Our gazes collide on impact of that touch, and I see the conflict in her fearful eyes. I’m not the only one affected.
Her chest rises with uneven breaths as she twists her arm to break my hold, and despite the intense desire to keep her in my grasp, I let her.
My fingertips memorize the erratic beat of her pulse as she slips away. Bah-dah-bump. Bah-dah-bah-dah-bump. I want to carve it in my skin.
She crosses her arms, anxiously waiting for my rebound. I flex my hand as my gaze lingers on the visible imprint I left on her wrist. “It must have been difficult for you to come here,” I say, sifting her from my thoughts to collect myself. “You should at least tell me why you came before you run away.”
“I’m not running.” Her strained swallow drags enticingly along the column of her throat to challenge her assertion. Then: “I need a philosophy expert.”
“And how convenient you know right where to find one.”
She recoils from my insult. I study her soft yet distressed features. I’ve never witnessed a more emotional creature. Even in her attempt to shield her grief, as she walked the grounds of the university, I could sense her pain. It tasted like the sweetest melancholy, like honeysuckle and cloves, leaving a lingering ache in the back of my throat.
And touching her is like touching the hottest part of the flame, and being unable to escape.
Buy Lovely Bad Things on Amazon.
BLACK SHEEP - by Brynne Weaver and Alexa Harlowe
She’s not your meek little lamb.
The handle twists and the door opens, letting the moonlight slide down the hall as it frames the tall and familiar figure on the threshold.
“Duke?” Kaplan says with a worried, wary tone, closing the door behind him. He’s used to the dog bounding down the corridor as soon as he gets home. He can’t see us here in the shadows with his eyes not yet adjusted to the interior darkness.
He flicks on the hallway light and I smile.
“Good evening, Dr. Kaplan.”
He startles. But it takes only an instant before the surprise turns into a heated longing as his gaze trails down my body. A purple lace bodysuit hugs my skin, closing high on my neck but with a wide keyhole at the top of my breasts and stomach, leaving swaths of exposed skin while covering my back. I make a show of uncrossing and recrossing my legs so he can see the two ribbons at the bottom of the bodysuit with no fabric obstructing his view of my pussy. I can almost hear Kaplan’s heart pulsing in his chest, sending blood to the growing bulge in his jeans.
Kaplan slides his satchel down his arm and I watch with predatory interest as he sets the bag on the floor next to the door. Duke’s tail swishes furiously across the hardwood and his muscles tense with the desire to race down the hall toward his master. “Zustan, Duke,” I say, and the dog flattens to the floor.
“Did you teach my dog Czech?” Kaplan asks. My smile blooms. Kaplan’s eyes darken, but not with anger. “Let me guess, skills I don’t even know about, right?”
I lift a shoulder. “Pust.” The dog gets up and rushes to Kaplan’s side. He gives Duke some scratches but keeps his eyes on me, as though I might either launch an attack or disappear. I think it’s the latter he fears most. “You should get him better treats. The ones you buy are little more than flavored cardboard.”
Kaplan swallows as he straightens. “Duly noted.”
We watch one another for a long moment. To his credit, Kaplan doesn’t ask why I’m here or how I got in. I think both are pretty fucking obvious. He takes off his motorcycle jacket and sets it on a small table next to the door. Then he unbuttons one sleeve of his black shirt, rolling it over the tanned skin of his tense forearm. He stops at his elbow and does the same to the other, his eyes never leaving mine.
“What game are we playing, sweetheart?”
My heart rams against its bone cage. I bite my lip and the iron tang of blood threads across my tongue. “Hide and seek.”
He chuckles. “In my own home?”
“Indeed. If I stay hidden for more than five minutes, I win. If you find me before my alarm goes off, you win.”
“What do I get if I do?”
“Anything you desire for the whole night. You can take what you want when you want it. If I’m asleep, you can wake me. You can tie me up a thousand ways. You can fuck me any way you want to, but on two conditions. No impact play unless I say so. And my little ensemble here stays on unless I take it off,” I say, pointing my gaze down my body before locking it to Kaplan’s once more.
His energy is another dimension at the end of the hall. It’s like an aura that vibrates. An essence. The beast surfaces in his eyes and it can’t wait to consume me. “And if you win?”
My eyes dart to where his leather bag lies in a heap on the floor. “Do you have a sentimental attachment to that ugly bag of yours?”
“Only inasmuch as I know you despise it.”
A wicked smile crosses both of our lips. “If I win, I get the same prize. I can do what I want with you for the entire night. Only difference is, I get to cut the strap from that repulsive satchel and tie you with it.” I stand, my motion slow and careful as my muscles brace with anticipation. “Do we have a deal, Dr. Kaplan?”
“As long as you know that when I win, I’m going to tear you apart. I will not be gentle, Bria. I will not be kind. Unless you tap out, I am going to make you suffer in every moment of your pleasure. You’ll beg, Bria. I promise you.”
Kaplan’s eyes are that of a killer. A tiger in the shadows. A wolf in the woods. A falcon, plummeting from the sky.
I hope he can keep his promise.
Buy Black Sheep on Amazon.
OceanofPDF.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Trisha’s Acknowledgements
Thank you to:
My co-author, Brynne Weaver, who came to me with this epic idea of rival serial killers. Of course, the temptation was just too fierce. Rival serial killers…? Oh, abso-fucking-lutely. I fell in love with Brynne’s stellar, insanely talented writing in Black Sheep, and I knew right away if there was ever another writer I could work with to bring stories to life, this woman already had my creative heart in her hands.
To the readers—the dark little souls who hunger for stories to set fire to their dark little hearts. You are the reason I breathe. Thank you from the bottom of my black heart for reading my words so I can lose myself in my love of storytelling. I hope to always bring you some escapism.
And to everyone else who—to be honest, there are so many after all these years; you know who you are—thank you for always being there for me, and for enduring my crazy.
Brynne’s Acknowledgements
First and foremost - a huge thank you to Trisha for wanting to embark on this crazy journey together. I couldn’t believe my luck when Trisha was into this idea of coauthoring a dark romance, and then she actually wanted to continue writing it when she realized I’m an obsessed, demanding weirdo with a questionable sense of depraved humor and absolutely no chill. We had a motto that started early on in the course of this project: “no pain, no gain, or some dumb shit like that UGH” – and we really stuck to it (I made sure of it HAHA). Trisha, thank you for sharing your knowledge and experience and talent and time with me, it’s been a JOY and I’m both honored and humbled that you’d want to take this adventure together. I had a BLAST with you.
