The Whore (7 page)

He struggled. But the harder he fought, the deeper the shells cut into him. Looking straight in his face, she clamped tighter. “If you think I’m letting that fucking cock anywhere near me or my friend you’re the only stupid cunt I can see on this piece-of-shit boat.”

His eyes were dark as he stared down at her. Reaching down, he tried to open her legs in an attempt for release.

But the month of hiking and swimming in paradise had made her strong. And he was a fat, drooling slob. Also, he was probably in massive amounts of bloody pain. The battle only fueled her strength with a river of adrenaline. It seemed she was using no effort at all.

She moved her legs like scissors, using her thighs to slice his skin. More blood spilled—she was getting covered from it.

He screamed again. “Fucking whore!”

Reaching into the back of her tunic, she withdrew the dagger strapped to her back. Looking up, she smiled. “Not anymore.”

She then plunged the dagger straight into his heart. Blood gushed from the wound. Grimacing, she turned away. “Gross.”

He spasmed, and she watched as the man died. A big bloody mess, his eyes finally went dark, and he collapsed on top of her.

“Ew.” She shoved him off. Then she climbed over to Ayla and released her gag. “Are you okay?”

“Bryn?” Ayla shook her head. “I’ve been so worried… What are you doing here?”

“I’ll explain later.” She cut the rope off of Ayla’s neck. “Let’s get back to the ship.” She yanked her friend to her feet.

“Bryn. You know I can’t swim.” Ayla shook her head. “And neither could you .”

“I’ve learned a lot since you last saw me, Sister.” She took Ayla’s hands in hers. “It’s okay. Trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Bryn grinned. “No. You don’t.”

They turned to the water. With a last glance at each other, they grabbed hands and jumped into the sea.

“What the fuck?”

Xander and Hawke rushed toward them. Hawke went straight to his sister and wrapped her in a fierce hug.

Xander, on the other hand, did not look happy. He grabbed Bryn’s shoulders, stepped back and raked her over in one all-assessing swoop of his gaze. The sea had washed away all the blood from her body, but her tunic was still stained.

“Holy fuck. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“What did you do?” He gave her a shake. “
What did you do?
”

Releasing herself from Xander’s grip, she unstrapped the shells from her legs. “I saved Ayla.”

“By yourself?” Xander said incredulously.

She threw a belt of shells to the floor. “Um. Yeah?”

He just stared at her. She wondered if he might kill her.

But he yanked her into his arms and buried his nose in her hair. “You…
fuck
, Bryn.”

She hugged him back. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her was ebbing, and she felt her body begin to shake. He held her tight.

Still clutching Ayla, Hawke turned to Bryn. “If you didn’t just save my sister…I’d throttle you.”

Bryn managed a smile. “But I did. So you can’t.”

“I’m impressed.”

The words had come from Adiv, and they turned to look at him. He was gazing at Bryn with an expression of admiration. “I can’t believe you had the balls.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at the big man. “Yeah. Well, turns out…you don’t need a cock to be a fucking man.”

Epilogue

Lounging on the deck, Bryn glanced at Ayla. They were wearing scarves around their hips and breasts. Hawke refused to let his sister run around the ship naked, so both women had been obliging enough to cover up their female parts.

Bryn took Ayla’s hand. “He’s looking at you again.”

She saw the flush creep up Ayla’s pale neck. “You think?”

Glancing at Adiv, who was checking stock in the infirmary trunk, Bryn grinned. “Um, yeah. I do.”

“He is kind of…”

“Hot?”

Ayla’s cheeks turned red. How strange to see a former prostitute blush. She turned toward Bryn and bit her lip. “He is, isn’t he?”

“He’s a voyeur, but something tells me he wants to be a bit more participatory when it comes to you.”

Ayla looked to Adiv, who quickly whipped his gaze off the gorgeous redhead. He went back to sorting hand-cannons.

“Yeah,” Bryn said. “He is so into you.”

Xander walked over to the women. “It’s bad luck to have women on a pirate ship.”

