greedily, passionately.
Isabelle’s heart raced as he drew his fingers through her hair pulling it as he attacked her mouth, his tongue invading her mouth, capturing her tongue. Over and over, like an incoming tide, ebbing a little, then flooding back in. Isabelle’s senses were overloaded and at first, she kissed back but couldn’t take his aggressiveness and struggled under his handling of her.
He drew back, his sharp lustful gaze piercing her. “I’ve imagined this moment for four long fucking months.” His voice was hard, unyielding. “Did you think that when we reconciled, we would fall into each other’s arms. Make sweet gentle love?”
A surge of anger welled up in Isabelle. “I don’t know what I thought, but I never imagined it would include rape.”
He laughed derisively as his fingers stroked the nape of her neck. “I’m not going to rape you Isabelle. I don’t have to.” His hand dropped to her breast and tweaked her hard nipple. Then he shoved up her dress, reached into her panties and stroked her pussy, shoving two fingers into her vagina.
Isabelle moaned against her will as he invaded her, thrusting into her before pulling out. He brought his fingers up to her face, glistening with her wetness, then ran them across her lips before forcing them into her mouth. “Does that taste like rape to you, Isabelle?”
She tried to push his hand away, but he splayed his other hand across the back of her head, curled his fingers into her hair. “Suck them, Isabelle. Taste yourself.”
As she sheathed his fingers with her mouth, he dropped his lips to her neck, kissing, biting, licking. She shuddered. Desire pulsed through her, heating her up. She’d missed him so much. Missed his touch, missed the way he made her feel. Nothing else mattered right now. Except this moment. Except him being with her, inside her. She grabbed at the hard muscles in his shoulders, her fingernails digging in, and pulled her lips from his fingers, found his mouth, and kiss him hard and demanding.
The dam broke, the passion spilled over. He pulled her dress off her, ripping it, then threw her on the bed, placing a knee on the bed, parting her thighs. For a brief second, as she looked into his eyes, she saw his warmth, but he shuttered his face as he pulled off his shirt exposing his sinewy chest and hard abs, the dark chest hair leading a trail down his stomach and into his pants. Competing emotions flickered across his face and Isabelle reached a hand up to caress his jaw, but he slapped it away.
He flipped her on her belly and undid her bra in one swift motion, pulling it up over her head and then down her arms to her hands, using it to restrain her wrists behind her.
“Michael, no!” she cried. She didn’t want it this way, but Michael shoved her face into the pillow as he dropped his body on her, cutting off her words, restricting her air. Terror rippled through her and she started thrashing. He eased his hand up and turned her face to one side. “You don’t get a say in how this goes down, Isabelle. Shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride.”
“You sonofabitch –” Isabelle’s words ended with a gasp as Michael shoved her panties aside and plunged two fingers into her pussy.
“Keep talking, Isabelle.”
“Fuck, Michael. This is too much!” Then she grabbed for air as he worked her clit, soft then hard, tapping then stopping. Then his fingers slid out of her pussy and drummed her clit, slapping at her folds, sending her into a shuddering wildness.
“Are you coming, Isabelle?” he breathed into her ear.
“Oh god, Michael. Please, I want you inside me. Please Michael.” Her words trailed away to gasp, as he pinched her clit. Pain and pleasure coursed through her. Then she felt his abandonment as a sudden coolness washed across her back. As he pulled away from her, he brought her panties with him, sliding them over her ass, down her thighs, and off her feet. He forced her to her knees, her ass exposed and vulnerable. He towered over her, staring darkly down at her as he kicked off his shoes and socks, pulled off his pants, freeing his hard, pulsing cock. He held her gaze as ran his hand over his cock, his grip tightening around the shaft, his thumb wiping the top of it. Isabelle brought her head up, but he shook his head darkly at her.
“Don’t move, Isabelle.” He slid his thumb into her mouth, forcing her to taste the pre-cum. She moaned and her ass writhed of its own accord.
