“Fuck you, Anthony. How was golf? Bet it would take a five second credit card search to prove you played hooky.”
He smiled wide, looking like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he just didn’t give a shit who knew how many chocolate chips he’d shoved into his greedy mouth with his fat dirty fingers. “It was fantastic. Got a hole in one and the rest were birds.”
“Asshole.”
“You love me, admit it.”
“I’d love you better if you’d take your rank coffee away from my desk. What the hell do you put in it? Piss?”
“And vinegar.” He winked, striding away, his belly hanging over his belt and jiggling with laughter. He was so goddamn funny. A regular Jim Carrey in a cheap suit.
How was the ball...
God, I still didn’t know how to feel about it.
On one hand, it had been the best night of my life. I could admit that, even though I made a point to not be feminine. I had to be tough. I had to dress tough and act tough, because I was in a man’s world and if you let yourself be a woman for more than two fucking seconds, then they’d never let you live it down.
You vomit at a crime scene and you ‘shouldn’t be in the field’.
You cry because a guy’s raped and killed his daughter, ‘you’re too soft for this kind of work. Don’t feel bad, most women are’.
I’d thought the cops at the LAPD were bad. I’d thought when I made Major Crimes, I’d entered a jungle of fragile male ego.
But those places were nothing compared to the FBI. Agents were absolute dicks. High and mighty, couldn’t do anything wrong, treated contractors like absolute shit even though those contractors—the IT units and janitorial staff and assistants—kept the lights running because forty agents couldn’t change a light bulb without a fucking picture manual.
“Capuleti!” The Assistant Director came out of the woodworks, moving into our division’s space like a bat out of hell. I stood up from my desk, looking over my privacy screens. He was striding towards me, cheese-eating grin making his face look nicer than I’d ever seen it. “And you didn’t even want to go!” He shoved a newspaper at me when he got close enough.
On the upper front page was a photo of a masked Romero Montego dancing with a masked woman in a black dress so low cut that the way he was dipping her to the floor threatened to make her breasts fall out for all the world to see. Her leg was lifted, the slit in the skirt revealing a scandalous expanse of leg. It was me. The woman was me.
“Why do you think this is me?” I scoffed, trying to hand the paper back.
“Unfold the paper, Capuleti.” He quirked an eyebrow, pleased as punch.
So I did, with shaking hands.
Below the fold.
Were two more photos.
Romero unmasked, holding my hand as the spotlights erased our attempt to flee the fundraiser unseen. And Romero on stage giving the speech that I’d missed.
“Shit,” I breathed out.
The article was titled: New York’s Most Eligible Bachelor is Off the Market, Ladies! That wasn’t so terrible. The first sentence of the article was though. ‘Ultra-Private Billionaire Romero Montego Makes Splash with Daughter of Murdered Society Darling Sandra Capuleti!’
“I didn’t know who he was at the time...” my voice trailed off. Exposed. I was brutally exposed again, because I’d danced at a fucking fundraiser.
“Well, the department is getting nonstop calls for an interview. You made quite an impression. Gonna have to send you to more functions now. The official face of the New York field office. We’ve got this Community Outreach Initiative dialed in!” He snagged the paper back, reaching across the partition and clapping me on the shoulder roughly. “Never would have known how well you clean up. You don’t even wear makeup here!”
There it was—the misogyny. I cleaned up good. There was a beautiful woman underneath the bare face, ponytail and masculine suits.
“Damnnnnnnnn,” Tybalt’s voice rang out over the office din. “They got video online!” He rumbled, leaning towards his computer screen, obviously having eavesdropped on my conversation with the chief. Not that it had been very private.
“God,” I mumbled, crumbling to my desk chair and closing my eyes.
I just wanted to be left the fuck alone.
Then you shouldn’t have danced like you were having very public sex with a stranger at the fundraiser, idiot. Your tits were close to falling out!
Shut up. I told my inner voice, standing up again abruptly and walking swiftly from the room.