Hawke came over and took his place next to the Captain. Their shadows cast out the orangey light of the sun. Bryn couldn’t wait to get back to the clear sky of their haven.

“Bad luck to have women on a ship, you say?” Bryn said.

“Yeah.” Hawke took a seat on a nearby stool. “But you rescued Ayla, killed the captain of Viven’s ship. I’m beginning to wonder if that little idiom is true.”

Bryn gave him a nonchalant look. “Don’t forget. I bought off the rest of Viven’s crew with my jeweled earbob.”

“Right,” Hawke said. “Can’t forget that.”

Bryn tilted her head and grinned. “So. You still think women on a ship are bad luck?”

Taking her hand in his, Xander squatted next to her. “I suppose we can make an exception.” He kissed the back of her hand. “In fact, I can’t imagine being on this ship without you. Or your new partner-in-crime.”

Hawke looked at Bryn, and his eyes were dark and serious. “Bryn.” He nodded toward her. “You have my ever-long devotion.”

“That’s not necessary. I was just saving my friend.”

“And I am indebted.”

Bryn lifted herself onto her elbows. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

“Then get us back to the ruins, get our supplies and get us the fuck back to paradise.”

Xander squeezed Bryn’s hand. “That’s affirmative, woman. And after we leave the ruins, it’s nothing but us, the open seas and…”

“What?” Bryn asked, searching his eyes.

“When we reach land, you girls are going to have to remain on the ship. It’s too dangerous for you to be wandering around the ruins.”

She touched Xander’s arm. “What about Viven? He’ll still be looking for you. He’ll be more angry with you than ever because of what happened at sea. Will you—
we
—ever be free from his wrath?”

Xander’s eyes went cold. She felt the muscles of his arm clench beneath her touch. He said, “Don’t worry about Viven.”

Hawke was staring at Ayla. “We’re going to pay that man a visit. And he won’t be bothering us again. We have things to protect now.”

A chill raced up Bryn’s back. She was afraid for the men’s safety, but she could see the determination in their eyes. She knew if she was going to choose this life there would be risks, and scary moments. But Xander and Hawke weren’t stupid. If they had a plan to take care of Viven, she would just have to trust them.

If she were to choose this life, she was going to have to trust them.

She did.

Xander took her hand, reassuring her with gentle strokes from the pad of his thumb. “We’ll return from the ruins. Safe and sound. And Viven won’t be bothering us again.” His eyes darkened, and he held her gaze. “And then you know what awaits us?

“Freedom. There can’t be just one island… I believe there’s an entire new world to be discovered. One with no rules, no castes, no trading yourself for a life of servitude.”

Bryn’s heart swelled. She knew what he meant. During the weeks they’d been sailing since the incident with Kaz, Xander had made it glaringly obvious the only man who was ever going to touch her again, other than himself, was Hawke. Thanks to these men, she’d never see the walls of a brothel again.

Bryn was fine with that.

Settling back onto the hemp blanket, she closed her eyes and felt. Felt the sea, felt the waves beneath the ship. Felt freedom. She smiled. “Let’s do it,” she said. “Let’s just sail. The world is more than we ever imagined, and I want to discover everything that’s out there.” She squeezed Xander’s hand. “With you.”

“You got it, baby. After we get re-stocked at the ruins, we’ll find our oasis.”

Eyes still closed, Bryn grinned. “Oh. I think we already have.”

About the Author

Lillian Feisty expected to write typical boy-meets-girl tales. But so often the characters wanted to be tied up by each other. Lilli had to oblige. Her love of writing spicy romance evolved, and the next thing she knew, she was published. Her first erotic novella was released in March 2007, and she’s been consistently pursuing her passion ever since.

Lilli was born in the San Francisco Bay Area. She spent the majority of her twenties working just enough to pay for extended trips to Europe. Some of her fascinating employment titles included makeup artist, secretary and perpetual student. She owned an art gallery for several years, holds a degree in Creative Arts and was just a thesis short of her MA when she decided to drop out of school to write romance.

