Table of Contents
Wicked Retreat Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About Sandra Sinclair
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- A Sexy Novella from Steam Books
This title is part of the Steam Books ROMANTICA line of novellas and novelettes. Sexy and sensual tales, slender but with added room for romance and characterization!
Copyright © 2014 Steam Books Erotica & Romance
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Sandra Sinclair has been a professional writer for years, but after spending most of her career writing marketing copy, she thought it was finally time to follow her passion, which thankfully for us involves igniting her readers’ passion as well. Teaming up with Steam Books Erotica & Romance, Sandra’s ready and willing to make her readers feel the love and lust of her prose.
Sandra has a degree in Journalism and had once created storylines for a professional video game, but her true calling is being one of the talented sirens of erotica.
And more from Sandra Sinclair:
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BONUS
Please enjoy a tease from the hot novelette,
by Stacey Allure
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, girl,” Reggie told her.
“Shut up and kiss me while I’m still single,” Myra told him while walking through the front door to his apartment.
Reggie closed the door behind her, surprised at Myra’s directness. She tossed her purse onto a chair and slipped herself out of her shirt. Reggie was right behind her, putting his arms around her breasts while wrapping his voluminous lips around her neck. She was still wearing her bra, so after a moment he moved his hands back to undo it for her, and it dropped neatly to the floor, and his hands return to knead her bare titties as the bulge in his pants pressed against her ass.
Myra felt Reggie’s cock, already hard and ready for her, through the fabric of both of their pants. It felt good, not only for the sake of the sex, but just having genuine, physical contact with another person, nothing virtual or electronic about it.
She turned to face him and then lifted her head up and closed her eyes to take in the ecstasy as she felt Reggie grace her chest with his kisses, his lips moist from coming into contact with his tongue. The moistness of his mouth was cool, but the skin itself emanated warmth, and the contrasting simultaneous feelings caused her to shiver.
“Reggie,” she said breathily. “Let’s go to the bed.”
They were once again in his bed, he had taken it off, all of it; he was naked before her in all his glory, his defined musculature visible beneath his skin, which was smooth until it reached his nether regions, where a thin forest of dark curls created a border between his groin and the dark elephant trunk down south that hung between his legs. Or perhaps hung was the wrong word—he was erect, and the cock was raised outward in its stiffness, seemingly reaching out for Myra, wanting a second go at her pussy.
“Oh God,” Myra panted, “Let’s do this before I change my mind.”
She lay on her back, her legs and crotch facing him, and she pulled off her thong panties so that she, too, were completely in the nude.
“Turn around, girl,” Reggie told her. “Get on all fours like a doggie.”
Myra smirked and did as she was told, getting on her hands and knees on the mattress, her ass pointed in Reggie’s direction, giving him the perfect view of her booty as well as a different view of her cooch. At first she looked back at him, but turned her head forward again, thinking the feeling of anticipation would be even sexier.
She was right. Her entire nether regions were aching, yearning for contact, she had no idea if he was gonna go conventional or if he was gonna aim for the backdoor, and the suspense killed her. She felt his hand land on the small of her back and it slid to her ass cheeks, feeling up on her booty.
“Reggie,” she said, unable to handle the anticipation. “Do it!”
Reggie smiled and sunk his teeth into his lower lip. “With pleasure.”
It was just then that she heard it. A soft mechanical click. The kind of innocuous noise that would be completely harmless under most any other circumstance, but in this case it was terrifying.
A doorknob. It was turning. It was coming from the living room. The front door.
At this sound, Myra’s stomach fell, she felt like she was going to shit her insides out, and she could only imagine what was going through Reggie’s head.
“Oh, fuck,” Reggie said. “It’s her.”
Myra’s mouth fell, her instincts—her stupid, inaccurate instincts—caused her to freeze. Right there on all fours on the bed.
She heard the front door swing open in the living room.
Reggie’s voice lowered, “Get out of here, out the patio, go, go, go.”
Myra told him as softly as she could, “My clothes are still in the living room!”
Reggie’s expression looked as if his mind was shattering. He blinked and ran over to grab a towel.
From the living room a female voice with a subtle Latin accent hollered, “It’s me, I’m home!”
To be continued....
Chapter Twenty-Two
I wanted to cry for help, but I couldn’t open my mouth, and with each second I found it harder and harder to breathe.
I was going to die.
I tried to fight back, to claw at him and kick him, but he was too strong. There was nothing I could do.
