by Renee Rose
Honestly, I was down from the beginning, and he knew it. I was just fooling myself when I told him I wasn’t having sex with him.
Maybe it was inevitable. From the moment I showed up in his office with my high heels and low-cut blouse, the die was cast. I was offering myself up to the devil. Take me to hell with you. Make me your queen.
Gio slides one hand around my throat and uses it to lift me up, bow my back like an exotic musical instrument, while he continues to fuck me hard.
He doesn’t want an apology. What does he want?
What would make this better?
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Own me.” My voice sounds teary. Am I crying? “Own me, then, Gio.”
I don’t even know what I mean by it—am I really consenting to his use of my body? Whatever it means, it was the right thing to say.
Gio bucks harder. His breathing becomes rough and then he comes with a roar that echoes off the restaurant walls.
To my surprise, I come, too. Quick squeezes of my pussy around his cock relieve the need that was burning me up. I’m not an expert when it comes to sex. I had one long-term partner—a boyfriend I lived with for ten months when I was in culinary school. We had sex and I thought it was good, but nothing is like this orgasm.
The squeezing keeps going, pulsing. Every time he eases back and pushes in again, aftershocks bring on another spasm.
I get lost in the sensation of being filled by him.
Satisfied by him.
Used by him.
He pulls out. “Don’t fucking move, little girl,” he growls.
I don’t. I guess I’m eager to please now. Now that I found out this man bought Michelangelo's just to fire Arnie. And to make me happy.
If I can believe him.
Which I think I can.
There’s no denying how offended he is right now.
Of course, that could be from the knee to the balls.
I can’t believe I did that.
The fact that I did tells me I actually know he’s not what I’ve painted him to be.
Would I have kneed Don Tacone in the balls?
Not ever. Not in a million years. The man is murder and danger and power wrapped up into one. Was. He’s in jail now.
I wouldn’t even dare such a thing with Junior Tacone. Or any of the other brothers. No. I did it because I actually know Gio’s safe.
He returns and unwinds the belt from my wrists and tosses my purse beside my head. “If you need to let someone know you won’t be home, do it now.”
My breath leaves my chest with a whoosh. He really is making a claim on me.
The result is more excitement than anything. This tough, angry side of Gio curls my toes. Melts my panties.
There’s something about a take-charge guy, especially when it comes to sex, that turns me to mush. And having it in Gio’s handsome, normally charming package makes it all the more enticing.
My fingers shake as I pull my phone out and text Aunt Lori that I’m going home with a co-worker.
“Done.” I say, daring to meet his eye for the first time since he had me pinned against the wall. I’m still naked from the waist down, but that’s nothing compared to how vulnerable it feels just to look at him.
“I’m s—”
He covers my mouth with his hand. “Save it, angel. The time for sorry is past. We’ve moved on to ownership, and I’m rather enjoying it.” He stoops to pick up my panties and hands them to me, then shakes out my pants.
“I need a shower,” I blurt, suddenly embarrassed of my state. If he’s taking me home for more… whatever, I definitely need to get cleaned up. I just worked eight hours in a kitchen—I must smell like food and sweat. And my hair is all flat from my chef’s hat.
“That can be arranged.” He’s still acting gruff with me.
I slip on the pants and pick up my purse. Funny how when he turns tough, I go docile. My, how the power dynamic has shifted. He let me throw my weight around before. Call a few shots.
Tell him no.
Now he’s boss, and I’m the bad girl.
Although deep down I still believe I could tell him no. He gave me a choice when he had me pinned up against that wall.
Even mad, he was careful with me.
I wait while he locks up and we head out. I’m holding my jacket instead of wearing it, and I shiver against the chill. Gio immediately takes it from my arms and holds it out, helping me shrug it on.
He may have claimed ownership of me, but he’s still a gentleman. I’m soothed by the simple act.
Whatever Gio has in store for me, I’ll be safe. I’m sure of that.
Chapter 6
Gio
I stretch out on my back on my bed in my boxer briefs and listen to the sound of the shower running in the master bath.
I’m an asshole. Maybe I’ve always been an asshole pretending to be a decent man.
Maybe I just never thought about it much before.
I’m still pissed over how Marissa sees me, which is stupid. Who’s to say I’m not that man? I’m a Tacone.
I can take what I fucking want.
I don’t have to ask permission first.
Marissa Milano is gonna learn that tonight.
The thing that’s killing me is that it would still be so easy for me to let her off the hook. Accept her apology and send her home with cab fare. But she wants this.
Own me, then, Gio. I’ll never fucking forget the throaty sound of that cry. Or the way it felt to fully claim her.
I’d never tell anyone, but she’s the first woman I’ve had sex with since I got shot. First I was afraid my dick wouldn’t cooperate—I still had so much pain and didn’t feel like myself.
Then I just lost interest in women as I lost interest in life. But Marissa sure as hell showed me everything’s working fine.
A-okay down there.
In fact, ready for round two.
I pull my cock out of my briefs and give it a hard yank.
The shower turns off. My cock surges with anticipation.
And then my fucking conscience pricks again. Maybe it’s because she’s so much younger than I am. Or because of the nightmares and my irrational need to protect her from the danger that haunts her in them.
