His Bride: Fear in The Hollow

His Bride

Fear in the Hollow

by Q. Zayne

Q. ZAYNE BOOKS—EDGY erotic fiction with heart since 2015

Q. Zayne's most popular books include the new BDSM series Submission House, The Billionaires Club series, the Submission Island series, and the Baby Making Her First Time collection.

Visit QZayneBooks.com to explore more BDSM Romantic Suspense, Age Gap love, Pregnancy Romance, Reverse Harem, Paranormal Romance, Interracial Menage, and Dark Fantasy. 

All Q. Zayne books and high-heat Quin Zayne Curvy & Alpha Romances are written by one human author. Hughes Empire holds the exclusive copyright on all Quin Zayne and Q. Zayne books.

Experience-based and romantic, each book takes you on a satisfying adventure. Escape to a sensual world where love wins. Enjoy!

Author's Note:

This novel may be considered disturbing by some people. It contains descriptions of criminal acts. The author, publisher, distributor, and retailers do not condone criminal behavior and bear no responsibility for any reader's mentality and actions.  Anyone unclear on the difference between fiction and reality is advised to refrain from reading this book.

His Bride is not for everyone. If you're intrigued by the thought of disturbing romantic horror, this is for you. Welcome.

Copyright ©️

All Rights Reserved . Respect the work of authors. Do not post this book on any site.

Copyright ©2024 Hughes Enterprise. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. 

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are fictitious products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not the intent of the author or publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. 

New Edition First electronic book publication Octoberber 2023. An earier version appeared as White Trash.

Cover photo ©Deposit Photos and the photographer, all rights reserved. The use of this photo does not suggest endorsement of this work by the photographer nor the models, nor does it imply anything about the models' characters or lifestyles. Rated Mature 18+. This book is for entertainment only.

Teaser

Sy

I thought about it being done to me, the needle taking my skin for the first time, like cherry-popping my tender flesh over and over. So hot. I wanted it. But I had no doubt Dad would cut off my allowance, if not disown me. I settled for watching, late into the night, with the city roaring around me like a beast.

The tattoo artist had dark, gleaming eyes like the undead, rock-star black hair, and magic hands, but he was willow-thin. What turned me on was a strong-looking man. A man like Callum could pick me up like I weighed nothing. He could manhandle me with no effort at all. My size wouldn’t be any challenge to a man with big guns like those inked arms so close I could lick the nearest one. Might happen by accident, the way his truck jolted along the road.

Callum had old-fashioned ink like you’d see on a sailor, not trendy tats. My greedy eyes searched him. The patterns on his body made thick murals, like he’d been getting tats for years, the designs building up like cave art that became richer over time. I found the first rose on his shoulder, the second one on his arm. Were there more, hidden by his clothes? I had to stop thinking about having a treasure hunt on his naked body. The man looked dangerous for real. My mother might have been right.

CALLUM

You belong to me.

Taking the Billionaire’s Daughter

CALLUM

My truck wasn’t handling the best, and I’d had enough beers not to mind the rough ride and the weaving.

That round ass poking out of skimpy cut-offs looked like it had to be a mirage, but it was there, bouncing along the side of the road on sexy legs. The long, dark waves falling down her back all the way to those peeking ass cheeks made me pull ahead of her and block her way.

That make-you-want-to-grab-it hair had me throbbing. It was Sy Thompson from the mansion up the hill. Her front side was as fine as her backside, with breasts big enough to bulge between my fingers and a hot, so-refined face with lips painted like porno.

Nothing more natural in the world than to get her in my truck and take her back to the house. I wanted to show Sy her place.

Hell, I had plenty of room now that Pa was gone.

If she was the type didn’t know what a woman was for, I’d be happy to teach her.

I hopped out and got in her path. She backed away from me.

Come on, let me give you a lift. I took a step back, so she wouldn’t bolt. There was a big old mirage across the road like a black flood. It was that hot. As much fun as she’d be to catch, I was in no mood to chase her.

No, I don’t think so. She frowned, didn’t meet my eyes.

I’m just being neighborly. Come on, it’s too hot a day for walking. I got ice water in the truck. I did my best to sound casual.

I like to walk. Her eyes flicked, and she moistened her lips.

You’ll get heat stroke, and then where will you be? Nothing out here for miles. Let me give you a ride, save that pretty skin of yours from a burn. I knew how to wheedle. Mama used to say Pa could talk the paint off a barn.

People know where I am. I have my phone. She reached for her back pocket.

Cracked me up, uppity girls city carrying around phones half big as their butts. I kept my face under control, friendly, but not too friendly.

Of course. Nothing to worry about. I’m just a neighbor being nice, way I was raised. Call somebody right now and give them my license plate number. I pointed to the mud-spattered plate on Betsy’s rear.

I didn’t think she’d do it, and I didn’t care if she did. She was going to like what I had in mind for her. One night of the right kind of treatment, and even if the boys in blue showed up at the door, she’d beg me to let her stay. Nothing to worry about.

She eyed me up and down. I’m a lot to eye. Six-foot-four and size 13 boots, everything in proportion. I’d unbuttoned my work shirt to my waist to catch what breeze I could through the window. The wing was broken, so I got a draft right to the heart year round.

She nodded like she finally made up her mind to do the sensible thing and get out of the hot sun. Her waves slid on her headlights as she moved.

I opened the door for her, careful not to get too close. Didn’t want to spook her.

With a lot of jiggle, she wriggled her way up toward the seat, so short and rounded she had to work to get up there. Her legs gleamed, pale and smooth from her ankles to her full ass cheeks.

Didn’t look like she wore panties. Whoever cut and fringed those jeans right to the crotch did me a favor. I was damned tempted to give her a boost on her full, heart-shaped behind, but I kept my hands to myself. I could be a gentleman until the time was right. Once we got out to my place, there’d be nothing she could do but see things my way. Until then, I wanted her calm.

Sy got herself settled on Betsy’s big bench seat, eying the dash like she was looking out for a rattle snake or something.

I gave her a minute to get comfortable.

All set? This is going to be loud. Always sounds like I’m slamming it, but it’s just an old door. I gave her my aw shucks grin.

Yes, thanks. Her smile looked forced.

I shut the door. She jumped. I swung up into the driver’s seat.

I’m Callum Blake, and this is Betsy.

Betsy? She smiled at me, finally, first smile ever right at me.

Yes, Betsy. I patted the dash.