by Marlee Wray
A fingertip slides up to my asshole, and I freeze.
“Anyone fuck you here?”
“No,” I stammer. “Are—do you like that?”
“Yeah, I do. Some other night I’ll show you. Get on the bed,” he says, helping me up. “Take off your underwear, lie on your back, and spread your legs.”
I obey orders. On the bed, I’m naked and feel incredibly exposed. He still hasn’t undressed.
He hauls his sweater off and tosses it aside. Then he drops onto the bed and crawls between my legs, moving like a panther.
A moment later, my legs are over his shoulders and his tongue is licking the moisture from inside me. I writhe and moan. No one has ever done it this way. A few kisses and haphazard licks from other guys in the past left me unsatisfied. What he does is devour me.
His mouth is rough, which feels excruciating and amazing.
“More. Please, more,” I say in a husky, desperate voice.
He moves up my body, my legs still hooked over his broad shoulders. My pussy’s tipped upward, giving him perfect access. He sinks into me with a deep groan. The stretch in all the soft wet places makes me moan too.
“More,” I whisper.
He gives me plenty more in a steady rhythm that claims me, body and soul. I run my hands over his hard muscles, gripping his back. He slows long enough to kiss me. I love the taste of him, and the kiss ends with my gasp.
His fingers tangle in my hair and tug my head to the side. It gives him access to my neck, which he licks and then sucks. “You’re mine tonight.”
I cling to him.
He’s relentless then, his pelvis grinding against mine, his cock plunging into my wet depths.
“Mmm. I love your body.” He bends and sucks my nipple before biting it lightly with his teeth. A hand slides under to grip my ass. He squeezes it in his big palm. “These sweet cheeks are gonna sting and swell when I spank you; it’ll make you all hot and wet for my big cock.”
When I come, I shatter.
“That’s it. Milk my cum into you.” He pins me down and drives deep, pulsing liquid heat inside me.
Chapter Five
Connor
I wake with serious wood, and her soft flesh is burrowed into my sheets within easy reach. It’s perfect. I roll onto my side and find Zoe’s liquid dark eyes are open. I kiss her mouth, sucking on her tongue. She pushes her luscious tits into my chest, and I growl. She must like the animal in me because she presses even closer.
I grip her ass and then lay down a few slaps. Her breath catches, and she pulls back slightly, her eyes wide, her mouth slack.
“C?”
“Hmm?” I say, pushing a couple of fingers into her slick pussy. Her heat pulses around my fingers, and she arches her back. “Get on your hands and knees,” I say, withdrawing my hand.
“Should we—?”
“Yeah, we should,” I say, cutting her off. Whatever else we need to figure out will come later.
She assumes the position.
“Raise that gorgeous ass high,” I say, moving behind her.
She looks over her shoulder as she arches her back. I drag my fingers over her ass, leaving faint marks. She shudders. She likes the danger; that’s obvious by the way her knees ease apart.
“Put your forehead on the mattress, baby.” I open her with my thumbs, looking at the pretty pussy that I own now. She’s wet and sweet there, and if my dick weren’t already so hard, I’d have her for breakfast first.
I drive my cock deep, showing her how I’m going to take her.
Her chest sinks against the mattress, and I feel her falling under my spell.
“That’s it,” I say. “Sometimes you’ll be my goddess. Other times, my slave.”
* * *
Zoe
My pussy shouldn’t contract and get so wet when he talks to me like this, but it does. The rough side of him is emerging, and, God help me, I want more.
Strong fingers grip my hips and drag my pelvis up, bringing my knees almost off the bed. He thrusts hard, and the head of his thick cock bangs against my cervix in some primal form of knocking. I have something for you. You want it, his body says. Yes, mine replies.
I moan, waves of longing rolling through me.
His thumb rims my ring and pushes in. Why does something so dirty feel so erotic? I start to move forward, but his left hand tightens on my hip and prevents it. His thumb sinks deeper.
I exhale, then suck in another ragged breath. I can’t keep myself from responding. I push back against him.
“Mmm. Good girl,” he says. His hand snakes around to tease my clit, and my desperate need to come gets more intense. No guy has ever made me feel anything close to what I’m feeling now. My body aches with need. I love the feel of his strong body, taking what he wants.
“More,” I beg.
He pushes me over onto my side, so he’s entering me from an angle, palm grinding against my clit.
I throw my head back and wail as the orgasm rips through me, drenching him.
“Yeah, squeeze me hard,” he groans. “Fuck.” Then he comes too, his muscles bunching like he’s about to fight.
He looks down at me and a slow smile curves his lips. “Not as innocent as I thought.”
My eyes widen.
He lowers himself and then his mouth is against mine. He does this the way he does everything else, taking the kiss like he owns it.
I’m breathless, and I like it. But I know it can’t last.
* * *
Connor
I don’t want to have to chain her to the bed while I shower, so I bring her with me. We wash each other’s backs. And each other’s fronts.
When she’s standing on the rug wrapped in a thick gray towel, her curls falling around her face, she whispers, “This has been amazing, but you have to let me go, C. People will notice I’m not around. Word will get back to Frank. Please don’t make my life more dangerous than it already is.”
