by T Steele
“Oka—ah!” I scream.
I hear a dark chuckle, the sensation vibrating at my core.
John’s hands slide to the back of my thighs before gripping my ass firmly, palming the flesh there.
I feel his fingers spreading the lips of my sex wider, his mouth licking and sucking like I’m his favorite meal that he’s been starved of.
My hips start bucking, and I can feel an orgasm coming on already.
I lift my head from the door and open my eyes to stare at John. He’s already staring back at me. His eyes are dark and focused. It’s as if his only purpose in the world is to make me cum.
The sight of him kneeling before me is so erotic, and I feel my climax building and building before it erupts. My hips buck harder as the inner walls of my sex clench around his tongue. I don’t even have time to feel mortified that I’m literally riding his face. Don’t have to time to question whether I’m hurting him or not, too caught up in my euphoria.
“John!” I scream. My voice comes out breathy and husky.
John licks me slowly, helping me ride out my pleasure, and then I come back to reality. I slide down the door, not able to stand on my quivering legs any longer.
John’s hands rest on my thighs, gently rubbing with his fingertips, almost as light as a feather. His face is wet with the evidence of my arousal and what we just did.
My chest starts to slow from its heaving state, and we sit like that, him still on his knees, me sitting on the floor across from him. We stare at each other, and something passes between us. Attraction, yes, but there’s more—a connection, intense and strong.
My eyes observe his big body kneeling before me like he’s willing to sacrifice himself, like he’s offering himself to a god. The way he stares at me, the way his muscles bulge and quiver and his hands tremble the slightest bit whenever they touch me. As if he’s holding himself back.
“Why are you holding yourself back?” I ask.
He stiffens, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing to me?”
My brow furrows, my nerves making my brain feel fuzzy and unable to respond. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything to you.”
“I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”
The words that should be sweet are actually said angrily. As if he’s disgusted with himself.
My face crumbles, and I bring my legs together. My knees come up to my chest as I look everywhere but at him, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
An emotion like regret passes through his eyes, but he quickly replaces it with the sinister narrow-eyed look he reserves for most. He slowly stands from his kneeling position while his jaw works furiously, and his hand swipes down his face and then his fist slams onto his nearby dresser in anger.
It rattles and I flinch. My nose starts to tingle, and there’s a pressure behind my eyes. I feel like I’ll lose it at any moment. Grabbing my pants, I shrug them on as quickly as possible and bolt from the room.
My face is tight, trying to keep a firm hold on my emotions. I’d been running, but I slow to a power walk, and I realize I’m not far from my room. Once my door is in view, I sprint to it, opening the door then slamming it before I finally let the tears fall.
What am I doing?!
My entire life has been turned upside down, and now I’m letting a dangerous man I barely know have his wicked way with me.
His face before I left flashes through my mind again. His fury was practically a living thing, something that could almost be felt. Yet, I knew he wanted me if the massive bulge in his pants was any indication. Maybe he can’t help his body’s response to me, but hates everything else about me?
I haven’t done anything, though, have I?
I get up on shaky knees, my legs still reminding me of what had transpired just minutes ago.
Why did he even take me to his room? He almost killed Ryder over a simple joke, then dragged me out of there.
My thoughts continue to whirl as I strip out of my clothes, cursing myself, realizing I left my underwear in John’s room in my haste to go.
Emotionally drained, I can’t think of him right now. My life is fucked up enough. So, I put on my pajamas and get under the covers, my sobs never ceasing.
Chapter Six
The next day, John is standing in his usual spot at the door when I wake up. If I hadn’t seen him there with my eyes, I certainly would have felt him. John’s presence is like that. This . . . connection—or whatever it is between us—is almost palpable, causing me to always sense his presence, and a prickly awareness to spread over my skin.
I feel so awkward and ashamed after everything that happened. The things he did to me, the way he made me feel . . . no one has ever made me feel this way. No one has ever seen me completely bare and without inhibition like John has.
“I’m sorry for what happened yesterday,” John speaks softly, and I realize he even talks like an assassin. His voice is always deep, yet soft. Lethally soft. I hate that I am starting to find it more and more irresistible.
“Sorry for what happened? Or sorry for the way you treated me? You were the one who started everything. You were the one who dragged me out of the barn like you owned me or something.” The hurt in my voice is tangible, and I want so badly to seem strong. My pride demands that I pretend I don’t care, but I do and dammit if I have any control when it comes to John.
John grinds his teeth, and his eyes narrow sinisterly. “Quit tempting me.”
“What?!” I yell, causing John to flinch. I clear my throat, trying to reign in my temper. “Don’t you dare act like it’s my fault because I’m ‘tempting.’”
“Fuck, no, none of this is your fault. I meant quit speaking to me like that. Do you know how badly I want to ‘own’ you, Ruby?” He laughs harshly. “I want you so badly I ache for you. When you open that smart, yet innocent mouth, I want to do despicable things to you, claim you in every way. Make you scream my name until you lose your voice. Until tears stream down your face. I want my cock to fill you up and stretch you out and my cum all over your naked body.”
