For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (63 page)

To the busty and lovely Mistress Mel at S&M’s Book Obsessions, thank you for demanding I write Kiki’s story and for loving Masi’s nuts. You breathe new life into romance reviews, blogging, and my very own reading interests. XO, Avery.

Hello, Gorgeous Reader,

OMFG!
I have a free ebook for you when you join my newsletter
http://www.eepurl.com/CQ665

While all of The Manhattanites novels may be read as stand-alone and an HEA for every couple, there is a returning cast of characters, such as Taddy Brill. When I wrote her virgin assistant from Utah in
Unscrupulous
, I shit you not, I received a gazillion emails.

Readers adored Kiki’s innocence. She brought sweetness against the ruthless divas strutting Park Avenue. My own response was something along the lines of, “WTF!?!” I never intended to pen Kiki’s romance.

Similar to many young women, who leave their hometown in pursuit of self-discovery, Kiki yearns to make her mark on the world. Indeed relatable, I had
no
effin’ clue
how Kiki’s innocence fit into this erotic soap opera. Did you? Yet, her voice kept begging to be told, saying, “Pop my cherry, Avery Aster.”

My creative juices jonesed for a smut-tastic novel for Kiki with her current boyfriend Dejon and his
hawt
twin brother Dash. A ménage! While plotting this story, I’d become fascinated by Europe’s elite jewelry thieves, The Pink Panthers, known for the $105 million diamond heist in Paris at Harry Winston. Thus…Kiki’s drama began.

Just as you found Kiki in
Unscrupulous
, she’s at the center of another scandal, causing her to question herself and everyone around her, all in the name of love. After reading her story, be sure to add
Uncensored
, Vive’s romance, to your reading list. Miss Farnworth, the liquor heiress, is drying out at a tomato farm in The Hamptons.

Feels Like Forever,

Avery

[email protected]

I Love Kiki Izatt

“W
e sure didn’t
have ‘Keep Sweet’ girls like her back home in London. I’d met Kiki Izatt online and knew in a second, she was
unique
. Capturing my interest with her butterscotch-blonde hair and electric blue eyes, I lost count of the number of times I…uhhh…got
off
staring at the tasty photos she’d sent me.

“Totally fetch!

“As she began to tell me more about herself, my suspicions grew. Perhaps this girl had been a prank, set up by my
wanker
of a brother, Dash. Who’d ever heard of a twenty-something, virgin Manhattanite, looking as beautiful as she did, who didn’t drink or party? Not me!

“Blimy. After we’d met and spent that weekend together at the Cannes Film Festival, the one where she’d refused to even let me see her in her knickers…I had to be with her. Two years later, I got up enough courage (and her father’s blessing) and asked her to marry me. Kiki said YES!
I love you, babe
.”—Dejon Turay, globetrotting disc jockey to the stars.

Perverted Fucktards

Time: Present Day

Location: Held Hostage Somewhere Stinky

O
h, my gosh.
I died. I must have.

Dang that Style Gala. Who knew that job promotion was gonna be the death of me? This has to be Heaven. It sure don’t smell like a jar of Marshmallow Fluff as I’d imagined. It reeks in here. God doesn’t send virgins to Hell. Does he?

Well, God, if you’re tapping my thoughts, you cannot punish me by counting anal play, cunnilingus and a blow job as full-blown premarital sex—can you? And I only did it once.

Kiki tried to open her eyes. Wait. They were taped shut. A momentary flush of panic caught up with her brain. She attempted to call out for help. Hardly able to move her tongue, something tasting cottony stuffed her mouth.

What the…?

She went to yank out whatever was wedged between her teeth and peel the tape off her eyes, but her arms, they wouldn’t budge.
No!
They were tied behind her back.
This isn’t real. Wake up.
Her ankles felt fastened to the legs of whatever she sat on.

Awake. Kiki wasn’t dreaming. A horrific realization rocketed through every fiber of her body. She’d worked the jewelry industry’s most prestigious event, the Style Gala in Manhattan, and gotten herself abducted. Rich, black fear greeted her consciousness. As she tried to take it all in, a freakish sound stole her attention, just as someone had taken her freedom.

