A Virgin Enslaved 2 (Inhumanly Handsome Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) Read online

  A Virgin Enslaved 2 (Alpha Male Erotic Romance)

  A Virgin Enslaved 2 (Alpha Male Erotic Romance)

  PROLOGUE

  Midpoint

  A VIRGIN ENSLAVED 2

  By Artemis Hunt

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2013 by Artemis Hunt

  Cover art by Artemis Hunt

  EROTICA and EROTIC ROMANCES BY APHRODITE HUNT

  Please check at the back of the book for synopses

  The ‘Eight Tasks for the Blushing Virgin’ series

  Deflowered

  Debauched

  The ‘Romanced by the Damaged Millionaire’ series

  Damaged Beauties

  Seduced by his Two Personalities

  The ‘Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire’ series

  His Indecent Proposition

  His Indecent Demands

  His Indecent Desires

  His Indecent Secrets

  His Indecent Revelations

  The ‘Initiation’ series

  Open Your Legs for Me

  Blindfolded and Spread-eagled

  Thighs Wide Apart

  Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy

  The Final Initiation

  The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories

  The ‘Initiation 2’ series

  Open Your Legs for my Family

  Bend Over for my Family

  Publicly Display Yourself for Me

  Sex Slave at Sea

  Paraded before the Billionaires

  Sex Slave at the Auction

  The ‘Initiation 3’ series

  Sex Slave to the Dictator

  Shackled by the Dictator

  Punished by the Dictator’s Daughter

  The Sex Slave’s Final Punishment

  ‘The Royal Captive’ series

  Prince Miro’s Capture

  Prince Miro’s Submission

  Prince Miro’s Enslavement

  Prince Miro’s Punishment

  Prince Miro’s Escape

  Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation

  The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3

  The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6

  The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series

  I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac

  Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me

  Gang Banged by the Chain Gang

  Tempting the Hot Navy SEAL

  The ‘Delicate Piercings’ series

  Her First Clit Ring

  Her First Clit Ring 2: Menage

  Her First Clit Ring 3: Desensitization

  The ‘Undercover’ series

  Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor

  Undercover: Stealing from the Sexy CEO

  The ‘Alien’ series

  Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens

  Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens 2

  Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)

  When He’s Inside You

  My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper

  The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense)

  A Xmas Gift: The Sperm Donor

  WORKS BY ARTEMIS HUNT

  EROTIC ROMANCES

  The ‘Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male’ series

  A Virgin Enslaved

  A Virgin Enslaved 2

  The Pretend Boyfriend

  The Pretend Boyfriend 2

  The Pretend Boyfriend 3

  The Pretend Boyfriend 4

  The ‘Maid for the Billionaire Prince’ series

  Mysterious Desire

  Forbidden Desire

  Infamous Desire

  Royal Desire

  Maid for the Billionaire Prince

  ROMANCES

  The Body Snatcher Wears Lipstick

  Snow White and the Alien

  Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://artemishunt.blogspot.com/ and http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates. I write as Artemis Hunt for erotic romances with a more romance feel and Aphrodite Hunt for pure erotica and erotic romances which are slightly kinkier. So please be aware of what you’re getting into, dear reader, when you read one of my stories. Thank you so much for your support.

  PROLOGUE

  Sometimes, the memories come unbidden to her with a liquid, surreal quality – as though she is daydreaming rather than remembering something tangible.

  She sees him as clearly as if she has known him before. The beautiful boy with the dark, slightly disheveled hair and the hazel eyes. He was only sixteen, she knows, but he looks older. His skin gleams a startling golden color in the lamplight, and his smiling mouth shows white, perfect teeth.

  “Selena,” he calls to her.

  A name from a distant world. A name she doesn’t remember at all.

  He was forbidden to her, as she was to him.

  But she loved him anyway, and he loved her. Their love was deep, lusty and intense as only the young could love. And when she remembers it, a twinge assails her empty womb. The very womb which has been cored out by a surgeon’s curette and expunged of the life they created together.

  She wakes up. Or maybe she isn’t even dreaming at all. She opens her eyes and takes in her surroundings.

  Amazing that she has now lived here for so many years, unable to remember her past life. Were those dreams or memories? Why does the same dream – the same boy in the dream – repeatedly and intrusively appear?

  She looks at the photos framed on the walls of her small but comfortable house. Photos of a pleasant-looking Asian man and herself over various stages of age. They smile into the cameras against backdrops of oceans and sand and red lanterns. There are photos of them feasting with his grudging family during festivals and special occasions, wielding chopsticks over a food spread.

  No children are in the photos. This is a fact that has stung both of them immensely.