“Will you suck me, Isabelle?”
Isabelle whimpered. She was burning up. She needed release. Just a little push. She licked her lips. “Yes,” she said as she stared at his length. He pulled her to her knees and turned her around as he knelt on the bed in front of her, his ass settling on his feet. Her hands were still tied behind her, her shoulders pulled back and her breasts jutting out, round mounds, hard nipples begging for attention.
“Suck it then,” he said, lust and anticipation all over his face. He pushed her head down to his cock and wrapped her hair through his fingers.
She steadied herself as she brought his hard cock into her mouth. She had nothing to hold onto. Nothing to stop his penis from going deep except him. She ran her tongue across the head of the cock. Tasted the saltiness of pre-cum and sweat. Heard him inhale sharply, felt his fingers tighten in her hair as she took him into her mouth. She sucked and licked him, pleasuring him. Her body was aching with need, but he was too intent on himself, on her mouth. He was thrusting, holding her head with one hand, her neck with the other, essentially stopping her from moving as he fucked her mouth. He pushed himself deeply into her, past her mouth to her throat. She tried to keep up with his pace, tried unsuccessfully not to gag, but it didn’t matter to him. He was using her mouth as a vessel for his need. Out of anger, revenge. He wanted her to hurt.
He was getting closer, his breathing more laboured. And then he exploded into her, hot jets of semen over her tongue and down her throat, forcing her to swallow his load. After he’d stopped thrusting, he held her head in his lap, for a moment, his fingers running through her hair as his breathing steadied. She wanted desperately to sit up, her shoulders aching from the strain of holding her body forward.
She made a move to do so and was stopped as Michael splayed his hand across her back. “We’re far from done, Isabelle.” He reached past her to the head of the bed and pulled a pillow to his lap, sliding it between her head and his cock. She felt his heated gaze on her as he stroked her back, like a pet. It warmed her, made the dull ache in her pussy grow back into need.
“Why did you go to him, Isabelle?”
She whimpered, he was still stroking her, his hands moving from her back to her breasts squeezing them, pinching them.
“He asked me to,” she said simply and was rewarded with a painful pinch to one of her nipples. She jerked and cried out.
“I did too, if you recall. I made a fool of myself begging you to come to Paris with me.”
“No, Michael. It wasn’t like that.”
He tugged at her nipples, one, then the other. Sometimes soft and sensual, sometimes, rough. He leaned his torso down over her head resting his face on the small of her back, trapping her head between his stomach and the pillow on his thighs.
“Then tell me, Isabelle. What was it like?”
Isabelle felt a sob catch in her throat as his hands kneaded her ass cheeks, the interplay of soft and rough. “He didn’t want me, Michael. He wanted to be rid of me. But you, Michael, I didn’t think you would…” She gasped as his hands moved from her cheeks, down the crevice of her ass, drawing wetness from her pussy, back up to her small opening, exploring it with his finger.
“Keep talking, Isab
elle.”
“I didn’t think you would let me go,” she whispered with a groan.
He was still playing with her ass, but using his other hand to massage her pussy, running through its folds, tapping her clit, sliding his fingers into her vagina. “You were right, Isabelle. I wouldn’t have let you go.”
He sat up abruptly and pulled her head off his lap, forcing her upright with a hard grip to her arms. He stared intently into her eyes. “I almost fucking didn’t.” His face twisted as he flung the pillow away from him and he yanked her to him, his arm circling her waist to keep her from falling back on her haunches. His other hand invaded her pussy, his fingers shoving into her vagina, fucking her hard, unrelenting.
Isabelle cried out as the heel of his hand pounded against her clit. She struggled to loosen her hands, to thrust, to fuck his hand, but he held her tight to him, forcing her to endure his fucking, forcing her to let him portion out her pleasure. His fingers raked her g-spot, thrusting in, retreating and then not returning. She closed her eyes and moaned, but he shook her. “Open your eyes, Isabelle. I want to see you when you come.”
