Free Torture (Siren Book 2) by Katie de Long Page A

trying to get someone’s attention is my best bet.
    I yell out more, in case the others are close enough to hear me, but get no response. The darkness, combined with the quiet, it disorients me. The world spins and sways, and I flatten myself to the floor to try to make it stop.
    God, what I'd give for Denise's nonconfrontational aloofness, or Allen's insecure aggression. God, what I'd give for Milla's mood swings and warmth. Even if I can't have her body. Worry knots my gut; are the others okay? Are they together? Why was I separated? Who'd I piss off?
    I roar until my throat's hoarse, and my knuckles and shoulders ache from pounding the wall and floor. I don't know why I bothered doing it that long. It's not like it did any good before.
    The floor is marginally more comfortable than the bedframe. I settle in for another purposeless nap.  The air's cleaner than the other room. That would be a pleasure, but smelling my own clothes and hands, there's still the lingering tang of smoke, and something softer that I know to be Milla's fragrance still on me, comforting and heavy. I strip off my shirt for a pillow, to better surround myself in it. Under most circumstances, it wouldn't be pleasant, as concentrated as human smells get, but I'm sure I smell worse. It wasn't worth wasting water to shower. And in the sudden isolation, her scent grounds me. For a while, I wasn't alone.
    After long enough, it occurs to me that it's not my own vertigo rocking the floor. And just like that, it hits me—this is some kind of boat. The pipes, the furniture secured to the floor, the swaying... That narrows it somewhat, even if it does make it more likely that whyever the others are here, it's directed at me . The knowledge cascades panic through me, makes me punch the walls with renewed fervor. But they don't give under my hands like drywall would; it's some sort of durable plastic. Fiberglass, maybe.
    In the darkness, a memory comes to me, blurry and addled, but nudged loose by the womanly musk I'm clinging to.
    The woman in front of me is drop dead gorgeous, all dark curls and smoky eyes,  and I can almost taste her sweet, sweet pussy already. “You're coming to my place, though; my mama always said not to trust strangers.” Her face changes, something distressing and vulnerable drifting across it, before she catches it and widens her welcoming grin. Even the flash of sadness only lures me deeper, filling me with a craving to make her scream until whatever it is has been chased out of her head by orgasm after orgasm. But that's not exactly polite to say.
    “Oh yeah. I'm obviously the big bad wolf.” Better to distract her with teasing.
    Her red lips pull back from her teeth as she smiles, revealing a slight gap between her front teeth. “No... I am.” She winks, daring me to disagree.
    I'm drunk enough to not want the opportunity to slide by. Any excuse to be close to her. “Are you? You gonna huff,” I lean in and inhale next to her ear, my lips tickling the lobe again. I swear to god, if she makes that little half-moan every other way I want to touch her, we're gonna end up with a public indecency charge. Goosebumps raise on her neck, and I guide her off her bar stool with my palm on the small of her back. “And puff,”  I blow on her earlobe, catching it lightly between my lips and flicking my tongue against it as my breath runs out. Her skin is soft and intoxicating, and her scent... damn . “And blow my house down?” I kiss her, again sliding my tongue into her mouth. She gasps, arching into me the rest of the way, her curvaceous body pressing against me, yielding and pliant, but demanding. My blood flows straight to my cock, nothing left but to take her home—to her home—and explore her body completely.
    She catches her breath, but doesn't let it go unanswered. “You know, I think I just might.” Familiar blue-green eyes dance as she leads me into the night air.
    The deja vu overwhelms me, waking up in a dark room