Title: Taking Turns
Series: Turning #1
Author: JA Huss
Genre: Dark Erotic Suspense
Release Date: January 18, 2017
Chella plays the game of Taking Turns with three men as she comes to terms with her sexuality.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark...but that doesn’t mean I wanted to live in it. And maybe everyone wants what they can’t have, but I should’ve thought it over before I accepted the key and unlocked the door to their forbidden world.
Number One is mostly silent. He watches me with them very carefully. His gaze never wanders. His interest never wanes.
Number Two is mostly gentle. But it’s the other side of him I like best. The wild side.
Number Three is mostly reserved. He refuses to cross the line. Even when I beg.
It was carnal, it was sensual, and it was erotic. That’s it. That’s all it was supposed to be. A trip into the dark. A peek into the forbidden.
I just didn’t expect to like them.
GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33192096-taking-turns
Direct Link: https://www.youtube.com/embed/8NbYcD-jZ1Y
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EXCERPT 1 - QUIN:
“You want it hard tonight?” I ask. “You want me to fuck you hard?” I grab her hair and pull, making her upper body lift up off the mattress. My other hand is digging into the flesh just below her hip.
I scoot back and reach under her thighs, drawing them up so she’s on her knees, and press her face into the pillow as I pound her from behind.
“Yeah,” I say, half speaking, half moaning. “You like it like this, don’t you? You let Bric fuck you like this all the time, don’t you?”
I reach around and smack her tit, which makes her yelp. A high-pitched yelp I’m not familiar with. For a second I think I’ve hurt her, and I slow down. But she backs up into me, covering my dick again. Burying it deep inside her. Everything is already so wet. She feels so goddamned good tonight.
“You fucking whore,” I say, letting go of her hair so she falls face-first back into the pillow. “You let Bric fuck you like this, Rochelle? You like the way he slaps you around? Hmm?”
Hell, I like the way Bric slaps her around. And as soon as that thought enters my head I laugh.
“Maybe we’ll do it rough next weekend. You want that? You want us to fuck you hard? Stick our dicks inside you at the same time?”
Another unfamiliar moan.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say, still kinda laughing. But then I let it go and just… fuck her. I grab onto her ass and do it hard. Pounding her with so much force, her head is inching closer and closer to the headboard of the bed.
I don’t stop when it finally makes it there. I just keep thrusting until the pounding is compounded by the headboard crashing into the wall.
She’s moaning. Close. So fucking close to coming. I reach underneath her body and strum her clit to the rhythm we’re making. She goes wild. Wild like I’ve never seen her before. Writhing, and moaning, and gasping for air.
I draw back, grab her hips, and flip her over, one hand pushing her head aside so her cheek is pressing into the pillow, the other one still playing with her pussy. I watch my dick as it slips in and out, just barely able to make it out in the dim, filtered light from outside.
I grab her hair, so fucking ready to come, and yank her head so she has to look at me. Her eyes are closed, but I don’t care. I press my hand over her mouth and close my eyes too. And then I spill inside her. Throwing my head back to let out a groan of relief.
Her legs are trembling from the exertion. Little spasms as she gasps for breath. I laugh a little as I roll off to the side and wrap my arms around her. “What’s wrong, baby? Too much for you tonight?”
I bury my head into her neck and smell her hair.
“Did you get a new shampoo?” I ask. “You smell so different.”
“You want a date with Bric on Sunday? Hmm? We can skip Smith if you want.” I kiss her neck and then pull back and open my eyes. Trying to get an idea if she’s up for this kind of fun. It’s been a while so I—
I blink my eyes. Three times, fast.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry—”
But I’m up and out of the bed, fisting her hair and pulling her with me. She drops to the floor, whimpering.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask. “Where the fuck is Rochelle?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
EXCERPT 2 - SMITH:
I flick the light on and she closes her eyes, hiding her face to shield herself from the sudden brightness.
She’s… pretty. Dark hair, long and straight, kind of like Rochelle’s, but nothing at all like Rochelle’s at the same time. Her skin is fair, which isn’t surprising since it’s winter and the sun seems to have gone missing in Denver for the past month. Her hands are tied behind her back, so I can’t see them. And she’s sitting up, knees to chest, completely naked, and I can see her pussy.
