All Mine Read online

  All Mine

  A Dark Stalker Romance

  As told to Jesse Joren

  The characters and events in this story are a pure work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, dead or alive, is a coincidence and unintended by the author.

  Text copyright 2015 Jesse Joren, all rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any method without express prior written consent of the author.

  Once upon a time, on a dark and chilly night in a deep Southern city…

  Ding-dong-ding...

  A quick push of the button, and it was done. The doorbell sounded with tasteful chimes inside the house. While I waited, I glanced at the discreet plaque posted next to the front door. "The Adairs," it proclaimed.

  How fucking civilized.

  I could hear the muffled rhythm of your heels as you came to answer the door. Already I knew how you were dressed: a sexy pirate wench costume, mostly concealed under a cloak for the sake of the little trick-or-treaters.

  The costume party you planned to attend didn’t start until midnight. My plans for you were going to start a lot sooner. Under the Death mask, I smiled.

  You were alone in the house on this chilly Halloween night. Your husband had driven away in his oh-so-respectable silver Lexus hours ago, leaving you alone yet again.

  Shadows had thickened into night, birthing a steady stream of fairies and cowboys, clowns and vampires, ghosts and witches. The house was a magnet with its galaxy of orange lights, yards of gossamer web, the stuffed black widow spider menacing from its place over the front door.

  I’d watched you working on those decorations all afternoon, admiring the way your snug denim shirt molded to your body as you reached over your head. My heart thumped each time your jeans hiked up to show the rich curve of your well-toned ass.

  You put on quite a show, even if you didn't know it. Maybe you did. There was something about the way you moved that said you knew you had a hot body, that there was no crime in a little strutting.

  I knew so much more about you than just your pretty body. You had a two-latte-a-day habit at the Starbucks near your office. Caramel swirl, extra shot of espresso, nutmeg on top. You kept $500 taped under the driver’s seat of your black Integra for emergencies.

  You wrote steamy stories and then shredded them -- poorly, by the way -- before stuffing them into the curbside trash. The aborted erotica was sometimes accompanied by empty vodka bottles that appeared when you were home alone too often.

  The trash held a lot less hot fiction and more of those bottles in the past year. You were the perfect young couple on the surface, but it was all a careful façade. Your hubby might call it a fast track to success, but divorce court was looking more likely in his future.

  Maybe that explained the flirting that had crept into your daily routine along with the lattes. Once in a very great while your eyes turned my way, but usually it was for others.

  I think that was how tonight really started. I wanted that smile -- and everything that came with it -- all to myself. Sharing didn’t suit me.

  Tonight you were alone again, but you wouldn’t be for long. You were going to be mine alone. This would be a Halloween to remember.

  The evening was winding down, no trick-or-treaters for the last twenty minutes at least. The porch light had flicked off a few minutes before as I waited in the shadows. That told me you didn’t expect anyone else to knock tonight.

  I waited in the dark, holding my plastic pumpkin with one gloved hand. The other hand reached under the heavy folds of my cape to stroke the throbbing heat that pressed against my lower belly. The smooth leather felt good against my eager hardness.

  You're going to get one more trick-or-treater after all.

  The porch light stayed off, but the door swung open. Sweet relief to be close to you after so much anticipation. I drank you in.

  Curling black hair tucked under the red kerchief. Shining green eyes. Sun-kissed skin fading to cream now that summer was over. The black cloak you’d worn while passing out candy was draped over the loveseat near the door.

  The pirate ensemble only enhanced the lushness of your body. A loosely draped white shirt. Tight black leather skirt. Black leather boots that came up to your thighs.

  A dagger was tucked into the top of your right boot, giving off a mellow gleam that lent it credibility. It looked real, but I knew it wasn’t. The real thing was hidden in my own boot, ready to help my plan along.

  God, how I loved that heart-shaped face with its frame of slanting cheekbones, and emerald eyes that glowed even in the dim light. And fuck, that smile. Seeing the gentle curve of your pretty, mischievous lips made me throb with the anticipation of sliding myself between them.

  But that was for later. I had to enter the house before I could enter you. Like a vampire, once I was inside, I could no longer be refused.

  You held out a large metal bowl overflowing with leftover candy, but I said nothing. Your smile widened, and for an instant I could almost read your mind. You thought I was just an extra-shy rugrat waiting for free chocolate.

  "Happy Halloween!" Your low, sweet voice made me weak. "Are you Death? Your costume is really scary! Take all the candy you want, sweetie. I think you’re my last trick-or-treater for tonight."

  Our eyes brushed across each other as you spoke, and for a moment your cheery little speech paused. I'd been practicing an evil stare, and I knew the pale blue contacts I was wearing gave my hazel eyes a half-blind, crazed look as they glared from the Death mask.

  With slow deliberation, I reached for some candy and tossed it into the empty plastic pumpkin with a series of faint thuds. Your gaze dropped at the sound, and then your eyes widened.

  My hand was covered by the smooth leather glove, but it was large and long-fingered, very much adult. The porch was dark, but even so, I saw you realize that even though I’d crouched to appear short, my bulk wasn’t caused by a costume.

