by Zoey Parker
“It’s really more of something I need to show you. And it’s going to be a bit of a drive. Is that okay with you?”
She paused a little longer than he would have liked, but not as long as he’d been afraid of. “Yeah, okay.”
They drove for about forty minutes out of the city. They were out of the city proper and pushing out into the farthest suburbs when Milo pulled the car to the curb. They were in front of a white Victorian two-story home with an attached garage and a nice front lawn. Tess looked at it for a little bit, then looked at Milo, who was sitting with his hands on the steering wheel.
“It’s pretty,” she said. “Why are we here?”
Milo smiled a bit. “Let’s go inside.”
Tess stared some more, then shrugged. She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out of the car, following Milo up the grass. For the second time today, Milo felt his heart slamming against his ribs. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him. This was about setting her up after he’d put her in a tough situation. And he was only sort of thinking about the baby. He knew what life was like for girls who had to live on the largess of some kind of kingpin. It looked like nothing but silk and furs on the outside, but there was a lot of coerced sex, a lot of drugs, and not a lot of security on the inside. It would almost be better for her if he’d actually killed Toro; she could have cleaned out whatever cash she could find and taken off. She seemed like a girl who was smart enough to have survived on a couple hundred grand for a long time.
But she’d lost that protection, and she’d lost what chance she had to be remembered in the old bastard’s will. And maybe it was chauvinistic to assume she needed a man to take care of her, but also, he could, so he was going to damn well do it.
He led her up to the front door, fished a key out of his pocket, turned the deadbolt, and pushed the door open. “Welcome to your new home.”
She froze and stared at him, long and hard. “Milo.”
“Tess.”
“What are you talking about?” She was using the kind of slow, level voice that you used to talk a crazy person down off a ledge, and it made him want to laugh. He choked back the sound, but he wanted to laugh, very much. She wouldn’t understand if he burst out cackling.
“I have a number of houses in a number of places. In different names. It makes different identities more real and fleshed out if they’re paying monthly utility bills. This is just one of them. It’s closest, so I figured it would do for now while we’re figuring out – while I’m figuring out – what my next step is in terms of Toro. If you like this one, you can keep it. If you don’t, I’ll take you to every one I own until you find one that suits you.”
She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “What are my choices?”
He shrugged. “London, Paris, Beijing, Kyoto, Moscow. Small towns you haven’t heard of. Pick a climate.”
“You’re serious.”
“I told you. I’ll take care of you. Baby or no baby, I want to help.”
He wondered if Tess realized that she’d crossed her arms over her belly, just a little bit. “Tell me why.”
“What?”
She shook her head hard, and he thought maybe she was biting back tears. “Tell me why you want to help.”
He was pretty sure that an answer about how he was just that kind of guy wasn’t going to get the job done. He needed – wanted – her to believe what he was saying. “I had a pretty shitty childhood. I know I told you about some of it. There’s worse stuff in there that I just—I don’t talk about. Not to anyone. Not ever. And whether I’m in this kid’s life or not, I want—I need to know that it’s better off than I am. Then I was.”
She was quiet for a long time, her gaze focused on the floor. Her hand kept tracing over her belly, where it would swell in the coming months. Would he be around to feel the baby kick? To take her to OBGYN appointments and hear the heartbeat? Or would he be dead in a ditch or weighted down in a river because he didn’t know how to be an actual person?
It was time to find out.
“Let me take you on a tour.”
Chapter Seventeen
Tess let Milo lead her around the house and tried hard to keep her astonishment in her head. A full-size kitchen, more bathrooms than she’d kept track of, three bedrooms, a finished basement, a sunroom, an office… She kept waiting for him to show her the indoor pool. When she cracked that joke, he pointed out that there was a regular pool, but a covered hot tub.
This was insane. She was delirious or crazy or having a psychotic break, or who knew what was even happening. This wasn’t real, it wasn’t her life. She hadn’t been dancing around a pole an hour ago and now standing in a gorgeous house with expensive furnishings and tasteful decor and sweater sets and pearls in a nice neighborhood. This could not possibly be her life. This wasn’t how things went for her.
But Milo persisted in showing her room after room that made her feel happy and, God help her, safe.
“Too bad it’s all so pastel,” she said and then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said from behind her hand. He shook his head, and she felt tears popping up in her eyes. She’d ruined it already, she – had a credit card pressed into her hand. She looked down at it, then up at Milo.
