Pick of the Litter Read online

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  Phaze

  www.phaze.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Wendy Stone

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Pick of the Litter

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

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  Published by Phaze Books

  Also by Wendy Stone

  Beastly Intentions

  A Gamble Worth Taking

  Messages of Love

  Endless

  A Fall From Grace

  Bound By Love

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  This is an explicit and erotic novel

  intended for the enjoyment

  of adult readers. Please keep

  out of the hands of children.

  www.Phaze.com

  Pick of the Litter

  a novel of erotic romance by

  WENDY STONE

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Pick of the Litter copyright 2008 by Wendy Stone

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  A Phaze Production

  Phaze Books

  6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  To order additional copies of this book, contact:

  [email protected]

  www.Phaze.com

  Cover art © 2008 Debi Lewis

  Edited by Will Belegon

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-59426-654-6

  First Edition—September, 2008

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  Hands reached out, ripping at her shirt, tearing at the thin fabric of her skirt, pulling it away from her struggling body. Even as she ran, she knew she was no match for the strength of those hands, or for their number. There were far more men there than she had seen before. How they had become fixated upon her, she did not know. Now, she was in trouble and scared for her life.

  She screamed over and over as she pushed away the hands that groped at her body, hating the clammy fingers and grasping hands as they pinched and prodded at her. She was caught in a heavy grip. A faceless man, head hooded in shadows, laughed at her dilemma while she sobbed and begged for his help. Instead, he tore at the soft lace of her bra, exposing her breasts to this roomful of depraved beasts.

  A collective gasp rose from the throng as the pale mounds sprang free of their captive bonds, her nipples quivering brown tips in the center of the firm flesh. His fingers pinched at one of her sensitive nipples, pulling on it as if to see how far it would stretch, hurting her. Then she was pushed to the next man, his lips fastening around that same nipple, his tongue lapping against the sore flesh. He suckled hard upon her and she cringed away, trying desperately to break his hold.

  It was so dark. The room seemed foggy and out of focus, the faces of the men around her swirling like a rainbow of lascivious lust. She was torn from one man's arms, pulled into another, hands grabbing at her breasts, pawing at her thighs, one slipping between. She felt stubby fingers pushing at her sex, pushing inside of her. Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down her cheeks, cries of rage and terror seared her throat. “No!" she screamed, as loud as she could. It only made them laugh.

  She was lifted, held high in a pair of strong arms, against a hairy sweaty chest, taken down to a smelly mattress upon the floor. Hands reached out, grasping her ankles, pulling them roughly apart. Other hands grabbed cruelly for her wrists, pulling them above her head, holding her trapped in their inflexible grip. She was spread eagled in front of the lusty gazes of strange men, her head rolling between her trapped arms.

  He fell upon her body, his mouth finding hers, his tongue pushing past her lips and inside. It tasted like beer and stale tobacco; felt wet and slimy, like meat left out too long. His hand was between her splayed thighs, pushing against her soft flesh, rubbing and probing, hurting her even more. His eyes met hers and he brought his hand up to his mouth, spitting upon his fingers before again shoving them inside of her.

  It hurt, it burned, the pain impossible to escape as he thrust what felt like his whole hand inside of her. He laughed as he made comments to his friends about how he would fuck her and teach her what a woman should be like, not the hard, cold, bitch she was.

  Then she felt it against her, his cock, seeming impossibly big and hard. He moved his hand, using it to aim that rancid flesh so that she felt it rubbing against her body.

  Fear, terrifying, incapacitating fear, held her motionless as he lined himself up, his hips already rocking as if he couldn't wait to be inside her shrinking flesh. She felt trapped in her body, as if this was playing out with someone else as the main star; someone else was about to be raped by eight men, her body torn open and probably left bleeding in some back alley. It couldn't be her, it couldn't. This stuff only happened to other people.

  He pushed into her, his cock stretching her unprepared flesh, ripping her so that her blood coated his shaft, easing his way. A shrill scream was torn from her throat, echoing in the room, drowned out by their hideous talk and raucous laughter. Words were hurled, jokes and constant urgings given.

  "Fuck her harder. Make her come. Show her how to be a woman."

  Others just urged him to hurry, anxious for their turn upon her resisting body.

  A growl split the air around her, loud and feral sounding. She could see over her attacker's shoulder, see the faces of the men as they noticed the intruder for the very first time. They backed away slowly, some pulling up their pants, zipping and buttoning as they moved away from where she was being fucked by their friend.

  He never stopped moving against her, his grunts and groans sounding loud and horrid in the now quiet room. His body was heavy on top of hers, not moving except to grind his hideous flesh into her harder, no matter how she tried to push him off with hands that were now free. She reached towards his face, her fingers curved into claws, her nails primed to feel his skin digging beneath them.