  That very Asian man now comes in from the outside and wipes his boots on the welcome mat. He smiles at her. His glasses are moist from the rain, and his cheeks are flushed from the hearty weather.

  “Sue,” he says.

  She smiles back at him lovingly. “Did you have a good day, Kang?”

  “The fish weren’t biting,” he says in Korean, “so we’ll have to make do with pork.”

  “I’ve made an egg custard. That will go well with the pickled vegetables.” She speaks Korean fluently, though she remembers another language. A language she had been speaking in when she first met Kang all those years ago, but has since been diluted with disuse.

  He comes to her and holds out his hand. She is seated on a comfortable chair, and she lets him raise her to her feet.

  “I still can’t get over the fact that I love you more and more each day, my wife.”

  They embrace each other. Tears spring to her eyes.

  “If only . . . ” she chokes it back.

  No use bringing up what cannot be. She’s too old for that now. They are both too old.

  “Hush now, it doesn’t matter. It has never mattered. We have each other, and that’s all that matters.”

  But she had badly wanted a child. So badly that it hurt her to even think about it.

  They eat their simple dinner at a wooden table with two chairs. She may be a white woman, but she teases
the pickled vegetables out of their small porcelain bowl like a pro. The plates that they use have light blue markings on them, and the porcelain is slightly chipped.

  It doesn’t matter to her that they are relatively poor compared to the townsfolk.

  After dinner, he helps her clear the dishes. She washes while he dries the plates and cutlery.

  “Would you like to catch a movie?” he suggests. “There’s a new one with Bruce Willis showing in the Cineplex.”

  There is only one Cineplex in the village, and it can scarcely be called this. It has only two screens, and the movies tend to rotate at the speed of a rolodex.

  “OK,” she says.

  With no children, they can indulge in the simple pleasures of couplehood.

  They have only one car – an old white Kia which has served them well for fifteen years. They take it out to the village square. Since it is a Friday night, the village teenagers are out in full force at the Cineplex. They are dressed in gaudy clothing and the girls’ delicate faces are made up in the pastel colors of a popular Korean cosmetic brand.

  They watch the movie, holding hands as though they are newlyweds and not a sage old married couple of many years. She thinks of what they have been through to be together. All the heartache and protestations from his family, just because she is a white woman with amnesia and no recollected roots. A woman who appeared at the island village one night all those years ago, seemingly washed up by the sea.

  They tried to find out who she was, of course, but no one had come to claim her. Perhaps she did not want to be claimed. Perhaps she had erased all traces of herself.

  In the end, they gave it up, and he who had found her when he was fishing in the early morning took her as wife.

  When the movie is finished, they make their way home in the Kia.

  “I love you,” he says with feeling.

  “I love you too.”

  He glances at her, smiling in the dark. That is when she glimpses the headlights of the truck bearing down on them and hears the blaring of its horns.

  “Kang!” she screams. “Look out!”

  He turns towards the road, but it’s too late. The truck is on their lane, where it has no right to be. Perhaps the driver is drunk. Perhaps the brakes have failed him. But the genesis of why the truck is careening down on them – totally out of control – is lost in a screech of metal against metal and the smell of burning rubber and grinding asphalt. The Kia is compressed against the squat body of the truck. There is a thundering sound like the end of the world, and everything mercifully goes black for her.

  *

  She is a coma.

  A good thing too, because she isn’t conscious to grieve for her husband. Or what was left of him when they finally extricated him from the mangled driver’s side of the Kia, upon which the truck slammed into full frontal.

  She is lucky to have merely escaped with a coma. The passenger’s side is mostly intact, although she had been jolted out of her seat and hit the back of her head against the window. Good thing she had a seatbelt on. She is so blessed in so many ways.

  The funeral and burial takes place in the common village cemetery. When the coffin is lowered into its final resting place, Kang’s mother tearfully throws a bouquet of white roses onto the lid. She has never liked Sue. She resented the place the ‘white she-devil’, as she called her, took in her son’s life.

  And now her only son is dead and Sue is very much alive, though barely. Life is just so unfair.

  In the small village hospital, Sue tarries on for weeks, refusing to wake even as the rest of her body heals. Sometimes, her eyelids tremble with the rotation of her orbs underneath – a sign of rapid eye movement, which signifies dreaming.

  Her vital signs are stable, but Kang’s family is now running out of money to maintain her lifeline. As she has no living relative that they know of, they now have the power of attorney to pull the plug on her anytime they should choose.

  Kang’s mother is itching to pull the plug.