“Yo, Capuleti. Where you going? We’ve got the Pinski case to work! You know, an actual current case and not that cold case shit you’ve got a hard-on for!”
I ignored Tybalt. I had to get out of there. Besides, the Pinski case was going to turn out to be a sociopath living in his mom’s basement with a computer and anger issues. But the profile on our guy had pointed to an impotent rage. He hadn’t secured any supplies to make good on his bombing threats. He didn’t have any connections. There were no communication trails leading to a partner. He was just an asshole making empty threats. He wasn’t worth my time.
On most days, I sucked it up and I followed through. I dealt with Tybalt’s shit, and I got the job done.
Today though, I needed to get out of the building. I needed to breathe.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I navigated to email and typed a quick email to my supervising agent. SAC Townsend. Family thing, need to leave for the day. Tybalt’s got the Pinski case under control. -SA Capuleti
I rarely took sick days, hadn’t had a vacation since I came to the NYC field office. The FBI wouldn’t fall apart.
It felt like a year to get out of the fucking building. Twenty-three floors up, dozens of opportunities for someone to say something about my picture in the fucking paper. When I finally pushed out onto Federal Plaza, I sucked in a lungful of air and tried not to have a panic attack.
I’d gone through a million and one psych evals before the agency had cleared me for duty.
I still had regular check-ins with one of the FBI pyschologists.
How are you dealing with your current case, Capuleti. Do you feel stable? Have you been thinking about your mother’s case a lot lately?
No, I’m fine now. Miraculously, I’ve completely recovered from having my mother brutally murdered when I was a teenager.
The season she died was supposed to be my coming out to society. I didn’t understand the big deal over it. Coming out to society. Coming out for what? Dress up pretty, be on your best behavior, take a dance class or two.
God, maybe that’s why I hated dancing so much. Not only that I was shit at it, but because it had mattered to my mother. She’d forced those classes on me so I’d do well at the ball. The International Debutante Ball held at The Pierre.
And then she’d died.
And I’d dropped away from that world.
I’d been at that same hotel last night, dressed to the nines, and danced with Romero Montego.
Anger blossomed in my chest.
How dare he be the guest of honor. How dare the entire city celebrate him. His father had built an empire on bones and blood.
I moved down the street as fast as I could, fighting through the mob of bodies. Near lunch time, so it was crowded and suffocating. Which was ironic, considering I’d left the building in order to clear my head and get some fresh air.
There was little chance of getting a cab. At least right now.
I’d just keep walking.
I’d walk until my feet bled.
The pain of my body might dull the pain in my heart.
10.
Romero
I couldn’t stop thinking about the fundraiser. The dancing. The woman I’d kissed.
Juliette.
It wasn’t like me to obsess over a woman.
I needed to blow off steam.
Euphoria Spa in Harlem was just the place to do that.
Carrie was a
wonder with her hands, and she’d done wonders about the tension between my shoulders, but that’s not the part of her I was interested in today.
The room smelled like incense and oil; it gave the air a thick, heady feel. It was supposed to lull clients into a calm state, relaxing their muscles and making it easier for the masseuse. The sandalwood and lavender were light fragrances to me, not going to my head. Balthasar exposed me to worse on a regular basis. Once he’d set off a smoke grenade laced with potassium nitrate in my room while I was sleeping. Nontoxic, but I’d thought there was a fucking fire until I’d worked my way from the room and down the hallway to blink his shit-eating grin into focus.
He could be a real asshole.
Yet, I wouldn’t be the man I was without his psychotic personality that was somehow both nurturing and damaging.
“You’re the only client I do this with you know.” She unzipped her crisp uniform dress to reveal a barely-there lace bra. Her nipples were already hard, pressing against the thin floral pattern. “This isn’t part of the program. God, I’d get fired if my manager knew.”
“Who’s gonna tell on you?” I leaned toward her from where I sat, naked on the massage table with only a hand towel protecting my modesty. “Cold?” I pinched her nipples through the lace, squeezing them firmly enough to get a grip and pull her towards me.