For more fascinating Feisty information go to
www.lillianfeisty.com
.

Look for these titles by Lilli Feisty

Now Available:

Sting of Desire

Love comes at the turn of a card…or the crack of a whip.

Sting of Desire

© 2009 Lilli Feisty

Sandine would love to walk out of her ex-boyfriend’s life forever. Except the sadistic bastard stole the ancient tarot cards her late mother gave her, knowing she’ll do anything to get them back. Including endure his abuse on the stage of his sex club.

For the crime of trying to get her prized cards back, she’s steeling herself for the public beating of her life. Knowing that no matter how much she screams, no one will come to her aid.

Harry Marshall should be immune to undercover work at sex clubs by now. From the moment he spots Sandine chained at the mercy of the suspected drug dealer he’s after, his gut tells him something isn’t right. He can’t believe he’d risk blowing his cover by stepping in, much less his body’s erotic reaction to inflicting pain on her luscious body.

Question is, how deeply involved is she in her ex’s drug dealing—if at all? If she’d stay out of his way long enough to find out, he wouldn’t have to put his own mission in danger to keep protecting her from her ex…and herself.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Sting of Desire:

Harry gunned his Harley up an almost vertical street. As he crested the top of F’illmont Street, the San Francisco skyline appeared, its multicolored lights reminding him of the Christmas trees his mother used to decorate many years ago. But even happy childhood memories couldn’t knock the thoughts of Sandine out of his head. If anything, the contrast only succeeded in furthering the self-disgust that had settled in the pit of his belly, a feeling that had been fermenting ever since the adrenaline rush of being with Sandine had dissipated.

He eased up on the throttle slightly to rumble through a stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Why had she trusted him? Her trust—that was what had put him over the edge, that was what had gone straight to his heart, his head. The smoky look in her eyes, the moan on her lips, the tremble in her legs. All of it killed him.

She’d submitted to him completely.

He hit the throttle, his black coat flying behind him in flapping waves. It didn’t take a fucking shrink to figure out he was attempting to outrun his feelings.

His Harley wasn’t that fast.

She had wanted him to do it. He knew that, just as he knew he liked his steaks rare and his showers hot. She wanted him to master her, and he had liked doing it too. A lot. But the guilt had sucked the lingering pleasure from him like a leech would fresh blood.

Nothing made sense.

Before he had started this case a file had been dropped on his desk. Sex Clubs for Dummies, he’d called it. But he’d read it—he always studied a case voraciously before he went in. He liked to be prepared, with weapons and knowledge. And so he had gone in armed with more than a whip, some guns and a few knives. He’d gone in with information.

Over the past three weeks he’d seen others engage in similar acts, and sometimes he’d felt a slight stirring of sexual excitement, but for the most part he’d been able to keep those feelings in check and stay focused. He’d been in control.

But nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming adrenaline rush of whipping Sandine. Which begged the question he’d been asking himself for an hour. Was it her or the act itself that had affected him with such intensity?

Or was it the combination?

Either way, what it came down to was he had beaten a woman and derived pleasure from doing so.

Inflicting pain—the act went against the very foundation of his ethical beliefs. Morals that had been drilled into his head ever since he could remember. His father had been a doctor, donating his time and services all over the world. The man had been a champion for those less fortunate than he. He’d been a spokesperson for peace. A hero.

Harry wasn’t a hero, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a cop—a good cop—and shouldn’t that mean something? What it
should
mean is that he didn’t get off on that sort of thing. His father would roll over in his grave at the thought.

Yet, the feeling that had come over him while he did it—while he’d
whipped
Sandine—a sense of calm mixed with elation, was odd and thrilling and hit him like a drug. It was similar to the way his body reacted just before a freefall jump.

So, now you aren’t satisfied with extreme sports, you need extreme sex too?

He gunned his bike up another hill, feeling like he was about to drive straight into the sky. All he could think about was holding her, making sure she was okay. Some primal, protective instinct beat in his chest, unlike anything he’d felt before.

