by Monica James
“I told you, I’m not afraid of you,” I state with conviction because Punky is the good guy—even if he doesn’t believe it.
I’m not making excuses for his behavior because he’s done some really shitty things, but so have I. We’ve both got an agenda, but it seems we’ll happily sacrifice that to protect the other. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why we connect this way, but I feel like I’ve known Punky my entire life.
I was sent here with an ulterior motive, one I will never divulge, but pretending to like him has never been the problem because I like him too much. That’s the problem.
I knew the consequences of telling him that he was going to be raided. But I had to tell him because I was the one who planted those drugs. But I had no other choice. This was just another way to get what they want. That’s why I was working at the party.
But when Punky confessed his past, about what they did to him, to his mother, I just couldn’t do that to him as I knew he would go down too. And now, that choice has fucked everything up beyond repair. But I wouldn’t take it back.
I need to find another way to get what I want. And using Punky isn’t one of them.
“Connor doesn’t let just anyone into the house. The work form ya filled in had all the information I needed.”
Shit.
Frantically scanning over everything I wrote on there, I realize my address is the only thing Punky knows.
“I answered yer question, it’s time ya answered mine.”
“I overheard one of the waiters—”
“Quit yer lyin’!” he exclaims, not buying into my bullshit. “I’ll not tell ya again.”
“It’s the truth!” I cry, twisting madly, desperate to break free.
“What, who’re ye protectin’?” he asks, putting two and two together.
I stop fighting and turn my cheek, ashamed of the looming tears. I have no right to cry. “I can’t tell you, Punky, because if I do…he’ll kill me.”
Silence.
The room is eclipsed in total darkness, and it’s just Punky and me versus the world.
He realizes I’m not being melodramatic. “Who will? For fuck’s sake!”
“Do your best,” I challenge, my breaths growing panicked. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
“I’m askin’ ya to tell me.”
“And I’m telling you that I can’t.”
And this is something I won’t budge on. The lives of the people I love most in this world rely on me. Failing isn’t an option. I don’t trust him…but better the devil you know.
“Amber thinks yer accent is off. That ya don’t sound like a Londoner.”
And that’s because I’m not.
I knew she’d be onto me. This is spiraling out of control. “I thought Amber was a nanny, not the FBI.”
“Get up.”
Before I can ask what’s going on, he launches off the bed and pulls back the curtain on the window to let in the moonlight. My eyes adjust to the change in lighting, and I see that he’s still in his suit but missing his tie and jacket.
I wonder what happened tonight. The fact he’s here means the police didn’t find anything. Everyone was escorted from the residence, much to the horror of all the gossipers. The Kellys reputation is notorious for another reason now.
They’re no longer untouchable as the chief constable isn’t playing by their rules. He’s in cahoots with another family.
I won’t cower. I didn’t get this far being a coward, so I toss aside the blanket and stand angrily, daring Punky to do his best. But his best tests my bravado.
“Those welts on ye, I reckon they were punishment for not givin’ the right answer. They show how hard it is to break ye. I respect that.”
I stand perfectly still, watching Punky closely.
“But, wee doll, I’m just as stubborn as you,” he warns, interlocking his hands behind his back. “I have an advantage over whoever that fucker was, and that’s ’cause I think ye’d like me to punish ye.”
A gasp leaves me because…he’s right.
Losing control with Punky is a taste of freedom which I’ve become addicted to. Being shackled against my will with invisible manacles has crushed my very soul. But being with Punky is the only time I feel free.
He is dangerous, vicious, and ruthless, but that just makes me want him all the more. I know he’d never really hurt me. He could, but he won’t, and that’s because he knows I can hurt him too.
We share an equal playing field, although I have an advantage—I know who’s hunting him. They’re hunting me, too.
“Cocky much?” I quip, pretending I’m not quivering at the thought.
His grin catches the moonlight, and I remember how utterly sinful he looked with his face slathered in war paint. He scares me…and I like it.
“Only one way to find out. Ya can take that off, or I will.”
He’s referring to my nightgown.
This is a test. He doesn’t know how to break me, so he’s trying to scare me instead. But I’m not easily scared.
Without hesitation, I slip the nightgown over my head, and it pools by my feet as I drop it, unapologetically. The darkness helps with my confidence, and I wonder if this is the reason he didn’t turn on the light.
We both thrive in the darkness because it’s here, where our demons can play.
His unhurried examination of me both excites and terrifies me in the same breath. Every part of me craves his touch. I know what his hands, his mouth, his tongue feel like, and my body wants more.
“Who’re ye?” he asks, his confusion, his frustration clear.
“I’m Babydoll,” I whisper, happy to be anyone other than me.
“I could force ya to tell me.”
“You can try,” I challenge, my naked skin prickling with goose bumps.
“Aye, I could,” he hums, running his thumb along my bottom lip.
I’m embarrassed at how breathless I am, while Punky’s breaths are even and in control.
I know Punky won’t hurt me like they have. His touch is welcomed, and no matter what he says, I know there’s a line he won’t cross. But that doesn’t mean he won’t coerce me to straddle that line until we’re both breathless in need.