I stare for a moment longer than I should and then I finally look at her face—a sweet face. Wide blue eyes looking up at me, the remnants of her make-up streaked down her cheeks like she’s been crying.
But she isn’t crying now.
Her nose is small and her plump lips are wrapped around the ball of the gag. Drool is dripping out of her mouth. One long strand hangs just above her left breast, ready to fall.
“Well,” I say, far beyond curious at this point, “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve got to say about this.”
I crouch down in front of her legs and catch her scent. The flowers. Or citrus, whichever it is. I inhale deeply and can’t help but take in the smell of sex.
I look her in the eyes as I reach behind her head and unstrap the gag. It falls forward, dropping into her lap as I watch her adjust, swallow down the drool, and then take a deep breath.
She says nothing.
Just stares at me.
My hand is between her legs. My finger slipping inside her pussy. She is wet. So fucking wet. She doesn’t close her eyes or moan. In fact, her eyes never leave mine. Not once.
She likes it.
I remove my slick fingers from her pussy and bring them to her mouth.
She opens, sucks them.
Still, she stares into my eyes.
I envision her mouth on my cock and grow hard at the thought.
And then I close my eyes.
But only for a moment. Barely a blink. I’m back in control. I reach for her upper arm and pull her to her feet. She complies willingly. And then I spin her around and begin untying her wrists.
The rope is tight. Tighter than it should be. Quin knows how to tie a girl up, I’ve seen him do it enough times to be sure of that. But he was probably panicking, so I don’t judge.
When I get the rope off there is a deep red burn ringing her wrists.
She brings her hands in front of her to get a look at her wrists. I take them, looking closely at her wounds. “I have something for that. But first, let’s make progress on your clothes.”
“I have clothes,” she says, her voice not weak, not small, but firm and strong. “On the chair.”
I walk over to the chair and pick them up. Jeans. Nondescript sweater. Winter shearling boots. Some semi-nice lingerie and thick cotton socks.
“Well, that won’t do,” I say, walking back to the closets. I open the one across the short hallway from the one I share with Bric and Quin. Rochelle’s closet.
I don’t know what I expected, but I’m kinda taken aback that everything Rochelle owns is still in there. Her many, many, many pairs of thrift-store shoes, and skirts, and those horrible long dresses. Even her purses are still here. She never shopped for purses at the thrift stores. They are all designer. Even the fringy ones. They live in soft cloth bags that come inside the purse when you purchase it, and they are lined up on the top shelf like little surprises wrapped in velvet.
I only know this because I bought her a few purses myself that first year. A Prada, a Gucci, and some other brand she asked for that I had never heard of, but which set me back almost three thousand dollars.
If Rochelle ever tells someone the story of us, she better not call me cheap.
I sigh and divert my attention to the limited number of classy, five-star-restaurant-worthy dresses hanging on the far end of a rack. I look back at the new girl for a moment, then choose a red one. To set off her hair.
“Here,” I say, holding the hanger out to her. “Put this on, please.”
“What?” the girl asks, taking the hanger from me.
“I didn’t stutter. Put on the dress. I have to walk you out, obviously. You can’t walk out in jeans, for fuck’s sake. This is Turning Point Club. We have a dress code.”
“Why can’t I go out the back?”
I stop looking for shoes to match the dress and turn to stare at her. “Is that how you got in?”
She nods. “The freight elevator.”
“Figures. Fucking Rochelle hated the dress code. Well, the freight elevator isn’t going to work for me, I’m afraid. I don’t leave by way of the freight elevator. I walk in. Everybody sees me. I walk out. Everybody sees me. And since I have to walk you out, you’re going to look the part. Now put on the fucking dress.”
I turn back to the shoes.
“I need my bra and underwear,” she says.
“Not for that dress, you don’t.”
EXCERPT 3 - BRIC:
“I don’t know where she is. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. If she wanted you guys to know where she went and what she was doing, she’d have left a note.”