  But he was gone before she could. Lifted off of her body and tossed across the room like a weightless rag doll, leaving her still splayed open, unable to close her th
ighs because the pain that throbbed between them was so intense. She stared in astonishment as screams of pain and running feet echoed in the room. The men who'd tried to rape her were being abused by the hands of the stranger.

  Bones snapped and crunched, jaws broke. Not a single man was left untouched. Her rapist was left for last, watching as the other men fell prey to the stranger. His eyes were huge and she managed to sit up, anxious to see for herself what was going to happen. She saw the man, his body clothed all in black from the black silk shirt he wore to the black motorcycle boots on his feet. He lifted her rapist with one hand, effortlessly holding him a few inches from the ground.

  "Eight men against one woman,” he said, his accent strange and intriguing. “Not very fair odds, sport. Perhaps I should take you out and let you meet eight of my friends. We'll see how you like being the pawn.” He smiled darkly and her eyes flashed to his face, amazed at the handsome mien and the fact that he wasn't even breathing heavily. It almost made her forget what had happened to her.

  "No, please,” the man croaked, barely able to breathe because of the strangle hold upon his throat. “I ... I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

  Her rescuer smiled again, his other hand coming out to rest against the now limp piece of flesh that was still sticky with her blood. “Perhaps we should make sure of it,” he said softly. For a moment, she swore his eyes glowed in the dimness of the room.

  "NO!” her rapist screeched, struggling twice as hard now.

  "Then you would prefer what is behind door number two?” he asked the struggling man, laughing softly.

  "Yes, anything but that. Please don't do that."

  He smiled, the coldest grin she'd ever seen in her life, and lifted the man higher, taking him to the doorway of the building and opening it. He left the room carrying the man and only then did she wonder what would happen to her. She looked around for her clothing, seeing bits and pieces of it scattered throughout the room. Nothing even resembled the shirt and skirt she'd been wearing when she'd come into this room, mistaking it for the bar where she had promised to meet a friend.

  She had nothing to wear. She was alone, for now, in a room with the groaning of seven injured men. She had no idea what was going to happen next. It took a moment to stand, for every move sent twinges of pain and brought notice to new injuries. But she would not meet the man who had rescued her flat on her back with her crotch bare to his eyes. She moved around the room, carefully staying out of arms reach of the men, searching for something to wear.

  A jacket was draped over her shoulders, dwarfing her frame and coming down to the tops of her thighs. She turned her head, meeting amber eyes that shone with concern. “Oh,” she muttered. “I didn't hear you come back in."

  "Put your arms in the sleeves,” he said, the accent making her heart beat faster. He reached down, zipping the front of the jacket as if she were a child. She shivered as the back of his fingers touched her skin. “There now, that's better, isn't it?"

  She nodded inanely, unable to stop looking at him. He was perfect, tall, dark and tasty, with those strange amber eyes. They seemed to slant up at the edges like a cat's. Perhaps it seemed strange to feel a spurt of lust at the sight of a handsome face after what she'd just been through, but it was there all the same, tingling in her belly and making her wonder if she'd gone insane.

  "Will you come with me?” he asked, using the tip of one finger under her chin to raise her face to his.

  She nodded, feeling like she was under some kind of spell. Then she shook herself. “Where?” she asked.

  "I want to take you someplace safe, away from here. This area of the city has a lot of bad people in it, as you found out.” He stroked her cheek with his finger, gently calming her fears with his soft touch.

  "M ... My purse,” she whispered. “It's here somewhere."

  "You're bleeding,” he said, as softly. “Sit down, I'll find your purse."

  She could feel the blood sliding down her thighs from where that foul man had ripped her. Walking was agony. She made her way slowly to one of the chairs that had been knocked over in the ruckus. Once more he was there before her, reaching down and picking up the chair, straightening it and then holding her hand to help her sit. Sit she did, gingerly. Every move was painful.

  "What's your name?” she asked, stopping him from moving away from her in his search for her things.

  "Lukah,” he said. “Lukah Alexandros."

  The name sounded as foreign as his accent. It made her long to ask more questions, but she could sense a strange urgency about him. He wanted to be away from this place. Truthfully, she did too, for it would haunt her nightmares for many nights to come.

  "My name is Marissa Spencer,” she said, before letting go of his hand. “Thank you for being here.” And then, to her utmost horror, she burst into tears.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands gently encircling her. Marissa felt the smooth silk of his shirt against her cheek, the heat of him surrounding her. She could smell his scent. Something woodsy and almost wild smelling mixed with the scent of male. Mixed signals rushed to her brain. She'd been raped, violated in a way most foul and here she was, only minutes later, lusting after a man. Was she a slut like those men had said?

