The tall, thin blond fished behind her back, found the hook, and
released her bra. She smiled as she slowly slid the bra straps down her
arms. She was happy to be there—standing before this mysterious guy
she had just met that night at a sorority party.
She and two of her friends, Sherry and Katy, had watched from across the
room as he entered the party alone. He stood about six-foot-one and had
beautiful, black hair that fell to his shoulders. He was totally unlike
any other guy there. He was dark; mysterious; attractive. Dressed in
black, he stuck out like a sore thumb. How could anyone not notice him
with that long, black trench coat over black shirt and black pants?
The three girls watched to see who he knew; who had told him about the
party. Was he meeting someone there? A girl perhaps? Or was he available
for the picking? He circulated the room, speaking to no one, until he
found a comfortable spot and stood alone. Who was he, they each
wondered. And, most importantly, with whom would he choose to leave?
Friends or not… all was fair in love and war.
Amanda was sure that he would choose her—whether he planned to or not.
She had a way of getting herself noticed and a way of making guys want
her. Just about every guy at that party was hoping to leave with her,
and most had at one point in time. She was one of the few who could have
her pick of any guy. Her only problem was… she wanted them all… and
it was that hunger that gave her the reputation of being a whore. But
she didn’t care.
She dropped her bra to the cold, concrete basement floor beside her
white, button-up-the-front blouse.
He smiled at her, his dark blue eyes drinking her in. If only she knew,
he thought. His smile grew—just a little.
She pushed her shoes off with her feet, reached for the button on her
jeans, and did her sexy, little turn, peering over her shoulder to watch
him as she slowly pushed the jeans down her long legs, revealing the hot
pink thong she had just bought that day. Yeah, she smiled, he’s liking
it. That was one thing she knew how to do—turn a guy on.
He breathed slow and deep. She really thought she was something. Yeah,
she was pretty. And, yeah, she had a nice body, but she was a slut. He
forced a smile.
She slid the thong down her legs then added it to the rest of her
clothes lying on the basement floor. She slowly turned to face him,
showing off her perfect body. She smiled inside almost as big as on the
outside. Let those little bitches call her what they want. Let them be
the ones regretting the past. Let them wish they had taken advantage of
their youth and beauty. Her philosophy: fuck the guys you want, fuck the
guys you can. Don’t deny yourself of life’s pleasures because one
day, when you’re old and gray, you won’t have that choice.
Yeah, she shared this philosophy with her closest friends. They shook
their heads and warned her she would get herself into trouble one day.
But what did they know? She was the one standing in the very spot that
all the girls had hoped to be. Standing naked before the best looking
guy that had ever walked through those sorority house doors and getting
ready to experience the most incredible night that she would ever have.
Maybe she was a little too giving, but all she wanted to do was have fun
before she grew old and wrinkled. What was wrong with that?
He took her hand, in trouble indeed, he thought, and led her to the
stone table. She should’ve listened to her friends. She should’ve
remembered what her mother had told her about strangers.
In a few moments, she would be remembering what they had said and
wishing she had made different decisions, but for now, she was excited
to be with him.
She willingly climbed atop the altar. The cold, cold stone against her
bare back and buttocks. She wriggled—just a little—as her warm body
began to accept the stone’s harsh touch. Not so much as a whimper
escaped this young lady eager to fulfill his sexual fantasy.
She wasn’t about to let anything ruin this night… not even a
freezing cold, stone table in the middle of a dark, shadowy basement.
She took a deep breath. Butterflies filled her stomach. She was a little
nervous. Why? She didn’t know. She hadn’t felt that way in a long
time… not since the first time she had had sex.
He gently pulled her arms above her head to the table’s corners and
tied them to the altar. “Are you afraid?” he asked, knowing she
“No,” she replied. Her heart thumped inside her chest. She had never
done anything like this before. All the other guys she had been with
just wanted to get off. They didn’t care to play… to give her a
little something. They weren’t exciting like this gorgeous guy that
she was so lucky to meet.
She had turned to her friends at the party as they watched him standing
alone and announced her decision to approach him. ‘No one has a chance
around you,’ Katy had said, only half joking. ‘All’s fair in love
and war,’ Amanda had spat back at her then taken a deep breath and
turned around to face him. Their eyes locked. She caught her breath. He
had chosen her. He had chosen her out of all the girls there. It
wasn’t a big surprise, really. She had known he would choose her. She
just hadn’t expected it to happen before she introduced herself. She
watched him watch her as she made her way through the crowd, briefly
exchanging conversation with one guy and then another, both trying to
intercept her as she squeezed past them and ventured on to her
destination. ‘Hello.’ She planted herself in front of him, blocking
out the rest of the room. ‘I’m Amanda.’ ‘Hello, Mandy.’ He
smiled back. The pet name rolled off his tongue as if he had said it a
thousand times. ‘I’m David.’
