Page 1 of Insatiable Hunger

Prologue

Elias Carnell

Spring Break Sophomore Year, College

My heart races, skin feeling electric. The little green pill with the dollar sign carved into it that I swallowed almost an hour ago must be kicking in. The loud music caresses my skin in an almost seductive manner, along with the hot lips on my collarbone belonging to the man whose lap I’m grinding on. He’s the sexiest man I think I’ve ever danced for. Dark skin, black eyes, full red lips, and a strong, square jaw covered by a thick, dark beard I would love to run my fingers through.

I don’t know his name, and I don’t need to.

Working a high-profile VIP event like this one isn’t new to me. In fact, this is the second year I’ve been to the Lavender Party; an invite only, after-dark party in the Keys. The wealthy and the important all come from around the world, letting loose and indulging in their most salacious fantasies under the guise of darkness and iron-clad non-disclosures.

So, while dancing on mysterious, rich men’s laps isn’t new to me; letting them fuck me in a semi-private, dimly lit boothis.

My skin is on fire, every little touch magnified. I lose myself to the song and the way my body moves on top of his while his thick, skilled fingers work me open, getting me ready to take the beautiful cock I’m currently pumping with a tight, closed fist. Euphoria trickles through my bloodstream as I hold his gaze—dark, heady, salacious. My pulse is racing, head feeling light as the beat pours through me, licking my skin and embedding itself under the surface. A light sheen of sweat covers my body as I continue to move against him, rocking back and forth on his fingers, needing more. The energy between us is palpable. It’s thick, it’s potent.

Leaning in, I bring my mouth beside his ear while simultaneously working the buttons of his maroon silk shirt open, running my hands along his hairy, sculpted torso. “That feels so good,” I purr, tugging his lobe between my teeth. “But I need more...”

A groan rumbles from his chest, the sound vibrating through my palm that’s still resting on his length. He removes his fingers from me, reaching into his pocket, and pulling a small pack of lube out.

Ripping it open with his teeth—a move much hotter than it should be—he lathers himself before tapping on my hip. “Sit up.” His accent is thick, voice deep and thunderous. The two words spoken with so much dominance and authority it sends a violent shudder down my spine.

Red-hot fire pillages through my veins while goosebumps erect over every inch of my flesh. The anticipation is too much. Sitting up on my knees, my chest practically pressed up against his face, he lines himself up to my entrance, the blunt tip of his head causing my cock to throb behind the thin fabric of my G-string with the promise of what’s to come.

The slow building beat of Rosenfield’sDo It For Mepulses through the speakers as I lower myself onto his fat cock, inch by inch, until he’s deeply seated inside me. The air is stolen from my lungs with how full I am. I swear I can feel him all the way in my stomach.

He doesn’t bother giving me a moment to adjust as he sits back, a wide hand gripping my ass painfully, the other coming up and wrapping around my throat. With teeth bared, he fucks into me from below as I grind on his lap, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The knowledge that anybody could glance in here and see exactly what we’re doing fuels the twisted fire in my veins. I’m not normallythatguy. Sure, I’m a dancer, but fucking someone—a complete stranger—in public isn’t me. I can’t deny how fucking hot and thrilling it is, though.

The slight curvature to his length has him perfectly brushing against my sweet spot with each brutal plunge into my body. It’s too much. Feels too good. Practically panting, I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, bouncing on his lap as he grips my throat tighter, cutting off most of my air and making my head feel dizzy. Black spots dance through my vision as waves of vehement pleasure vibrate through my body, taking me higher and higher.

The drugs flooding my bloodstream heighten everything. I’m living and breathing all that he’s giving me. My body is his to take, to ravage.

And ravage he does.

He shoves the G-string to the side, releasing my aching cock and wrapping a hand around it. I’m inching dangerously close to explosion as he pumps me in time with his thrusts. As his heated eyes bore into mine, my jaw goes slack, body tightening. My release plunders through me like an avalanche, coating his exposed chest. The sight is such a contrast to his beautiful, dark skin.

Running two fingers through the mess, I bring them to his lips, which he parts hungrily. He sucks them clean, eyes rolling back as his cock pulsates in my ass as he finds his own release.

As soon as he’s finished, I climb off his lap, adjusting my thong so it’s properly covering me again. I grab the water bottle off the table, breaking the seal and downing some while he rights himself. We watch each other for several moments before he reaches into his pocket, taking out his wallet. He pulls out a couple of bills, stepping up to me. I watch, rapt, while he slips them into my skimpy waistband, before he presses his lips down on my neck as his expensive scent surrounds me.

And then he’s gone.

Chapter One

Elias Carnell

Two and a Half Years Later

“Elias! Can you come down here, please?”

Glancing over at the clock on my nightstand, I roll my eyes before climbing out of bed. It’s barely nine in the fucking morning. What could she possibly want this early? I meander out of my room and down the stairs, finding her in the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. She’s wearing a black satin two-piece pajama set with a mauve colored untied robe overtop, her thick, dark hair tied up on top of her head. The look she’s giving me tells me she’s already sick of my shit, and I haven’t even done anything yet.

“Yes?” I mutter, my voice still scratchy with sleep.

“It’s a miracle you’re even awake,” she muses, crossing her arms over her chest, brows raised dramatically.

“Mom, what do you mean? It’s not even late. It’s like nine o’clock.”

---