Read Twelve Nights Online

Authors: Carole Remy

Twelve Nights

BOOK: Twelve Nights
9.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

 

Praise for Carole Remy’s Erotic Romance Novels

 

Beauty of the Beast

“Awesome, sexy, and entertaining… This hidden gem of a book
makes me want to read more of Carole Remy’s work. I could not put it down.”

 

Fantasy Impromptu

“There is real craft here, a real story... As fine a piece of
erotica as I’ve read.”

 

Twelve Nights

 

Illustrations at
Pinterest.com/caroleremybooks/

 

Copyright ©2001 by Carole Remy

Copyright ©2013 by Carole Remy

 

Cover photo © by Olga Ekaterincheva. Used under license from
Shutterstock.com

Cover design by Marissa Lepe Preciado

 

All Rights Reserved

This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print
or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may
not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your
personal devices.

 

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.

 

Twelve Nights

Illustrations at
Pinterest.com/caroleremybooks/

 

Table of Contents

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
1

Personal ad in the New York Times, October 28, 1997

 

$120,000 + Expenses

Rich man wants companion for 12

nights. Attractive normal female.

Never married. No children. Over

30 years old. No prostitutes. Reply

to box 74716.

 

Angel examined her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator.
Shoulder length auburn hair, every gilded strand in curled place. Eyes jade
green to match earrings. She held up her hand. The red-tipped nails contrasted
nicely with the sheer ink black slip dress. She slid a hand across the fragile
macramé-knotted skimmer that barely hid her mounded breasts. Men loved knots.
Her lacy black panties showed just enough, she noted as her hand slid down a
flat stomach. She cupped and squeezed her mound of Venus gently in passing.
Time to get to work.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped onto a plush
oriental carpet. Her fuck-me high heels sank into the luxuriant wool and one
ankle twisted.

“Shit,” she murmured as she righted herself. She rotated her
ankle, then stepped on confidently.

Angel’s eyes flicked sideways as she approached the door to
suite 1027. The room was the last in the hall and the elevator several yards
and a heavy fire door away. She slicked her hands once again down already
smooth sides and lifted her hand to knock. The door opened.

“Come on in, honey.”

Angel lowered her hand and smiled. The man was older and
balding. They usually were. He wore a white dress shirt, no tie and dark gray
pants. His belly paunched over a braided leather belt. Mushy thighs, Angel
thought, and smiled harder.

The man reached his hand toward Angel’s arm and she let
herself be drawn into the room. Standard hotel-expensive. King size bed.
Midnight blue bedspread. Matching sofa with red accent pillows. Card-size table
and two padded armchairs. Armoire with entertainment. Small bar fridge. Probably
a jacuzzi in the bathroom. She noted the expensive shoes aligned beside the
dresser. A precise man, despite the paunch.

She reached up to touch the man’s cheek.

“Are you ready to have a good time?” Her voice was husky and
moist.

Angel’s hand slid down to cup the man’s crotch. He was limp
and she squeezed gently.

“What’s your name, honey?” she asked.

“You can call me Captain.”

The man lifted Angel’s hand from his crotch and squeezed it
in his own.

“Three hundred bucks an hour, right?” he asked.

Angel nodded.

“No rush.” The man grinned. “There’s a thousand dollars in
my briefcase for you if you make me happy, sweetheart.”

Three hours.

“My name’s Angel.”

“You’re very pretty, Angel.”

“Thank you. Would you like me to strip for you?”

“You let me decide what I want and when, girlie,” the man’s
voice coarsened then smoothed as he continued. “I’ll let you know.”

“That’s fine,” Angel agreed.

She tugged gently to release her hand but the man held it
firmly and led her to the table. He bent her wrist to seat her. Too late she
saw the handcuff that dangled from one arm of the chair. She swung her free arm
toward the man’s face, but he blocked her fist with his forearm and wrenched
her other wrist down to the chair arm.

“Go ahead,” he grunted. “I like a little fight.”

Angel lifted her foot to kick his shin. She heard the click
of the handcuff as her foot swung awkwardly past the man’s sidestepping leg.
Her motion threw her across the chair and she cried out as the handcuff bit
into the flesh of her wrist. The man righted her in the chair, then swung back
his hand and slapped her across the cheek. The back of her head hit the chair
and bounced forward. The same hand that slapped her then cradled her chin
gently and turned her head from side to side.

“A red mark from my fingers, but no bruising,” the man said.
“Behave yourself or it’ll go worse for you.”

“I am going to leave,” Angel stood slowly and grabbed the
chair in both hands. She held the chair in front of her like a lion tamer.

“I don’t think so,” the man taunted.

He put both hands on a bottom strut of the chair and jerked
it forward. His force snapped the chair out of Angel’s hands and the handcuff
bit again deep into her wrist. She looked down at the trickle of blood that ran
toward her matching fingertips. She started to cry.

“I told you, girlie...”

“My name is Angel,” she interrupted.

The man twitched the chair and fresh blood trickled down
Angel’s wrist.

“Girlie, you do what I say and I won’t hurt you.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Say, ‘Yes, sir, Captain.’”

“Yes, sir, Captain.” The words were a thread that bound her
to him as securely as the handcuffs.

He righted the chair.

“Sit down,” he commanded. Angel sat.

“Now the rule is very simple,” he explained. “You don’t hurt
me, and I don’t hurt you.”

“Yes, …” she began.

“Maybe,” he interrupted and laughed. “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” she paused, “sir, Captain.”