Wow! He had caught her off guard calling her Mandy. And she was sure it
showed on her face. But she liked that—a guy so comfortable around
her, and so sure of himself, that he would call her by a name other than
the one she offered. How many guys would do that? None—that she had
met. A flush had played across her face. God, how long had it been since
a guy had made her blush? Too long, if you asked her.
David, she silently said his name as she watched him move around the
stone table. She liked that name. She liked it a lot.
A devious smile spread across his face. If only she wasn’t such a
slut. He moved to her ankles and tied them to the bottom corners of the
altar. Fucking any dick that crossed her path had made her such an easy
prey. “Are the ropes too tight?” he asked, not really caring. The
tighter the ropes, the better.
“No,” she replied once again. David. Where had he come from? She
couldn’t remember him saying. As a matter of fact, now that she
thought about it, he had avoided her questions… the ones about him
He turned from the altar and lit candle… after candle… after candle.
The flames danced all about them.
The ropes did seem a little tight. Why hadn’t he told her about
himself? The only thing she knew about him was his name—and, of
course, that he liked to please his partner. They had talked about what
they each liked sexually. That was one thing he made sure to tell. He
had even told her in great detail his fantasy with the altar. How he
wanted to tie his partner to the table and please her.
Were the ropes getting tighter? She’d swear they were. Had he slip
knotted them around her wrists and ankles? Maybe he was into pain with
his sex. She guessed, as long as it wasn’t too intense, she’d try
it. Why not? She was willing to try just about anything once.
David picked up the red, hooded robe neatly folded on a nearby table and
pushed his arms into its silk sleeves. He pulled the hood upon his head
and slowly took his dagger in hand—he wanted to savor every moment. He
stepped up to the altar and looked down into Amanda’s vibrant, green
She smiled. “Ooh, what’s that you’re wearing?” Her voice was
just above a whisper.
Silent. No smile. Empty eyes. He stared at her.
Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
He remained silent.
“Is something wrong?” She squirmed a little in the ropes. The hairs
stood up on the back of her neck. She knew what he was wearing. She had
seen plenty of those scary movies—Satan… sacrifices… daggers…
death. Was he playing? Or was she in trouble? “David?”
He raised the dagger high above her head. Its silver blade shimmered in
“No!” she screamed, and started struggling against the strong,
merciless ropes, pushing and pulling. “Oh, God! No!” She began to
cry. What the fuck was he doing? This couldn’t be happening to her.
Not to her. She continued to struggle with the ropes. She couldn’t
die… not like this. She was too young… too beautiful. Oh, God, she
wasn’t ready… she wasn’t ready to die. She cried. There were too
many things she wanted to do… too many things she needed to do.
He slowly lowered the dagger… inch-by-inch… eyes trained on hers. He
was pleased. More so than he thought he would be. He had chosen the
Amanda squirmed and screamed, “No, David, please!” Warm blood
dampened her raw wrists and ankles as the ropes gnawed her skin.
He inhaled. Exhaled. His erection pulsed within his jeans as she fought
the braided ropes. He breathed deep, watching her fight for life. He
breathed deep… slow and deep… concentrating. He must stay in
control… take his time. Things had to be done before the end could
The tip of the blade gently kissed her forehead just between her eyes.
Blood trickled down the bridge of her nose and across her cheek until it
dripped onto the altar.
She screamed again then stilled herself as the razor-sharp tip pressed
into her skin. “Please…” tears rolled down her temples,
“…please, don’t do this, David.” Afraid to move, but more afraid
not to, she gently wiggled her wrists in the ropes hoping her wet blood
would help slip them free.
“Shhh.” He pressed his palm against the sharpened edge of the
dagger, gritted his teeth, and ran his hand up the blade. His bright red
blood spilled down the metal… down onto her forehead.
She became silent. Staring up into his icy, blue eyes, she calmed. His
energy embraced her… cradled her… she was no longer afraid. As his
warm blood continued to fall, her breaths slowed… her muscles
relaxed… she stopped fighting her restraints. She could stay there…
stay there with him forever.
He eased the dagger from her head and clutched it with both hands. He
gazed down at her… his child… and smiled. She—like the many girls
before her—was his creation now. Basking in his life force—soaking
up a part of him, she belonged to him.
Excerpted from "Sara" by Sandra Puckett. Copyright © 2008 by Sandra Puckett. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.