  The air on the porch crackled with sudden tension. Your voice was much more reserved as you started to shut the door.

  "Well, happy Halloween. I have to go now. I have a party, and I—"

  Your words faltered as I rose from my knees. The cape and darkened porch had provided a decent camouflage. Now I towered over you as you retreated back into the house.

  Your eyes were wide and shocked. A man could get lost in eyes like those. I sure as hell had.

  "You’re going to be late for that party, Jenna."

  The thick Death mask warped my already deep voice to a hollow boom. Two quick steps brought me into the doorway, blocking the door from closing, or you from escaping.

  "Then again," I continued, "you might not make it at all."

  The bowl slid from your hands and gonged on the floor. Snickers and Tootsie Rolls and Atomic Fireballs scattered on the smooth hardwood.

  I glanced back over my shoulder, making sure there were no lingering trick-or-treaters, no lurking parents on the sidewalk. In that split second you caught me with a shove, almost sending me back out the front door and onto my ass.

  When you turned to run, it was easy enough to return the favor and give you a quick push that spilled you onto the living room rug. My reward was a nice view up your skirt.

  Holy hell. Black lace panties. What else would a stylish pirate lass be wearing? I kicked the door shut and came after you, dropping on you and pinning your body under mine.

  Pilates and running kept you in good shape, but I was stronger from long hours spent at the gym. Your mouth opened to scream. My hand clamped over your lips until my gloved fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

  "Shut the fuck up. You’ll be glad I came." I snickered at the unintentional pun.

  "I have to wonder what those b
oots mean. Black leather, high heels, tight as hell. Those aren't pirate boots. Those are ‘fuck me’ boots. So I have to assume that’s what you want. Just say so if I’m wrong."

  Your teeth grazed my palm as you tried to bite, but the leather was good protection. I nuzzled the warm hollow of your neck, inhaling the heady scents of clean hair and soapy skin.

  "What’s the matter, honey? Cat got your tongue?"

  Your sharp wriggle almost freed you from under me. I kept you in my arms, but you writhed until you ended up facing me. I found myself looking into your face as I covered your mouth again to keep you quiet.

  Predictably, your knee tried to find my balls. I maneuvered myself between your thighs, pinning you against the unyielding wood floor. My hips did a slow twist against yours, letting you feel my hardness. Just a hint of the plans I had for you.

  There was anger in your eyes, and I relished it, thinking how it would turn to passion of another kind if I did this right. I was smiling, but I knew all you saw were the same crazed eyes looking out of the grotesque mask.

  There were Death masks, and there were horrible Death masks. I'd chosen the most hideous one I could find, just for you. How does the old saying go? The Devil is in the details?

  Sometimes there’s a lot of truth in those old sayings.

  The next part was tricky. I pressed my palm over your mouth and nose. Pure instinct made your hands come up to break my grip on your face as you fought for air.

  While you struggled I used my free hand to find a roll of bondage tape that I’d hidden under the cape. I released your face, letting you have one reflexive gulp of air. That was my chance to seal your mouth closed with a wide black strip of the tape.

  Jerking your hands up between our bodies, I passed the tape under and over your wrists, binding them together in a quick, tight series of X-twists. You weren’t going anywhere now.

  "That should make it easier to get you upstairs." I got to my feet and pulled you up against me. The bandana had fallen off in the struggle, and your hair spilled over your shoulders. Your eyes blazed up at me over the tape.

  My cock pleaded with me to just rip your skirt up and take you against the nearest wall. The one beside the stone fireplace looked just about right for what I had in mind. A few thrusts into you and it would be done.

  A cooler part of my brain prevailed. This evening was an enormous risk. It was too long in the making, with too much at stake, to end with a stand-up fuck.

  Your body quivered against mine as I whispered against your ear.

  "Know what, Jenna? I’m gonna fuck you until you scream. Let’s play upstairs. Anyone can look in these windows and see what you're doing. I've done it many times."

  I killed the lamps until the downstairs went dark. I didn't want any leftover goblins ringing the doorbell and interrupting us. You were going to make plenty of noise, but it was Halloween. A few screams in the night were only to be expected.

  I snagged the plastic pumpkin to bring upstairs along with us. Pausing in the upstairs hallway, I considered the best place to enjoy you.

  Hubby’s office? A desk was too uncomfortable for what I had in mind.

  Guest room? The bed was only a futon.

  Bathroom? The lure of the water might have tempted me in the summer, but it was a little too cold on a fall night.

  At the end of the hall was the master bedroom, facing the back of the house and overlooking a huge natural back yard. That would be more private, better for what I had in mind.

  I carried you into the darkened room and snapped on a bedside lamp, pleased with my choice. I liked the soft lighting, the simple but expensive mission-style furniture, the neutral shades of white and wheat. The only splash of color was the ruby-red quilt on the low, wide bed. This was the stage where I would take you.

  I kicked the heavy teak door shut behind us. "End of the line, Jenna." The hollow tones from behind the mask gave the words menace.

  I eased you from my shoulder and placed you on the foot of the bed. There was a small wooden chair tucked under a nearby vanity, and I used it to wedge under the doorknob.

