I know you’re here for the spice, so I’ll make this quick.

While working on Unhealthy Obsession (the sequel to Unholy Intentions), certain scenes and tropes kept demanding to be written—dark, filthy, immediate. So I channeled them into a series of novellas: pure, unapologetic indulgence.

Today’s excerpt is from one of those novellas. Consider it a palate cleanser between courses… or an appetizer that’ll ruin your dinner plans.

Both novellas are available now if you want the full experience, and I’ll be posting chapters from Unhealthy Obsession soon too. Please check the trigger warnings before reading – they’re listed in the books.

But enough from me. You came here to read something that’ll whisk you away to a world filled with forbidden delights.

So, let’s dive into it.

***

Chapter I

Caleb

The ancient Roman villa sticks out of the cliff like a jagged monument. I let the realtor talk as if I need convincing, but I’ve already decided it’s exactly what I want for this year’s Halloween party. 

And for my special guest.

Waves crash into the rocky base, flooding the coves, eating into the stone and carrying the scent of tempest. It’s a dark day, as the entire month is expected to be. Thunderclouds gather in the sky, but the slimy realtor still won’t lose the sunglasses as he gestures broadly like he’s on stage.

“This, Mr. Rushmore, is an utter rarity. The renovations not only preserved some of the original walls and columns, but this villa also includes a ludus—you know what a ludus is, right?” Because of course a twenty-something American new-money would be grossly ignorant of European culture, and could barely see beyond the sterile biotech lab that catapulted him to the cover of Forbes magazine.

I won’t disappoint him. 

“Enlighten me.” I shove my hands into my pockets and walk past him. I avoid conversation whenever I can, letting people slide into monologue. The more they talk, the more tea they spill that I can use to blackmail them, should the necessity arise. 

And, when you’re filthy rich, it always arises. Pretty much everyone tries to extort at you at some point. 

“A ludus was a school for gladiators in ancient Roman times,” the realtor continues, spelling out the words like a headmaster. “If you step out onto the balcony, you’ll get a view of the inner patio, and the gladiators’ rooms just across. It’s living, breathing history. Now, prepare to be seriously impressed.”

We step onto the large stone balcony, and indeed. The view opens onto a large inner patio, what used to be the gladiators’ housing to the side of it, and the wild sea right across. No fence or other safe border to keep you from falling right off the edge and crashing into the rocks below. I make a mental note to secure the edge for the party. 

“I thought you’d like it,” the realtor says when I linger instead of moving on, the way I did through the atrium, the large dining hall, and the bedrooms. “You know, with your past and all.” 

With my past and all.

I turn, resting the full weight of my attention on him. He smiles and slaps my back like we’re old buddies, but I’m much larger than him, and when I don’t budge a single inch, he stills and swallows. 

Suddenly, I take one step forward. He instinctively jumps back, gripping the too-low banister—a reconstruction error from when they replaced the original wooden one, I imagine. 

“Careful,” I say in a low tone. “We wouldn’t want you tripping over the edge now, would we?” Then, stepping next to him and taking in the surroundings as if the whole situation was only in his head, I add, “Can you imagine how it would hurt, if you fell from this height? No, you wouldn’t die. Not unaided, in any case. The fall wouldn’t be deep enough for that. But you’d wish it was.” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says hurriedly, afraid I might try to throw him off. “I’m not judging. On the contrary, I’m a fan. I mean, what you did was unorthodox, but—” He clears his throat, realizing from a glance that the safest thing to do is move on. “Anyway, this particular villa was located far from any Roman town back in the day, which is why it escaped destruction over the centuries. The worst things that happened to it were squatters and natural decay. The squatters probably did more damage than the centuries, honestly.” He points to the black mold along the ludus walls across the patio. “The former owners kept it because they liked the authenticity and said they wanted to keep the gothic feel, but I can have the stains removed, if you wish.”

“No,” I say. “The gothic feel is exactly what I need.” After a few moments of heavy silence that have the realtor wringing his hands, I add, “I’ll take it.” 

A smile spreads over the man’s face, his relief so obvious that not even the shades can hide it. He extends his hand, but he’s been sweating profusely, so I keep mine in my pocket.

“Prepare the contract,” I instruct him. “Get it done today so I can make the payment immediately.”

“Oh yes, yes of course.” He nods so fast, I’m worried he’ll get dizzy and lose his balance. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Rushmore,” he blurts out, unable to hide his enthusiasm. I guess he’s not used to buyers who don’t even try to negotiate the price, but I despise petty bartering. 

I pay people what they ask for.

