Hostage Of Lust Read Online Free PDF

being led into a den of wolves, as Jack guided me to the table encircled by men in leather, chains, denim, and t-shirts. I searched for surly sneers of unwelcome, but rather I found warm smiles and more overt sexual perusals. The lot of them were handsome. One sported an orange Mohawk. Another was shaved bald. Others were like Jack, with spikes or shaggy, short hairstyles.
    I’d never been in a place like this before, really. Never been with a group of men like this before. The reality of my naiveté, my sheltered existence, dawned on me, knocking the courage from my lungs. I almost bolted and ran, but Jack splayed a strong hand across the small of my back and pushed me toward the crowd.
    “Boys, this is James. The one I was telling you about.” His voice was like honey in the ears. The smiles these men wore widened. I was introduced to four band mates and a roadie.
    Handshakes were very friendly, often trailing up my arm to give a tender caress, a passionate squeeze. By the time Jack led me to where the cues hung, I was too horny and zinging with sexual excitement to do more than nod and make a choice.
    Jack came up beside me and tucked a hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “Would you like me to rack ‘em?”
    My ass tensed, but I willed myself to relax. I looked into his eyes, which sparkled with mischief. “Oh, sure, go ahead.” I forced a shaky smile and hoped they weren’t all laughing at my jitters.
    The lead guitarist broke. He was a gorgeous, green-eyed brunette with a shag cut flipped sideways. He gave a knowing grin when he stepped back from the table to let Jack and me take our shot.
    As I readied my cue and bent over the table, Jack’s arms slid over mine. His warm, lush chest pushed into my spine. I focus on the felt green top and tried not to sigh at the exquisite feel of his touch. The uninhibited part of me, the part that rarely showed, wanting to throw him on the table, rip his clothes off, and fuck him passionately. They could join in. I wouldn’t care. The more pleasure shared the better.
    I shook my head to clear the lusty thoughts, but the tightening in my groin didn’t ease up much.
    “Loosen up a bit,” Jack murmured in my ear, “when you set up your shot.” His lips brushed the shell and I shivered. His muscles tensed and relaxed against my skin as he helped me position my hands on the cue. His groin pressed firmly into my ass, then he stroked his hard bulge over my cheeks. By the time he moved away, I could scarcely breathe or think, never mind hit the ball.
    I closed my eyes, willed my concentration to center on the shiny blue and white target. Then Jack (at least I think it was Jack) reached between my spread legs and squeezed my scrotum. I took the shot whether I was ready or not, thanks to the unexpected goose. The blue and white target went wide, hitting the white ball and sinking it in a corner pocket. I groaned and rubbed my forehead.
    Green eyes smirked and crossed his legs, jutted his pelvis so his impressive bulge was noticeable. “How about a drink? You seem a bit nervous. Might help you relax.”
    Three whiskey and sodas later, I felt a mellow buzz cloud over my anxiety. Jack chuckled as I slurped them back, saying if I puked on his shoes, I’d better expect to clean it up. I laughed with him. We all chatted, got to know one another a bit, then broke a new rack.
    As the game ended, with green eyes as the obvious winner, I saw the Mohawk-wearing drummer locking the door. He flicked off the open sign, and I cast a curious glance at Jack.
    He smiled and brushed a hand down my cheek. “If you’re not into this, we can go back to my place? Have a bit of one on one action.” He draped an arm over my shoulder and pushed his body up against mine.
    I took a sip of my fourth drink and tried not to choke. My throat felt so constricted. The room was hot, and I hoped I wasn’t sweating like a pig. Why couldn’t I appear cool, confident, about the situation, like these