I stare at him slack-jawed, speechless.
“The things I would give to shove my cock into that perfect, gaping mouth of yours,” he says gruffly.
My mouth snaps shut, and John raises an eyebrow as if he’s won. As if he’s proven some point that I’m not yet aware of. But of course I’m unaware. My brain practically turned into putty when those crude and delicious words spilled from his mouth. I can already feel the dull ache between my thighs, and I feel pathetic because of how much I want him to do those things he spoke of. I’m like a junkie, and John is my drug of choice.
I swallow thickly and lick my lips. John’s eyes darken at the movement, and I feel my cheeks heat. The lust in his eyes gives me the courage to speak. “What’s stopping you, then?” I whisper huskily.
John stiffens. “Dangerous words, Ruby,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Why is it dangerous? Aren’t you my protector?”
“Yes, and as your protector, I have to protect you from myself, too.”
“You know how cliche that sounds,” I quip.
“Yes, but in this case, it’s the truth.” He stalks closer to me. Slowly. Like a panther ready to pounce. “You know how many men and women I’ve killed, Ruby?”
I gulp but lift my chin nonetheless. “I’m guessing a lot. You’re an assassin. I know what you are, John.”
He smiles, and it’s placating. I want to smack it off his face.
“Everyone in this house fears me.”
“They should. I’ve seen you fight.”
“That’s what I don’t like. You say you’ve seen me fight, but you haven’t seen anything. That first night, those were two clean kills, done in the blink of an eye. You’ve never seen me play with my victims. You’ve never seen the joy in my eyes or felt the adrenaline running through my veins when I get to torture words out of a rival family.”
He’s closer now, and my heart’s beating so loud
I fear he’ll hear it. He bends down, putting his hands around my ribs, his hands so big that his forefingers and thumbs almost meet. “I could break you,” he whispers in my ear. “These hands have snapped necks with ease.”
“Yeah, but they’ve always touched me with gentleness and pleasure.” He straightens at my words, his posture stiff. I don’t need to lower my eyes to know that he’s hard inside of his black pants, and I’m so curious. I want to see him the way he’s seen me. I want to touch him and know what he likes and doesn’t like. I want him. “Why are you trying so hard to scare me?” I decide to ask.
John’s eyes go back to the hard stare that I’d grown used to before . . . well, before everything, and I feel my insides crumble. Again.
He’s emotionless. Resigned. He looks how he looked the first night we met. I know yesterday was terrible. After everything we’d shared so far, after hearing him admit the things he’d realized . . . it makes this feel like a slap to the face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “This is just the way I look.”
“No, it’s not,” I snap.
His eyes soften. “Look, Ruby, I’m not trying to be a dick, but this is just the way I am. I can give you pleasure whenever you want or need it, but it could never be anything more.” He holds his arms out wide before waving his hand up and down his body. “This is me, and this is how I’ll always be. I’m a monster, Ruby. I don’t want you to see that dark side of me.”
I feel that familiar pressure behind my eyes indicating the tears will be starting soon. I huff. “So, what are you then? My prostitute? Should I pay you for everything you’ve done to me?” My words are laced with venom.
“Ruby, Malcolm has been like a father to me. You know what he’d do to me if he found out I’m fucking his daughter.”
“We’ve never fucked.”
“Don’t remind me,” he says, his eyes boring into mine, and I get the feeling he’s holding himself back. “You have to know that a lowly soldier like me and the Boss’s daughter could never work, right?”
“You act like I’m begging you to be my boyfriend and buy me candy and flowers.”
“You’re not doing that. I just want to be clear. Malcolm trusts me, probably more than anyone in this house. If he ever found out . . .” he trails off, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m such a piece of shit.” He shakes his head roughly.
I sigh. “No, you’re not.”
His facial expression says otherwise, but there’s something else there, too. I can’t decipher it, but it’s almost like he’s lost. Sad. And the thought of John feeling that way is so contradicting, and yet I find myself wanting to comfort him.
“Why does my dad trust you so much?”
He shrugs, crossing his arms.
“Probably because you barely talk anyway. He’d never have to worry about you flat out telling someone his secrets.”
His lips quirk. “He’s said something similar to that before.”
“So, what are we going to do?” I ask because I have to. I hate not knowing, and I hate that John will probably never tell me how he truly feels.
“What the fuck do you mean ‘we’?” he asks, going back to his normal, lethal self.
I put my head in my hands, angry, exasperated, tired, and trying not to cry. I’m usually not a crier, but getting your life flipped upside down by the mafia will do that to you.
I decide to push my growing emotions to the side for now and start my day. No use arguing.
I feel John’s eyes on me as I stand and walk over to my dresser. I pick out a high waisted corduroy skirt with a form-fitting turtleneck, my respectable clothes from Ralph Lauren, as John likes to call them.
