Poppy Sinclair Novels & Stories

Or Sinclair. Holy shit.

I land on my knees with a loud thud, and he grabs my hair, pulling my head back to look up at him. “You wouldn't even let me hold your hand in the past, you're trash. I never really liked you, I only wanted to have a taste of a virgin. A cold, totally innocent one like you would have been the best. But you actually let someone else have you before me. Of what use are you to me?” I can't even say anything at this gas-lighting pro max. He was the one who tricked me there, and he's making it as if I sneaked away without him. I can't even speak anymore, I feel out of breath, as if I will collapse any moment.

Nathan forced out, swallowing hard. “No,” Noah corrected, his voice low and sure. “I’m paying you. You’re getting paid for a service. Remember?” The reminder made Nathan whimper, a soft, broken sound. “You’re selling it to me. It’s for sale. And… you know, you could get down on your knees right now, make me cum, and I could…” He pressed his thumb gently against Nathan’s throat. “Double this. You could feed yourself, take care of that sister of yours, for three months. Easy.” “Easy for you to say,” Nathan breathed, but something was shifting inside him. A desperate, survivalist cunning began to stir, cutting through the fear.

His hand around his cock was moving faster now. Then he heard the woman on the screen spoke, “Hang me in strappado.” His eyes snapped open, and his hand stopped stroking his throbbing hard length. He held his breath as he watched the screen. Sinclair on the screen moaned then said, “Oh, Rose…” Suddenly, he stood up, pushing back the chair with an angry sound and grabbing the almost-empty bottle of scotch from the lamp table. Without hesitation, he threw the bottled hard at the TV set, smashing the screen with a loud sound and sending sparks all over it.

I went back to the kitchen on legs that felt strangely lighter. I picked up my phone. I opened my notes, scrolled to the bottom—past the positioning, past the questions, past Diana’s careful layers of holding companies, and added one more line. ‘Robert Sinclair. He knows something. Pay attention.’ I stared at the words. Then I looked at the east wing door, still closed, where Celeste Vane continued her calls, building whatever empire she was building, completely unaware that the most powerful position in this apartment had just shifted—quietly, irreversibly into new hands.

Just grown more dangerous. Damian Alexander. The boy who ruined high school for me. The son of my mother’s boss. My best friend’s boyfriend. What the fuck have I done? “Who the hell are you?” he barked, his voice sharp and demanding. “How the fuck did you get here?”

When I enter the house, I hear shuffling in the kitchen, indicating Liam is home and awake. Without kicking my shoes off, I march down the hallway. Liam is standing in front of the kitchen island, his eyes locked on me when I enter. His hair is styled neatly away from his face, and he’s dressed in a white linen button-down and dark brown slacks. His features twist in confusion when he sees me. “Pae, where the hell have you—” “Did you hire the Gambino gang to kidnap me?” The words tumble from my mouth, filling the space separating us.

I can’t afford to let Mum find out I’m a pornstar. I have to find a way to keep Jameson’s mouth shut for good… no matter how slutty I have to get. The way Jameson was staring at me told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, and something told me he was going to make me work very hard to keep him quiet. Game on, Stepbrother.

“And you expect me to believe it was just a maid frightened by your face? Where is she? Show me this maid!” Sinclair’s voice reverberated across the walls, his anger a storm. This was his second chance, perhaps his last, to capture Lois. Failure meant punishment—unpredictable, perhaps even death—at the hands of Alpha Karl. The thought of that punishment was enough to fuel him with the hunger of a beast. “She must have gone down the stairs. I—I am sorry for alarming you unnecessarily,” the soldier stammered, his attempt at persuasion fragile. “I’ll search that room myself. Excuse me.” Sinclair brushed past, his tone final.