  His hard body, muscled and sleek, held her until her sobs subsided, his hands stroking over the length of her red hair, untangling the curls with his fingers. He soothed and calmed her, crooning soft words in a tone that was almost a purr. She finally looked up at him with damp eyes the color of soft heather. “Thank you,” Marissa whispered, rubbing her hands over her face as he let go of her.

  "Are you all right for a few minutes?” he asked her gently, waiting for her to nod before he rose and started around the room again, finally coming back to her with her small brown leather purse in his hands. “Your clothes are gone,” he said, his voice sounding apologetic, as if it were his fault that those men had pawed and raped her.

  She could do nothing but nod, pain and fatigue wearing her down. She tried to stand, but her legs gave out from under her, embarrassing her. With only the slightest effort, Lukah lifted her in his arms, turning and striding out of the building. The night air was tinged with the lightening of dawn as he took her towards a car, opening the passenger side and sliding her onto the soft, supple leather seat.

  He hurried around to the other side, sliding in and gunning the engine, taking off with a squeal of tires as Marissa gasped and grabbed for the door handle. He sped through city streets that were mostly deserted at this time of night. Finally, he turned down a roadway that led into a multitude of subdivisions and entered one that was richer than most. He hadn't said a word in the car, seeming to concentrate upon his driving.

  Lukah pulled the car into a small driveway that led to a huge gate. He hit a button on the dash of his car. She couldn't help but be impressed as the gates parted way, letting him drive through before closing behind them.

  "Where are we?” she asked softly, looking around at the landscaped gardens and the small lake. “Is this like a private park or something?"

  Lukah laughed, turning his head to look down at her. “No, it's my home. I thought maybe you'd like to be somewhere you wouldn't have to worry about being safe."

  Marissa felt her stomach turn cold. “You brought me to your house,” she said softly and slowly.

  "Oh God, no, Marissa, I didn't mean anything like that.” He reached out and touched her hand cautiously. “I have a huge house and you're more than welcome to any room there. We can call the police if you want to report the crime, but I don't think those guys would think of coming within a mile of you now."

  She felt the gentleness of his hand and saw the look in his eyes. He wouldn't hurt her; she knew it like she knew her own name. “Okay, for tonight,” she said, her mouth opening wide as a yawn surprised her. “Oh, I'm sorry.” She covered her mouth with her hand just in time to mask her amazement. His house was a huge mansion with a four car garage. He drove the car inside, pa
rking it next to cars she had never seen outside of adventure movies.

  Marissa tried to get the car door open, cringing as the pain in her body reminded her of the trauma she'd just suffered. Lukah was there quickly, opening the door and lifting her out, making her feel tiny and weightless in his arms. It wasn't a scary feeling, despite the manhandling she'd gotten, but one that was reassuring.

  The door from the garage led to a kitchen huge enough to cook for an army. It was spotless; dark slate counters and cherry colored cabinets with stainless steel appliances and terracotta floors. Even the sinks were gleaming and she doubted there were enough crumbs around to feed an anorexic mouse.

  "You live here alone?” Marissa asked, taking in the luxurious furnishings of the rooms they passed through.

  "Me and my aide, though he won't be around until later in the day. I tend to be a night owl and sleep most of the morning away,” he admitted sheepishly. “Occasionally I have family show up and it's always nice to have a place for them to stay while they are in town.” He stopped in a room done in reds and grays, a huge micro-suede sofa taking up one side. Slowly, trying not to hurt her, he settled her onto it.

  "Oh, no, I'll stain it,” she cried, trying to lever herself up. But the bruised muscles in her thighs screamed in pain, causing her to fall back.

  "Don't worry, it will come clean. But maybe we should take you to the hospital,” he said quietly, reaching behind her to drag the throw from the back of the couch. He laid it across her lap, hiding a delectable pair of legs that he'd been trying not to stare at since he'd met her. They were long and slim, leanly muscled with slender thighs that had his libido singing. He fought down those feelings, knowing they were not helpful in the wake of rescuing her from that gang of men.

  He hadn't been able to believe what he saw after hearing her cry and walking into that room. Those men had been gathered around her, their hands busily stroking their cocks while another man grunted over her. He'd seen her eyes, the shock and horror in the depths of them, the blackness of her pupils against the purple-gray irises, and hadn't been able to turn away. This wasn't his gig, saving women. At least, not saving human women. He tended to run with his own kind.