Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers, #1)

by Lili St. Germain

“What do you want from me?” he asks quietly.

  I think of how he ruined my life, how he ripped my father from me, how he took my virginity and shared it with his equally sick bastard offspring. I think of the past six years, of staying hidden, of fearing for my life, and I set my jaw squarely.

  I want to make you suffer.

  “I want you to make me a star,” I say sweetly. I want to bury you alive, you murdering fucking asshole.

  He grins. “Now that I can do.”

  I turn back to the desk and take a deep breath.

  “Well, come on, then,” I say, grinding myself against his hardness. “Before I change my mind.”

  I hear a zipper, and feel his fingers as they explore my pussy. “You don’t get to change your mind with me.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down on my lip, tasting blood as he spits on his hand, using it to lube his cock. I tense as I feel the tip of his shaft press against my opening.

  I moan in pain as he shoves his cock deep inside my ass and groans loudly.

  “Thought you liked it this way, sweetheart,” he says, his balls slapping against skin as he gains speed with his strokes. Each time he pulls out, he thrusts back in with such force, I want to cry.

  “I love it,” I whisper, hating every second of it.

  I force myself to keep up the act, thankful that he won’t see my tell-tale branding, and vow to get a tattoo to cover my stupid fucking scars first thing tomorrow morning.

  I gasp as I feel a finger press against my clit, and despite my hatred, my traitorous body responds, melting like butter in the midday sun. I suck in a breath as he continues to pleasure me, and I feel my inner resistance fraying and weakening with every swirl of his fingertip. My ass is a cataclysm of pleasure and pain, and the way he is thrumming his fingers against my clit is making me dangerously close to coming.

  I am defenceless against his skilled hands as he brings me to the crest of climax, a bitter war waging within me.

  Because it shouldn’t feel this good.

  I moan, bucking my hips against his as my body betrays me completely, greedy for that climax, eager for release.

  “Baby girl,” Dornan moans, as I explode into a million pieces underneath his deft fingers. That must turn him on, because just as my core clenches and I come, Dornan pulls out of me, stays completely still for a moment, and then groans that groan, pushing my face against the desk and spilling hot cum all over my lower back.

  I force myself to stay perfectly still, my legs shaking slightly because I’ve been on my tiptoes, my cheek pressed against the cool desk, because if I don’t, I’ll scream. I’ll scream and claw at his eyes and try to rip them out.

  And I can’t. I can’t just end it all, especially now that I’ve let him inside me again.

  He puffs, catching his breath, his hands still loose around my hips. I lean awkwardly over the desk, mindful that if I stand up straight I’ll make a mess on the floor. Dornan reaches for a box of tissues on the desk and wipes his sticky fluid from my skin.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, turning around to face him, my arm precariously covering my hip. He definitely looks more relaxed than when I first arrived, though he looks tired, too. Too many late nights. Too much blood on his hands. Too many innocent lives, ended at his will.

  He strokes my breasts, seemingly absent-minded. I want to push him away, to grab the silver letter-opener from his desk and jam it straight into the family crest on the back of his neck.

  “You can clean up in there,” he says, pointing to the bathroom that adjoins the office. “Take a shower if you want.”

  I’ll be taking a shower. The hottest fucking shower ever to burn your touch off my skin.

  “I’ll be quick,” I say, high-tailing it into the bathroom with my clothes still held over my torso, covering my scars. I close the door, fighting an inner battle as to whether I should lock the door or not. In the end I don’t, but I pull my shorts on immediately, not bothering with the shower. I immediately feel better once they’re zipped up and the marred flesh on my hipbone is covered. I grab a towel from the shelf and run it under the faucet until the water is warm, adding a squirt of soap to the material. I wash my back as best I can. I just need to be presentable enough to get back to my hotel before I give myself third-degree burns in the privacy of my own shower.

  I put my bra and t-shirt back on and look at myself in the large mirror that hangs over the sink.

  A complete stranger stares back at me, so different I wouldn’t recognize her as me. Juliette had shoulder-length blonde hair, pale skin, and green eyes. The girl I’m staring at has dark brown hair that skims her ass, thanks to extensions, bronzed skin, thanks to hours lying in a tanning bed, and dark blue eyes that still reflect the tiniest hint of hazel that the contact lenses can’t stifle.

