His Final Seduction Page 2
“Oh, yeah.” She flattened her palms against his chest and pushed to her tiptoes. “You know…we don’t have to wait. I’m very good at multitasking.”
“One orgasm at a time, Margaret.” He pinched her left tit. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
“I don’t mind a little pain,” Margaret purred, turning and pushing his hand from between Anjelica’s legs. “Now go sit down, Damien, and let the professional show you how to pleasure a woman.”
A smile tugging at his lips, he retreated to his well-worn deck chair and readjusted his stiff cock as his nymphomaniac day manager pressed her face between Anjelica’s open legs, doing one of the things she enjoyed most.
And he’d never felt more alone.
hhh
Sydney stood on a pier and stared out at the Caribbean Sea. She’d read about the crystal, blue-green waters, seen hundreds of photos, but none of the pictures compared to the actual splendor of seeing the pristine water up close and personal. She could see all the way to the snow white sand and colorful shells littering the ocean floor.
A gentle breeze wafted in from the sea and brushed her skin with a salty burst of freshness before skittering off to rustle lackadaisically through the leaves of a great palm tree near the dock. She still couldn’t believe her friends—her wonderful, wonderful friends—had pooled their money and given her what was shaping up to be the greatest gift of her life—a week’s vacation at an exclusive club on a private island somewhere between Jamaica and the Cayman Islands.
And to think she’d almost refused to come. Her friends had all but dragged her kicking and screaming to the airport. Smiling at the memory, she made a mental note to send them one hell of a thank-you card when she got home.
Behind her, a whirring noise—growing louder and louder with each passing second—made her turn. A dark-skinned man driving a gold-and-red golf cart pulled to a stop at the end of the dock. He wore nothing more than a pair of skimpy shorts and brown sandals.
He stepped from the cart, a quizzical expression chiseling his face, and took a tentative step toward her. “Sydney James?”
She wished she had a can of mace. Or maybe a pair of handcuffs so she could strap him to a bed somewhere. “Yes.”
His face split into a dazzling smile. “I’m Jake. From the club. I came to pick you up.”
“Oh.” Fear evaporated, replaced by curiosity. He was an employee of the resort? A little underdressed, but then again, that defined chest begged to be shown off. And touched.
Without permission, her gaze traced the lean lines of his cut abdomen and followed the thin path of hair that ventured beneath the elastic of his shorts. Jake, on the other hand, went to work loading suitcases onto the cart. Either he didn’t notice her hungry gaze or didn’t care that she was basically making out with him in her mind.
His muscles flexed with a panther’s grace. The sight sparked a burning ache inside her core so strong both nipples hardened, and a seldom-felt ache throbbed to life between her legs.
Whoa there, Syd. You’re not that girl anymore. You’re no longer a slave to your hormones.
But apparently a year of self-imposed celibacy, an exotic backdrop and a sexy bellboy were all it took to send electric jolts of awareness straight into her hibernating libido.
“Beautiful day.” Jake plucked the last piece of luggage from the ground and placed it on the cart.
“Y-yes. It is,” she agreed quickly, her gaze jumping up from Jake’s bitable ass. She slipped on her sunglasses to hide her agitation. What was wrong with her today?
“Weather might get bad toward the end of the week though. Nothing we’re not used to down here, so don’t worry.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and patted the vinyl beside him. “If you’re ready, I’ll drive you to the club. I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up and get settled before the parties get busy.”
She climbed in next to him, still a little off kilter. “Parties?”
“Yeah.” He started the engine, a wicked smile decorating his face. “We host several group activities every night. There will be a schedule of events in your room. I promise you’ll be pleasantly pleased.”
hhh
Damien stood in the lobby mezzanine and stared out the window at the auburn-haired woman sauntering up the cobblestone walk below. He watched her in much the same way a hawk scrutinizes a rabbit. Her allure was irresistibly intoxicating. She was as fresh and captivating as the breeze flittering through her hair. Even more enthralling, he sensed her repression—bundles and bundles of sexual repression—as clearly as he smelled Anjelica’s lingering scent on his fingers.
