Spin Devil (3 page)

“Stop looking at everyone else and look at me.”

Cleo had to quickly come up with a plausible excuse for
avoiding his gaze, so she said, “I was just wondering where Luella and Haley
are. Do you see them?” Glancing past his shoulder, she busily studied the
crowd.

“Cleo.” Lean, muscled arms slid around her waist, yanking
her body closer to his at the same time he bent his head and whispered, “Come
here.”

At the unexpected flood in her panties and the sudden
racing of her heart, Cleo’s instincts told her to step back. When she tried,
his arms tightened around her, causing all sorts of whirlwinds inside her while
she kept her eyes away from his face and her palms pushing at his chest. She
started to babble. “Look, there’s Mrs. Schmidt—did you ever take classes with
her? She’s such a good teacher…but I don’t think I see Luella or Haley
anywhere. Where could they be?”

Every muscle in his body suddenly turned to stone and he
stopped dancing completely. “It’s no fucking wonder no one wants to dance with
you, Cleo.”

He said it so stiffly his lips hardly moved when he
spoke. Cleo didn’t know why he should be angry—she’d been nothing but nice. She
was always nothing but nice to him.

She stared at his lips, her stomach clenching horribly.
“Why do you always have to insult me, Bas?” she whispered, hating that her
voice broke.

He gripped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze, his
eyes glowing with anger. “Go and find your friends.”

Cursing under his breath, he left her alone in the middle
of the dance floor and headed off to dance with another. With a woman Cleo hated
right then and there, a whore he fairly made love to on the dance floor, right
in front of her eyes. And his eyes sought out hers in a silent dare, in
defiance, as the woman rubbed her scantily clad body against his very notorious
erection. His eyes, those cruel, piercing black eyes, remained fixed on Cleo as
he roamed his hands freely over inches and inches of soft, supple female flesh.
Those same strong, calloused hands that only moments ago had touched and melted
her suddenly cupped that whore’s rump and pressed her to him, his beautiful
dark head bending forward as his thick, magnificent lips swooped down to
capture hers.

Cleo had wanted to die.

“I said
look at me
, Cleo.”

Cleo’s mind snapped back to the present. How many times had
he spoken those very same words to her? Dozens, maybe even hundreds of times.
She was certain if he asked her to disappear completely it would have been a
far easier request.

Gathering her courage, she slowly looked up at him and
shuddered at the darkness of his eyes. The flickering lantern light from below
etched his features into hard planes of light and shadows. He looked unyielding
and vicious and frightening.

“You should have chosen truth.”

Cleo drew in a deep, audible breath at the direct contact of
his hand on her skin when he cupped her hip. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” He slid
his hand up to her ribs and ran his thumb along the bottom curve of her breast.
“You’re really going to get it this time, Cleo.” His free hand grasped her jaw,
his thumb and fingers digging into her cheeks as he squeezed, forcing her lips
into a pout. “And you’re going to get it from
me
.”

He sounded crazed, angry—desperate.

He kissed her forcibly, his lips covering the plump flesh of
her pouted lips, kept open only by the force of his grip on her cheeks. He
thrust his tongue inside her mouth and Cleo swayed backward, only to be
steadied by a pair of hands on her elbows. His tongue ravaged her, and when she
heard the sounds of his deep, haggard breathing, she knew with frightening
certainty that one way or another he would take her tonight. The thought made
her heart leap, whether in fright or inexplicable thrill, she didn’t know.

Sebastian pulled away from her, panting hard and visibly
straining to recover.

For many reasons—one very important one in particular—Cleo
wanted to scream at him. She’d never done anything to him, had never done
anything to anyone. Why did he hate her? Why did he want to punish her, hurt
her?

She’d
loved
him, damn him. Desperately so. Despite
how he’d hurt her, humiliated her, laughed at her. It shamed her to admit it,
even to herself. It had taken her almost four years to forget him, to pick up
the pieces of her battered, sorry little heart.

“Lie down, Mother Cleo,” he sneered, slamming his eyes into
lethal slits. “And open your legs.”

