Kept: An Erotic Anthology by Holly Roberts, Leia Shaw, Cari Silverwood, Sorcha Black, Angela Castle, C. L. Scholey
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want to marry, and have sex with boring, fat Ashlyn Sawyer? And why did the man vanish? The only answer must be he was more intoxicated than she was. The thought sent a spike into her heart.
Escape was the only answer. As soon after Lillian’s wedding as she could, she would be on the plane for home.
A hand clamped around her arm, yanking her forward. Startled, she fell into the arms of one of the male strippers. Eeew ! Disgust made her shudder when she was forced to put her hand on his greasy arm to stop herself from face-planting into his oiled, no doubt waxed chest.
Crap, it was the Master of Ceremonies stripper on stage. “We have our volunteer!” came the loud boom of his voice through the speakers.
“Hey, wait, no!” Her protest fell on deaf ears while he dragged her towards the stage. She glanced back to see Lillian and Jillian exchange smug grins. Oh, shit, I know that look. Knowing those two, she was about to become the joke of the whole party.
The first stripper managed to get her up the step, and when he let go of her arm, she tried to bolt back down, only to be hemmed in by two more of the men.
“Please welcome Ashlyn, who’s been chosen to have a special, lap dance.”
Ooohs and screams met the MC stripper guy’s declaration.
How does he know my name?
Someone brought over a chair and pushed her into it. The guy held her down with a firm hand on her shoulder.
Humiliation made her cheeks hot, but she doubted anyone would notice or care. Ash knew there was no way out, and she would have to endure it to the end.
“Her sister tells us Ashlyn has trouble loosening up and having fun, but I’m sure we boys can help her with that. What do you say, ladies?”
More cheers and shouts of 'yeah’ met his words.
Shit, shit, shit!
The music suddenly stopped, and the lights came on as a group of men burst through the main entrance. Stunned staff and horny women were pushed out of the way by the half dozen extremely large men in black suits who cleared the way for a singular, tall and muscular man powering towards the stage.
Ash's eyes widened when she saw who it was. The man she married last night, the man who’d touched her, brought her pleasure, and then vanished. Her fuzzy brain left out the one detail she struggled to recall—his name. K, or Kmart or something like that?
K’marr, that’s it! The one the bartender set her up with. She owed Lance a good kick in the shins.
Fierce anger twisted K’marr's face, and there was clear murder in his eyes as his gaze fixed on the group of near-naked men around her. She felt the blood drain from her face, and her head spun. Every instinct screamed this was not a man to be trifled with. At the same time, all her girly bits flared to life with the sheer masculine power and beauty of him. He was hotter than any of the prancing show ponies, jiggling their bits to screaming women.
The stripper, keeping her pinned to the chair, went flying backwards. K’marr mounted the stage and punched him square in the face. Women screamed, but this time not from excitement.
“No one touches my wife!”
The possessive jealousy in his bellow made her gape at him.
Yeah, take that, you bitch! Whoa, where did that thought come from?
He stood glaring down at her; she stared back in utter shock. “You and I, my Queen, are going to have some words in private.” Before she knew what was happening, he yanked her up onto her feet, bent over, gripped her hips and hoisted her up onto his shoulder as if she weighed nothing more than a large, lump pillow.
“You are mine!”
She got a great view of his firm ass while he carried her down the stairs and through the room, past shocked onlookers, though some women were still giggling and cheering, obviously too drunk to realize it wasn’t part of the show.
His men prevented anyone from following, or trying to stop him as he carried her off. She managed to lift her head enough to see the scathing glares from her stepfamily.
Clear
Escape was the only answer. As soon after Lillian’s wedding as she could, she would be on the plane for home.
A hand clamped around her arm, yanking her forward. Startled, she fell into the arms of one of the male strippers. Eeew ! Disgust made her shudder when she was forced to put her hand on his greasy arm to stop herself from face-planting into his oiled, no doubt waxed chest.
Crap, it was the Master of Ceremonies stripper on stage. “We have our volunteer!” came the loud boom of his voice through the speakers.
“Hey, wait, no!” Her protest fell on deaf ears while he dragged her towards the stage. She glanced back to see Lillian and Jillian exchange smug grins. Oh, shit, I know that look. Knowing those two, she was about to become the joke of the whole party.
The first stripper managed to get her up the step, and when he let go of her arm, she tried to bolt back down, only to be hemmed in by two more of the men.
“Please welcome Ashlyn, who’s been chosen to have a special, lap dance.”
Ooohs and screams met the MC stripper guy’s declaration.
How does he know my name?
Someone brought over a chair and pushed her into it. The guy held her down with a firm hand on her shoulder.
Humiliation made her cheeks hot, but she doubted anyone would notice or care. Ash knew there was no way out, and she would have to endure it to the end.
“Her sister tells us Ashlyn has trouble loosening up and having fun, but I’m sure we boys can help her with that. What do you say, ladies?”
More cheers and shouts of 'yeah’ met his words.
Shit, shit, shit!
The music suddenly stopped, and the lights came on as a group of men burst through the main entrance. Stunned staff and horny women were pushed out of the way by the half dozen extremely large men in black suits who cleared the way for a singular, tall and muscular man powering towards the stage.
Ash's eyes widened when she saw who it was. The man she married last night, the man who’d touched her, brought her pleasure, and then vanished. Her fuzzy brain left out the one detail she struggled to recall—his name. K, or Kmart or something like that?
K’marr, that’s it! The one the bartender set her up with. She owed Lance a good kick in the shins.
Fierce anger twisted K’marr's face, and there was clear murder in his eyes as his gaze fixed on the group of near-naked men around her. She felt the blood drain from her face, and her head spun. Every instinct screamed this was not a man to be trifled with. At the same time, all her girly bits flared to life with the sheer masculine power and beauty of him. He was hotter than any of the prancing show ponies, jiggling their bits to screaming women.
The stripper, keeping her pinned to the chair, went flying backwards. K’marr mounted the stage and punched him square in the face. Women screamed, but this time not from excitement.
“No one touches my wife!”
The possessive jealousy in his bellow made her gape at him.
Yeah, take that, you bitch! Whoa, where did that thought come from?
He stood glaring down at her; she stared back in utter shock. “You and I, my Queen, are going to have some words in private.” Before she knew what was happening, he yanked her up onto her feet, bent over, gripped her hips and hoisted her up onto his shoulder as if she weighed nothing more than a large, lump pillow.
“You are mine!”
She got a great view of his firm ass while he carried her down the stairs and through the room, past shocked onlookers, though some women were still giggling and cheering, obviously too drunk to realize it wasn’t part of the show.
His men prevented anyone from following, or trying to stop him as he carried her off. She managed to lift her head enough to see the scathing glares from her stepfamily.
Clear
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