This woman had long denied herself the pleasure of finding sex, solace, and sense of self with another person. He hadn’t felt a soul this repressed, this desperate for release, in all his life.
She wore an insane amount of clothing for someone loitering around in the sultry heat of a Caribbean summer. Nothing he couldn’t fix if given the chance, and he would be given the chance. After all, no human female could resist him.
Over the years fitter, shapelier bodies had passed through Club Carnal, but underneath all those layers, he was positive a sultry siren waited to be unleashed. He’d fix that too.
With a wistful expression on her face, she stepped from his view and into the main lobby. He moved from the window to the railing behind him and continued studying her. She stopped just shy of the marbled front desk and sniffed a bunch of Ixora flowers. Her auburn curls bounced around her face, and he wondered what it would feel like when he submerged his fingers in that mop and buried his nose in the sultry tresses. Judging by her cautious demeanor, her hair would probably smell of coconut or some other mundane fragrance.
This woman—whoever she was—would make the ideal candidate to terminate his one-year agreement.
“Mr. Blake?”
Dragging his gaze from the red-haired beauty, Damien turned toward a man with more muscles than the human body should be allowed to develop. “Yes, Ramon?”
“She’s waiting for you in your office.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, checking his watch. “Ms. St. Clair isn’t supposed to be here for another three hours.”
Ramon shrugged and crossed beefy arms over a bare chest. “She seems extremely flirtatious today. She kept grabbing my cock.”
Damien’s stomach knotted and sweat beaded his brow. He knew exactly why Giselle St. Clair was happy—it was the same reason loathing coursed through him like shit through a sewer line.
His soul had been wilting every day since signing that contract, but finally, freedom was within his grasp.
And he planned on taking it.
“I hope you didn’t take her up on whatever offer she made you.”
Ramon shook his head. “You made it perfectly clear all personnel were to keep their hands off that woman.”
“And you’d be smart to heed my warning.” Damien turned back to the woman in the foyer, the woman who would help him pay off his debt. “The woman who’s just arrived, who is she?”
“I believe that’s Sydney James.” Ramon ran thick fingers through jet-black hair. “She’s the only person who hadn’t arrived last I checked.”
Damien nodded, a triumphant surge filling in his chest. “Upgrade her to one of the Sexual Temptation and Revitalization Suites.”
“I’ll take care of it myself, sir.”
Slipping his hands in the pocket of his white linen pants, Damien watched Sydney James make her way to the front desk. Giselle St. Clair had an eternity to waste. What were a few more minutes…
hhh
Leaning against the marbled counter, Sydney found the smooth surface surprisingly cool against her arms despite the oppressive heat. This resort absolutely stole her breath, and the relaxing atmosphere astounded her.
As she’d ridden to the resort with Jake, she’d had to pinch herself. Built into a hillside, the massive residential-looking structure grew and receded with the rising slopes of the land. Colossal windows interspersed
with white brick to form the exterior, and palm trees lined the drive. A lavish courtyard with lush plants and a man-made waterfall had welcomed her as the cart pulled to a stop. The inside didn’t disappoint either.
A fish tank containing a rainbow of sea creatures spread across the length of the back wall and separated the main entryway from a sitting area filled with distressed furniture and bright, colorful upholstery. Seascapes hung from the walls, but when she looked at them through the fish tank’s watery innards, their contents shimmered and smeared into an array of abstract colors and shapes.
Bracketing each side of the tank, two bronze mermaid fountains bubbled a gentle salutation to all. In the center of the lobby—standing sentry around the front desk—four white Roman-type columns stretched up to kiss vaulted ceilings adorned with spectacular ocean murals.
The open area was a perfect compilation of nature and architecture. She couldn’t think of a better place for a relaxing week away from her job at the Ft. Smith public defender’s office. God, she hated that damn job.
No. No. No! she scolded, refusing to let her loser life ruin her mood. Her friends had given her this once-in-a-lifetime gift, and she planned to indulge in every amenity this wonderful place had to offer, even if most of the people—clientele and employees alike—wore waaay too few clothes. She was perfectly fine in her khaki capris, pink tank and matching button-down top, thank you very much.
