Prologue
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T he dry heat baked everything-the road he rode on and the great lines of Southern live oaks leading to a majestic vista in which the house stood. It almost felt like home. Today the devil came to town to satisfy his needs. Where prosperity ruled, deals were ripe, and the horned man grinned as he urged the horse forward.
The crop of tobacco stretched as far as the eye could see. Long gone was the cotton. It still brought money in, but tobacco brought in the gold.
Tipping his hat to mop his brow, he faced the sun and eyed it cautiously. Stroking the thick hair of his moustache, his ideas came quickly. Slaves lined the fields, gathering the leaves. Hundreds of them, their dark skin shining with sweat. Women and men alike tended the crops, dressed in loose clothing. The scent made him breathe deep.
Planters were rich men here; the number of slaves working for them showed their true wealth. The great big houses and the land all provided a beautiful painting of never-ending wealth.
Yet Jacob Cromwell, the owner of the Southern Belle Plantation, had other problems. He owed money; his addiction to gambling had created enemies. Despite his prominence as one of the Southern elite, Cromwell was a worried man.
Never mind. The devil himself had come to offer his services. A deal could be made. Cromwell’s problems could disappear overnight if he so wished─for a price.
On he went, slowly down the lane, admiring the pretty girls and boys, working hard in the heat, filling the many baskets. He stopped. One such girl, pretty and curvaceous, stooped, plucking leaves with ease, as though she had known nothing else. Her dark skin shone in a thin layer of sweat, dripping down her neck to her breasts. They hung low in the top she wore, on display. The devil licked his lips. He tapped his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and the sound made her look up. Resting on his saddle like a rich man in his armchair, he spoke in a voice so deep and sexy, her mind and body could only do as he bid.
“Girl, step closer to my horse.”
She stepped forward, her skirt dragging in the hot dust, the ties in her top swinging loose.
“Welcome, Sir.”
He sighed deep.
“Lift up your skirt, girl. Show me your body.”
Without an utterance of complaint, she lifted up her clothing, exposing her bare skin and delights.
“Who is your Master here?”
“Mr. Cromwell, Sir.”
“Has he tasted your quim?”
“Why, yes, Sir.” She showed no emotion at his enquiry.
“Did you enjoy it? Answer honestly.”
“No Sir. I do what I have to in order to be safe.”
The devil slid off his horse and circled her, taking in her beauty, her curves and her pretty face.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Ettie, Sir.”
“Climb upon my horse, Ettie.”
“I have to tend the leaves, Sir.” She pulled a face, letting him see she hated her work.
“Well, now you are to tend to me.”
Before she could say another word, the devil gripped her waist and lifted her high on his horse’s back. In another move, as swift as the breeze caressing them, he slipped behind her. Breathing her in, his body reacted to her. Stiffening between his thighs, he pressed into her buttocks.
“Please, Sir.”
“What is it, Ettie?” His hand slipped to her shoulder, pushing the cloth down to expose her soft skin. Down he went, kissing her neck as his hand reached inside the shirt, squeezing her full, plump breast. Her head came back, pressing into him.
“Make me yours, Sir.”
“I intend to,” he whispered in her ear, “as soon as my business is done here. I will show you things your body will never forget. You will desire me in every way until the day you die.”
“Oh, my.”
“I can smell you. You are dripping with sweet honey from between your thighs.”
“It is your honey, Master.”
“Indeed it is.” He reached down, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, and dipped his fingers in her, sliding deep. She sighed as he fingered her
––––––––
T he dry heat baked everything-the road he rode on and the great lines of Southern live oaks leading to a majestic vista in which the house stood. It almost felt like home. Today the devil came to town to satisfy his needs. Where prosperity ruled, deals were ripe, and the horned man grinned as he urged the horse forward.
The crop of tobacco stretched as far as the eye could see. Long gone was the cotton. It still brought money in, but tobacco brought in the gold.
Tipping his hat to mop his brow, he faced the sun and eyed it cautiously. Stroking the thick hair of his moustache, his ideas came quickly. Slaves lined the fields, gathering the leaves. Hundreds of them, their dark skin shining with sweat. Women and men alike tended the crops, dressed in loose clothing. The scent made him breathe deep.
Planters were rich men here; the number of slaves working for them showed their true wealth. The great big houses and the land all provided a beautiful painting of never-ending wealth.
Yet Jacob Cromwell, the owner of the Southern Belle Plantation, had other problems. He owed money; his addiction to gambling had created enemies. Despite his prominence as one of the Southern elite, Cromwell was a worried man.
Never mind. The devil himself had come to offer his services. A deal could be made. Cromwell’s problems could disappear overnight if he so wished─for a price.
On he went, slowly down the lane, admiring the pretty girls and boys, working hard in the heat, filling the many baskets. He stopped. One such girl, pretty and curvaceous, stooped, plucking leaves with ease, as though she had known nothing else. Her dark skin shone in a thin layer of sweat, dripping down her neck to her breasts. They hung low in the top she wore, on display. The devil licked his lips. He tapped his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and the sound made her look up. Resting on his saddle like a rich man in his armchair, he spoke in a voice so deep and sexy, her mind and body could only do as he bid.
“Girl, step closer to my horse.”
She stepped forward, her skirt dragging in the hot dust, the ties in her top swinging loose.
“Welcome, Sir.”
He sighed deep.
“Lift up your skirt, girl. Show me your body.”
Without an utterance of complaint, she lifted up her clothing, exposing her bare skin and delights.
“Who is your Master here?”
“Mr. Cromwell, Sir.”
“Has he tasted your quim?”
“Why, yes, Sir.” She showed no emotion at his enquiry.
“Did you enjoy it? Answer honestly.”
“No Sir. I do what I have to in order to be safe.”
The devil slid off his horse and circled her, taking in her beauty, her curves and her pretty face.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Ettie, Sir.”
“Climb upon my horse, Ettie.”
“I have to tend the leaves, Sir.” She pulled a face, letting him see she hated her work.
“Well, now you are to tend to me.”
Before she could say another word, the devil gripped her waist and lifted her high on his horse’s back. In another move, as swift as the breeze caressing them, he slipped behind her. Breathing her in, his body reacted to her. Stiffening between his thighs, he pressed into her buttocks.
“Please, Sir.”
“What is it, Ettie?” His hand slipped to her shoulder, pushing the cloth down to expose her soft skin. Down he went, kissing her neck as his hand reached inside the shirt, squeezing her full, plump breast. Her head came back, pressing into him.
“Make me yours, Sir.”
“I intend to,” he whispered in her ear, “as soon as my business is done here. I will show you things your body will never forget. You will desire me in every way until the day you die.”
“Oh, my.”
“I can smell you. You are dripping with sweet honey from between your thighs.”
“It is your honey, Master.”
“Indeed it is.” He reached down, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, and dipped his fingers in her, sliding deep. She sighed as he fingered her
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