EXCERPT TWO - SMITH:
I flick the light on and she closes her eyes, hiding her face to
shield herself from the sudden brightness.
She’s… pretty. Dark hair, long and straight, kind of like
Rochelle’s, but nothing at all like Rochelle’s at the same time. Her skin is
fair, which isn’t surprising since it’s winter and the sun seems to have gone
missing in Denver for the past month. Her hands are tied behind her back, so I
can’t see them. And she’s sitting up, knees to chest, completely naked, and I
can see her pussy.
I stare for a moment longer than I should and then I finally look
at her face—a sweet face. Wide blue eyes looking up at me, the remnants of her
make-up streaked down her cheeks like she’s been crying.
But she isn’t crying now.
Her nose is small and her plump lips are wrapped around the ball
of the gag. Drool is dripping out of her mouth. One long strand hangs just
above her left breast, ready to fall.
“Well,” I say, far beyond curious at this point, “I can’t wait to
hear what you’ve got to say about this.”
I crouch down in front of her legs and catch her scent. The
flowers. Or citrus, whichever it is. I inhale deeply and can’t help but take in
the smell of sex.
I look her in the eyes as I reach behind her head and unstrap the
gag. It falls forward, dropping into her lap as I watch her adjust, swallow
down the drool, and then take a deep breath.
She says nothing.
Hmmm.
Just stares at me.
My hand is between her legs. My finger slipping inside her pussy.
She is wet. So fucking wet. She doesn’t close her eyes or moan. In fact, her
eyes never leave mine. Not once.
She likes it.
I remove my slick fingers from her pussy and bring them to her
mouth.
She opens, sucks them.
My God.
Still, she stares into my eyes.
I envision her mouth on my cock and grow hard at the thought.
And then I close my
eyes.
But only for a moment. Barely a blink. I’m back in control. I
reach for her upper arm and pull her to her feet. She complies willingly. And
then I spin her around and begin untying her wrists.
The rope is tight. Tighter than it should be. Quin knows how to
tie a girl up, I’ve seen him do it enough times to be sure of that. But he was
probably panicking, so I don’t judge.
When I get the rope off there is a deep red burn ringing her
wrists.
She brings her hands in front of her to get a look at her wrists.
I take them, looking closely at her wounds. “I have something for that. But
first, let’s make progress on your clothes.”
“I have clothes,” she says, her voice not weak, not small, but
firm and strong. “On the chair.”
I walk over to the chair and pick them up. Jeans. Nondescript
sweater. Winter shearling boots. Some semi-nice lingerie and thick cotton
socks.
“Well, that won’t do,” I say, walking back to the closets. I open
the one across the short hallway from the one I share with Bric and Quin.
Rochelle’s closet.
I don’t know what I expected, but I’m kinda taken aback that
everything Rochelle owns is still in there. Her many, many, many pairs of thrift-store shoes, and
skirts, and those horrible long dresses. Even her purses are still here. She
never shopped for purses at the thrift stores. They are all designer. Even the
fringy ones. They live in soft cloth bags that come inside the purse when you
purchase it, and they are lined up on the top shelf like little surprises
wrapped in velvet.
I only know this because I bought her a few purses myself that
first year. A Prada, a Gucci, and some other brand she asked for that I had
never heard of, but which set me back almost three thousand dollars.
If Rochelle ever tells someone the story of us, she better not
call me cheap.
I sigh and divert my attention to the limited number of classy,
five-star-restaurant-worthy dresses hanging on the far end of a rack. I look
back at the new girl for a moment, then choose a red one. To set off her hair.
“Here,” I say, holding the hanger out to her. “Put this on,
please.”
“What?” the girl asks, taking the hanger from me.
“I didn’t stutter. Put on the dress. I have to walk you out,
obviously. You can’t walk out in jeans, for fuck’s sake. This is Turning Point
Club. We have a dress code.”
“Why can’t I go out the back?”
I stop looking for shoes to match the dress and turn to stare at
her. “Is that how you got in?”
She nods. “The freight elevator.”
“Figures. Fucking Rochelle hated the dress code. Well, the freight
elevator isn’t going to work for me, I’m afraid. I don’t leave by way of the freight elevator. I walk in. Everybody
sees me. I walk out. Everybody sees me. And since I have to walk you out,
you’re going to look the part. Now put on the fucking dress.”
I turn back to the shoes.
“I need my bra and underwear,” she says.
