PROLOGUE
Somerset, Kentucky Lake Cumberland
Eight Years Ago
Crista Jansen stared at the bed and the man sprawled across it in horror as she stumbled back, the knowledge of the mistake she had made the night before pounding through her head like the strike of a tambourine. Over and over again.
She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide, her stomach churning in sick realization of exactly how huge this mistake was. The mistake and the man. He took up almost every inch of space on the mattress, his powerful legs sprawled, his strong arms moving restlessly as though searching—for her.
And he would be. The man was inexhaustible. A veritable sex machine with no off switch once he got started. And she should know now––she and every other woman he had ever had in his bed.
She could feel the memory of the night before on every inch of her body: her breasts, swollen and sensitive from his lips suckling at the tender tips, her lips abraded and tender from his kisses, and between her thighs—
That memory nearly brought her to her knees as her gaze slipped to his thighs, to the half-erect flesh that appeared threatening and overlarge, even though he wasn’t fully erect.
Yet he had fit inside her. Stretching her wide, often in a pleasure bordering pain. He had managed to work every inch of that ironhard flesh inside her, and he had destroyed her with it. Pounding inside her with a force that shook the bed and shook her senses, throwing her into one orgasm after another, bringing such pleasure that she had been unwilling to deny it. Unwilling to deny him anything, even at the end.
Her hand covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. Oh God, she hadn’t let him do those things to her, had she? Lifted her rear for him and begged for more as his tongue caressed forbidden flesh, then screamed in pleasure and in pain as the head of his cock began to work inside the heavily lubricated little hole.
He had marked her. He had taken her virginity, and he had taken her sanity. When he had finished marking the wet depths of her pussy, he had turned her to her stomach and marked her rear as well.
With heated slaps, with diabolically talented fingers, and finally, with the deep, controlled thrusts of his cock.
He had taken her anally, and she had let him. And as she had lain beneath him, fighting for breath, he had told her how much better it could be. How three cocks would take her, move against her, pleasure her.
And with those words he had destroyed a part of her soul. She had dreamed of sweet, gentle words. Endearments. Soft kisses and maybe at least a promise to see her again. She hadn’t expected him to tell her that soon, so soon, she would have his cousins as well.
They shared their women; she knew that. It wasn’t just rumor, wasn’t just hinted at. Alex, her brother, had warned her repeatedly that the stories didn’t come close to the reality of the sexual lifestyle Dawg and his cousins lived, and she hadn’t heeded that warning.
Shaking in fear, she quickly jerked her shorts and T-shirt on, not bothering to search for her panties and bra. God only knew where they were. She had to get out of there before he awoke, before he realized how incredibly stupid she had been.
He had been drunk. He might not remember. God, he’d been drunk; just getting him back to the houseboat had taken every ounce of strength she possessed. But she had understood the drunkenness.
His parents had just died in a horrifying wreck; he had buried them, stood over their graves, and known they were gone from him forever. He deserved a few hours of freedom from the pain.
If only she hadn’t been stupid enough to go looking for him when she learned he wasn’t with Rowdy and Natches. If only she hadn’t grown worried about him, borrowed her brother’s car, and gone searching for him.
But she had, and she had known better. She should have sent Alex after him. She should have sent anyone after him but herself. Because she had known how it would end, and she had known where he would want it to go.
Rather than accepting that, she had fooled herself into thinking that taking her, realizing her innocence, her feelings for him, that he would show a spark of possessiveness. Just a moment’s hesitancy in sharing her with other men, with seeing another man touching her, taking her.
She was crying as she eased the lock back on the glass door that led to the lower deck of the houseboat. It was still early. The mist was thick on the lake, surrounding the houseboats and creating a luminescent, otherworldly air that cut into her soul. Touching him had been like touching power itself. He was huge, so tall and broad, his body leanly muscled and graceful. His chest lightly furred, the crisp curls had raked her nipples as he thrust into her. When his lips hadn’t been suckling them. But it was more than just the physical. That power had seeped inside her, filled her with emotions she had tried to hold in check, tried to protect herself from. She loved him. He made her heart clench and her soul ache. He had the power to bring her to her knees or to make her fly in ecstasy with only a glance from those odd green eyes of his.
And when he touched her…When he touched her, he’d had the power to make her forget that she knew exactly who and what Dawg Mackay was.
As she slipped down the docks, she kept her head down, kept her eyes on the floating walkway, and prayed no one saw her. Dawn was barely breaking over the mountains now; most of the inhabitants of the houseboats wouldn’t be moving around for hours yet.
She could get lucky. She could escape, and no one would ever know she had spent the night with one of the most notorious sex gods in five counties. One of three.
She swiped at her tears. She hated crying. She had learned years ago that no good came of it. It only succeeded in making her feel worse than ever.
But she couldn’t stop the tears any more than she could stop the pain. Dawg had been chasing her all summer. Those light celadon green eyes framed by the thick, inky black lashes, so pale they mesmerized her and pierced into her soul.
His smile was always slow and sexy, knowing. As though he were aware of the ache that centered between her thighs and tormented her long into the night. As though he knew how often she dreamed of feeling him against her, touching him, being touched.