The metal humming sound of something being cut came from a nearby room.

Uh-oh.
She’d heard that dreaded noise before, when Kiki’s older sisters had made her watch her first and last horror flick,
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
.

Growing up conservative, her mother, Hannahette, hadn’t allowed them to see anything other than G-rated movies. At that moment, she knew why.
I am not sticking around to see if that’s Leatherface making this racket.

Pressing her heels to the floor, she pushed up with her legs to hop in whatever she was attached to. Perhaps a wooden chair—that’s what it felt like under her butt.

It squeaked then slid an inch or so.

Unfamiliar with wearing platform stilettos, she had barely been able to walk in them earlier that night from the limo to the party, let alone leap in them. Mad at herself for taking them from the Easton Essentials showroom, she’d only worn them at the request of her client, Lex Easton. Her job at Brill, Inc. was to get glam, although that day, the close-to-six-inch heel might’ve cost Kiki her life.

“Gurl, dig those Easton pumps into the linoleum, keep it movin’.” In her head, she heard her roommate, co-worker and best friend, Duckie Capri, telling her what to do. “Kick it up. Go!” Exactly what Duckie would’ve said if he’d been beside her right then.

Breasts bouncing, she scooted but came to an abrupt stop from the pain. Why did her head hurt so badly?
I fell when the bullet hit me. A man in a mask…picked me up…after he shot me.
Throbbing jolts of fire tore through her left shoulder, making her whimper. That’s where she’d been struck. Her entire body ached.

“She’s awake,” someone behind her shouted.

The sawing halted.

Startled, Kiki straightened. She’d heard
that
voice before. A man, one she knew, but who?

He shushed her.

A hot, fed-up tear ran down her left cheek. Another streaked her right.

“Don’t cry.” He removed her hoop earrings. Rubbing her lobes, he told her not to get upset.

Sounds of running water, maybe from a faucet, not too far in front of her, reached her. It distracted her from figuring out who this was, and onto who else was in the room.

More apprehension waved through her. There must’ve been two people with her. Then the water seemed to quit. She tried to listen for others, but didn’t detect any.

“Here,” the second guy ordered. “Wash her.” A splash of something sprinkled her arms. Had he sat a bucket on the floor next to her?

A squeak, similar to what her chair had made moments before, came toward her. Sitting, the first guy caressed her face. “You’re all right.” Wet hands came up, dripping soapy-scented droplets on her face and neck.

The water ran down her blouse, past her navel, through her skirt and then stopped between her legs.

Normally the sensation would’ve tickled. At that moment, it was nothing shy of utter torture. A small puddle collected at her cunt.

Kiki trembled.

He wiped her face, hard, maybe removing dirt. What felt to be his lips pressed against her forehead…kissing her. An exhale of his breath intimately warmed her face. Kiki swore she could hear his heart beating louder than her own. Then he mumbled to himself.

She couldn’t make out what he said, but this kidnapped, tied-up, saw-cutting, hand-bathing thing wasn’t good.

Horrible thoughts raced through her mind, flashing images of what might happen next.
I’m gonna be sick.
Acid came up from her insides, hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed—as best she could—and pushed her disgust back down.

No one she knew or loved would do this to her. Would they? Kiki didn’t have any enemies. She barely had any friends. Almost everyone had been with her at the Style Gala mingling. Then suddenly, the screams had started when the guns had gone off.

His unwelcomed hands, smoothly, effortlessly unbuttoned her blouse.

Thick as a foot of snow, the room’s cold air came over her nakedness. Her nipples distended.

Screw this
. She sunk the soles of her feet into her stilettos and rocked herself, back and forth, hard and fast, in the chair.
Go away.
Kiki didn’t want him to touch her.
I saved myself for my wedding night.

“Don’t—” With force, he held down her seat just as it was about to tip over.

Catching her breath, she inhaled through her nose, taking in a familiar citrus scent. The guy didn’t stink like this room. How could a guy who smelled so good be so bad?
Please, take the tape off my eyes. Let me see you.
Heat stole into her cheeks. Kiki rolled her shoulders back against the chair, realizing she was going nowhere fast.

There was a tug at her waist.

No!

He unzipped the back of her skirt.