  After all, her son was already dead, and it isn’t fair that the family has to pay Sue’s living expenses at the hospital. Nothing came cheap. Not the machinery that sustains her, not the intravenous drips and parenteral nutrition that goes into her to keep her body from starvation. And certainly not the bed in the general female ward which could have gone to another more worthy denizen. A Korean-born denizen, no less.

  Kang’s mother consults her dead ancestors and prays to the gods. Then she picks a propitious date.

  Tomorrow, she tells herself. Tomorrow she will ask the doctors to pull the plug.

  *

  But that night, Sue has other plans.

  Her coma was deep when she first went into it. But it got progressively lighter, until – five minutes after midnight – her eyes fly open for the first time in weeks.

  She looks up at the dark ceiling of the hospital room . . . and screams.

  The other patients rapidly become aroused and the nurse comes rushing up. Sue’s heart rate is climbing and she sits up in bed, hyperventilating.

  “Calm down,” the nurse says in a soothing voice. “Sue? Sue, you are safe. You are in a hospital. Do you remember anything?”

  But Sue is inconsolable.

  “Call the night doctor,” the night nurse tells the assistant nurse. “Call her next of kin.”

  “No,” Sue cries, her scrawny chest heaving in and out with gasps. Her red eyes gaze at the uncomprehending features of the nurse. “I remember everything,” she says in English. “Everything!”

  “You were in an accident and then a coma for weeks – ”

  “No. I remember everything before the accident. Before all the accidents . . . I remember him. I remember my real name. It is Selena Coulter.” Sue’s eyes are wide with terror . . . and knowledge. “Christopher Morton. He was my lover. I need him. I need him now.”

  BETH

  I pause before the door of the CEO’s office. It’s déjà vu. I have my portfolio in my hand, and I am reminded of a different interview not so long ago. With another CEO.

  Morton Enterprise Ltd.

  Has it really been only six months ago?

  I smile as my mind tumbles over what I did this morning with that particular CEO, Christopher Morton. I blush as I remember how he spooned himself against me and took me from behind, and how his glorious warm cock slides so easily in and out of my tight wet pussy.

  “Beth,” he whispered into my ear even as he gently took its curvature between his teeth. His tongue was a flickering wetness against my neck. “Ohhh, you feel so good.”

  OK. I have to stop this now or I will carry the heat of that encounter in with me to my interview.

  In the past six months, I’ve been through two jobs. The first, I resigned on my own accord. I had no choice. I was sleeping with the boss and it was a stain on my integrity. I knew of some other women who did this without compunction or ill effect, but I’m not one of them. So my boss became my ex-boss and my lover, and all was right in my world.

  For the moment.

  As for my second job, I was retrenched two months later as the company was taken over by a rival conglomerate. Last in, first out in Human Resources’ dialect.

  I spent all my time looking for this job, and now, I am about to be interviewed for it. This CEO needs a new PA. Of course, this is a much smaller company than Morton Enterprise Ltd., but beggars like me can’t be choosers in this awful economy.

  Of course, much of it has to do with my own stubbornness.

  I remember the row I had with Chris a few months back.

  “Listen, Beth, I can call in a few favors and get you – ”

  “No.”

  “ – a job.”

  “No.”

  We were in a restaurant. A very nice one with soft yellow lights and empty birdcages hanging from the high ceiling. Fluted columns rose amidst the tables which were all decked with white tablecloth and fresh flowers.

  Chris looked particularly handsome that night.
But then, he always does so effortlessly. He was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, his usual Saturday night garb. He doesn’t dress up when he dines in upmarket restaurants that do not require a suit and tie. He doesn’t need to. Everybody knows who he is and gives him the VIP treatment. If you are Jefferson Morton’s eldest son and a powerful CEO in your own accord, you will be feted accordingly.

  Chris clicked his tongue in exasperation. “Beth, there is nothing wrong in me calling up a few of the companies we are in business with and – ”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I have to do this on my own. Please, Chris . . . you can’t always come to my rescue like a knight in shining armor. I’m perfectly capable of getting a job myself.”

  Chris grinned. “If I’m a knight in shining armor, I can certainly think of a lot of things to do with my sword.”

  I laughed. “Didn’t you get enough this morning?”

  “It’s never enough.” His grin was infectious. “But back to the job market. It’s difficult out there now, Beth. Even Morton Enterprises’ profits were down last quarter. This new bill that was passed in Illinois hasn’t done the Republicans any favors. So if you can get any help at all in putting your foot through the door – any door – I’d grab it if I were you.”

  “You are not me. And we are not having this conversation.”

  “You had a perfectly good job . . . with me,” he said in a wounded voice.

  “I know. But it was time to move on. You accepted my resignation.”

  “I only accepted it because you were so hung up about it. I was concerned that it would come between us being together.”