“It’s in the name that goes with the house,” he said. “Do whatever you want. Make it yours.” He considered for a moment. “Okay, maybe let’s decide which house you want, and then do what you want with that one. Though if there’s something you need to be more comfortable here while you’re here, just do it. And I want you to buy yourself new clothes.”
She managed to cover her astonishment with a laugh. “What’s wrong with my one outfit?” Her stomach was churning, and she badly needed some humor. It was too serious, all of this, all of this him taking care of her.
He wasn’t laughing. “I bought it for you. You should have your own clothes, your own house, your own home. Not just because you’re knocked up. Because you’re a person, and people deserve to be safe.”
It was far more than she could handle, all this sweetness. She set the credit card down on a nearby table – she’d use it later, that was for sure, because she wanted pants that fit and bras that didn’t squish her boobs, and she’d need more clothes soon – but she needed to be filthy and used right now, not some sweet girl that deserved all of this. That would break her.
“But I’m not really a person, am I?” She stepped into him, giving him enough weight that he swayed just a bit before he caught his balance.
His expression darkened in that way she liked so much. “If you’re not a person, then what are you?” His hand came up into the hair at the nape of her neck and closed into a fist. He pulled her head back, exposing her throat. He didn’t kiss her, touch her, just made her understand what was happening.
“A whore. A toy. Something to be used.” The words made her pant with eagerness. Yes. Being used feels like the best possible thing right now.
“Mmm. And how would a whore be used? Do whores rate the bedroom?”
Her cunt was soaked already, and the light, almost conversational tone he was using was going to drive her insane. She felt his cock, hardening in his pants. “I’m not sure,” she said. “What do you think?”
He gave a little laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it, just dark anticipation. “I think there’s a very specific reason that a dirty whore deserves a bedroom.”
Milo didn’t let go of her hair, just used it like a leash to take her to the master bedroom. She pulled just enough to make it hurt, and he glared at her, yanking her tight against him.
“I don’t know what your previous johns were like, whore,” he snapped, and she whimpered with the kind of need that traced the edges of fear. “But you do not want me to treat you like a bad girl. If you want to hurt, you use your fucking words. Are we clear? I will hurt you enough for both of us if you ask me to.” He smirked. “Or just because I want to.”
Tess couldn’t quite sort out where the play ended and where the
man began, but right now, she didn’t much care. She needed this, she needed to be debased in this pretty, magazine ready house where everything was perfect. She needed the house to feel just as soiled and imperfect as she felt herself.
The master bedroom was just as pastel as the rest of the house. Idly, she wondered if Milo had just hired a decorator to create a home that he’d categorized as “one step up from neutral”. There was no personality to any of it. She wanted this house just to make it hers. She had zero idea what “hers” would look like, but she bet that like half of a decorator’s entire job was to help her figure it out.
And then her face was smashed up against glass, and she wasn’t thinking about interior design.
“Do you see yourself?” he asked, his voice one step removed from a snarl. “Do you?”
Tess nodded frantically.
Milo pulled her back just a bit, slapped her across the face, then pushed her back again. “Speak when you’re spoken to. Do you see yourself?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Good.” A light caress down the side of her cheek. The exact opposite of what she needed. “Do you deserve to be here?”
“No.”
He pulled her back again, slapping her other cheek. “Wrong, whore. You go where I say you go. You deserve to be where I put you. Do you understand?”
“Yes. God, Milo, yes.”
His voice was a little softer then. “Is that really what you want to call me right now?”
She’d spent so much time calling Toro “sir”, it didn’t fit at all. She slid so easily back into what she’d called him that one time, absolutely by accident. “No, Daddy.”
“What a good little whore you are. Strip.”
She blinked hard for a moment, trying to catch her mental balance, and then she stepped away from the mirror. She thought about doing a bump and grind, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what he wanted. And he would tell her if he did. She pulled off her jeans, pulled her shirt over her head, and tossed her bra and panties to the side. It had been a long time since she was uncomfortable naked.
Milo hadn’t taken his cock out yet, but based on how he was stroking himself through his slacks, he was plenty hard.
“Hands and knees,” he said, and she dropped like a puppet with cut strings. He laughed at her. “Turn around, whore, and face the mirror. See what you are.”
It was a trifold mirror, with the outer two panels curved just a little. The kind of thing where she’d be able to turn a bit and see her outfit from all sides. On her hands and knees, her makeup mussed, she looked like exactly what he’d called her; the kind of slut you’d pick up in a cheap bar, who wouldn’t even bother telling you how much she’d cost because you’d probably have it in pocket change. She groaned as he stripped down behind her. His trim, cut body was gorgeous standing over her like this. He stepped away from the mirror for a moment, and she heard a drawer open and close. She didn’t turn her head, trusting that he’d be there when he was prepared for whatever came next.