“Go on then, Puck Kelly. Or are you all talk?”
A low growl echoes deep, and I grin, pleased with the response I elicited from him.
He grips me by the throat and arches my neck back. We’re pressed nose to nose when he whispers, “Get on yer knees.”
If I had any objection to his demands, I wouldn’t have a choice anyway as the hold he has on me is tight. But he doesn’t need to force me. I go willingly.
His hand is still around my throat, and he squeezes gently. I swallow deeply, eagerly awaiting what’s to come. I’m wet between my thighs. I can’t help it. This rough play with Punky turns me on. I know these hands have hurt, they’ve killed, but when they’ve touched me, it’s been with nothing but affection.
I confuse Punky, and that’s because he doesn’t know the truth. It’s getting harder and harder not to reveal why I’m here.
“What now?” I question, peering up at him from under my lashes.
He lets me go and calmly walks behind me. The darkness conceals the wounds on my back, but I’m certain Punky can still make them out. On a relaxed exhale, he kneels. I want to turn to see what he’s doing, but I don’t.
“Ye frustrate me, Baby,” he states into my ear, his warm breath gliding down my neck. “So it’s time I frustrate you.”
I gulp, fearful of what’s to come.
It merely takes one finger, one simple touch for me to whimper in need when he traces along the column of my neck sluggishly. He can no doubt feel the thrashing of my pulse, echoing the wanton disturbance within my chest.
He trails down my shoulder, then my arm. When he gets to the crease in my elbow, he changes direction and focuses on my stomach. With torturous circles, he caresses my navel, his large hand almost covering m
y belly whole.
He touches me with purpose, and that’s to drive me insane. I discreetly open my legs a little wider in a silent invitation, but Punky merely chuckles in response. My nipples are begging for some attention, as all it would take is for him to shift a little higher. But this isn’t about gratification—this is about teaching me a lesson.
“Y’know I will find out who ye are.” It’s not a question, but rather, a statement.
“I know.” My voice quivers, betraying my nerves.
“Tell me and make it easier on yerself.” He strokes inches above my pussy, always teasing, always in control.
“Nothing in my life has been easy thus far. And I don’t want it to be. I fight for what I want.”
“And what’s that?” he asks, leaving heated lashes in his wake as he continues stroking me leisurely.
“I just want to protect the people I love,” I reveal, surrendering because I want to. I’m sick of fighting him because this is a war I don’t want to win.
He hums deeply, before giving me what I want. He rubs two fingers along the seam of my pussy, before sliding them deep inside. Gasping, I sag forward, as the intrusion is a wicked kiss down low. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he anchors me, waiting for me to adjust. He then begins to move.
He fingers me slowly, almost too slow as he’s skating close to the edge, denying me the friction my body so desperately wants. When I try to place my hand over his, begging he go faster, he shrugs it away, his husky chuckles warming my ear.
I’m pinned as he’s holding me prisoner with both hands.
“Punky,” I moan, writhing because he’s driving me crazy.
“Aye, wee doll?” He wants me to beg. “Frustratin’, is it?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I don’t reply and only hope he’ll give in to what we both want as I can feel his hard-on pressed into my back. It pleases me that I can stir this response in him because Punky has mastered the perfect poker face. This, however, proves he’s just as turned on as I am.
“I want that too,” he shares, sinking his fingers in and out, in and out. “Even though my ma is dead, I’ll protect her memory by killin’ those who killed her.”
He just revealed that he has no qualms killing. His admission should scare me, but it doesn’t. It only has me falling harder for him.
The way he touches me, it’s like we’ve met before, like our bodies, our souls have known one another for an eternity. I’ve been with guys before, but with Punky, it’s different. I come alive, and after being numb for so long, I’ve become addicted to the taste.
He lays a single kiss just behind my ear and the simple action coupled with what he’s doing to my body has the scorching knot within my core beginning to unravel.
“I should leave ye be. Yer trouble, I know that. But why can I not?”
He feels it too.
This undeniable pull will surely get us into irreparable trouble, but neither of us seem to care. This feeling liberates us both. I never want it to end.
“We’re bad for one another, Punky. One of us will get hurt,” I state, moaning when he rubs over my clit. “And that person will be…you.”
He scoffs, amused by my claims. “Yer so confident, are ya? I don’t get hurt, Baby. I’m the one who causes pain.”
To emphasize his point, he begins to finger me relentlessly. I desperately want to come, but he won’t permit it. I like and hate his dominance all in the same breath.
“And when I find out who y’are…y’ll regret not tellin’ me when ya had the chance.”
My body is a live wire, demanding a release, and when Punky plays with my clit, I think he’s going to give in. But nothing is ever that simple with him.
Rocking my hips, I encourage him to go faster, harder, but just as I gasp, on the cusp of letting go, Punky removes his fingers.
“No!” I cry, slumping forward in desperate anger.
“Imagine that, ye thought we were done,” he mocks, his deep voice filled with humor.
“Fuck you,” I snap, frustrated in every sense of the word, which causes my accent to slip and reveal what I really am…American.
He said he was going to return the favor and frustrate me—mission accomplished. He broke me, just how he knew he could.
