King: Homeless. Hungry. Desperate. Doe has no memories of who she is or where she comes from. A notorious career criminal just released from prison, King is someone you don’t want to cross unless you’re prepared to pay him back in blood, sweat, sex or a combination of all three. King’s future hangs in the balance. Doe’s is written in her past. When they come crashing together, they will have to learn that sometimes in order to hold on, you have to first let go.
Tyrant: I. Remember. Everything. But the relief I thought I would feel never comes, and I’m more afraid now than I was the morning I woke up handcuffed in King’s bed. Because with the truth comes dark secrets I was never meant to know. I will put the lives of those I love most at risk if I let on that my memory has returned, or if I seek help from the heavily tattooed felon who owns me body and soul. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist the magnetic pull toward King that grows stronger every day. He’s already saved me in more ways than one. Now it’s my turn to do whatever it takes to save him. Even if that means marrying someone else…
"What?" I asked in a panic, hoping she didn't already see what I'd hidden in the tattoo. I was an asshole for putting it there. I was an asshole for tattooing her in the first place.
I was just an asshole.
But I couldn't help myself. My name needed to be on her. It wasn’t enough just to call her mine. I needed to mark her as well. So hidden in the vine work under the quote I found that I thought was perfect for her, was my name.
KING was woven into the design. In order to see it you had to tilt your head or otherwise you wouldn't notice it. But it was there.
I would tell her eventually of course, but I wanted it to be my secret for a while. She'd stopped being my possession a while ago, a lot longer before I cared to admit, but I still felt the need to mark her as mine.
I still liked the idea of owning her.
Only now, she owned me, too.
She didn't notice the name. Tears filled her eyes. She stood there staring at the hand mirror in just her panties. Little cheeky ones where her ass hung out of the bottoms. Her tits were only inches from my face. Her tears of happiness made my dick twitch. Although her sad tears evoked the same response.
My dick wasn't partial to which kind of tears he liked.
I took the mirror from her hand and lifted her up onto the counter. "You like it?" I asked, pushing her panties down her legs.
"I love it," she panted, wrapping her legs around me, drawing me close. Her wetness soaking my boxers. I pushed them down with one hand. I'd been hard for three hours, the entire time I’d been working on her, and couldn't wait any longer. I pushed inside her tight, wet heat.
We both moaned at the contact.
"You love it?" I asked, needing to hear her say it again.
"Yes, I love it!" she said as I thrust up into her, hard. "I love it. So much. I love you."
I froze when I heard the words, and when I did, her eyes flung open.
"I didn't mean—"
"Shut the fuck up."
"Oh my god, I have that word vomit thing. I’m sorry. Shit, I just meant that—"
"Shut the fuck up!" I demanded, thrusting hard to get her attention. She closed her eyes, and her head fell back. "That's fucking better. Now, keep that pretty mouth of yours shut while I fuck you."
"Okay," she whispered, breathless.
"Shut up," I said again, and she closed her mouth. "Shut up so I can fuck you…and show you how much I love you."
She nodded and although her eyes stayed shut, a tear rolled down her cheek. I sucked it off her chin before it could fall to the floor.
Then, I fucked her.
I showed her how much I loved her until I couldn't tell where I started and she began. Until all that was in that room was me and her and the thing between us that kept pulling us together like magnets. Until we were lost in sensations and orgasms.
And in each other.
I fucked her until we were one person, and in a way we were, because I'd lost myself along the way and I found myself again in the most unlikely place.
I'd found myself again in the haunted eyes of a girl who was just as lost as I was.
Or maybe, we didn't find each other at all.
Maybe, we just decided to be lost together.
I squeezed my thighs around his waist, rubbing myself against his hardness. I moaned. “But you weren’t giving me my life back.” I corrected. I placed my palms on his cheeks and held his face in my hands, searching for any sign in his eyes that what I felt for him might have been wrong, but instead what I found was a resounding need to fix what was broken between us. Tears formed in my eyes. “You were taking it away.” King’s lips parted. He ran his thumb across my lower lip, turning his head he kissed his way up my arm.
“Goosebumps,” King observed, running his fingertips across my already stimulated skin. I bit my lip and stifled a moan.
“It’s just the heat," I lied.
"You've got that fucking right," King growled, bending my wrist behind my back, his lips came crashing down over mine. We were a tangling of lips, clanking of teeth, sloshing through the water to better line ourselves up with each other. It wasn't pretty.
It was need.
"I’m still fucking mad at you for letting me go,” I said into his mouth, while our tongues did things other parts of me throbbed to do.
King stilled and held my face away from his, our chests heaving in unison, my erect nipples rubbing against his hot hard skin as we panted together. Our breaths mingled in the air. He ran his hand down the side of my face and cupped my cheek in his palm. "I didn't give you away, Pup. I released you."
I stilled. "You released me?" I couldn't hide the hurt in my voice. For some reason, releasing me sounded worse than letting me go.
King ran his tongue across the tip of my earlobe, holding me tightly against his warmth. Chills ran down my spine and into my very core and they had nothing to do with the temperature of the rain.
"I tried to release you, Pup. For Max. But there was a major problem with that plan, and no matter what happened, it would never have worked," King confessed.
"Why is that?" I asked, needing to know, but at the same time acutely aware of the pulsing between my legs. Relief and release was only a scrap or two of fabric away. Throbbing for me.
"The problem was…you never released me," King growled, crashing his lips to mine. He moaned into my mouth when I rubbed myself up against his straining erection. He pushed the fabric of my shorts aside and the second he parted my folds with his index finger, I shuddered. He plunged a long index finger inside of me, and for a second my eyes rolled back in my head until he withdrew it. I cried out in frustration, wiggling myself against him, needing him to make me feel anything other than empty.
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About T.M. Frazie
T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier resides in sunny Southwest Florida with her husband and three feisty fur kids.
She attended Florida Gulf Coast University where she specialized in public speaking. After years working in real estate and new home construction, she decided it was finally time to stop pushing her dreams to the back burner and pursue writing seriously.
In the third grade she wrote her very first story about a lost hamster. It earned rave reviews from both her teacher and her parents.
It only took her twenty years to start the next one.
It will not be about hamsters.
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