She squealed and moved closer.
“I want this off.” I released her tits and curled a finger under her bra.
“So impatient,” she teased.
“I don’t have to be patient, do I?”
She shook her head pulled her arms out of her dress to roll it down around her waist. The bra came off next, falling to the ground in a careless nude pile. She took her time stripping off her thong, gathering the skirt of her knee length dress up around her hips to reveal her curves and give me a show. I didn’t like the delay, so I reached for her and curved my fingers around her bare ass while the thong was still around her ankles, digging my nails in and watching her pupils dilate. Carrie groaned, kicking off the thong and leaving the dress bunched up around her waist before shifting to straddle my right leg to grind down against my knee. Her eyes closed. Teeth bit down on her lower lip. She was growing wet already, spilling down against me. I took one hand from her ass and wrapped fingers around her long braid. I loved that her hair was always pulled back, keeping it out of the way while she serviced clients.
Of course, she normally serviced men differently, only rubbing out the kinks in their muscles. It was part of our deal. She fucked me, none of her other clients. I didn’t care what she did with her personal life, but here in this room, I didn’t want the scent of any other men.
Yanking her head back, I forced her to open her eyes and focus on me. “Do you feel safe.” I engaged our normal script.
“Yes,” she nodded eagerly.
“And if you don’t feel safe, what do you say?”
“Softer,” she breathed out, face flushing.
“And if you want it rougher?”
At this, she quirked a smile, “Harder. As if you could get any harder.” She snaked a hand between us, gripping my cock through the towel.
Pulling her hair again roughly, I scowled. “Who’s in charge?”
“You are.” Carrie gave my dick a gentle tug and then put her arms over my shoulder and curled fingers into my hair. “You’re always in charge, Romero.”
“That’s right.” Now I pulled down on her braid. “Get on your knees.”
She licked her lips and stopped grinding. Lowering, keeping her eyes on me until she was down on the floor, she positioned her body between my legs. As she moved, I trailed hard fingers from her ass to her tit, giving it a sharp squeeze before tossing the towel off and gripping her head with both hands. Not that she needed direction for this part. Carrie was a world class cock queen. But I pushed her head towards me anyways, loving the control. Her mouth opened wide, accommodating my girth, and she took me all in until her lips met the base. She sputtered and choked, but kept herself down against me, her mouth filling with saliva that spilled from the gap between us.
“Fuck,” I growled, pulling her back until only the very tip of me was squeezed between her lips. She stared up at me, gorgeous blue eyes watering, and I pushed her back down slowly, unable to take my gaze away from the way she swallowed me up. I tried to be patient, taking my pleasure from her mouth.
But slow didn’t last for long. I stood up and she shuffled back to give me more room to stand. I held her head still and I mouth fucked her as she kneaded my balls. I loved the noises she made as my dick assaulted her mouth. The slurping and gagging. I was so close to cumming, and I wasn’t ready for that yet.
I pulled out of her quickly, dick throbbing, and held my hands out to her to help her off the floor.
“Bend over the table.”
She complied, walking past me and laying her upper body across the massage table, pert ass presented to me on a silver fucking platter.
My ‘relationship’ with Carrie wasn’t like my others. We didn’t go by a full set of sub rules. There were no real S&M elements. This was a fuck based on convenience, discretion, and mutual pleasure. She still signed Balthasar’s NDA of course, and we used my normal safe words, but there were less strings here. Of course, basic fucking was nothing compared to exploits in the Dark Room.
“Condom?”
“No.” She stretched, arching her back and raising her ass even higher.
I stepped behind her, taking a moment to appreciate her curves, before curling fingers around my dick and pressing it against her opening. She was on the pill, frequently checked, and I fucking hated condoms. But asking was part of the understanding.
I wasn’t gentle when I pushed into her. She was slick, stretching easily around me, taking every inch of me much like she had with her mouth. Only this time, when I hit the end of her, she mewled with delight and didn’t choke.
