Golden Leaf Award Winner for best novella
Release Date: January 1, 2006
Contemporary Erotic Romance
China Doll Series#1
No Limits Surrender to the heat of the moment. Let your inhibitions melt away. Meet three of the sexiest men ever. Real men who know just how to please every woman they touch…
“Stakeout Cool” by Karin Tabke
Calm. Collected. That’s gorgeous detective Stevie Cavanaugh. Solo surveillance on a male escort with a taste for dangerous play? No big deal. Until special agent Jack Thornton, the sexiest one-night stand she ever had, shows up to watch the action too—and gets Stevie hotter than hot…
“Bodywork” by Bonnie Edwards
Lisa Delaney’s classic Cadillac coupe needs work and she knows exactly who to call: Tyce Branton. The man has a reputation for making temperamental engines purr like kittens. And when it comes to women, he has some very satisfied customers…
“Chinatown” by Sunny
NYPD officer Lily Huang is kidnapped by a ruthless gang and held hostage. One man stands between her and her captors—the FBI agent who shares her cell. And desperate pleasure is their only escape…
“I loved it, plain and simple. Smokin’ love scenes… and it’s DIFFERENT… “
—Shiloh Walker, author of The Hunters series
“Elegantly sensual with a magnificent hero, Chinatown is a novella to read and reread and read again.”
—Diane Whiteside, author of The Southern Devil
“Beautiful writing, wonderful characters, a terrific plot and the sex is HOT! It doesn’t get any better than this!”
— Kate Douglas, author of Wolf Tales
“Chinatown is a riveting blend of rich sensuality and profound emotion. I absolutely loved it!”
—Sarah McCarty, award-winning author of the Promises series
“A sexy read that satisfies.”
— Romantic Times
“Well written stimulating tales.”
— Harriet Klauser, The Best Reviews, 5 STARS
“Chinatown starts as a darkly edgy tale packing a lot of erotic punch…interesting storyline and explosive eroticism.”
— Romance Novel Reviews
“Intensely erotic, Chinatown is a steamy tale.”
— Romance Divas, 4-1/2 KISSES
“In Chinatown, Sunny takes us on a marvelous trip through a side of life many of us never would have known existed, otherwise…THE HARD STUFF is a great collection.”
— Romance Reader’s Connection
“Chinatown takes readers into the steamy side of human smuggling …as gut wrenchingly suspenseful as it’s hot. I can’t wait to see more from this author with one name, Sunny.”
— Holly Tibbs, Romance Reviews Today
“The sex scenes are hotter than a five-alarm fire and left me searching for ice water.
Sunny has a way with words that really draws the reader into her story.”
— Susan White, Coffee Time Romance
Scar Face and Pit Face dragged Lily and the naked Tony, if that was really his name, down to a cement-walled basement. A bare bulb illuminated a single cot and a tiny bathroom. A knife flashed. Lily’s clothes were sliced open. Then Scar Face ripped off her pants and underwear, the tearing sound loud in the silence. They turned to cut Tony’s ropes.
She could seize this second and jump them now, Lily thought. The least she could do was make them shoot her and she would die clean. But then they’d kill Tony. After all, there was no need for him once she was gone, and he’d risked his life coming for her. Or had he? Maybe he’d pushed back his sleeves because he had a habit of doing so…maybe he was part of the mob.
Lily jumped as the heavy door clanged shut with ringing finality and the footsteps faded away.
Tony just stood there, hot energy pumping off him in almost palpable waves. The only sound in that little room was his heavy breathing.
Lily held her ground, five feet away from him. She glanced at him in the dim light, frightened and embarrassed.
I’m butt naked, all alone with a butt naked brute who’s jazzed up on some experimental aphrodisiac!
The man was flushed red all over, gleaming with perspiration, his penis rising up like a sword. Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he was a freaking club, jutting straight up, ready for some serious plowing. And he was ripped. Wide shoulders and heavy arms tapered down to a slender waist, a tight behind, and thighs like tree trunks. At least 250 to her 100 pounds. Would he crush her, she wondered? Without a doubt.