The dream had turned into far more than she had expected. Part nightmare, part temptation.
Forcing herself out of that bed had been next to impossible. She had wanted him to flow over her; she wanted to take his cock into her mouth again and practice what he had taught her.
She wanted to hear him moan her name again, watch his eyes darken. She wanted to run and hide and make certain she never let herself become so vulnerable to him ever again.
And it was breaking her heart. Walking away, turning her back on the only man her young heart had ever raced to was killing her. It hurt physically. It made her stomach cramp. It made her heart feel like a raw, aching wound.
She wanted to hide. She wanted to hide and nurse the pain and the fear. She was terrified.
Terrified of the things she knew Dawg could make her feel and terrified of the knowledge that she would do anything, commit any act he asked of her, for just one more chance to take another hot, mind-numbing kiss from his perfect lips.
She would become no more than one of a long line of Nauti playthings, and that would destroy her. She could never share him with another woman, and on the same coin, she could not have survived, emotionally, being shared.
As she moved quickly along the floating dock and over the bridge that stretched to the shore, the sound of a motorcycle moving into the parking lot beyond had her heart racing with dread.
She hadn’t just destroyed her own dreams but perhaps a friendship as well. Dawg and her brother were close friends. When the Mackay cousins weren’t busy sharing their women, Alex had invariably been in their company until he joined the military. And even now, when he returned home on leave, he spent a lot of time with Dawg and the other Mackay cousins.
This could destroy that friendship, and Alex didn’t have many friends.
The implications of the past night were racing through her soul with a power that had sobs tearing from her chest. She reached the car she had borrowed at the same time her brother pulled up to the vehicle on his motorcycle.
The powerful throb of the motor eased, then went silent as Alex extended one long leg, bracing his foot on the pavement as the other propped on the foot pedal on the other side.
He wiped his hand over his face slowly before staring out at the houseboats for a long, silent moment. This was her older brother; he had all but raised her. Her parents rarely had time for anyone but the store and themselves and whatever scheme her father had for making more money. It had left Alex with the responsibility of raising the daughter they never seemed to know what to do with.
And now he had to face the fact that his sister had obviously just had sex with not just his best friend but a sexual legend in the county. And Dawg wasn’t even twenty-five yet.
She stood still, silent, unable to stop crying as he stared back at her silently. His gray eyes were heavy with sadness, his regal, handsome face drawn into a weary expression.
“Did you tell him no?” he finally asked her gently.
She shook her head. She hadn’t even thought to tell him no.
He turned his head, staring toward Dawg’s houseboat in resignation. She could see his anger in the tight, controlled line of his lips, in the flash of dark emotion in his eyes.
His jaw bunched with it as the lean muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed warningly.
“Did you want to tell him no?”
She shook her head again, shaking beneath the knowledge in his eyes.
She couldn’t have told Dawg no if her life had depended on it. Each touch, each kiss had been a fantasy come to life.
He nodded slowly. “Let’s go home then. We can talk about it there. No sense in making things worse by lingering out here long enough for anyone to see you. If you want to keep this quiet, you’re going to have to pretend it didn’t happen.” His gaze sharpened then. “Do you want to keep it quiet, Crista?”
“Yes.” She bit her trembling lips as she swiped at her tears. “Oh God, Alex. I just want to get out of here.”
“Do you have your keys?”
She dug them out of the pocket of her shorts and quickly unlocked the door before jerking it open.
“Crista.” His voice, despite its gentleness, resonated with a dark, hidden fury. “Was he alone?”
Her hand gripped the doorframe as she met his gaze. “It was just Dawg and me, Alex. I swear.”
This time. She knew if it happened again, if she dared to let it ever repeat, then it wouldn’t be just Dawg.
And when that happened, Dawg would make an enemy of her brother for life.
“Let’s go home, Crista.” He breathed out roughly. “I’ll follow you.”
As they pulled from the driveway, she couldn’t help the sob that tore from her chest again or the fear that rolled through her.
She had cried last night when he touched her the first time. Because she had dreamed of it for so long. Because he had stroked more than just her body, kissed more than her lips. He had touched that inner core of her being that she hadn’t realized could be possessed. When his fingers had parted the folds between her thighs and his expression had hardened with lust, he had wet his fingers on her juices, then brought them to his lips, his lashes lowering sensually at the taste of her.
A second later he had dipped his fingers between her thighs again and brought them to her lips.
And she hadn’t been able to deny him. She hadn’t been able to deny him a single thing in the hours they had spent touching and tasting each other.
Everything he had asked of her, she had given. God help her if he ever had her that weak again.
She would never be able to deny him. Never be able to hold on to her pride or her soul. Because if he shared her, he would break her heart forever. But if he asked it of her, she knew she would never be strong enough to tell him no.
“God! You’re so fucking hot. So tight. So tight, Crista. So tight that when Rowdy and Natches get their dicks inside you, you’ll destroy us all… ” She hadn’t heard the rest of the statement; her mind had shut down. Her soul had withered in her chest.