“God, Romero. Harder.”
I smiled, pleased, and gripped her hips to pull her back against me as I fucked her hard and fast, building us both into a frenzy.
“I want to cum when you’re inside me,” Carrie gasped out, clearly on the edge. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
I leaned forward, wrapping hands around the back of her neck to grip her throat and pull her upper body off the table while I continued to rock my hips, shoving in and out of her. “And what you want matters?” My voice was a growl, and I tightened my hold on her neck.
“Please, Romero. Stop. You’re hurting me,” She begged, whimpering as I worked her over. Her pussy contracted, tightening around my dick as the first orgasm shook her system. “Oh, God. God.”
But she didn’t say ‘softer’. She didn’t tell me to actually stop choking her.
These were the begs of a woman who wanted to ride the wave, to crest to the top, and come tumbling down again.
I pulled out of her quickly, releasing my grip on her neck and lifting her with a quick jerk to turn her around and push her down again, this time with her back against the table. Her legs lifted automatically, her feet pressing against the edge of the table so she could lift her ass in anticipation. I shoved back into her quickly, loving the way her eyes closed and a small gasp escaped her mouth.
I went at her hard and fast again. Her body shook and I dug fingers into her ass to keep her raised from the table and perfectly angled. The wet slap of our pleasure overwhelmed the room, and she gave small screams of delight as pangs of sweetness wracked her.
The room didn’t smell like sandalwood and lavender anymore. It smelled like sex.
Sweat. Bodily fluids and precum. I loved that fucking smell, preferred it to when a woman had on so much perfume and deodorant that she masked her natural musk. I wanted the mess, wanted a woman who trimmed but didn’t decimate her bush. I wanted to taste her juices, not a damn flavored lube.
Glancing up at the clock, I checked the time. We only had a few minutes before our session ended. I pulled out of her once again, gra
bbing her waist and lifting her off the table to stand beside me. Her legs were weak, eyes wide with surprise because she’d been so lost in the euphoria.
“How do you want it?” I looked at her, knowing my gaze was dark and needful. I was so damn close to cumming.
“Ass.” One word, simple. Hunger in her eyes. I could always count on Carrie to get to the point fast.
I pushed my hand into her hair, pulling her close and smashing my mouth to hers. She tasted like dick and peppermint. She pushed her tongue into my mouth, curling it around mine. If we had hours to burn, I’d push her back on her knees so she could put that tongue to better use. My hard-on pulsed, desperate to sink into her body again. Any part of her, any hole.
I ended the kiss, climbing up on the table and supporting myself with bent arms.
“Get on top. Reverse.”
Carrie didn’t hesitate, climbing up on the table to mount my body. She faced away from me, arms outstretched to grip my thighs and support herself as she slowly lowered onto my length. She moaned as her ass protested my girth. I reached beneath her, gripping my dick to keep it in place as she journeyed lower. She was so fucking tight that I wasn’t sure she’d be able to accept my size, but she kept lowering, inch by inch, groaning as she forced her body to relax and take me all in.
When our bodies finally met, she took a moment to catch her breath before slowly lifting her hips. Every fraction of movement felt like it would make my dick explode. She was clamped around me like a goddamn vice. She didn’t rise all the way, not risking my dick leaving her body, before pushing back down. I could tell the second the pain shifted to euphoria. Her low aching groans shifted to furtive moans as her breathing came faster, high pitched kitten gasps for air.
The more comfortable she got, the faster she went.
“Goddamn,” I groaned, closing my eyes against the pleasure, letting myself lay all the way down and just enjoy the fucking ride.
“You’re so big, Romero,” Carrie stopped riding me and took one hand off my thigh to grip my balls gently. She squeezed and tugged. “You fill me up.”
“Then don’t fucking stop.” I opened my eyes and slapped her ass sharply. She sucked in air, the pain jolting her system, and she began riding my cock again. Fast, hard.
Her Villain: A Dark Bully Romance (Aqua Vitae Duet Book 1) Page 7