“This place—” Otelia’s voice held an air of reverence. “It’s…it’s amazing.”
I took in her flushed cheeks and wide smile and knew her reaction was genuine.
“Come. Let me show you around.”
I’d instructed Vince, the on-duty guard, to turn up all the house lights before we arrived. The place was empty apart from the two of us. Scheduled fights didn’t normally start until well into the evening hours. We entered on the mezzanine floor of the fifteen-thousand-square-foot warehouse; it was private, designed especially for me. It had the vantage point I needed to watch all the action without having to interact with the crowd of onlookers. Otelia’s eyes sparkled as she took in the illegal establishment that’s been functioning right under her nose the whole time.
“I can’t believe this is where the fights take place,” she screeched. “I shop here all the time when I need a new piece of furniture. The prices are fairly reasonable. Guess I can see why.”
“Actually, it’s an illusion. We’re nowhere near that store,” I told her. “The owner isn’t involved in my business whatsoever and sticks to his side of the adjoining bays.”
“Oh… so it’s like the bat cave?” She smirked. “Guess that makes you Bruce Wayne.”
“Cute, but no. It makes me Darragh, and YOU Otelia.”
She smiled brightly until her attention was stolen by the twenty-foot standard-sized boxing ring in the center of the floor below us. She trotted down the steps like an excitable child on Christmas morning. She squealed with glee before climbing inside the ropes. I watched her shadow box from a few feet away before she raised her arms Rocky style in mock victory. She amused me greatly, and I found myself smiling at her antics, something she’d made me do a lot over the last twenty-four hours.
We continued the tour in silence. Our next stop was the exclusive VIP room for high rollers. Inside boasted several amenities including a soundproof enclosure, a private bar area with dark wood and plush leather seating, and the perfect view of the boxing ring from any angle. Otelia stood transfixed as she tried to take it all in. I could only imagine what she assumed took place during illegal fights—it certainly wasn’t this level of luxury. She took a seat in one of the chairs and lightly stroked the arms with her fingertips sporting a wicked grin. I’d give anything to know what was running through her mind at that moment.
Suddenly serious, she asked, “Are you nervous about tonight, I mean, with the fight and all?”
It was an honest question and one I didn’t want to think about. So much was riding on the outcome, all of which fell on my shoulders. After tonight, she’d return to her bullshit job slinging hash while waiting for her Prince Charming to rescue her. For me, she’d be a distant memory of when desperate times called for desperate measures and I was forced to improvise. After a month, she wouldn’t even remember my name or the forty-eight hours she was obliged to spend with me. There was no cause for sharing is caring with this woman.
“There’s more to see. Come, I’ll show you.” I held out a hand.
“Real smooth, Mac,” she spat. “Evade, avoid, or flat out ignore all you want. I’ve known men like you my whole life, and it doesn’t make you any less macho to admit when something frightens you. If you ask me, it just makes you look stupid.”
The fuck?
I snapped.
I fucking lost my shit.
Reaching down, I snatched her little ass out of that chair and held her by the hair an inch from my face. The blood pumped harder between my ears, creating an echoing effect as the rage inside me rose higher. She needed to know that I wasn’t the one to be fucked with when it came to my business or my intestinal fortitude. Being seen as weak could get me killed. Money talks, and bullshit runs a marathon, and THAT was the only thing that caused me concern. She had no idea the trials and tribulations I’d had to go through to get where I was today. At most, her only responsibility hinged on whether or not a customer returned their plate of runny eggs. She thought this was a game? Some type of motherfucking joke? Fuck that. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widened with trepidation and something else I couldn’t quite make out.
“Do. Not. Presume to know a damn thing about me, woman. I’m not one of your rest stop sissy boys you can control with a shake of your sexy little tits. Show me some motherfuckin’ respect, or I’ll be forced to teach you how.”
Otelia’s eyes caught fire.
Darkened with indignation.
She shot back behind gritted teeth, “Oh, I know you, Mac, better than you know yourself. An insecure little boy who doesn’t measure up so he uses intimidation to get his way. You’re pathetic,” she spat.