“Good. Feel my cock. Gently.” Angel reached her unbound hand
forward and patted the bulge in his pants. “Thought I couldn’t get it up, huh?”

Angel lifted watery eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Let’s see your titties, Angel. How do you get that dress
off?”

“Over my head.”

“Well, go ahead.”

The captain stood inches in front of Angel as she twisted in
the chair, trying to bring her left shoulder down to her handcuffed right hand.
At last she grasped the macramé skimmer and stretched it out to pass beneath
her elbow. Once her arm was free, she slid the knotted garment over her head
and down to rest against the bound wrist. She glanced up then at the captain
and found his eyes eagerly probing the sheer fabric that barely shadowed her
breasts.

“Lift your arm,” he commanded.

Angel raised her unbound limb and closed her eyes as the
Captain stroked her underarm. She flinched automatically away from even the
gentle touch.

“Hold still.” His voice was calmer now, as though he spoke
to a skittish animal.

Angel forced her nerve endings to relax as he ran first the
pads and then the nails of his fingers up and down her smooth armpit.

“Stand up.”

Angel shifted her weight forward and held her arm aloft as
she tipped onto her feet. She could not stand erect, but hunched toward the
handcuffed wrist. The man grasped the slip dress at the hem and pulled it
slowly inside out as he raised it across her body. The silk slid over
exercise-taut curves and the heat of the man’s fingers reached out through the
sheer fabric toward Angel’s skin. At last the dress lay puddled on the arm of
the chair. Angel watched as her blood stained the black silk to a shiny gloss.

“Bend over the chair.” The man’s voice was hoarse.

Angel stood, placed a hand on each arm of the chair and bent
at the waist. Now at least she knew what to expect. She heard the snick of a
zipper sliding down. Maybe he would be quick. She knelt forward to rest her
knees on the padded front edge of the seat.

“Spread your knees.”

“My panties.”

“Take them off.”

Angel crouched and wiggled as she stripped off the black
lace one-handed. She started to step out of her shoes.

“Leave them on.”

Angel resumed her position and spread her knees as far apart
as the chair would allow. She ducked her head and rounded her back, lifting her
hips in invitation.

“You like to butt-fuck, girlie?”

“I don’t do that,” Angel protested. “Didn’t the secretary …”

“I guess the connection wasn’t too good,” he laughed. “Don’t
you tense up now.”

Rough hands grasped the twin globes of Angel’s rear and
pulled the flesh apart.

“Use a condom,” Angel gritted through clenched teeth.

“I’m clean,” the man boasted.

“Maybe I’m not,” Angel insisted. “There’s a condom in my
purse.”

The hands left her backside and a moment later Angel heard
the rip of a foil pouch. She sighed in relief. Beside the safety factor, the
condom was well-lubricated and would make his entry easier. She braced herself
as the uncouth hands again parted her rear. The man thrust hard and missed the
opening by a fraction of an inch.

“Go slower,” Angel gasped. “Guide it in.”

“Glad you’ve decided to be cooperative, girlie.”

The man eased the tip of his cock into Angel’s anus and she
breathed deeply to contain the pain and pressure without struggling. Then he
clenched his fists on her hipbones and thrust hard. Angel cried out as the
sudden assault stretched her beyond silent endurance. The man’s hands were a
vise, pinning her bottom to the unholy shaft.

“That’s it, girlie. Fight a little,” the man encouraged.

He stroked out once, too far for comfort, and slammed back
in too quickly. Angel bit her lip and tasted salty sweet blood. She tried to
focus on the sting and the blood and to block out the greater pain of the lower
assault.

“Pretty big, huh?” the man bragged.

“Yes,” Angel gasped.

The man pumped in and out, each time too much, too fast, too
brutal. Finally his cock swelled in Angel’s rear and she prayed for an ending.
The last strokes were beyond her endurance and she cried out with each until
her scream became a continuous whimpering protest. She never felt the feeble
spurt of cum as he continued pumping until his cock wilted. At last he
withdrew.

Angel sighed and slumped forward into the chair though the
man’s hands still cradled her hipbones. His fingers would leave long yellow and
purple bruises. She would not be able to work until they faded. Angel stopped
short. Work? If there was a God, she’d never work again. She breathed deeply as
she waited for the man to undo the handcuffs.

Instead she felt the hands clench on her bruised bones. She
shifted with discomfort and tried to ease away from the pressure. The man
lifted her buttocks so that she perched on her elbows and toes, then sank his
teeth into her bottom. Angel cried out at the unexpectedly sharp pain. The man
licked the bite mark.

“Like that?” he asked.

He bit her again and Angel could not suppress the whimper
that rose from deep in her throat.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “Please.”

She felt the teeth sink in and the tongue suck as the man
wrenched her flesh. Would he bite out a piece of her buttock? Tears of pain and
terror ran down Angel’s face and dripped onto the brocade seat of the chair.
Then mercifully the teeth lifted, leaving only the throbbing ache of mangled
flesh.

Angel waited for the next assault. Her knees buckled as she
heard the rip of another condom wrapper. She turned and sat in the chair.

BOOK: Twelve Nights
9.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Joanna by Gellis, Roberta
Stolen Kisses by Grayson, Jennifer
TheProfessor by Jon Bradbury
Spoils of the Game by Lee Lamond
Tombstone by Candace Smith
Killer Punch by Amy Korman
Best Foot Forward by Joan Bauer
Song for Silas, A by Wick, Lori
Borrowing Trouble by Mae Wood