BLACK SHEEP
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BRYNNE WEAVER ALEXA HARLOWE
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Copyright © 2022 by Alexa Harlowe & Brynne Weaver
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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For all the dark romance readers out there who hold true to their love of this genre: we hope Black Sheep does you proud.
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CONTENTS
Content Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Also by Brynne Weaver
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CONTENT WARNING
Please feel free to skip this page if you don’t have triggers and prefer to go in blind!
Please be advised that Black Sheep is a dark romance with morally grey characters, as well as potentially troubling scenes and themes that some readers might find triggering.
Potentially triggering content:
• Religious trauma (references to cults in particular), including manipulation and degradation
• References to drug abuse
• Parental neglect
• Physical and emotional abuse/manipulation (no sexual abuse). Includes abuse suffered by a child from an authority figure (not a parent), which includes beating/whipping/burns leaving permanent scars
• References to an intended marriage between a minor and a young adult which is NOT consummated and no sexual contact occurs
• Physical violence, torture, and murder
• Claustrophobia
• Panic attacks and undiagnosed PTSD
• Explicit language
• Detailed sexual content. The sexual activity is consensual, though some consensual non-consensual (CNC) role play is depicted. It includes some kinks and behaviors that some readers might find triggering, including breath play, praise, BDSM, and rough sex.
Please contact Brynne Weaver or Alexa Harlowe for any questions or concerns.
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1 BRIA
I don’t always fuck a man before I kill him, but when I do, I find there’s one thing they all have in common.
They’re disappointing.
Exhibit number twelve. Tristan McCoy.
Even rolling his name through my mouth as I grit my way ever closer to a lackluster orgasm leaves a film on my tongue. I’m thinking about how much I would like to brush my teeth as he presses his hot palms to my breasts as though kneading thick batter. His hands are butter soft, no calluses from outdoor labor or rough sports. No, his Arnold Palmer golf gloves would never permit a callus on that skin.
Do you think it’s strange that I know his brand of golf gloves? It should be. Perhaps it’s nearly as strange as thinking about golf gloves while riding a stubby cock and purring out a name that fills me with loathing and excitement in equal measure. It likely doesn’t fit into the conventional box of ‘intimate’. But intimacy is defined as close familiarity.
Intimacy can be a touch between two lovers.
Or it can be the kiss of a spider’s fangs in the body of a fly.
“Jesus, Emma,” he hisses as I roll my hips. I smile as I run my fingers over his groomed chest. He doesn’t notice that I put minimal effort into my grin. His half-lidded eyes are only focused on my tits. “Where have you been all my life.”
Killing dickheads like you and dissolving their bodies in sodium hypochlorite. Keeps a girl busy.
“Waiting for you, baby.”
I need to scrub my brain with that toothbrush. My reply might have been a little heavy-handed, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. He eats it up.
My name’s not Emma, by the way. But nothing about me or this situation is as it seems. The impending orgasm isn’t very real, for one. I’ll have to fake it. His short dick isn’t going to get the job done, so I guess the disappointment will be more acute this time. This bedroom isn’t really just a bedroom, not with my hidden selection of weapons lying in wait. The bookshelf on the wall to the left isn’t even really a bookshelf. It’s a door to a secret room. A whole lair, in fact. Everything about me, about this place, about this intimate moment…it’s all a lie. The only truth is the web I’ve spun around us, the death that waits in the shadows.
“I’m coming,” Tristan says as he tilts his head back on the pillow and scrunches his eyes closed. His neck is thick with the pressure of a held breath. His veins pop from his flesh. In moments like this, Death takes my hand in skeletal fingers, whispering in my ear. Garrote.
Yes. Garrote.
“Oh Tristan, yes,” I say as I grind my pelvis over his. An orgasm sneaks its way through my midsection, clenching my sex around his short shaft. The release lasts about as long as a blink, though I pretend it goes on for much longer as he empties into his condom. My orgasm feels like water released through a valve in a dam. There’s a whole lake trapped behind an impenetrable wall of concrete that I can never manage to reach.
I slip off of Tristan, wrestling my disgust under a mask I call “Sweetheart Sex Kitten” as he pulls the condom off with a slick snap. He takes a tissue from the box next to the bed and wraps it up, then puts it on the nightstand. Not in the waste bin next to the nightstand, just…on the nightstand.
Garrote. Garrote. Garrote.
“That was great, baby,” I say sweetly as Tristan lies back, his chest still pumping heavy breaths. I fake the same breathlessness, but my heart has already returned to its normal rhythm.
“It was. You’re amazing, Emma.” His silky palm glides up and down my arm. He opens his mouth to say something, likely about leaving, having an early morning tomorrow, a work meeting, some bullshit. I don’t let him get the words out.
“Stay for a little while,” I purr, leaning in close to nibble his earlobe. It tastes like salt and Tom Ford cologne. “I’ll let you put it in my ass.”
Tristan chokes on a laugh. “Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” He slaps my buttocks and I swallow a growl. I force myself away from his ear before I bite down on the spongy flesh and rip it off.
