Tower by Measha Stone




When Azalea meets Peter Titon, she’s sure it was a one-time chance meeting. But when her over protective mother leaves for a work trip, and the men left behind to protect her fail- she’s taken by Peter in the dark of night with no explanation.
Peter isn’t one to explain his motives, and taking Azalea is no exception. He takes what he wants. When he sees Azalea at his newest club, Tower, her fire and grit draws him to her. Later when he finds her locked away in her rooms, he decides better to have her locked away with him.
But there’s more at stake here than just a few nights of fun with an attractive woman. While the two of them sway to the sensual waves, old grievances and long forgotten truths dance dangerously close. Azalea and Peter will have to decide where their loyalty and hearts truly lie- and what are they willing to risk to find the truth.



“I can’t let you take her.” Santos trod forward, more of a plea for understanding than a threat, but Daniel yanked his gun out and trained it on him.
“You don’t let us do anything, you asshole. She’s coming with us. Whatever your issues with that-—are yours, and I don’t give a flying fuck.”
Peter walked behind Daniel and gave Travis and Johnny a nod. They’d stand down unless Daniel needed help, which he wouldn’t.
“I’m not going with you,” Azalea said in a demanding voice. He cupped her elbow, but she yanked free and jumped back. “I’m not going.”
Peter strode closer to her, and when she retreated, he stepped again, walking her back against the wall. Leaning in closer, he inhaled her scent. The freshly washed, sweet scent of the innocent woman he was going to corrupt.
“Rule one, you don’t tell me what you will and won’t do.” He grabbed her chin, pressing his fingers into her face until she winced. “You are coming with me. And you won’t give me any fucking trouble, or what you saw at Tower the other night will be the tip of the iceberg for you when we get home.”
Her eyes widened at his promise.
“You don’t fucking understand,” Santos said, panic lacing his words. “You can’t fucking take her.”
“Too late.” Moving his hand from her face to her arm, Peter gripped her bicep and walked to the front door, dragging her along.
“No.” She pulled back, but he didn’t stop. He intensified his grip and yanked her along the way. “No! Peter! No!” she yelled and smacked at his hand.
Fear embedded her demands to be let go. Poor girl didn’t realize how much more that made him want her.
When he got to his car, he pulled his gun back out and pressed it against her back until she stopped fighting him. “Get in the car, Azalea. If you get back out, if you run, you will regret it. I will keep you safe, but you have to fucking listen to me. Any deviation from my directions, and you’ll find out the consequences.”
“Safe?” she hissed. “You’re kidnapping me!” she yelled into the chilled wind of the night.
Peter glanced around. No crowd had formed, but if she kept up her fit, the neighbors would come to investigate.
“Don’t make me gag you. Get in the fucking car.”
“No.” She shook her head and tugged again. “Fuck you.” She spat at him, missing his face but getting his shoulder.
“Not on your first night. But if you’re really good, maybe tomorrow.” He pulled away from her, pushing the barrel of his gun into her back. She stilled, but it wasn’t enough. She’d spat at him!
He yanked on her dress, a flimsy cotton thing, until her ass was exposed. Round, pert…fucking perfect.
“Peter.” She didn’t yell this time, probably not wanting to draw attention to them now that her ass was on display to the neighborhood.
He brought his left hand back and landed it on her ass three times in a row, same spot, same severity, eliciting the same muffled screech from her with each one. The darkness of the night, and the cotton panties she wore hid the blush of her ass from him, but he knew it was there. Knew the heat had been created. She stopped struggling.
“Get in, Azalea, or do you need more motivation?”
He hadn’t hurt her, not really. She was probably shocked that he’d done it. Hell, he was a little surprised, too. Middle of the street, in the middle of getting her out of that house while his men were still dealing with Santos, but it needed to be done.
She’d be feeling a hell of a lot more if she didn’t cooperate soon.
He yanked the door open. “You keep that dress up at your hips. I want your spanked ass on the seat,” he ordered.


Measha Stone is an international bestselling author of erotic romance. She’s had #1 top-selling books in BDSM, and suspense. She lives in the western suburbs of Chicago with her husband and children, who are just as creative and crazy as her. Her vanilla writing has been published in numerous literary magazines, but she’s found her passion in erotic romance. She loves reading it, writing it, and living it whenever possible.



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