He would have been any other woman’s erotic fantasy come true. Rich hot chocolate with whipped cream on top. Not just beautifully built but revved up and raring to go. Maybe a little too raring to go. But, unfortunately for Lily, he was a virgin’s worst nightmare. Lily cringed with fear.
Wes felt the yellow shit hit his bloodstream. His heart was racing and his skin was scorching. Hot sweat trickled down his slick skin. Nothing had gone as anticipated. She wasn’t supposed to have been at Billy’s office. They hadn’t even been sure if she was still alive. Her tracking signal had traveled up to the eastern tip of Long Island, near Montauk’s lighthouse, and then just disappeared. The taskforce had moved in on both the location in Flushing and the one in Long Island and had found nothing. All the illegal immigrants had been moved. They’d pulled him in on this op because of his previous dealings with Billy Lim under his tough guy persona that he’d spent almost a year carefully cultivating.
All he was supposed to do during the meet was to send out feelers—Hey, I got an order for some cherries. Have any you wanna sell? I have a buyer willing to pay big. That sort of stuff. Instead, Billy Lim had pulled her out like a rabbit from his magical hat.
And she’d looked nothing like her police photo. There, her hair had been neatly pulled back in a bun. Cool, intelligent almond eyes had stared out of that picture with a cop’s knowing cynicism. Jesus. For one second he would have sworn on the Holy Bible that the girl who had stumbled into that room, tousled tangled hair flying wildly, had been a genuine illegal immigrant straight from China. Everything had been reflected in her eyes—her terror, her ignorance, her incomprehension of the English language. And the way she’d spoken Fukinese… even to his uneducated ears, it had sounded like the real deal. No way could she be the steely-eyed cop he was looking for. No way could she be that good of an actor, could she?
Only the features, the eyes, the delicate nose, the small pointy chin—they were the same. So he’d checked, pushing back his sleeves, signaling her. And she’d signaled back, to his complete and utter amazement. His fatal mistake, he knew that now, under Billy’s suspicious gaze. Hell, Billy had already been suspicious to begin with, at the timing of it all. That little gesture of his, and hers in return—that had sealed their fate and had gotten poor Nick and Vinnie shot pointblank like some useless shitty animals. He laughed, an ugly laugh completely without humor, and the girl jumped. Fuck, Nick and Vinnie may have been the lucky ones.
His body was on fire. He burned with heat, as if caught in the merciless grip of a fever, only the part of him that burned the hottest was a part that usually shriveled up when he got sick. Not so now. His dick was long and thick and so engorged that he was afraid he actually might burst. God, he ached.
And the girl, Lily was her name, she was practically quivering with fear, eyeing that rigid part of him that had stiffened and lengthened against his will so that it stood straight up against him, past his belly button. He didn’t want to move. It would just scare her more, but, Jesus Christ, he couldn’t stand still. Everything was on overdrive— his pounding heart, his heaving lungs. His blood pressure felt as if it was going to shoot through the top of his head and his balls were so tight they felt as if they were turning blue. Blue balls to go with his purple dick. He felt like one giant bruise down there, so exquisitely sensitive that he knew it was going to be painful to touch. Fuck. He began to pace and sure enough, the girl edged back from him. Yup, he definitely frightened her. And he couldn’t look her in the eyes and reassure her. He couldn’t look at her without remembering all that creamy skin that he’d glimpsed, those small but beautifully shaped breasts, those gently flaring hips, and that teasing black tuft of hair between her legs that he’d seen as they’d cut her clothes open.
Yeah, that’s right. Don’t look at her. Just keep walking. Look everywhere else but at her. Look at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. It was all freaking cement, like a bomb shelter, only the bomb that was about to go off was locked inside the room.