An idea pops into my head, and before I take a second to consider it, I’m pulling my shirt over my head. I hear John’s sharp intake of breath, and then I pull my pants down, bending over slowly. I take my time putting my clothes on, trying to prolong the inevitable, penetrating gaze of John. Once dressed, all my confidence and spite has drained out of me, and I’m afraid to turn around. My actions mortify me, and my heart beats nervously in my chest. I don’t even know what came over me. I just know that there’s not a lot I can do to hurt John the way he has hurt me, and it felt like a good idea at the time.
I run a hand through my hair and start to walk over to the vanity to style it, but a hand wraps around my arm and turns me around, shoving me against the wall. It’s not painful, but enough to leave me breathless at the unexpectedness of it.
John towers over me, his erection pressing into my stomach. “Is that what you wanted?” he asks roughly. “Are you trying to torture me?”
My chest heaves, and we’re standing so close my breasts brush against his ribs, his minty breath fanning across my face.
I scoff, trying to feign nonchalance, but it comes out more strangled than I’d like. “I thought you were in charge of the torture.”
He lets out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. His thumb glides over my lower lip, making me shiver. “Not when it comes to you.”
John shrugs away from me, straightening and someone bangs on the door.
“Ruby, are you coming down to breakfast, or did John kill you?” comes Liz’s voice.
John growls, opening the door. “Aren’t you fucking hilarious.”
Liz smiles from ear to ear. “Why, thank you, John. I don’t believe I’ve ever received a compliment from someone so great as yourself.”
I scurry past John and walk out of the room before more can be said.
We walk a short distance, and I feel Liz’s eyes on me. “Are you okay?” Liz asks more seriously, and I realize that she may have thought John really would hurt me.
“Yes,” I say, “Liz, why does everyone act like John’s a bear that shouldn’t be poked?”
“Because he is,” she says seriously.
“Why, though?”
She glances behind us, the piercings in her ear glinting in the light. I start, knowing John could have overheard everything we said. He usually went to his room to sleep once I left for breakfast. I’d gotten too used to that.
“He’s gone,” says Liz once we reach the elevator. “No one knows John’s full backstory except your dad, and he’s extremely protective of John. I just know that when John first came to the mansion—”
“Wait,” I interrupt her, “you mean, he just came here? What about his family?”
“John never had a family. He wasn’t born into the mob. As I said, he appeared one day when he was a kid, and your father never told anyone who he was or why he decided to adopt him, but he’s the Boss, so no one questioned him.”
“My dad adopted him?” I keep my voice surprisingly neutral.
Liz laughs, “Not literally, though it seemed that way. Mob bosses don’t just bring home children that weren’t born into the family. Don’t worry, though. He’s not your brother or anything.” She smirks at me, and I’m sure my face is red.
“Anyways, John became a made man and became your father’s assassin shortly after.”
“What’s a made man?”
Liz facepalms herself. “Ruby, seriously, you need mafia lessons or some shit. But to answer your question, a made man—or woman,” she adds, emphasizing, “is when a member of the mafia makes their first kill.”
I gasp, and she stares at me strangely. “I hate to burst your bubble, princess, but everyone in this house has killed at one point except for you and the twins.”
“You’ve killed someone?” I whisper.
“What? Like it’s hard?”
“Are you. . .are you quoting Legally Blonde?”
She throws her head back, laughing, and I furrow my brow in confusion.
“Hey,” she says, “killers like romcoms, too!”
Cue the nervous chuckle from me.
She pats my head as if I’m her daughter. “You’ll get used to this life eventually.”
The elevator finally lands on level one, and we make our way
to the kitchen for breakfast. The servants bustle around, making sure everyone’s food is fresh and tidying up when people are finished. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having servants.
I scarf my food down as quickly as possible, feeling the weight of my father’s stare the entire time.
I try not to look him in the eye. We’ve made awkward small talk since the incident at the mall, but nothing more, and I wonder if this is what he always expected from his daughter. Someone subservient and docile. The thought makes me push away from the table a little more forcefully than intended.
“Come on, Liz, let’s go braid each other’s hair.”
She raises her brows, probably questioning my sanity since her hair is already in braids, but she follows my lead anyway.
“So, what are we doing?” Liz asks once we’re out of hearing distance.
“Going to the garage.”
“Yeah, cause that went so well yesterday.”
“That won’t happen again today.”
“How do you know?”
The wind whooshes against my hands as I power walk to the garage. “Because, today, I’m not letting anyone distract me, and I’m fixing that damn car.”
Chapter Seven
My stomach grumbles as I wipe the sweat from my brow. The sun has just begun to set, but I’m finished.
I fixed the motherfucking car.
I smack my dirty, oiled hands together and put my tools away, cleaning up shop.
John is there.
Of course he is.
I pull the zipper to the jumpsuit I’d thrown on over my clothes down to reveal my skirt and turtleneck and pretend not to notice the heat in John’s gaze as he watches.
His jaw grinds back and forth, and finally, I turn to him. “You’re welcome,” I say.
“Why the fuck would you come here? Why would you fix my car?”
I don’t answer. Anger and nerves burn through me, making me lose my confidence.
I walk past him, back toward the house. I don’t hear his steps behind me, but I know he’s there.
I open the door, not bothering to close it and march to the elevator. John gets in with me, practically shaking with rage.