Title: His Turn
Series: Turning #3
Author: JA Huss
Genre: Dark Erotic Suspense
Release Date: July 4, 2017
I look her body up and down as I circle her.
I smile a devious, deviant, I’m gonna make you sorry you ever started playing this game with me smile.
And then I take her hand.
I lead her to the elevator.
We go up to my apartment.
I tie her wrists together with rope.
Raise her arms above her head.
And chain her to the ceiling.
It’s my turn.
GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34818548-his-turn
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I spend the whole day stewing about Nadia and her covert attempt to take back control. I have gone through every emotion. Anger came first. Bitch. Why is she even playing if it’s just gonna be a mind fuck?
But then I got to thinking about that. The mind fuck part. Because I’m kind of an excellent mind-fucker. I mean, shit. I went to school to be a psychiatrist. I got pretty far into it before I dropped out. I have a medical degree. I run a sex club. I’ve been playing this goddamned game for more than a decade. And even though I’ve been on a losing streak for a while now, I’m damn good. I’m due for a win. I will win this.
The key to a proper mind fuck is the element of surprise. The target thinks they’re ready for the unexpected, until they’re not.
Nadia was probably pretty pleased with herself last night. She probably ended that call with a huge smile on her face. One hundred percent satisfied.
And she’s expecting retaliation. She had to know I’d tell Jordan about it. She had to know I’d find out she never called him. She had to know I’d be pissed off today.
When I realized that… well, that’s when I calmed down and started piecing together a psychological profile on her.
Nadia Wolfe. Twenty-something. Beautiful. Talented. Ballerina. Control freak. New in town. Rising star. Player of games.
She’s so stupidly simple to figure out, I almost feel sad that she’s not more of a challenge.
I decide the ballerina aspect is my best first move. They are a different sort of person, so most of what I just described probably stems from her choice of occupation. She likes control because she’s forced herself to be in control of things to get where she is in her art.
Think about it. Ballerinas, right? They get up early to go to class or rehearsal or whatever the fuck it is they do first thing in the morning. They have to control themselves in very specific ways. They have to control their muscles, their emotions, their pain threshold, and the pleasure center in their brains. They have topsych themselves up to fit their bodies into the mold of dancer.
They have to conform in many ways. Deviation from the standard is unacceptable, even though they are expected to excel and stand out.
They must look a certain way, behave a certain way, and submit to the whims of those who control their future.
Success, therefore, is not defined by their own perceptions of themselves, but by the perceptions of others. And those perceptions are directly related to athletic skill, beauty, and youth.
It’s a trifecta of psychological disorders waiting to happen.
I’ve got you, Nadia Wolfe. I have your ticket, darling. I know what drives you now.
“Why are you so nervous?” I ask Jordan. We’re sitting in Smith’s bar. The table is elaborately set for a nice dinner, our glasses are full of expensive alcohol, and our cocks are happy. Why does he look like shit is about to hit the fan? “She had a good time,” I say, sipping my brandy.
“Yeah,” Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, yaknow?”
“What was sneaky about it?”
He shoots me a look that says, Come on.
“She gave in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.”
“Right.” He sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’”
“It was a joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel goodtonight. She loved every fucking minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get enough.”
“That’s because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—”
“Then she’s gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.”
“No,” he says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.”
“So then she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want her thinking I’m like you.”
“You are like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if he likes her so much?
But I don’t ask that question.
Because I like her too. Just not in the same way.
“See,” Jordan says.
“See what?” I ask
“That fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman. Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not play with her emotions.”
“Why?” I ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”
But then I realize this intrigues me.
“Stop it,” Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?”
“Then why are we even playing?”
He huffs out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…” He trails off.
“She’s not what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?
“She’s not my type.”
“OK,” I say, not really understanding.
“I mean I’m not really her type.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Do you love her?”
“No,” he says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people, understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.”
“It’s a game. Same as this,” I say.
“Dude, come on,” he says, almost fully exasperated now. “You are a sick motherfucker, OK? You know this, right?”