I towel off, not speaking at first. I’m not ready to let her go, and it’s not because I’m worried she’ll be hard to find if her story doesn’t check out. I straight up want to hold onto her longer.
“I know you’re never with one girl for long. So for me, this doesn’t make sense.” She steps forward and puts a hand on the side of my face. “I don’t think you want to see me get hurt.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“So please let me go. You know where to find me. If you find out I’ve lied—which you won’t because I didn’t—you can just come and get me.”
She might run. But so what if she does? I know she’s not the one who orchestrated the robbery.
I nod.
She slides her arms around my neck and hugs me. My arm’s around her waist before I think better of it. I don’t remember the last time I let a woman get this close outside of sex.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
It takes a serious act of willpower to release her, but I let her go. It feels off. I’m always the one who leaves, not the one who gets left. This is different, I tell myself. She’s not some random hook-up. Frank Palermo obviously considers this girl family. There’s no way I should put her in the middle of our fight. If she’s innocent, then she should be off limits from now on.
She moves into the bedroom. I stay with my feet planted on the marble tile, knowing that it’s better if I don’t watch her dress. One look at that girl’s ass, and I might put her over my knee and then fuck her the rest of the day.
“C?” she asks from the bedroom.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Can I borrow a shirt? My sweater’s dirty.”
“Yeah, go ahead.” Sure, borrow my clothes, I think. That implies that she’ll get it back to me sometime, that we’ll have an excuse to see each other at least once more.
“Thanks,” she says.
I move to the doorway. She opens a dresser drawer, then another. She holds up a black V-neck T shirt.
“This one okay?” she asks.
“Sure.” For some reason, I want to see her wear it, so I wait. She pulls it over her head and slides the towel down to her waist. A couple of minutes later she finds her panties under the bed. She slides them on and goes back into the bathroom to hang the towel on a hook.
“Your bathroom reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of luxury hotels. The shower was amazing with all those jets from different directions, and the tub looks awesome... do you ever use it?”
“No, but I would if you were in it.”
She smiles. “If only,” she says. Turning, she retrieves her tights. “I wish I’d washed my undies and leggings in the sink and hung them to dry. That’s a trick Rachel and I use when we travel. You can pack a lot less if you can hand wash things and let them air dry overnight. No jeans or sweaters obviously because they’d never air-dry in time, but other things will.”
“Rachel’s the Palermo princess, and she’s washing her underwear in a sink when traveling? I never see that on Instagram.”
Zoe laughs. “No, it was before. Back when she first moved in with Frank after he’d refused to acknowledge her for so long. She wouldn’t take money from him. It was a thing with her at first, so no Louis Vuitton luggage, no four-star hotels. We were so broke, but we had the best time! These days, she has plenty of money, but she’s not allowed to go anywhere without an entourage. It’s not fun for us to go on road trips anymore.”
“She’s got an entourage, but you don’t. Why don’t you take road trips without her?”
Zoe shrugs. “That wouldn’t be fun either.”
“She’s your best friend,” I say.
“Yes. We’re like sisters.”
“There probably isn’t much you wouldn’t do for her. If she asked?”
She is bent over her bag, but looks up sharply. “She wouldn’t ask me to do anything dangerous. And it would be very dangerous to get in the middle of a feud between you and Frank. Neither of us would do that.”
“Not get in the middle. Stay on his side. He’s her father. Blood. And you owe him, right? He paid for your school?”
She flushes guiltily and says, “Who told you that?”
“The man himself.”
“When did you talk to him?”
I wonder why she’s worried about that and about the guilty look on her face. Was she lying last night about not knowing anything about the robbery? And how about when she said she was afraid of Frank finding out she’d been with me? Was that real fear? I think about the way he talked about her. Not about her being Rachel’s friend, but about her owing him personally.
“No one could blame you for doing something if he or one of his guys asked you to. You’re close to the family, right?” I ask.
The heat turns her cheeks bronze. “Whatever was done to your operation, I had no part of it. I thought you believed me?” she asks, standing up and putting the purse over her shoulder.
“I believe you don’t know the details of what happened. Or that you’re a really good actress. After seeing you last night on stage, I know you’re talented,” I say, continuing to push. If she knows more than she’s said, I’m going to find out. And it suddenly doesn’t seem like such a good idea to let her go. What if she goes to Frank’s house? No access to her then.
Her expression darkens. “If you think I did something to betray you, why did you take me to bed last night?” she demands.
“I wanted you.”
Anger flashes in her eyes. Furious, she’s sexy as hell.
“That’s the difference between men and women,” she says. “If I’d thought you were going to keep interrogating me in the morning, I never would’ve slept with you.” She shakes her head. “It was a mistake anyway. A stupid one. I know better than to trust you guys. You’re paranoid, and when you’re angry, you destroy people, whether they deserve it or not. I almost thought you were different.”
“It’s not paranoia. Someone robbed me and shot one of my guys. I can’t let that go. And if you’re innocent, no one’s going to hurt you.”
“Oh, really? Because I am innocent and you threatened to let your goons take turns torturing me to get information.”
Goons? I almost smile. Anvil’s as big as a monster, but someone calling Trick a goon is a first.