“Not for that dress, you don’t.”
EXCERPT THREE - BRIC:
“I don’t know where she is. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell
you. If she wanted you guys to know where she went and what she was doing,
she’d have left a note.”
“OK. That’s fine. I accept that. All we need to know is if she’s
all right. That’s it. Was she stressed out?”
Marcella thinks about this for a moment and then says, “Yes. I’d
call her stressed out.”
“Do you think she was afraid?”
More thoughtful consideration from Marcella. “I don’t know if I’d
call it afraid. But she was crying when we talked that afternoon.”
“Do you know why?”
Marcella shakes her head no.
“No idea at all? I mean, come on, Marcella. We love her, OK? Not
equally and not all in the same way. But we love her. We need to know if she
needs our help.”
“She did not confide in me, Mr. Bricman—”
“Bric,” I say. “Just call me Bric.”
Marcella sighs. “I don’t have the answer you need. I promise, I’d
tell you if I thought she was in trouble and needed help. I think she has
something going on. For sure. But I got the feeling she was handling it.”
I nod my head and take a seat on one of the bar stools. “And you?
You came upstairs…”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It was obviously a mistake.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not.”
“Your friend is weird, Bric. I’m not getting involved with him.”
“Then why did you let Quin fuck you?”
She blows out a long breath of air.
“I’m not trying to be mean, Marcella. I’m trying to understand.
And I’m trying to figure out if you’re interested.”
“Interested?” She laughs. “In that sex game you were playing with
Rochelle?”
“If you knew about it—and you clearly did—and you didn’t want to
partake—again, you clearly did—then why let Quin fuck you?”
Marcella leans her hip into the granite counter next to the stove
and folds her arms across her chest. “What do you want me to say? I was horny?
It sounded dirty and I wanted to get in on it?”
“That would be a good start.”
She grunts in denial.
“We’re interested, Marcella. That’s why I’m here. We are
interested.”
“You need a replacement before the weekend?”
“I have never seen Rochelle on the weekends. I have Wednesdays and
Thursdays.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “My mistake. You need a fuck buddy before
tomorrow?”
“Can you just be serious for a minute?”
“Sure,” she says. “Sure. Let’s be serious about what you’re
offering me. You and your friends want to own me. Share me. Fuck me senseless,
any way you want. Let’s get serious about this.”
“You don’t have to be condescending.” I shrug. “Some people like
the dark side of sex. And let’s get real as long as we’re getting serious. You
like the dark side, Marcella.” I get up and walk around the island so I’m
standing in front of her. “You like the forbidden world we live in. Because if
you didn’t, you’d never have agreed to whatever plan Rochelle sold you. So why
don’t you just shut the fuck up with your holy self-righteous attitude and
listen to my offer.”
“You have some nerve coming here—”
I grab her face with one hand, my thumb pressing into her jaw and
my forefinger wrapping under her chin. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”
She breathes hard and heavy, but she doesn’t do anything but obey.
“That’s better,” I say, letting go of her face. “I’m going to pick
you up on Friday and we’re going on a date.”
“I’m working Friday,” she says. Her voice is smaller now.
Slightly—not all the way, but slightly—submissive.
“I know.” I’m trying my best to be patient with her. “The gallery.
We know Matisse. We’re all going to that opening. So I’m going to pick you up
at five-thirty and you and I are going to go together.”
“You and I?” she asks.
“Quin and Smith will be there, but you are my date. Understand?”
She says nothing, so I wait her out. When the seconds continue to
tick off with no answer from her, I explain it another way. “It’s a job
interview, Marcella.”
“A job?” She pulls away from me, her upper body leaning back
against the granite countertop.
“A job with lots of benefits.”
COVER REVEAL
TURNING BACK
The Turning Series
By JA Huss
Publishes April 12, 2017
DESCRIPTION:
I lived in the dark for three years. My whole world revolved around the whims and happiness of three men. It was just a trip into the forbidden. A way out of a bad situation and forward into nothingness.
Quin, with his easy smile and charming good looks. He was always there for me... Until he wasn’t.
Smith, and his dispassionate attention. He was never there for me and he never regretted it.
Bric, the one who listened, but only to himself. Self-absorbed, self-obsessed, and self-serving. He was never the one I wanted.
And now he might be the only one I have left.
It was good while it lasted, I guess. But it could’ve been so much more. It could’ve been so much better.
And that’s why I’m turning back.
PRE-ORDER LINKS:
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