He fucked her harder, watching her. “Please,” she whimpered and then screamed out as he raked her g-spot at the same time he eased off the clit. He was ravishing her, taking her up the side of a mountain, but leaving her dangling. And she could do nothing to help herself, her body at his mercy. She tried to throw her head back as she cried out, but he grabbed the nape of her neck and forced her face to his. He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes boring into hers. Watching her, watching her passion, her need. It was too much. Then he shifted his hand, dropped his thumb across her clit, thrummed it like a violin, while his fingers curled inside her. And she came, her pussy folding in on itself as her release pounded through her, shaking her. She cried out, cried Michael’s name over and over, her voice a stranger to her, a fragile needy shell. She couldn’t hold herself up and Michael let her drop, still watching her eyes, still holding her neck, still thrumming her clit.
Before she caught her breath, he turned her from him, forcing her down on her stomach, forcing her hips up, her ass in the air. He slid into her then, his hard, erect cock filling her, slapping at her juices. Her vagina welcomed him, held him as he fucked her from behind. Fast and hard. She groaned as she buried her head into the bedding, still high from her orgasm, feeling the torture of not coming down before being forced up again. She wanted him to stop, but she also didn’t want him to stop. She was caught on an edge, helpless. She was under his total control and she had no choice but to embrace it.
Suddenly her hands were free, her bra falling to the floor and Michael flipped her on her back, forcing his body between her thighs, her legs to her shoulders as he reared up yanking her to him, joining with her again. He watched her face as he fucked her, watched her eyes – each time she tried to close them, he slapped her ass, her thigh. He squeezed her breasts, a little rough, but his thumb flicked her nipples, causing waves of pleasure. Then he dropped on her, his stomach on hers, his chest on hers. “Wrap you legs around me Isabelle,” he growled, his need vibrating through his body.
He settled between her, deep inside her as she wrapped her legs around him and locked her feet together. So deep, so tight, so full. Isabelle’s need rose in concert with Michael’s, their thrusts a Russian milonga. Their passion balanced on a tight wire. And then Isabelle free fell into bliss, her hoarse cry forcing Michael’s orgasm. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he buried his head in the nape of her neck. His thrusts hard and frenzied, then slowing until he was spent. Tears fell from Isabelle’s eyes as she lay under his heaviness, emotions overwhelming her. She desperately hoped that she’d found her way home.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Isabelle lay limp in Michael’s arms. He’d pulled the covers over them and let her sink into him, holding her tightly. The motion of the train rocked them, and neither spoke. It was a fragile peace and Michael wanted to hang on to it. His heart still hurt, his emotions were still raw. He cast around for answers while he was fucking her. Trying to find the truth in her eyes. Trying to find forgiveness in his heart.
She shifted slightly, then settled again. “Why did you come for me, Michael?”
What a question. “Why do you think, Isabelle?” his voice was still gruff, still hard.
She didn’t immediately reply, but he felt a wetness on his arm. She was weeping again, her tears exposing him. “Please tell me,” she whispered.
Michael’s heart snapped. He hated everything in this moment. He didn’t want this vulnerability. Didn’t want himself trapped by love. But he came for her. He didn’t have to. Everything he did in the past few months was about her. Even his plans to take Las Vegas. Before Isabelle, Jack Creed was just a speck of dust on his jacket sleeve. Easy to brush off, ignore. But now it was different. Jack Creed crossed the line when he fucked with Isabelle. She was Michael’s woman and Creed was making a point about how little control Michael had over her. But that would change going forward. Isabelle was back with him and she would be at his side through all of this. Michael was no longer content with Jack’s background noise. He wanted to step on him, crush him, grind him up until he was dust.
Isabelle looked up into his face, her eyes were rimmed with red. “I’m sorry. Michael. I made a huge mistake running from you. I didn’t know how big until after. Without you I’m incomplete. I couldn’t feel anything but grief…” Her voice trailed off.