He bent down, picked up the remains of Lily’s ruined pants, and gave a few violent rips, sparking that Chinaman’s nightmarish prediction again—He’s going to rip you apart. No, he promised himself, promised her silently, that’s not going to happen. He tied her modified shredded pants around his waist, covering up his too fucking sensitive self. He sucked in a breath as the cloth touched him. It was as if a bolt of fire flashed through him. Coarse curses and pants escaped his mouth, and he bent over in agony, his hands braced on his knees.
“Are you okay?” She spoke in English, sounding so American that it was a shock.
He looked up at her briefly. She clutched her torn shirt together in front of her. It covered her, just barely. She was a little thing, a whole foot shorter than him. Why, then, did her legs, the entire ivory length of them, seem so long? He tore his eyes away.
“Yeah,” he grunted, then threw himself against the door, slamming against it like a human battering ram, once, twice, three times. Bam! Bam! Bam! The door didn’t even shudder. And no lock to pick, just a goddamn iron bar that locked them in from the other side.
She didn’t say anything. She just did her own exam of their little prison. Carefully, she went over the floor, walls, bathroom, gazed up at the ceiling. She even moved the cot over in a fruitless but thorough search.
“Nothing,” she said. “No wires, no cameras.”
“No way out either.”
“Does anyone know where we are?” she asked softly.
He looked at her, met her eyes. “No. Sorry.”
She smiled, a bittersweet smile. “I’m sorry, too.”
He looked away and went back to business again. The door, the one obstacle that held them trapped here in this room, bore his weight, his silent fury as he battered himself against it again and again. The tenth time he struck it, she cried, “Stop, please…you’ll just hurt yourself.”
The soreness in his shoulders was the least of his hurts. Not a good thing to say. He leaned against the icy bitch of a door. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes were so expressive, a swirling sea of emotion. It was easy to read what she mistakenly thought he meant: I won’t hurt you when I take you.
“I mean, I won’t touch you.” Then more quietly, he said, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
She didn’t bother replying. Her silence screamed her skepticism.
Agony flared up like a burning conflagration, throbbing mercilessly between his legs, gripping him so fiercely that he had to bite back a moan and bend over once again and let it roll over him like a monstrous wave. Once it passed, he staggered over and swiped up the splash of white lying on the drab gray concrete floor—the tattered remains of her underwear. Clutching it, he made his way to the cot as he felt another wave coming. The flimsy cot groaned as he sank his weight down onto it.
“Turn around,” he said harshly.
She just stayed there, frozen.
“I won’t jump you. Promise.” Harsh panting. “Trust me. I couldn’t walk over to where you are…even if I wanted to. I just need to…relieve myself.” He groaned, sweat running down his face as the ache began to swell like a tidal wave.
She swung around, granting him the visual privacy he’d requested, but she could still hear him. She had to have heard him fumble his loincloth open. Had to have heard the cot squeak, again and again and again as he pumped himself with his fist, and yeah, he was so primed it hurt like the devil to touch himself. She had to have heard his harsh panting and soft groan as he spurted into the white fabric of her panties.
Then silence, stillness. His breath soughed out in a deep sigh and every single muscle he had relaxed.
He must have slept. But not long enough. Not damn near long enough.
He woke up with a gasp, with his body on fire, his dick swelled with that awful pain again. Lily was sitting down on the ground, huddled in the far corner. She looked away without him having to ask. Closing his eyes, hating it, he worked at bringing himself to release again. It wasn’t as easy this time, a bad portend of what lay ahead for him. The pain from pumping himself, so much so that he had to stop several times, made it harder to achieve climax. It was many long interminable minutes before he finally finished, tears mingling with the sweat dripping down his face. Tears of pain, tears of fury, tears of humiliation, tears of this cursed unwanted lust. He rolled over onto his side, his back to the room.
Ten fucking minutes and then he felt it building once more. He uttered a string of the foulest curses he knew and swung his legs over the cot. Staggering over to the bathroom that had no door, no privacy, he rinsed out the white cotton cloth and wiped himself all over—his face, neck, arms, shoulders, stomach, legs, his balls, and lastly, that part of him standing tautly upright, so tight that it slapped his belly when he released it, sending a ripping jolting pain though his groin. He breathed though the agony then drank from the faucet. Cool water soothed his parched throat.