“Who said anything about torture? If you’re gonna get hysterical and exaggerate things, you’d better sit and calm down.”
“Go to hell,” she says, stalking toward the door with those gazelle’s legs.
I wait because I like watching her hustle, that ass and those dancer’s limbs working. Then though, I do what I need to. I move fast and catch her before she reaches the stairs.
“Don’t!” she snaps.
I slide an arm around her waist and haul her against me, her back to my front. She’s not having it and struggles, trying to break loose. I tighten my grip.
“Calm down. You’re going nowhere until I let you. Don’t piss me off.”
She becomes still. “I’m sorry I told you to go to hell. Please let me go, Mr. McCann.”
I scowl. “Not likely, Ms. Arantes. Take yourself back to the bedroom.” I move so I’m between her and the stairs and give her a small push.
“What are you thinking?”
I study her. “I think you should go back in the bedroom.”
“Don’t do this,” she whispers. “You said I could go.”
Something in me tightens at her imploring tone. I kissed this girl. I’m a hard-ass, but not with beautiful girls who don’t want me to be.
“Yeah, I decided I made that decision too fast,” I say. “The fact is, the money was in your place and, outside of what happened in my bed, we don’t know each other yet. Go in the bedroom and watch television. I’ll see what’s what with the guys, and then, assuming everything checks out with what you told us, you can leave.”
She stares at me. “I gave you a lot of names. Some of them don’t live around here. It’ll take days for you to talk to everyone.”
“My people are efficient. It won’t take long.”
“It’ll take longer than an hour.”
“Where do you need to be in an hour?”
She shakes her head, her hair flying wildly. It makes me want to bury my hands in it.
“It’s none of your business where I need to be.”
I cock a brow and fold my arms across my chest.
“I have a presentation to finish for school. And it’s opening weekend. We have another show tonight.”
“I thought Sunday’s a matinee and that starts next weekend?”
“No, this weekend Miss Sylvia’s the choir director at church. So we’ve got a seven o’clock show tonight. We start Sunday matinees next week.”
“All right. Make a list of what you need from your apartment. Someone will go and get it.”
She stares at me for several long moments. “No.” Her eyes dart to the stairs. “I have to go. I can’t just stay here all day.”
“Unless you can get by me, you are staying all day.”
“What about the show?”
“When it’s time, I’ll take you to the theater.”
“Please. This isn’t necessary.”
“I say it is.”
“So I’m a prisoner?”
I nod.
“You’re as bad as Frank Palermo,” she says, looking stunned.
And I think, not in all ways, but in some, yeah, I am.
To her, I say, “Did you doubt it?”
“Yes, I obviously did,” she whispers.
Her gaze slides back to the bedroom door, like she’s regretting every moment she spent there. I’d be lying if I said that look didn’t cut me, but I let it pass. Even if I could afford to drop the search for the guys who hit us, I wouldn’t. The driver who was shot has a wife and a thirteen-month-old baby. I’m going after the guy who shot him unti
l I get him. Zoe is gorgeous and I’m into her, but her hurt feelings aren’t enough to change what has to happen. I have an obligation to my crue.
“Is there anything I can say or do to get you to change your mind?” she asks.
“No.”
“All right. Can I wait somewhere other than the bedroom? Anywhere but there.”
Another cut, this one deeper. How does a girl that I’ve only fucked a couple of times have such a sharp blade to use on me? It’s never happened before. I need to watch myself with this one. She’s acting like she was sleeping with the enemy. But I may have been too. She’s the best friend and as close as a sister to the Palermo princess. Zoe’s outrage could be an act. A tactic to put me off my game.
“Yeah, sure. Come down,” I say. “You can have some breakfast.”
Chapter Six
Zoe
I’m a fool. Let’s just leave it at that.
Connor has jeans on now over his black boxer briefs, but he’s shirtless. His six-pack and pecs make it hard to drag my gaze away, but I manage to.
“Help yourself,” he says, nodding at the fridge before looking back down at his phone.
My own phone’s battery is dead, and he’s not interested in loaning me a charger. I’m trapped and phone-less. Is anyone looking for me yet?
I glance at the clock on the stove. It’s eleven. When I don’t answer texts, most people will probably think I’m sleeping in at first. Eventually though, they will want to know where I am. Of course no one will think of looking for me in Connor McCann’s stronghold. And even if they did...
The inside of his fridge is like walking the aisles at Whole Foods. I grab organic yogurt and mix in some berries. I find a bag of raw nuts and add them, stirring.
He slides his phone into his pocket and pours coffee into a big mug. “What about some eggs?” he asks.
“Are you offering to make them? Or is that up to me, Sir?”
His dark gaze over the top of the coffee cup makes me regret my sarcasm. He’s not a man to be toyed with. Why do I keep pushing him?
“If I want you to serve me something, it won’t be eggs.”
I lick my lips. “Well, then?” I say, unable to keep the challenge out of my voice. I’m frustrated and a little afraid. I have no idea how this kidnapping scenario is going to play out. What if he decides he doesn’t want a witness? And when I’m nervous, I’m snarky. It’s a defense mechanism.