Michael acknowledged her words with a small squeeze of his arm, pulling her closer. Night was falling and a dusting of twilight entered the room through the crack in the curtain. Finally, he said, “I came because I love you, Isabelle.”
He heard a sob catch in her throat. But he couldn’t leave it at that. She needed to know.
“But I don’t forgive you yet.”
She clung to the arm that cushioned her neck. “I understand.” Breathless hope. “I promise I won’t let you down again.”
He turned her on her back, rolling on top of her, capturing her eyes with his. He felt his desire for her grow, pressing against her, erect, throbbing, demanding. He brought his lips to hers, taking her hard, possessing her. As he slid inside her, he held her gaze. “No Isabelle, you won’t.”
Epilogue
Astorm was coming and Michael was ready. Germany was his haven. His estate was hidden, walled and guarded. Isabelle wore his engagement ring now. No wedding yet, not until Vegas was his. Then a lavish one to make her his bride, make her his queen. It mattered that Isabelle watch as he crushed Jack Creed. He loved her, treasured her, honoured her. But he also made her understand how powerless she was. She had the freedom of his estate, but that was as far as she could go without him at her side. As long as he breathed air, she would be his. She would never betray him again, never have the chance to walk away from him. She understood and accepted it. He knew that about her. He didn’t have to force her to be with him. She came willingly, did what he asked of her, gave him everything she had to give.
But he hadn’t broken her spirit and he was grateful for that. She was as difficult as always, beaking off to his militia, shocking the household staff with her unfiltered assessment of everything. Outrageous and sexy again. The way he loved her. As they settled into their lives, he shared his plans with her. He watched her face carefully as he told her about their future. She struggled not with the idea that he was about to rain fire and brimstone down on her ex-husband, but about re-entering that life, giving up Germany, her life here.
But she didn’t argue with him. She used her nimble mind to help him as he planned. He took her with him to Cyprus and introduced her to his brother. She was wary at first, but Burak was as charming as Michael and she soon warmed up. Michael told her that Burak was her safety net should she ever need one, her family now, should something happen to Michael. But he kept her from Jackman, kept her skills hidden. He loved Dimi, but he knew Dimi would take advantage of Isabelle. And that would never happen again. It was a promise he ma
de to Isabelle and to himself; no one would ever hurt her, use her, exploit her. Not while he was still breathing.
Yes, a storm was coming and yet Michael felt at peace. Life was just beginning for him. He had Isabelle, her love, her trust, her life. And soon he’d have Vegas. After that the dominos would start to fall. It was only a matter of time before Randall Scott and Rusya Savisin would fall with them.
The End
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What’s Next!
Ilove Black Surrender! Okay I love all my books, but this is my new favourite. The beginning was easy to write, but then I struggled with where to go next. I had a clear vision of what I thought I wanted to do, wrote it down in a six-page outline. But then my female character, Isabelle, sashayed her way in an entirely different direction. And thanks to her, Black Surrender is so much better than its original iteration – more intrigue, more dark, sexy men, and some fun and exciting twists.
The other thing Isabelle helped me do was introduce a major new character, Jack Creed, and bring back one super-hot, menacing alpha man.
You met Anto Kharzin in The Darkest Hour. He was such a great character that he ended up having a major role in Black Surrender. In fact, I love him so much (the wish-he-were-real-and-in-my-bedroom kind of love) that he gets his own book: Without Mercy (Running with the Devil Book 4) to be published sometime in August 2018.
And Jack Creed will get his own book too. Why? Because he’s going to blow your mind! And that’s all I’m going to say. The book is tentatively titled Hard Lessons (Running with the Devil Book 5) and will be released this fall.
Acknowledgements
I’m grateful to Jem Monday Publishing Inc. for taking me on and supporting me through the writing and publishing process.