Cleo knew that begging him would be like fueling his hatred,
nurturing this sick, festered need of his to humiliate her. So instead she
turned to Jason, met his deep blue eyes with her own.

“Jason please…let me go.”

“It’s just a game Cleo, just relax,” Jason said with a
smile.

“No, it’s not!” she yelled.

She turned to David, her former study companion and one of
only two men in her entire life who’d held her naked in his arms. “David,
please!”

David’s dark brown eyes slowly studied her features. “I’ll
stop this, Cleo. If you really mean it, I will. But we both know you don’t, do
you?”

Cleo lowered her eyelashes, not bearing to look at him.
David knew, of course. He
knew
. That last night in college, Cleo had
spoken someone else’s name when David had made love to her. It had been just a
whisper, almost painful to speak aloud, but by the way he had stiffened she
knew he had heard it clearly. Cleo was
still
embarrassed about it, and
she still wanted to believe she hadn’t spoken that name out loud in an intimate
moment.

Her voice broke. “David, I just—”

“Zip it you three!” Sebastian thundered. “Sit down and open
your legs for me, Cleo. I’m coming in…and I’m coming inside you.”

“You bastard!” she screeched furiously, wanting to rip his
eyes out, but Jason and David held back her wrists and pulled her downward,
forcing her to sit on a blanket.

Sebastian chuckled a slow, mirthless laugh. His laugh
sounded old, as if it had rusted from so little use.

Slowly kneeling before her, he placed his hand over her
knee. She jerked at his touch, her heart pounding against her breast like a mad
little thing. Splaying his fingers over her knee, he slid his hand upward,
shifting his thumb to her inner thigh. His touch was firm, possessive. It scorched
her,
all
of her, even her heart, as if he’d taken what was left of it
and flung it into the fiery red pit of a volcano.

She knew he should make her sick. She
knew
she should
cringe at his touch, but instead her body felt like liquid. Like she had wings to
fly and was floating above the ground as if by magic. Still she despised it,
despised the way he made her feel and the hundreds of times he’d made her cry.
So she slammed her legs shut, trapping his wayward hand in the process.

He shook his head, a lock of black hair falling on his
forehead when he did so. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want
me.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

With both hands and with little effort, he forced her thighs
open. She yelped when he cupped her pussy, splaying his fingers on her ass and
rubbing the heel of his palm against her clit. His touch ignited her. Closing
her eyes, she mewled helplessly as she fought the wildness raging inside her.

“You’re very aroused, Cleo. So wet. You’ve made it a habit
of lying to yourself all these years.”

“I don’t…lie. Please stop…
stop
this.”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

It was hard to look at him. Hard to look at his proud,
powerful face, but she forced herself to. Bravely, she opened her eyes and met
his lethal black gaze, biting her lower lip in a futile attempt to keep it from
trembling. It wasn’t fair that he should know. Know how and where to touch her,
to bend her will in such a way. “Yes.”

That shaky word brought a well of stinging tears to her eyes
and she quickly dropped her eyelashes to hide them from him. There was no way
in hell she was ever going to admit that she wanted him. No way in hell would
she ever succumb to his caresses, to his domination, no matter what her body
wanted. No matter what her heart said. The poor thing was badly broken and
poorly mended. The little dear obviously had no idea what it was in for if she
succumbed. It was
not
in its best interest and she would not willingly
put herself through four more years of misery.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and drew in a deep
breath. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Why
should
she cry? All she
had to do was say no and mean it, and this would be over with. Sebastian might
be the meanest son of a bitch in the world but her friends—no matter how far
gone and drunk—would never allow him to hurt her. And deep down, Cleo knew it.

“What is this?” Sebastian whispered, his breath hot against
her face as he bent forward. She would have preferred he mock her, for the
concern in his voice was even more painful. His thumbs brushed the wetness from
the corners of her eyes. “Are you crying, Cleo?”

Cleo forced her eyes open with the last remaining shreds of
hostility she’d clung to like a lifesaver. “I hate you,” she hissed.