He didn’t understand it, any of it. Sure, he had done his research and knew the basic psychology of why Le Cheval held allure for so many people. But he had thought himself above all that. In fact, that was why the chief had picked him for this job. Unlike half the force, Harry’s preferred flavor was vanilla.

Wasn’t it?

Sandine eased into the claw-foot bathtub, closing her eyes as the water enveloped her tight limbs into its warmth. Taking a few deep breaths, she attempted to center herself. Something had happened tonight, a part of her mind had unlocked, and she needed to know what had triggered it.

All she saw was Harry, circling her, cracking that whip with a mastery that had melted her. And that was what he had done tonight—mastered her. Dominated her. Opened her up and let her go.

He amazed her. Her mind floated from how he’d played her earlier. Adrenaline thrummed lightly through her body.

And yet she had no idea who he was, this man who had saved her from Cain’s anger.

Rubbing the scrapes around her wrists, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. A fucking Tarot reader, trained in divination from birth—how could she have acted so impulsively, with no pause to listen to her own intuition? What would have happened if Harry hadn’t been there to intervene?

She sighed as the warm water lapped at the trace of a line where his whip had struck her outer thigh. The reddened skin would be fine by tomorrow, but she wanted the proof to remain. Wanted to see his mark on her skin.

It had been hours since she’d seen him and still her body tingled from the caress of Harry’s lips on her skin, the feel of his large, warm fingers sliding into her body, the sting of his whip across her ass. Lightly touching her lip, she recalled the way his tongue had caressed the inside of her mouth. So natural, that kiss.

She had been
so close
to coming—simply thinking of the pleasure he had given her put her on the edge of an orgasm.

Again.

She closed her eyes, imagined him kissing her now, recalled his taste of whiskey. Whiskey and smoke.

She lightly pinched a sore nipple. Like a familiar lover, Harry had loosened the nipple clamps
exactly enough
to give her sharp pleasure. She raised her legs, rested her calves on the edge of the cold ceramic tub. She touched her ribs and moved lower, could feel the leather of his whip wrapping around her waist. The crack of the whip seemed to echo in her ear.

The water lapped at her skin as she submerged her hand to trace her shaved S
,
where she lingered for a moment before touching herself between her legs. Even in water her pussy felt wet and slick on her hand, and as she caressed her sex she pretended it was Harry’s hand teasing her. His hands were lovely—long and confident, like the rest of him.

The look in his eyes as he had circled her, snapping his whip on the ground, reminded her of the lion trainer who had traveled in the
cirque
with her family. Like Harry, the trainer had been tall and lean, and even as a girl she had been fascinated with the graceful way the man had wielded his tool, the way he could coax a roaring beast into submission with a few controlled flicks of his wrist.

She slid her fingers to her clit, rubbed that throbbing point until she gasped, watched her toes go stiff. Her pulse began to race as she recalled the bound woman in the chair, the way her face had contorted in pleasure as the kneeling man licked her very center. Le Cheval had been throbbing with energy tonight, and Sandine had soaked it in like a plant does water. Her veins still hummed from the palpable excitement, feeding a long-forgotten part of her soul.

Ironically, despite her public display earlier, here she was alone, masturbating. But even this felt different, more exciting. She thought of Harry as she rubbed her clit and pinched her nipple, trying to find the exact pressure he had applied earlier. She couldn’t get it right, damn it. God, if only he were here to do it again…

She remembered how she had wanted him to fuck her, how she had begged him for it.

Moaning, she slid her hand deeper into the folds of her sex, palming herself as he had done. It wasn’t exactly right—her hand felt small in comparison—but at least it provided some degree of gratification. When she pushed two fingers into her body, working them in and out, she gasped in pleasure.

She wanted it all. She wanted Harry to fuck her, lick her, whip her—pain and pleasure—

She wanted
him
.

She climaxed, her body shuddering before each muscle froze, her legs spread wide and slung over the edge of the tub, his name on her lips. And as her heartbeat slowed and her eyes drifted open he was there, leaning against the sink. Watching her.

He gave her that crooked grin. “You called?”