My body reacted.
No time to think.
I twisted her away and tossed her across the backrest of a chair on her stomach. Before she could move, I was on her. The seat wasn’t tall enough. My height in addition to my build had her nearly bent all the way over, her back to my front. Her hands in the cushion prevented her from toppling over headfirst onto the ground. I locked her down with a heavy arm around her back with her knees together so she wouldn’t try and kick me in the balls.
“I’d be really careful if I were you, kitty cat,” I growled in her ear. “As you said, I’ve already added kidnapping to my list of sins. What’s one more to add to the pot? Imagine the fun I would have trying to figure out which one to break next.”
“Go ahead, I fucking dare you, Mac. Take your best shot, asshole.”
If I thought I was angry before, now I was flat-out furious. My chest vibrated with pent-up rage at her common language and varying insults. Normally, I admired a woman with that sort of fire, especially in the bedroom, but we weren’t set to fuck, and she wasn’t about to disrespect me in my own place. The trick was to scare her enough so that she’d keep her silly mouth shut and pretend to be grateful she wasn’t locked away in my penthouse for the next thirteen hours. Her skirt had ridden up, giving me the perfect opportunity to deliver a harsh smack to her ass. My palm tingled from the blow. At the moment of impact, I heard a yelp, she stilled, then the world around us came to a screeching halt.
“Mmmm…ahhhh…” she mewled unabashedly.
“Otelia,” I ground out her name. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I was so caught up in being ticked off, I’d missed the subtle changes in her body language. Bent forward on the tips her toes, the hellish little vixen rotated her hips against my cock. A soft moan escaped her parted lips as she continued to find purchase against my now rock-hard dick.
“Don’t you know, or do you need me to spell it out for you, Darragh?”
The sound of my name in her raspy voice laced with arousal was my undoing. If she wanted to play, she’d picked the wrong man at the wrong time. With the shift in the tide, I found myself grinding my cock against her upturned ass, a final warning that shit was about to get real. For the second time in as many minutes, Otelia surprised me with a smirk over her shoulder, an invitation to bring it on. I released my strong hold around her spinal column and took a step back. The move allowed her to finally stand upright. I missed the warmth and feel of her sweet ass against my cock immediately, but the game was just beginning.
Otelia took her time standing to her full height before she turned to face me. Her overly expressive eyes roamed my body, betraying her shock at the bulge in my pants. If she thought I would try and hide it, she was fooling herself. I was damn proud of my cock and was often told how blessed I was in length as well as girth. Simply put, I was a hot-blooded man who liked to fuck and was too old for game playing, especially where the opposite sex was concerned. Women wanted me, and I took full advantage when the situation called for it. Today was no exception.
Otelia’s cheeks were pleasantly flushed, either from lust or the previous inverted position over the chair. Her breathing remained choppy. The unsteady ins and outs of her panting caused her breasts to rise and fall with each pass. In a word, she was magnificent. I took two more steps
backwards, giving her a wide birth of which to come to her senses. Knowing her, this was probably another one of those lame escape attempts like the lamp debacle. My vexation settled just below the surface on standby, Otelia’s forthcoming actions the deciding factor. My dick grew harder thinking of all the ways I planned to punish her if this was a trick. Three more steps backwards, and I’d created the space needed to scrutinize.
She would have to come to me.
Her play.
Her choice.
CHAPTER 12
Otelia
GREAT JOB, ODIE.
Seduce the dangerous mob boss, why don’t you? What the fuck was I thinking? Antagonizing him into an argument was one thing, getting turned on while he spanked my ass was another. Someone had better call in a shrink ‘cause this girl was certifiably insane.