Her gaze snagged on a dark-skinned man staring down at her from the second floor. Their eyes locked and pure lust swarmed her body—feelings more powerful than she’d ever experienced—and waged war on her senses. Pictures flashed through her mind, a slideshow of skin and sex, each one involving the man on the mezzanine. Beneath the cover of her shirt, her nipples hardened, and her clit burned with an intensity that almost had her screaming and writhing in the middle of the floor. Who the hell was this man?
“May I help you?” a female voice called from nearby, instantly breaking the erotic pull the man had on her.
“Uh…” Sydney severed eye contact with the dark-haired man and forced herself to turn. A blond woman stood behind the marbled counter, her face curious. Sucking in a deep breath, Sydney reined in the raging hormones playing ping-pong with her emotions. “I, uh, have a reservation under the name Sydney James.”
“All right, Ms. James,” the woman said. “Just give me one minute to find your reservation.”
“Th-thank you.” Sydney glanced back where the man had stood but found only a small palm tree. Funny, she hadn’t noticed that before.
“Okay, Ms. James. Here’s your room key and your welcome packet.” The woman, whose nametag read Margaret, placed a red business-size envelope and black keycard on the counter. “If you’ll give me a few seconds, I’ll page someone to carry your luggage to your room.”
Sydney opened her mouth to say thank you but a deep male voice interrupted. “That won’t be necessary, Margaret. I’ll see that Ms. James finds her room.”
Sydney swiveled. The owner of the voice had molten eyes and dark, glossy hair. Damn it if she didn’t stare dumfounded—she wasn’t drooling, right? The man belonged on the cover of Playgirl. Her wrestled-from-hibernation libido sprang back to attention, although it felt a bit anticlimactic after the spur it had received from the mystery man.
“Also,” Sexy Man continued, “Mr. Blake said to upgrade Ms. James’s room to a S.T.A.R. suite.”
The woman behind the counter cocked a waxed eyebrow. “Of course.” She picked up the cardkey, sat it next to her keyboard and started typing again.
“There’s no need to go to all this trouble,” Sydney said to Mr. Sexy. “I’ll be fine with my original room. I—”
“Mr. Blake gave me an order, ma’am, and what Mr. Blake wants, Mr. Blake gets.”
hhh
Damien ranked any visit from Giselle St. Clair just beneath an unnecessary rectal exam from a sadistic proctologist with a fascination for BDSM.
Stopping right outside his office door, he sighed. His head fell forward, eyes drifting closed. Beneath the mask of his eyelids, the events responsible for thrusting him into this nightmare swirled through his mind like a heckler’s taunts…
The evening he’d spent at Carnal Cravings with Giselle back when he’d thought she was just a beautiful woman in need of a good fucking. The tainted blowfish d’œuvre that poisoned him and left him in excruciating pain. The endless hours he lay delirious and dying in a hospital bed. The offer Giselle had made to “save” his life.
And he’d taken it, realizing too late the cure was far worse than the disease.
He lifted his head and, releasing a pent-up groan, stepped inside his office. Giselle sat in one of the wicker chairs on the patio, but when she sensed his arrival, she stood.
On the outside, Giselle St. Clair was every man’s wet dream. A short blood-red skirt gloved her hips and met a matching lace corset that starred and uplifted the perfect pair of tits. On the inside, however, she was a life-manipulating succubus whose only goal was to acquire power, any and every way she could.
She held her arms wide in salutation. “Damien, darling, how are you?”
He planted his feet on the beige area rug and tilted his head to the side. “Skip the fake platitudes. They’re not becoming of a woman as vile and loathsome as you.”
Giselle pursed her lips and pretended to be hurt. “Normally, I’d get all pissy about such a remark, but we both know it’s the truth.” She shrugged, slipping her hand between the unbuttoned halves of his shirt and splaying her fingertips along the nude skin. “I have come to congratulate you. Your debt to me is nearly paid.”