Or fuck, because I could die tomorrow and don’t want to feel I ever took a girl against her will.
But then Marissa opens the door and stands there, completely, gloriously naked. And she takes one look at me with my dick in my hand and comes straight to me.
Fuck you, conscience. You worry-for-nothing-pig-whore.
Marissa crawls over me, straddling my thighs and reaching for my cock.
I’m never the passive one in bed, but I let her drive. It’s fucking hot to see that she wants to give me this. My cock lengthens and thickens in her palm and she doesn’t tease. She takes me deep on the first bob.
I jack my hips up, shoving into the back of her throat without meaning to.
She chokes but doesn’t pop off. She sucks hard, her tongue swirling on the underside of my stiff member.
“Cazzo, angel.” My hand tangles in her wet hair.
She’s fucking beautiful. Perfect because she’s Marissa. Small tits. Little roundness to her belly, long slender legs.
I use my hand in her hair to push her forward and back over my cock, careful not to choke her again. She hums.
The girl’s giving me a fucking hummer.
I adjust my grip, pulling all her hair back from her face and twisting it around my fist. “Aw, you are a sorry girl, aren’t you, angel?”
“Mmm.” She keeps up the humming. It’s so fucking hot and sweet. I love it. I want it to go on forever, but my balls are already drawing up tight.
I pull her off. “As much as I’d love to see you swallow, angel, I have other plans for you tonight.”
She sits up, a little sex nymph, her pert breasts pointing at me, her expression so fucking willing.
Own me, then, Gio.
She
asked for this.
“Over my lap, angel. I’m going to spank that ass again before I fuck it.” I sit up with my back against the headboard and tug her over my thighs. “I fucking loved spanking this ass earlier,” I say, stroking my palm over her soft skin. “Did you like it, doll?”
She doesn’t answer.
I deliver a swat. “Hmm?”
She turns her face toward me. “It seems like a dangerous thing to admit.”
I chuckle because I knew I was right—she loved it. “Aw, you can trust me, angel. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I love her little smile. She rolls her hips, which I take as an invitation to spank her some more, and I do, turning her skin a lovely shade of pink. Then I slide my fingers between her legs, rubbing her sweet nectar up to her clit. “Might have to spank you every time, angel. Do you feel how wet you are?”
She shivers as I slide two fingers inside her and pump them a few times. “Spread your thighs, baby.”
She opens wider for me. I stroke over her slick flesh, getting her clit stiff and hot. I use some of her lubricant and bring my index finger to her anus, massaging it open.
She whimpers and tries to tighten, but my finger’s already in. I drop a little saliva on top of it to help lube the way. “Have you taken it in the ass before, little girl?”
“N-no.” She sounds a little scared now, but I don’t mind. I know what I’m doing and she’s gonna like it.
“Well, you’re gonna take it in the ass for me, baby. Any time I want you to. Capiche?”
Cristo, she’s rubbing her nipples over the bedspread. “You’re mean,” she pants as I ass-fuck her with my finger.
“I own you, baby, remember? You said it first.”
“I know. Gio, I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, baby.” It’s easy to accept an apology when she surrendered so fully. I ease my finger out of her anus and slap her ass again. “Lie on your belly. Pillow under your hips to lift your ass for me.” One more smack.
She complies as I get up and retrieve a bottle of lube from my nightstand drawer. I’m generous with it—squirting some over her anus as well as all over my cock.
I straddle her thighs and push her cheeks wide. “Deep breath in,” I command.
She inhales. I push the head of my cock against her back pucker and apply a little pressure. “Exhale.”
As she does, I gently push in. It’s a stretch to get past the head, but I go slowly.
She grunts, tiny little moans.
“Big exhale again, angel.” I ease the rest of the way in and wait for her to get used to me. “If you want to slide your fingers between your legs and play with that sweet pussy of yours, you can.”
She immediately moves, like it’s a desperate need.
I brace my weight on my hands and rock into her ass. I like the power of having her under me, submitting to this erotic punishment. I like the tight squeeze, the taboo of the thing.
I fucking love the sound of her little gasps and mewls as I pick up speed. I love it even more when she starts moaning my name. “Gio… Gio.”
“That’s right, angel. Who owns you?”
“You do. Oh my God, you do. Holy hell, Gio.” I hear her fingers working frantically between her legs.
I fuck her harder, faster, careful not to be too rough or erratic with my strokes. My balls tighten, heat flares at the base of my spine. I pull out and pump my cock, coming all over her ass.
She cries out, her hips lifting from the pillow as she brings her other hand between her legs. As soon as I’m done coming, I shove three fingers and my thumb in her pussy from behind, making a cone to fuck her with until she screams and comes all over my fingers.
Marissa
Gio gets up and returns with a washcloth, which he uses to clean me. Then he brings me a glass of water. “You okay, angel?”
I nod and drink deeply before handing him the glass back. He’s in all his naked, manly glory. Broad, buff shoulders, hairy chest, thighs like tree trunks. His five o’clock shadow gives him a rugged look.