I’d tried my damnedest to remain neutral with this man, this…menacing kidnapper. Yet once we’d left the confines of the penthouse, I felt a sense of freedom, a green light to act and be who I normally was with any guy I found attractive. They were a weakness for me; it’s something Maribel and I had in common, but for vastly different reasons. She chose to keep her loyalties with one asshole who didn’t deserve it. I, on the other hand, believed in quantity versus quality. Assholes still, but as long as they showed potential, I was up for it. I’d been searching for the one who’d undoubtedly complete me, but so far, I’d come up empty. Heartbroken but never discouraged, I knew he was out there somewhere, waiting for me. I was promised as much.
In the meantime, I never denied myself the comfort of any bedmate who got my motor running, and Mac certainly did that. I considered them all to be a test run, a snack before a big meal is served, like cheese and crackers. This man had had my stomach tied up in knots since the very beginning. The inevitable likeness that we’d end up here was written in the stars. Corny, but how else could I explain the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins? If I paused to examine all the pros and cons of what I was about to do, I’d be standing here for hours. As it was, I didn’t have hours. I had minutes. Minutes to decide if I wanted to continue with this lunacy or admit defeat like a big girl would. The whole thing was silly, really. I wasn’t Mac’s guest, and this wasn’t a tour of his respectable business after a first date. This was serious stuff, and I might have just stepped in a big pile of bitch, please on my way to You-played-yourself-ville.
We stared each other down from a few feet away, neither one of us moving a muscle in any direction. Even from this distance I could smell his spicy cologne mixed with noxious gangsta pheromones. My pussy was doing the north side boogaloo between my legs. A swift wind, and I’d come on the spot. Something had to be done about this.
“Tell me a story, Mac. Remember, you promised,” I breathlessly requested, unable to remove my eyes from his protruding cock outlining his pants.
“What I said, Otelia, was that I might tell you a story,” he sternly corrected. “Seems to me you had something else in mind a second ago. Let’s concentrate on that, shall we?”
“Yeah, about that,” I tried to backtrack. “How about we…”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Walk to me, kitty cat,” he ordered. Desire evident in his demand.
His deep smoky voice garnered no argument, not that I had one to give. He had me. Lock, stock, and motherfuckin’ barrel.
He had me.
I threw my shoulders back and wiped my sweaty palms along the front of my skirt. If Mac had any intention of returning it for a full refund, he was shit out of luck. The store wouldn’t want it back with all my various bodily fluids on it, but I guess he could afford the loss.
The first step forward was almost painful, yet I somehow managed to take it and still hold eye contact. A chill started at the tip of my toes and traveled upward between my thighs. The second step was a little easier, and unless my ears deceived me, I heard what sounded like a growl coming from the crime boss. Step three brought us nose to nose, breathing heavily in each other’s personal space. Our height difference was decidedly more pronounced now that I was in his sights. This had to have been the biggest turn-on in my life, and we hadn’t even touched.
“I’m here, Mac. Now what?” I licked my suddenly dry lips, my neck strained with having to look up into his hooded eyes.
“You called me Darragh before.” He ran his nose up the side of my face then along my neck before reaching my ear. “I’ll have you screaming that name before long, kitty cat.”
“Confident much?” I went for bravado with a side of extra sass.
“Damn right I am.” He smirked. “Touch what you created, Otelia.”
His raspy demand shook me out of my haze of horniness, enough so that I tried to take a step back to create some much-needed distance between us. Mac wasn’t having any of it. His hand shot out and latched on to my own before I could say, “Timeout.” The action was so smooth it stole my breath away, so sudden, I let out a squeak as a consequence. He tutted gently at my obvious escape attempt and hauled my ass right back into his personal space. I surrendered my free will and allowed him to use me. My hand became his cursor as it slid along the ridges of his hardened cock. It felt amazing.
“Darragh…” I moaned his name.
“Yes…there it is,” he cooed softly.” So lovely falling from your lips. I like that a lot.”
Fuuuuckkk meeee…
When had this stopped being the Odie show? I might’ve known this would happen dealing with a man who was used to being in control. He craved power more than he desired pussy. How did I know this? I didn’t lie to him when I said I’d known men like him my entire life. Far less dangerous, but they all had one thing in common: An air of authority you longed to follow even if it led you right off a steep cliff.