His skin crawled with disgust and he swatted her hand away. She might be one of the sexiest vixens he’d ever met, but taking into consideration all he knew about her, he’d rather get up close and personal with a colony of fire ants.
“I only have one more woman to seduce for you, and then…” He took two steps away from her. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for becoming almost as depraved and despicable as you.”
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Damien.” She picked a piece of lint from his shirt. “Has this not been an incredibly satisfying way to repay a debt?”
“By fucking innocent women and stealing their energy so you can get a fix?” His hands clenched and it took every ounce of self-control to keep his fist from connecting with Giselle’s jaw.
“Ah, well, what’s done is done,” Giselle said in that condescending way she always used. “No sense quibbling over it now—which reminds me…who have you chosen for your final victim?”
“Her name is Sydney James.”
“Sydney James…” She closed her eyes, said the name a few more times, like she was committing it to memory. “Tell me about her.
He cocked his eyebrow. She’d never asked the name of any of the other women he’d seduced. Why the change? “Auburn hair. Decent figure. Her soul is the most sexually repressed I’ve ever sensed.”
“A repressed soul? Here?” She laughed, the movement putting a strain on her corset and forcing her breasts higher. “Wow, going out with a bang, are we, Damien? Repressed souls are the most nutritious.”
Nutritious? Sydney was a person, not a side of beef. Just when he thought he couldn’t despise Giselle more, she proved him wrong.
“But enough with the chit-chat, I’ve gotta run. Oh, before I go, I believe you have a little something for me.”
Damien shivered. He knew what she wanted, what she always wanted from him. He assumed his “standard” position in his desk chair—pants undone, arms limp at his side, head back, eyes closed. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Oh, come on…” Giselle’s hourglass figure settled on his lap, her arms wound around his neck. “Look at me.”
“No, thanks.”
“You can’t fight me, so why do you even try?” Her left hand settled against the back of his neck, her right wrapped around his flaccid cock. “Although, you know how much it turns me on.”
Giselle enjoyed inflicting all spectrums of pain, but it was the energy she stole that sustained her. She needed it with a junkie’s obsessive passion, so fighting her, withholding it for even a second, gave him momentary control, a brief taste of revenge, fleeting as it was.
His body was already surrendering to the pleasure of Giselle’s touch, even if his mind still fought, but it wasn’t a battle he could win. Even though she’d given him his incubus powers, his were a fraction of hers. At best, he was a mild nuisance.
The face of the auburn-haired woman bubbled to the surface of his mind, and he latched onto the brief comfort of her innocent face. She’d be an easy target. Her shy smile and covered body begged for seduction. She was the key to repaying his debt, the final portion to a hundred-piece puzzle. After that, he’d never be subjected to Giselle’s sickening depravity again.
The cork popped off the bottled vitality stored inside his body and, as the first squirts of hot come erupted from his cock, Giselle covered his mouth with hers and breathed in, a slow sucking that siphoned the energy he’d stolen from the last woman he’d seduced.
Numb and helpless, a zombie without the will to move, he nearly drowned in Giselle’s vile determination. Thoughts slowed. His equilibrium shifted. Chilled energy heated the air, and a ghostly white smoke traveled from his mouth into hers.
She stroked his shaft until the last tremors of his climax eased away. “Ah…what a sexy little tart you had last night, Damien. I want more…”
She slipped from his lap and onto her knees. Lowering her head, she made a move to take his length into her mouth—a greedy devil bent on her single-minded addiction—but he pushed to his feet.
“If you take any more from me, I’ll have nothing left.” His body swaying from the sudden reduction of energy, he put as much distance as possible between him and the bitch who owned him, then collapsed against the arm of his brown leather loveseat. “You have what you came for…now get the hell out.”
“I’m sure going to miss our little arrangement.” Looking refreshed and invigorated, she stood and licked away the sperm staining her hand. “But before I go, there’s this…tiny little clause at the end of the contract you signed—in your own blood, I remind you—that I may have forgotten to mention to you earlier.”