  You’d put up a good struggle downstairs, and you were not one to simply cry and plead. At some point you might slip out of my hands. If you did, that chair slowing you down might be the split second I needed to regain control.

  Your eyes challenged me over the tape on your mouth. You seemed more angry than afraid, but my sudden reach made you flinch.

  "Relax, Jenna. I’m just taking the tape off your mouth. Don’t struggle, or it’ll hurt like a bitch coming off."

  I worked a corner of the tape with slow care, peeling it away from the faint dampness of your full lips.

  "Who the fuck are you?" you demanded, glaring at me. I was ridiculously pleased that you were the fighter I thought you’d be.

  "Would you like to see my face, Jenna? I can’t show you all of it. That would break the rules and spoil the fun. But you can see a little."

  Slowly I unfastened the Death mask at the back of my head and removed it, propping it on the vanity chair to watch us with hollow eyes.

  Underneath I wore a second mask of thin, black cloth that went Zorro-style over my eyes and head. My nose and mouth were uncovered. That was going to be very important as our "date" progressed. My longish black hair was hot and damp from being under the heavy mask, but nothing like the heat and excitement still building between my legs.

  You had ignored my unmasking in favor of quickly testing the tape around your wrists. It was firm and tight, not just for show. Then your angry eyes swept over my half-concealed face.

  Here was the payoff, the moment of truth. Your pupils dilated until the green was just a thin, gleaming ring around them. All the remaining tan drained from your face, leaving it white.

  The half-mask was just a formality now. There was no going back.

  A tiny sound started and died in your throat. The moments stretched between us before I spoke.

  "Don’t worry, Jenna. I’m not saying I won’t hurt you, but I’m not going to kill you just because you might think you know who I am. Who would you tell, and who will believe you? "

  I couldn’t read what was going on behind your eyes. Faint color stole back to your cheeks.

  "What do you want?" you asked. I heard the tremble in your voice. We both understood what was at stake now.

  "You said it yourself. I’m your last trick-or-treater. I want something sweet. I know a lot of things about you, Jenna. I’ve waited a long, long time for this."

  I let my gaze caress you, my eyes going where my hands and tongue planned to follow.

  A deeper flush stained your cheeks. Your words were strange and slow, as though speaking from a script half-remembered. "If you know what’s good for you, then get out. My husband just went to the store --"

  "-- no, he didn’t --"

  "-- and I’m going to scream my head off --"

  "-- I hope you do --"

  "-- and if you touch me, I’ll call the police when you leave and --"

  "-- and tell them what? That you couldn’t tell the difference between a child and a grown man? That Death dropped by and screwed you for candy? Please."

  Now I was getting into it, warming up to the dialogue. My balls ached for you under the cloak. I tried not to think about that just yet.

  "So I think maybe we'll just keep this between us, and --"

  With cat-like speed you were off the bed and making a dive for the door. I was expecting it, but damn, you were fast. Only your taped hands and my longer legs gave me the advantage I needed to overtake you.

  I blocked the door with my body and caught you in mid-leap. Your thick curls made a good handle. I pulled your head back and buried my face in your throat, nuzzling and licking at your soft, sweet skin.

  Under my lips I felt the staccato beat of your pulse as I pressed against your throat. I let you feel my teeth against your neck as I growled against that silky, vulnerable flesh.

  Your body tensed as though you
might be thinking about trying again for my balls. I bit hard into the strongest part of your pulse, almost enough to break the skin. We froze in tableau, each of us wary of the damage the other might do.

  I reached down to pull the dagger out of my boot. It looked remarkably like yours, but it was no costume accessory. I’d owned it for less than a day and already nicked myself twice.

  Your breath caught as I pressed the cool steel with light pressure under your ear, dimpling the flesh. Your throat stretched taut as you tried not to move.

  "It would be a real shame, but I won’t hesitate to hurt you just enough to get what I want, Jenna," I said.

  "Can’t you just rob us and leave it at that?" you asked breathlessly. "There are a lot of nice things in the house. I have my engagement diamond, almost two carats, and --"

  I used the point of the dagger to brush your hair back from your face. Whatever it said about me, I loved how you shuddered at the touch of it.

  "I have the most valuable thing in this house in my arms. I don’t want to hurt you, at least not much. Make me feel appreciated. You might even enjoy it."

  Using the dagger tip as a tiny devil’s prod, I steered you back to sit on the foot of the bed.

  "Lie back. Arms over your head. Leave your feet on the floor." Your mouth opened as though to protest or plead, but I shook my head.

  "You’re wasting your breath. Arms over your head. Nice and easy. I want to enjoy this."

  Biting at your soft lower lip, you stretched out on the bed, raising your arms slowly over your head. Your eyes never left mine as I watched you, mesmerized by the grace of your body. But when I leaned to reach for you, the spell was broken as you jerked into a protective fetal position.

  "Be still. I’m just taking off your sash." I unknotted the long, red silk scarf that was double-swathed around your hips, unfurling it from your waist. After I twisted it, I had a soft, makeshift rope several feet long.

  Threading it through the tape at your wrists, it was easy to pull your wrists higher and tighter. I knotted the other end of the scarf through a slat of the headboard.