I should have known my plan would fail. I should have seen through Warren’s plans in the first place. Now it was too late. Within minutes, I would end up just like William and Alec and Phyllis: another cold, dead body in the study.
Closing my eyes as they started to hurt, I resigned myself to my fate, telling myself that my death was my punishment for dreaming too much, for trying to reach for the stars when I could barely keep myself above ground. My only regret was that I didn’t get to write even just a single book and so the world would never know my thoughts or remember I existed and my only hope was that my mother would at least cry for me and say she had a wonderful daughter.
I could feel myself already nearing death’s door when all of a sudden I heard a sound, completely muffled and distorted by the water.
The next thing I knew, I was being pulled out of the water, and the next few moments were hazy as Tammy tried to breathe air into my lungs. After a few minutes, I coughed several times and then sat up.
I was alive.
Warren, on the other hand, looked like he was dead, his eyes closed and his body unmoving on the side of the pool.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur said, reading my thoughts. “He’s just unconscious. We’ll tie him up and keep him in the cellar until the storm clears and we can hand him over to authorities.”
“That sure was unexpected, huh?” Tammy said. She turned to Arthur for a second. “Evil twin, huh?”
Arthur shot her a look that said, oh, shut up.
“But thanks to you,” Tammy turned back to me. “We should all be safe now. And more importantly, we know the truth.”
She took out the phone from the pocket of my robe, which I had turned on and hidden so that Tammy and Arthur could hear everything that was going on and record it as evidence.
I nodded but said nothing, my throat still hurting. I simply watched as Tammy and Arthur tied Warren up and took him away, then I lay back down on the wooden tiles and stared at the ceiling, still shocked that the man I loved—that I thought I loved—had just tried to kill me after killing three others. A part of me wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. It was probably because I had cried enough for Warren already, and now he no longer deserved the tears.
To me, Warren was already dead and I had already mourned him.
The nightmare was over.
~ ~ ~
A day after Warren’s confession, the storm ceased and the phone lines started working again. The cops came and arrested him after hearing the recording, taking him away to jail somewhere. I was a little worried he’d use his money and connections to somehow weasel his way out of prison, but I was pleasantly surprised when, after a relatively speedy trial, they put him away.
The bodies of William, Alec and Phyllis were also taken away, given a proper autopsy that only proved Warren’s guilt further—and a proper burial. I attended all three funerals and so did Tammy and Arthur.
Keesha convinced Yuki and Cathy to join her in filing a lawsuit looking for compensation for all the suffering they had to endure during what she called ‘a very horrible stay’ at the lodge. In the end, Warren’s company compensated us all.
I didn’t visit Warren and I never heard from him. While he was waiting for his sentence, he hanged himself, and with his death everything officially ended.
It was an unnatural ending to our love story, to say the least. I had thought the two of us would get married, travel the world together on a perpetual honeymoon, then live happily ever after in our mansion, loved by our children who we could spoil as much as we want and surrounded by our many friends who adored and envied us.
It was a tragic story.
Or so I thought, until one day I received a call from Warren’s lawyer, asking if he could come and talk to me. I told him he could, and so on a summer day when the skies were clear and a warm breeze was blowing outside, I became a billionaire.
Apparently, Warren’s surprise that he was planning for me when we got back home was that he left his fortune to me in his will. He never had a chance to change it, and so now his fortune was all mine.
As I hopped on a private jet a week later, my bags packed for a five-month trip in Europe, I could not help but smile.
It was unnatural, yes, but I take back the ‘tragic story’ bit. This was a story with a happy ending. Happy endings were the best, after all, and something told me mine concluded with the words “ever after”.
Chapter One
“A-ah-choo!”
I covered my nose but it was too late: the tickled nerves of my nostrils had sent a bookmark blowing over the edge of my desk along with a layer of dust.
I rushed to pick it up, then paused to look around the deserted bookstore. If I’d been working somewhere else, anywhere else, I would have complained about the dust. But as it was, a dusty bookstore seemed just fine. It was almost homely, even nostalgic, just like some of the paperbacks and hardcovers we sold that had yellowed pages and folded corners. None of them were covered in plastic.
The shop owner, Elaine, preferred them that way and so did I. There was an indescribable joy that came from running your fingers over a book cover, especially if the title was embossed or engraved.
Still, there was such a thing as too much dust, and since I had just sneezed I did some hasty dusting before going back behind my desk, where a book and a cup of coffee, both yet unfinished, awaited.