The men’s grips tightened around her wrists when she tried
to pull away but her movements were weak, as if she’d been somehow drained of
all energy. She tried once again but before even making a decent effort, went
limp in defeat. Maybe it was better to stop fighting so he could finish with
her already—finish the slow, painful torment he’d subjected her to for years.
Perhaps when he was through she might not feel
anything
anymore. Maybe
this overwhelming hate for him would be replaced by nothing but a welcome,
blissful numbness.

“Baby…I want to make you shudder and scream and moan. I
don’t want you to cry.” He cupped her face with his big, strong hands and
brushed his lips against hers. Cleo lost her breath completely when he pressed
his lips to hers firmly and forced his tongue into her mouth.

Fire. She was on fire…blazing under the strokes of his
strong, wet tongue.

Heat flamed inside her like a furnace and he fed it with
every thrust, every dark claim of his tongue. He pillaged her lips, claimed
every inch of her as his own. She fell under his spell, his black magic, and
even moaned when he tilted his head sideways to gain better access. He tasted
of things that were hazardous, bad for your health—beer and cigarettes and man.
It couldn’t be good for her, feeling this. It couldn’t be good for her, wanting
him. All of him. All the time.

When he withdrew, Cleo was feverish and breathing harshly.

“Why don’t I give you a few minutes to think about it?”
Sebastian calmly suggested, seemingly unaffected by the same kiss that had left
her limp, dazed and burning.

Chapter Three

Cleo shuddered when he left her, suddenly feeling cold and
vulnerable, her chest heaving with each breath, her eyes wild and desperate on
his retreating back.

For a crazy moment she would now promptly forget, she wanted
to beg him to come back to her. Beg him to touch her, fuck her. Beg him to
break the strict, self-imposed restrictions she’d lived with her whole life and
make loud, crazy love to her like he had to the women who’d stumbled out of his
dorm room after hours and hours of moaning. Instead, she silently watched as he
paused before Luella and stretched a hand out to her, palm up.

“Let’s show Cleo how it’s done, shall we?”

“With you? Are you kidding me? I’ve
lived
for this
moment.”

There was a sharp spark of desperation in Cleo’s eyes as she
watched Luella daintily set her hand in his bigger one. He lifted her to her
feet with an effortless tug and with slow, precise movements that meant he did
this sort of thing very often—more often than Cleo would like to know—began to
remove Luella’s clothing.

He pulled the pink cotton top over her head then kissed her
lips while his hands worked on the button of her tight blue jeans. Luella wore
no bra, and her breasts heaved as she bent and helped him undress her. Her
jeans dropped to her ankles with a soft
whoosh
. Standing in all her
splendor, wearing only a flimsy pair of panties, Luella stepped out of her
jeans and toward the glorious man before her.

“Nice,” Sebastian whispered, eyeing her appreciatively.

Luella moaned when his hand disappeared into the soft silk
fabric of her panties. Cleo’s throat went dry, and although the hold of the men
beside her had slackened around her wrists, she was too engrossed in the scene
unfolding to even notice.

“You’re so wet, so slippery, baby,” Sebastian said in a hot,
husky voice.

Luella’s answer was a deep, loud moan and a thrust of her
hips against Sebastian’s probing hand.

“Bas, please,” Luella begged, rubbing her breasts against
his chest and rocking her pelvis against the onslaught of his hand.

“In a moment, sweetheart…but first things first.”

He took Luella’s shoulders and turned her around to face
Cleo. He stood behind her, a whole head taller than she was, and Cleo was
helpless but to watch the slow movement of his lips as they grazed Luella’s
earlobe while his hands cupped her breasts from behind. His fingers were long
and tapered, his hands big and sleek, easily managing to cup the whole flesh of
Luella’s perfect silicone breasts.

“Do you see this, Cleo?” he asked softly, his eyes boring
into hers. His thumbs ran circles around Luella’s areolas. “This is what I want
to do to you.”

He buried his face in Luella’s neck and nuzzled it with his
lips while one of his hands traveled down past her navel, sinking into her
panties once again. Cleo could clearly see the movement of his finger beneath
the shimmering white fabric. It rose and stretched as the lean limb of his
finger slowly thrust inside her. Moaning, Luella threw her head back, her long
blonde-streaked hair falling over Sebastian’s shoulder.