For a moment, I worry he might try to hug me, but commotion behind us makes him whip around. My security team stayed outside, but there’s no keeping back Derek and Landon. I shared the location as soon as I got here with the realtor, and apparently they didn’t waste any time sliding into the McLaren and speed over here from the hotel.

“The f*ck, dude,” Derek exclaims, spreading out his thick arms and spinning around like a princess in a fairy tale. “This place is awesome. Curvy Girly’s gonna love this.” 

“Not sure she’s gonna like three gladiators fumbling her, though,” Landon adds with a deep frown. 

“Again, you’re not getting a piece of her,” I remind him as he walks over. He squares his shoulders, standing at his whole pro-basketball-player height and dwarfing the realtor, who stares like Zeus himself just descended. 

“Yeah, you want her juicy a** for yourself, all clear,” Derek says with a shit-eating grin as he approaches. “We’re just part of the show, not part of the fun.” He shoulders his way past Landon, flexing his arm in that way he does whenever he wants to show off what he thinks is his superior American-football strength. We all got into college because of our prowess in sports, and even after we built empires, there’s still nothing like a pissing contest for this asshole. 

“Derek Winston and Landon F*cking Montefeller,” the realtor breathes, mouth agape.

“Yeah, the entire Holy Trinity is here,” Derek slaps the man’s back as he passes him. The shades jump off his nose, the realtor scrambling to catch them. 

“F*ck, damn it,” he yelps, managing to save his Cucinelli.

Reaching the balcony, Derek spreads his arms wide, breathing in the incoming storm. The breeze sifts through his black hair, giving him something of a cheesy Olympian god.

“No need to worry about me, K-Boy,” he says as his large chest inflates with the fresh air. “But Landon here might want a piece of her. After all, he found her first. I guess he’s into curvy loud-mouths too.”

“Caleb’s the one she’s been talking shit about,” Landon says, dismissing the realtor and making sure he’s gone before continuing. “So no worries, I’ll just be there to assist.” 

“And assist you will, both of you,” I decree. Then, calmly, but driving every word home, “You can make her feel like she’s in trouble, but our special guest is mine.”

Derek laughs thickly. Bastard will enjoy this a little too much, but I know he’ll stick to the scenario we agreed upon. I glance at Landon as he flanks me on the other side, staring into the distance with that permanently serious look on his face.  

“So how’s Sauron’s eye moving today, Legolas?” Derek mocks. 

“Are you sure about this?” Landon asks, ignoring Derek’s teasing. Years ago he might have gotten into a fistfight, but now he’s grown as immune to it as I have. “I mean, it could seriously backfire.”

“I wouldn’t have planned this if I didn’t know for a fact she wanted it.” I keep my eyes on the thunderclouds rolling over the restless sea. The storm will be a beautiful addition to the setup. And, if the meteorological reports I paid handsomely for are right, the tempest expected on Halloween night will be the stuff of legend. 

The entire experience will be unforgettable for her. 

“She does trash you online,” Landon continues, bent on remaining the voice of reason here. “And we only know she m*st*rb*tes to your pics because we hacked into her tech. It’s not like we can use the information in our—your—defense if push comes to shove.”

He leans just a little closer. “Off the record, she might be doing this to get your attention. But for all the world knows, she’s the most anti—Caleb Rushmore person that ever existed. No one hates on your biotech labs online more than her, and she’s not without clout. She could make serious noise about this and cause serious damage. Remember, to her followers, you’re the goddamn antichrist.”

Derek puffs. “She used his name to get that clout, Landon. What did she have pre-Rushmore rants? Like, 40k followers? Now she’s past the million.” He waves his hand, dismissing it. “To the Lacey Normans of this world, K-Boy was the antichrist before, and will remain the antichrist long after her account gets flushed down the drain of social media—which I trust we will be seeing to after K-Boy has his dirty way with her.” He laughs and bumps my shoulder. The bastard can be vicious like that. “I say we tape her, too. Show her crowd how the biggest Rushmore hater gets her c*n* hammered by the devil himself in a gladiator suit.”

My c*ck hardens in my pants. 

Yes, I’m going to enjoy bending Lacey Norman to my will. 

Bending her over to expose her c*n* to me and her bouncing t**s to the crowd, banging her publicly while holding her on a leash. 

Judging by what I saw her do to herself while looking at my pictures, she likes it rough. I remember her spreading her legs on her swivel chair and slapping her c*n* before f*cking it with two and three fingers until she came all over her own knuckles. I still can’t get the wet sounds out of my head, or her face as the stared at my Forbes cover picture on her laptop screen.

If she only knew that I was staring right back at her.

But she’ll be getting so much more than a public, highly satisfying f*ck. On Halloween night, Lacey Norman will finally learn the secret she’s been after all this time.

Get the full book HERE.