Stop!

The man lifted her butt up. Shanking the tweed fabric over her legs, it rested at whatever was used to tie her ankles together.

Something moist—it felt to be a sponge—cleansed her neck and décolletage. Washing never seemed so dirty. He removed the necklace Dejon’s—her ex-fiancé—mother had given her at her bridal shower. She brought her chin up, hoping he’d stop there and leave her be.
Let me have my pride.

He didn’t.

Humiliation engulfed her.

The sponge came down over each mound of flesh. Her nipples pebbled. Aroused?
No. More like totally outraged!

Tight, she clenched her entire body. Tighter, trying not to feel anything, nothing! Tightest, about to snap, and she would if he touched her
there.

The sponge dipped under each fold of her breast then wiped her arms, repeating the movement before moving on. Rewetting the sponge, he cleaned her shoulder, tracing the flesh around the wound. It was as if he knew the unbearable suffering about to come.

Biting down on the gag to take the pain, she braced herself. And yelled—in her mind—as he dug at the hole in her skin. Had there been a bullet lodged in her shoulder? Did they take it out while she’d been unconscious?

“Block it! Escape. Think about your family.” That’s what Duckie would tell her to do. It was the only thing she could do.

Her ex-fiancé came to mind.
I’m still in love with you, Dejon. I don’t know why you broke off our engagement. I’ll always be your girl. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.

Her family in Utah, had they heard about the shooting in Manhattan? Kiki’s mom had warned she’d get herself shot if she moved to New York. Why was Hannahette always right?

Duckie, was he going out of his mind—well, more so than usual—without her?

Her mentor, Taddy, was she blaming herself? Knowing Taddy, she probably had the NYPD, CIA, FBI, NSA and her own group of bodyguards hunting these two bozos down.

Didn’t they know that no one messed with Miss Taddy Brill? The lady practically owned the town, not to mention her boyfriend, Warner Truman, was one of the richest men in the world. Warner would give Taddy any resources she needed to help find Kiki.

Wait, Warner had been shot, too. Warner had gone down, though not without a fight. Was he…dead?

Thinking back to the Style Gala, Kiki realized how she’d ended up in her predicament. She’d taken the second bullet intended for Taddy. Warner had taken the first when he’d jumped in front of them. Someone had tried to kill her boss. But why?
I’d do it again, Miss Brill. I’d do anything for you, always.

“Beautiful.” That voice complimented her a few times.

Impossible to concentrate. She could barely breathe, but regardless, she had to stay sharp on figuring out who her captor was.

Once he finished wiping down her torso, he spread her legs wide.

Her ears pounded. Powerless, she hollered. No noise came from her silenced lips, so she prayed.
Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you…

Sirens outside sounded close by. They came closer. The NYPD was on its way!

For a few seconds, he sat there doing nothing but breathing—slowly, loudly.

The sirens blasted right outside the building.

Drawing her knees back together, she felt his hungry eyes staring—wanting her.

Whatever the emergency noises were from, they faded out. They zipped right by them.

Again, he parted her legs. The wet sponge ran up the inside of the right one.

Seek me diligently and ye shall find me…

His hand inched closer to her.

Her pulse skittered.

Footsteps quickened.

“No!” the second voice, the one who’d brought her the water, shouted.

“Yes, dude.” Her panties were soaked. He must’ve squeezed the sponge over her.

Whack!

Was the guy hit? Brushing against her, he sprung to his feet. The chair seemed to have toppled over.

Vibrations from the floor intensified thunderously. They struggled. Pushing one another, they must be. Noises to the effect of feet scurrying, grunts, cursing at one another, and then a loud thud. Had one of them punched the other?

“Arsehole!”

Where do I know that voice from?

One of them marched over to her. It was the second one. He smelled different than the first, more musky and expensive. He covered her breasts with what could be a blanket. It itched. Then he untied the knot at the back of her head.

The gag fell around her neck. Shaking her head, she tasted blood and realized she must’ve been tied up for several hours. “Why…are you doing this?” Not letting the tears choke her, she spat. “Somebody help!” Emotions spun out of control. Unable to stop screaming until his hands nearly slapped her mouth into silence.