He fucked me, and I let him because it’s my job.

Swallowing, I push at his chest, my legs unwrapping from around his waist. “Please, let me down.” I know I should be cooing at him and stroking his ego. I should be telling him how amazing it was, how he gave me more pleasure than anyone I’ve known. It wouldn’t even be a lie—I’ve never come twice with a man before. But I can’t bring myself to do that. I feel too raw, too invaded.

With this man, I’m not in control, and that knowledge scares me.

I don’t know if he senses that, or if he just wants to toy with me, but a sardonic smile appears on his lips.

“It’s too late for regrets, beautiful,” he murmurs, and before I can respond, he lets me down and releases his grip on my ass. His softening cock slips out of my body as he steps back, and I watch, my breathing still uneven, as he casually takes the condom off and drops it on the floor.

For some reason, his action makes me flush. There’s something so wrong, so dirty about that condom lying there. Perhaps it’s because I feel like that condom: used and discarded. Spotting my robe on the floor, I move to pick it up, but Lucas’s hand on my arm stops me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, gazing at me. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that his jeans are still unzipped and his cock is hanging out. “We’re not done yet.”

My heart skips a beat. “We’re not?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. To my shock, I feel him hardening against my stomach. “We’re far from done.”

And using his grip on my arm, he steers me toward the bed.

Capture Me is now available. Please click HERE to get your copy. If you’d like to find out more, please visit my website at http://annazaires.com/.

Excerpt from Tormentor Mine

Author’s Note: Tormentor Mine is the first book in Peter’s dark romance series. The following excerpt is from Peter’s POV.

He came to me in the night, a cruel, darkly handsome stranger from the most dangerous corners of Russia. He tormented me and destroyed me, ripping apart my world in his quest for vengeance.

Now he’s back, but he’s no longer after my secrets.

The man who stars in my nightmares wants me.

“Are you going to kill me?”

She’s trying—and failing—to keep her voice steady. Still, I admire her attempt at composure. I approached her in public to make her feel safer, but she’s too smart to fall for that. If they’ve told her anything about my background, she must realize I can snap her neck faster than she can scream for help.

“No,” I answer, leaning closer as a louder song comes on. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

She’s shaking in my hold, and something about that both intrigues and disturbs me. I don’t want her to be afraid of me, but at the same time, I like having her at my mercy. Her fear calls to the predator within me, turning my desire for her into something darker.