“Then why am I even here?”
“Because we’re good together, ya know. Not great. Yet,” he adds. “Not what you had with Smith and Quin, obviously. But we understand each other. We work well as a team. She liked that up there.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you’re in a weird place right now and I’m afraid you’re gonna take it out on Nadia. Don’t do that, OK?” He stares at me. “Just be…”
“Just be your back-up?” I ask, huffing out a laugh.
He shrugs. But that’s it. That’s what he wants. Don’t overpower him. Don’t take her away from him. Don’t make her rethink her strategy. Just help him keep her.
It takes me a minute to decide if I’m angry or not.
I decide I’m not. I don’t give two fucks about this Nadia girl. And my goal really was to break her. So I shrug. “Fine,” I say. “You want a wingman. Fine. I’ll help you out, Jordan. But when I need a favor, I’ll expect the same in return.”
“Are you ready to turn over?” Elias asks.
So ready. I don’t even wait for him to tell me to. I simply force my submissive body to turn. And when I open my eyes, Elias Bricman is smiling down at me. He takes his hands to my breasts, pinches my nipples hard enough to make me gasp, and then resumes his calming massage. Gripping them in his palms like fruit, then releasing them, allowing them to fall back and rest, before doing it again.
He leans down—just as Jordan begins to knead the large muscles of my upper thighs, his thumbs once again dipping in between my legs, teasing me so sweetly—and kisses my mouth.
He tastes sweet, like the fruity brandy he’s been drinking.
“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Jordan asks, his fingers, finally—finally—playing with my throbbing clit.
“Yes,” I mumble into Elias’s mouth.
Elias pulls back just enough to say, “Do you want to wrap your lips around my cock?”
“Please,” I say, the word so soft and sincere. “Let me.”
Elias grabs me by the arms and scoots my whole body forward, until my head is hanging off the edge of the table. I open for him, but he makes no move to take out his cock. Just resumes his massage of my shoulders. It feels so achingly good.
There’s a sound of a belt being unbuckled. The ripping of a zipper being unzipped. It’s Jordan, not Elias. His pants fall to the floor with the whoosh of fabric, and then he’s pushing my legs together and climbing onto the table with me. He straddles my thighs as Elias continues to stare down at me, his hands busy with my breasts again, his fingers pinching my nipples.
The tip of Jordan’s hard cock probes at the entrance to my pussy. I want to open my legs for him, but I can’t. He’s got them pinned tightly closed with his knees.
Jordan pushes a little harder.
I moan, “Ohhh,” just as he makes it past the soft, wet folds and finds the entrance. “Yes,” I say, breathing hard now.
I buck my back, making my head fall even farther back over the side of the table. Bric is unzipping his pants, taking out his cock. I watch it appear. Long, and hard, and so fucking thick. His balls are tight and round and I reach up and out to hold them.
I can’t see the smile on Elias’s face, but I know he’s smiling when he leans forward, my mouth open wide, and pushes the round tip of his cock past my lips.
I suck on him immediately, making him grab my hair. Fist it roughly. He likes this, I think in my head. He likes what I’m doing. I’m pleasing him. And this pleases me.
A quick thrust from Jordan and he’s fully inside me. I lift my hips up in surprise, so focused on Elias, I’d forgotten he was about to fuck me.
He’s still got my legs pinned closed and it’s killing me. It’s killing me not to open wide for him the way I’m open wide for Elias.
“Put your hands on my thighs, Nadia,” Elias commands. “And don’t move them.”
I obey. I grip his muscular thighs, grip the fabric of his pants, desperate for more of everything they’re giving me tonight.
“Open your throat,” he says, as Jordan begins to fuck my pussy harder. Making my whole body rock. Making my mouth take more cock. Making my pussy take more cock. “Open your throat and let me take over. Give in, Nadia,” Bric says. Because yes, this is Bric again.
He’s tricked me, I realize. He’s always been Bric.
But I don’t care. His commands feel like a gift.
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE TURNING SERIES
#1 Taking Turns
#2 Turning Back
JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
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