“Are you afraid, Otelia?” He moved my captured hand away from his hardness and pressed it against his chest. His heart beat wildly to match my own erratic pitter-patter.
“No,” I answered honestly.
“No, you’re not, are you? Such a brave little thing you pretend to be. I bet your pussy is dripping wet for me, isn’t it? Tell me, Otelia, is it the danger that gets you off, or the man?”
He leaned down and captured my lips in a searing kiss so hot, my toenail shot out through the top of my tennis shoes. It was hungry, passionate. Our tongues jockeyed for position, which was hella difficult with only one hand. Once it was clear I was into this, Mac released his hold and allowed me to explore his fit but much too covered body. The hard muscles of his shoulders danced beneath his tailored suit as I scratched and fought to wrench the offending fabric out of my way.
“Take this off,” I begged against his lips, tugging.
He whipped off his jacket and threw it behind him without breaking our connection. The French had it right when they invented tongue kissing—this shit was unimaginably hot. I was in heaven one minute, then floating through the air the next. Mac lifted me off the ground by the curve of my ass. My legs immediately locked around his waist while my hands plundered his thick dark hair. His hard cock pressed against my opening separated only by a sliver of silk from my thong.
Please don’t stop.
Please don’t stop.
“We’re just getting warmed up, kitty cat,” he told me.
I hadn’t realized I’d said those words out loud. So much for playing it cool. We continued to paw at each other like a pair of horny teens in the back seat of a Chevy on prom night until Mac slowed the pace. I almost screamed in frustration when he left my lips and focused his attention on the soft spot directly under my ear, peppering it with licks and sucks, enough to drive me crazy. My back bumped against a solid surface I recognized as the wooden bar top just as strong arms elevated me upon it. My legs shook with the effort it took not to reach down and insert a finger into my oversensitive pussy. The man was a fucking beast, selfish yet giving as he took what he needed from my willing flesh. There was a softness to his touch that just seemed wrong for a man of his profession, but I relishe
d it with open arms. There was no turning back now.
I wanted this.
I wanted him.
Mac tore himself away, which seemed to take a lot of effort on his part, but he had his reasons. “Shit. Fuck,” he grumbled under his breath. I couldn’t tell if it was a good fuck or a bad one. I worried for a moment that he wanted to stop our passionate exchange before putting me out of my misery. A war brewed behind his dark eyes, the quiet before the storm of sorts, all of which left me short-winded with the anticipation of his next move.
He didn’t make me wait long. Mac grabbed me by my hips and scooted me further towards the edge of the bar. My legs dangled haphazardly over the edge as he stood between them. In a flash, he bundled my skirt around my hips and ripped my thong to shreds. I sat there, open and bare to him, with no place to run or hide, my pussy on full display, dripping wet and ready.
“Hmm…so pink and swollen,” he awed. “A beautiful cunt for a beautiful woman.”
Before I could respond, he dove in headfirst without warning. My hips bucked uncontrollably at the intrusion. Apparently, the angle wasn’t to his liking. Mac hooked his arms around my thighs, scooted me further over the edge of the bar, and forced my legs over his shoulders. I had to lean back on my hands in order to find purchase or risk falling off. A shameless moan traveled from the pit of my stomach and sailed through the air as his wet tongue lapped at the delicate cream that accumulated from our make-out session. He took special care not to latch on to my clit until the very end of the first pass before sucking the swollen bud into his mouth.
“Darragh…that’s…ohmygod.” My brain couldn’t formulate a complete sentence.
“Like the way you say my name, kitty cat,” he groaned, wiping the wetness from his mouth on my inner thigh. The move should’ve repulsed me, but I found it sexy as hell. There I was, with a hot-as-fuck man between my legs doing all sorts of wonderful shit, and the only thing I could think of in that moment was Damn, who taught this guy how to give head? That motherfucker deserved a Nobel Prize in cunnilingus. Voting is closed.
48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel) Page 7