“OK. That’s fine. I accept that. All we need to know is if she’s all right. That’s it. Was she stressed out?”
Marcella thinks about this for a moment and then says, “Yes. I’d call her stressed out.”
“Do you think she was afraid?”
More thoughtful consideration from Marcella. “I don’t know if I’d call it afraid. But she was crying when we talked that afternoon.”
“Do you know why?”
Marcella shakes her head no.
“No idea at all? I mean, come on, Marcella. We love her, OK? Not equally and not all in the same way. But we love her. We need to know if she needs our help.”
“She did not confide in me, Mr. Bricman—”
“Bric,” I say. “Just call me Bric.”
Marcella sighs. “I don’t have the answer you need. I promise, I’d tell you if I thought she was in trouble and needed help. I think she has something going on. For sure. But I got the feeling she was handling it.”
I nod my head and take a seat on one of the bar stools. “And you? You came upstairs…”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It was obviously a mistake.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not.”
“Your friend is weird, Bric. I’m not getting involved with him.”
“Then why did you let Quin fuck you?”
She blows out a long breath of air.
“I’m not trying to be mean, Marcella. I’m trying to understand. And I’m trying to figure out if you’re interested.”
“Interested?” She laughs. “In that sex game you were playing with Rochelle?”
“If you knew about it—and you clearly did—and you didn’t want to partake—again, you clearly did—then why let Quin fuck you?”
Marcella leans her hip into the granite counter next to the stove and folds her arms across her chest. “What do you want me to say? I was horny? It sounded dirty and I wanted to get in on it?”
“That would be a good start.”
She grunts in denial.
“We’re interested, Marcella. That’s why I’m here. We are interested.”
“You need a replacement before the weekend?”
“I have never seen Rochelle on the weekends. I have Wednesdays and Thursdays.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “My mistake. You need a fuck buddy before tomorrow?”
“Can you just be serious for a minute?”
“Sure,” she says. “Sure. Let’s be serious about what you’re offering me. You and your friends want to own me. Share me. Fuck me senseless, any way you want. Let’s get serious about this.”
“You don’t have to be condescending.” I shrug. “Some people like the dark side of sex. And let’s get real as long as we’re getting serious. You like the dark side, Marcella.” I get up and walk around the island so I’m standing in front of her. “You like the forbidden world we live in. Because if you didn’t, you’d never have agreed to whatever plan Rochelle sold you. So why don’t you just shut the fuck up with your holy self-righteous attitude and listen to my offer.”
“You have some nerve coming here—”
I grab her face with one hand, my thumb pressing into her jaw and my forefinger wrapping under her chin. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”
She breathes hard and heavy, but she doesn’t do anything but obey.
“That’s better,” I say, letting go of her face. “I’m going to pick you up on Friday and we’re going on a date.”
“I’m working Friday,” she says. Her voice is smaller now. Slightly—not all the way, but slightly—submissive.
“I know.” I’m trying my best to be patient with her. “The gallery. We know Matisse. We’re all going to that opening. So I’m going to pick you up at five-thirty and you and I are going to go together.”
“You and I?” she asks.
“Quin and Smith will be there, but you are my date. Understand?”
She says nothing, so I wait her out. When the seconds continue to tick off with no answer from her, I explain it another way. “It’s a job interview, Marcella.”
“A job?” She pulls away from me, her upper body leaning back against the granite countertop.
“A job with lots of benefits.”
COMING APRIL 12, 2017 IN THE TURNING SERIES
#2 Turning Back
I lived in the dark for three years. My whole world revolved around the whims and happiness of three men. It was just a trip into the forbidden. A way out of a bad situation and forward into nothingness.
Quin, with his easy smile and charming good looks. He was always there for me... Until he wasn’t.
Smith, and his dispassionate attention. He was never there for me and he never regretted it.
Bric, the one who listened, but only to himself. Self-absorbed, self-obsessed, and self-serving. He was never the one I wanted.
And now he might be the only one I have left.
It was good while it lasted, I guess. But it could’ve been so much more. It could’ve been so much better.
And that’s why I’m turning back.
JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
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