  I miss being Juliette. But I feel invigorated by my new appearance at the same time. The anonymity it affords me is something I underestimated when Dr. Lee and I were going over my surgical rework plans. I’m on an adrenalin high; having just screwed Dornan, my ass is throbbing but my spirit is elated.

  I did it. I fucking did it. I fooled him.

  He has no idea who I am.

  Four

  When I exit the bathroom, Dornan is back behind his desk as if nothing ever happened.

  “So,” I say, as if I don’t already know. “Did I get the job?”

  He stabs the air with his pen, gesturing for me to sit down. I drag out the metal stool from under the desk – the desk we just fucked on – and sit my throbbing ass down.

  “You into drugs?” Dornan asks. “Drinking? What’s your thing?”

  I shrug. “I’m kind of boring, really.”

  Dornan smiles knowingly, and flashes his straight teeth. He and his sons might be rough and tattooed, but they all have amazingly straight, white teeth.

  “Well,” I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, “I have a lot of sex with a lot of different people. Could that be a problem?”

  His smile stretches so wide I think his face might break under the weight of it. “I don’t see that being a problem, no.”

  “I do have one other problem,” I say, looking at the floor. “I mean, I just got here from Texas, I don’t know anyone … I’m staying at a backpackers’ hostel a few blocks away, but I’m going to run out of cash soon.”

  He nods. “You need cash?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t take money unless I earn it. I just need … somewhere to stay, a few weeks at the most.”

  Say it, Dornan. Come on and fucking say it.

  “That’s not a problem,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ll stay at the clubhouse. Plenty of extra rooms. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure statement and agree not to speak with anyone about what goes on there, of course.”

  Hooked, line and sinker. Sucker.

  “What goes on there?” I say, my Bambi eyes as wide as I can stretch them.

  “Baby girl,” he replies, clearly high-fiving himself for his luck today. “Why don’t you just see for yourself?”

  He writes the address down on the back of a business card and hands it to me, letting his fingers brush against mine again. I see the glazed look in his eyes and a small burst of adrenalin spurts into my stomach as I realize he’s pretty damn taken with Samantha Peyton.

  “Here,” he says, handing me a roll of crisp fifties. There’s probably cocaine on them. “Get yourself some nice clothes. Damn, I like those shorts, but you gotta wear something a little more upmarket if you’re gonna be working here.”

  I laugh to myself, thinking that he still holds his club to such a high esteem even though he’s turned it from an artistic burlesque club to a strip club and whore house.

  The cell phone on his desk vibrates and he gives me one last look up and down. “I gotta take this. Go shopping, get yourself some nice things to wear, and I’ll see you here,” he points to the address on the business card, “tonight. Be there at eight. We’ll go over everything then.”


  I smile broadly and offer my hand. He looks at it, takes it, and pulls me across the desk. I feel his lips on mine and the only thing I can do is respond. He’s a good kisser, even though the feel of his hot tongue in my mouth makes me want to clamp my teeth down and bite it off.

  He breaks away and lets go of me.

  “I think that’s a little more appropriate than shaking hands, don’t you think?”

  I giggle, licking my lips. “Yes, sir.”

  His phone continues to buzz angrily. “Eight,” he says, answering the phone and holding it to his ear. “Now get that piece of ass out of here before I spend my entire day fucking it.” He starts barking things into the phone and I back away, grab my roll-along suitcase, and make my way as quickly and quietly as I can down the stairs.

  I pass Jase, who is still polishing beer glasses, but I don’t make eye contact. I’m almost at the set of doors, where I can go outside and fill my lungs with fresh air before I have a complete meltdown, when he speaks just behind me.

  “Did you get the job?”

  I turn slowly, ashamed that he has to look at me like this. Like a whore. “Yeah,” I reply quietly. “I got the job.”

  Jase looks intrigued, and I have to wonder if he senses something about me. About us. After all, I might be Samantha now, but before that I was Juliette, the first girl he ever loved.

  “What’s your name?” he asks me, setting a tray of glasses on a table between us.

  Julz! Don’t touch her! Get away from her! Juliette!

  I turn, swallowing back a lifetime of tears, and smile at him. “Samantha. You can