“Drink more,” came Lily’s quiet voice. “Not just to rehydrate yourself but to help flush out the drug from your body. My mom’s a doctor.”
It made sense. Cupping the water in his hands, he gulped down more and then more, drinking until he could drink not another drop. Only then did he return to the cot and cover himself once more with the loincloth.
“Those other two men…were they undercover too?”
She meant Nick and Vinnie. “Nah, the poor bastards.” The poor unlucky stupid bastards. “They were real mob. The enemy, but…”
“I know.” And she sounded as if she really honest-to-God did know. “They’re humans, too,” she said softly.
“I was undercover for six months. You can’t help getting to know someone in that amount of time.” He expelled a rough breath, remembering. “Nick used to make those really dumb Pollock jokes, the same ones over and over again. Got old real fast. But he used to laugh and chuckle each time he told it. As if they were the funniest things he’d ever heard.”
He got up and began to pace, unable to sit still anymore as the urgency began to grip him mercilessly again.
“And Vinnie, he used to slurp his spaghetti. Refused to cut them. Tried to suck the long strands into his mouth all in one piece, the dumb fuck.” His breathing sped up, not from the pacing but from the chemicals racing through his system, revving him back up again. “He could bust a guy’s knee cap without blinking. But once he had us stop the car in this really shitty neighborhood…” He stopped speaking a moment to suck in a deep breath, which didn’t seem near enough what he needed to oxygenate himself. “This big guy was—” Pant. Pant. “—pounding on this kid. Maybe eleven, twelve years old. Right there in the street. Out in the open. And no one was doing squat. Vinnie got out. Told the guy to stop. When he didn’t, Vinnie kicked the shit out of him…warned him not to touch the kid again…”
And then he was sinking down onto the cot and loosening the cloth from around his waist and then groaning and then crying when he wrapped his big rough hand around his too sensitive dick, forcing himself to squeeze down tight and start pumping and pumping and still goddamn pumping until he couldn’t take the pain anymore and he had to stop or burst into sobs.
“You didn’t…What’s the matter?” she asked.
He shut his eyes, squeezed them tight. “I need to come but I…can’t. I’m finding it a total turn-off having to jerk off in front of you. And my body’s so fucking sensitive, it hurts to touch myself. Pain’s jamming the system and I can’t get the relief I need, it seems, without hurting myself to get it. Real neat drug Lim’s made himself. The bastard.” He cursed the smuggler weakly, unable to generate any heat even though a fire was engulfing him.
Something cool touched him and his eyes flew open to see Lily’s hand, so white, so contrasting against his flushed purple vein-rippled penis. She ran her small white fingers lightly down his shaft.
“Does this hurt?” she asked, not looking at him, her other hand keeping her shirt modestly closed, her actions a ridiculous dichotomy.
His jaw tightened, his teeth clenched. He could only dumbly shake his head. She moved her fingers lightly back up, the barest pressure and a groan escaped his lips. Her hand jerked away.
“Did I hurt you?”
He gave a shaky laugh. “No, it felt…good.” Massive understatement. It had felt fucking great. There had been that edge of pain, but—oh, the pleasure. Not just from the feel of her but also from the picture of her—her ebon black hair half-veiling her face, her moist red lips, her small silky hand touching him. “But you don’t have to…”
“I want to.”
And his dick wanted her to, too, so badly that a thick pearl of lubricant gathered and wept from the single-eyed opening, pleading its want more eloquently than he could.
Her hand moved slowly, so slowly, and touched him once again like a shy bird alighting on a strange branch of a strange tree. With gentle care, she wrapped her entire delicate hand around him near his tip. Her fingers didn’t meet all the way around. He swallowed down another groan, not wanting to startle her, and watched in agony as she reached up with her thumb and smeared the pearly essence around his fat tip. That was it, that one little gesture, and he started to pulse and spurt.