Check out these dark erotic books from Skye Warren:
TRUST IN ME
Mia longs for the daily torture to end, but one last task keeps her holding on. In a betrayal of the crime lord who pulled her from the gutter, she’ll free the shipment of human cargo, and if she’s lucky, die in the process. The alternative is unfathomable, even to a woman well-versed in erotic torture. But luck abandons her yet again when she meets the security expert in charge of the shipment and finds herself face to face with her childhood crush. The man she once begged for help. The man who failed her.
Tyler Martinez is an undercover FBI agent with one chance to right the wrongs of his past. Thrust deep into the seedy world of human trafficking, he must put aside his guilt over abandoning Mia all those years ago in order to save her now.
Someone’s pulling the strings in this sadistic play on trust, but Tyler and Mia may not live long enough to see the curtain fall. Trust in Me is a story of erotic pain and incipient romance, spiraling ever faster toward betrayal or redemption.
“Dark, disturbing, haunting, and beautiful, Skye Warren will take you into the depths of depravity but bring you home, safe in the end.” - Kitty Thomas, author of Comfort Food
Excerpt from Trust in Me:
“Come, bitch.”
His words dragged my body across the floor, invisible chains. I hated him for calling me that way. I hated myself more for going to him. And I went the way I knew he wanted me to—crawling. A layer of grime covered the concrete floor of the warehouse, but it was only fitting to crawl through muck. This whole game was dirty, and so was I.
Carlos looked down at me from his seat with a half-smile. The guy next to him was speaking in low, urgent tones, but I had his attention.
Other whores might try coy smiles or a flash of cleavage, but if you really knew El Jefe—and, unfortunately, I did—then you knew all you had to do was drop to his feet. I knew what he wanted and how he liked it, knowledge born of years of training. As long as I behaved, he wouldn’t kill me. I craved the release of death, but I was too well trained to earn it.
I reached his leather shoes and waited. The same Italian leather shoes that had kicked me only recently, but they weren’t a danger to me now. Carlos didn’t like to get too messy when he had guests. Even though I didn’t like performing, I could be glad this new guy was around today. Then again, I’d probably have to service him next.
Carlos unzipped his pants.
The guy sucked in a quiet breath, as if we’d shocked him.
That wouldn’t stop Carlos. He wasn’t an exhibitionist. He was a sadist, and the only thing better than causing someone physical pain was causing emotional discomfort. Every pinch was designed to humiliate, every blow to subjugate. You’re not worthy, they said, and I lapped up every blow to my shrunken ego like the masochist I’d learned to be.
Eagerly, I leaned forward and sucked the head of his cock with my mouth. Eager because delays were only an excuse to punish me later, and Carlos was nothing if not creative, and extreme, in his punishments. The whips, the knives, the cage. I shuddered.
His cock was musky today, but not urine-tinged—I could be thankful for that, too. Finding things to be thankful for kept me sane. It could always be worse. It had been.
I worked my tongue in a swirl and laved under the tip of his cock. Carlos grunted.
It was almost funny, the way the guy next to him stuttered a few starts, as if unsure if he should continue talking to the infamous El Jefe while he was getting his dick sucked. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy, just a brief glimpse of jeans and a black t-shirt. Mostly I noticed a big, strong male body. That was enough. Maybe some girls got turned on. I just got scared. It wasn’t about weakness or strength. This was pure survival instinct.
“Go on, Martinez,” Carlos said gruffly. “Continue.”
Martinez started talking again, something about deliveries and security. Carlos put his hands over my ears. Not so I couldn’t hear the conversation. He never worried about trusting me because he didn’t think I was smart enough to do anything about it. That was my one victory, however small.
No, his hands over my ears were a warning. If I didn’t do it on my own, he’d shove my face down so I couldn’t breathe. I could deep throat before I came here, but two years with Carlos had beaten the skill right out of me. He didn’t train me to do better, he beat me to do worse, until my nerves manifested in performance that could be punished. He loved to hold my face down so I couldn’t breathe, until even a shallow blowjob filled me with panic.