“Climb under the covers, I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
“‘Kay.” I’m feeling very much like a bad girl. A little ashamed. A little punished. A lot used. Definitely owned.
My anus pulses, raw and sore from the activity, but the rest of my body is replete with relaxation and the feel-good hormones that go with two orgasms in one night.
I crawl under the covers, surprised when Gio waits to pull them up and kiss my temple. The sweetness of it makes my heart pick up speed. I had been sleepy, but now my mind churns, turning over and examining everything that happened tonight.
He takes care of me.
I haven’t had that before. Not ever. My mom abandoned me with my grandparents when I was six and they were kind to me, of course, but they were already old and overworked. They needed my help. No one had time to baby me.
I think of all Gio’s done for me. There’s the money, which is sort of his line of work, so that doesn’t count. But driving me to the hospital to pay for the surgery. Waiting outside Michelangelo's to drive me home.
Buying Michelangelo's to fire my boss.
I still can’t believe that one.
Gio emerges from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. I turn over in the bed when he drops it and climbs in.
“Is it true? You really bought Michelangelo's to fire my boss?”
Gio leans up on his forearm. “I swear to Christ. You can call my brother, Nico and he’ll tell you. It was his idea.”
I blink at him, suddenly fascinated by everything about Gio Tacone—his brothers, his history, his motivations. “Which one is Nico?”
“He’s a younger brother. He lives in Vegas.”
“He runs your casino”
“Well, it’s his casino, but I’m a stakeholder, yeah.”
“So, what? You called him? About me?” I’m feeling bold, I guess, because I stretch my fingertips out to scrape them through his chest hair.
One corner of his mouth ticks up and he brushes my outstretched arm with his thumb. “Yeah. You didn’t want me to kill the guy. Nico’s proven himself to be good at—you know—more legal solutions to problems.”
Now I smile. I sort of love these glimpses into the real Gio. Not the slick charmer, but the straight-talker.
“And he told you to buy the restaurant?”
“Yeah. Or apply pressure to the owner, but I didn’t think you’d like that, either. I’m trying to be good, here, Marissa. But it keeps biting me in the ass with you.”
My heart’s pounding now.
He’s trying to be good… for me?
How is it possible I attracted the attention of such a powerful man? And moreover, that he’s worried about doing things right for me?
I scoot a little closer on the bed. “I’m sorry again for misconstruing your actions.”
He moves slowly—maybe slow enough I could stop him if I wanted—and reaches for my head. He cradles his large hand around the back of it and pulls my face up to his.
One kiss.
More like a taste. He slides his lips over mine and lets me go.
“You taste good.”
“So do you,” I whisper.
He tweaks one of my nipples. “So you gonna tell me which asshole I’m gonna fire?”
I let out a laugh with a breath. “Arnie. He’s so gross. And I’m not the only one he tries things with—he’s molested Lilah, too.”
“The other line cook?”
“Yeah, she’s awesome. You should give her a raise.”
Gio’s mouth twists into a smile. “Noted.” He brushes a strand of my hair out of my eyes. “You want the head chef position?”
“Me? Are you nuts? No!”
“Why not?”
“I’m not experienced enough. I mean, I’ve only been a line cook for a year now.”
Gio cocks his head at me. “Don’t you have a degree from some culinary institute?”
“Well, yeah, but—”<
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“But what? Don’t you want to plan menus and create your own thing, like you did here for me?”
I scrape my fingers through his chest hair again. “I-I’m not ready for that.”
“You’ll take Arnie’s position, then. As sous chef.”
“I can’t. Really, Gio. Don’t do that.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because if people find out we—” I stop, because I don’t know what we are. “They’ll say I fucked my way into the job. Especially if you fire Arnie and put me in it right away. No one will respect me. I want to work my way up. Earn it.”
Gio frowns. “We’re gonna table this conversation for a later date.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. I can live with that. “Okay. Thank you, Gio.” I snuggle in even closer, until we’re skin to skin, and press my face against his chest. He smells clean and delicious. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me in tight. Our legs tangle beneath the covers.
“There was another reason I bought Michelangelo's,” Gio says.
I go still. Shit. Was I right after all?
At first he doesn’t go on, and I’m about to prompt him when he says, “When I was a kid— way back, before I fully understood that my father was never gonna let me play piano in public, I had this idea.”
I lift my head from his chest. “What was it?”
He clears his throat. “I… well, dreamed about owning a piano bar. Some place I could be the host and schmooze with people and maybe wander over and play the piano whenever I felt like it.” His gaze is wary, like he thinks I’m about to make fun of him.
It’s a crazy moment. Gio Tacone—dangerous, powerful, beautiful man—is showing me this piece of vulnerability.
“Your father was a prick.”
“Watch it,” he growls, but it seems almost automatic. His gaze still holds oceans of vulnerability.
“He was.” I’m suddenly extremely pissed off for Gio. What kind of asshole father squashes his son’s dream of playing piano because he thinks it’s not masculine enough? What a jerk. “You’ll make the perfect restaurant/piano bar host.”
“I don’t know if a piano would really go at Michelangelo's. I guess fine dining is in silence? I mean, in terms of music?”