“Ach, Amber was right then.” I’m expecting him to push me away and call me out for being the liar that I am, but he doesn’t do that.
He grips my chin, roughly tilts my neck back, and kisses the living fuck out of me. The angle is painful, but I don’t care. All that matters is this.
Our lips can’t keep up with our frantic kisses, and my body is about to explode. I need him to punish me because being an American is just the start of who I am.
“Don’t talk about her when you’re with me this way,” I caution from around his mouth. The relief at being able to expose this small part of myself to him is incredible.
I knew my accent wasn’t perfect, but I thought my performing arts degree, which I was halfway through at a community college in Illinois, would have fooled the locals. But because Amber is American, she saw through the bullshit easily.
“Thon shade of green suits ye.”
He won. I’m officially frustrated and will do anything to appease this hunger within.
Spinning around so we’re pressed chest to chest, I frantically unfasten his buttons. But it’s taking too long. My fingers are trembling with impatience. So, without thought, I fist his shirt and split it down the middle. Buttons scatter all along the floor, and I don’t regret a thing.
He tosses his now ruined shirt to the side, latching onto my nipple as I moan, fumbling with getting his belt buckle undone. Once it’s unfastened, I unbutton his pants and yank down his zipper. The moment I slip my hand down his pants and feel him flesh to flesh, we both moan as the hunger between us just grows.
Punky isn’t wearing any underwear, and that just makes him all the more hotter. I grip his shaft and am overwhelmed by his size. I’ve been with two guys before, but they’re a distant memory because I’ve never felt this desire as I do with Punky.
I commence stroking him, whimpering because it’s sensory overload. I’m getting off by the way Punky suckles my breasts, cupping them so he’s able to indulge himself full, but the guttural growls erupting from his chest as I jerk him off is the biggest turn-on of all.
Knowing I’m the one provoking that response pleases me immensely. My “mission” was to seduce Punky so I’d be able to infiltrate the Kellys’ empire and bring them down—Trojan Horse style. But I don’t need to pretend that I want him; to stop wanting him is the problem.
“Don’t mistake this for weakness,” he growls from around my lips. “If yer a threat…I’ll kill you.”
“I know you will,” I pant, pumping his cock quickly. “But you’ll have to catch me first.”
A sated moan escapes him as he pumps his hips, desperate for more.
“So yer my enemy then?” he questions, still searching for answers to who I am.
“No, Punky.” I moan when he slaps my hand away and yanks me up from the floor.
Without apology, he tosses me onto the bed, where he comes after me. His weight pressed against me is the antidote I need. He doesn’t check if I’m ready as he aligns us in a way we both crave. He knows that I am.
And when he slips into me painfully slow, I pant. “You’re mine.”
He sinks into me, taking my breath away because my confession has done nothing to stop something which was bound to end this way. We’re on a collision course, and the explosion will leave no survivors.
When he’s sheathed all the way, he halts, allowing me to feel every hardened inch of him. I lock my arms around his nape and arch my back. This shouldn’t make sense, but Punky’s world has taught me that things don’t operate how they would in the “normal” world. One day feels like one hundred because you don’t know if it’ll be your last, and if that is true, if this betrayal will get me killed, then I intend to march into the afterlife wi
th no regrets.
“Y’ll be the death of me, Babydoll. And I do not care.”
He begins to move, gripping my chin and slamming his mouth over mine. I can barely breathe, but that’s okay. I would happily perish locked this way with a man who robbed me of air the moment we met.
He’s not gentle. He sinks into me deeply, his movements quick, and it’s everything I want. When I try to caress down his back, he seizes my arms and pins them above my head. With my wrists secured in one hand, he dominates every inch of me, and I surrender because I want to be lost and never found.
His cock fills me full, before he pulls out, only to rock back into me. His brutal strokes shift me up the bed, but I only want more. Wrapping a leg around his waist, I open myself up to him and deepen the angle—I feel him everywhere.
“Oh fuck!” I curse, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut.
Punky tightens the hold around my wrists. “Yer American,” he says in disbelief. “What else are ye hidin’ from me?”
I moan in response as his strokes grow more frantic, reflecting his anger. He knew I wasn’t telling him the entire truth, but to lie about where I’m from, he can guess this will only lead to a bigger deception.
“For a liar, ya feel fucking amazin’.”
I can’t speak. Punky owns me—mind, body, and soul.
The animalistic sounds spilling from him just fuel this fire inside me, and when he switches position, I’m seconds away from coming. He comes up on his knees while moving my legs so they rest on his broad shoulders. He does all this while still being rooted deep within me.
He places his arms on either side of me and drives into me intensely. I grasp the sheets, almost tearing them to shreds because this position allows him to dominate while I’m submissive. I know he’s done this with intent. As his movements quicken, I grip his muscled arms and pull myself toward him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
He leans over to dominate me further and change the angle to hit me even deeper. I scream in response. The moonlight allows me to see his victorious grin.
This position is brutal as he isn’t holding back. I want to come so badly, so I reach down and begin to play with my clit. The pressure combined with what he’s doing sends me over the edge. I come hard, crying out as my body thrashes uncontrollably.