He knelt behind her, and she felt his fingers stroking the smooth curves of her plump ass. She’d expected to feel his fingers teasing into her cunt, but when she heard a liquid sort of sound and felt his fingertips probing gently as her ass, she gave a little hiss.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice closer to what she’d come to think of as normal.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding frantically. She couldn’t remember the last time someone other than herself had played with her ass, and she hadn’t thought she’d missed it until his finger was teasing her open. “You keep lube in all your fake houses?”
A sharp crack across her ass, one that made her cry out for real. The heat flooded into the skin hard and fast, leaving her gasping and desperate for more.
“Yes,” he said, his voice dark and snarling again. “So I don’t have to wait. So that I can fuck you when I want. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she gasped out, and another hard crack came across her ass. She winced and glanced at him in the mirror, saw him smiling.
“That one was because I wanted to.”
Her cunt was dripping wet, and his finger pressed inside her ass, lubed up and soft, twisting and teasing as she pushed herself to relax, ease into the incredible, invasive sensation. A second finger entered before she was entirely ready, spreading and scissoring inside of her to keep pushing the threshold of what she could take. She’d barely adjusted to that before a third finger pressed in, and she was aching she was so full, yet her cunt was so empty. She was hungry and desperate for him, wanting him more and more. She bucked her hips, trying to push him in deeper, but it only earned her another heavy slap. She found she didn’t mind that part; the heat from his hand spread easily, making her crave him.
Without warning, his fingers were gone, and she keened from the emptiness. His cock was there, however, before she even thought to be lonely or sad about it. He didn’t wait at all this time, just pushed into her lubed-up mess with an ugly sound of want. He was incredibly hard, achingly hard, pressing her open without mercy. He’d used plenty of lube, so there wasn’t friction, but keeping her body loose and relaxed when she was so very wanting was impossible. He wasn’t patient, didn’t wait for the tight ring of muscle around his cock to relax. He groaned as he thrust into her like it was the best part of it for him. Maybe it was. It felt incredible, but it also teased right at the edge of the sort of pain that would make her cry. She looked in the mirror and felt her body close to speeding into an orgasm. She looked so filthy. Her tits hanging down, her makeup smeared down her cheeks. She’d started crying at some point. Her hair was messy and tangled from where he’d grabbed and pulled.
“That’s right, look,” he said. She tried to turn away, and his hand was in her hair again, pointing her face at the mirror. “Look at what you are. Look at what you’re made to be.”
His hips pumped faster, driving his cock into her ass harder, and now it did hurt, but the pain made it better, drove her harder. She pushed back on him, making him hiss. One hand in her hair and the other on her hips, yanking her back as he slammed inside, and she was so close, so fucking close, she wanted—
As he let out the first spasm, he yanked out of her, pulling her hair up so hard that her back bowed, and she felt the hot spurt of his cum all over her back. He slapped her ass again, three times. She cried out, not the least because he’d pulled back just as her body came close to orgasm, pulsing at the utter peak, just in that moment before she let go. Everything inside of her was aching and twisting and needy, and she couldn’t come because all the sensation was gone.
“Please,” she said, and the sound was so lonely and sad and wanting. She loved it, loved hearing that sound in her voice because it had been put there, not because she was trying to make someone think they were sexier than they were.
“I’ll tell you when you can come,” he said, standing and pulling her to her feet by her hair. “And until then, you fucking whore, you get what I decide you deserve. Understand me?”
She groaned, her entire body pulsing. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”
He grinned and leaned closer. “Would it matter if you didn’t?”
She hissed, shaking her head, and that seemed to be enough answer for him. He shoved her backward, and she fell onto the bed, her knees and lower legs dangling off, the cum on her back making a wet, squelchy place that she hated, and loved that she hated. He disappeared into a separate bathroom for a moment, and she heard running water. He came back with his cock softer, but clean, and she made a small sound of hope that she was going to get to come after all.
He didn’t go straight into her though; she’d almost expected him to jack off until he was hard enough and then slam into her again. He’d definitely shown he had that kind of stamina, something she absolutely adored. A man who could keep up with her libido was a rare thing. Instead, he moved over her more slowly, light kisses and soft caresses that were nothing like what she’d expected. He stroked her hair and teased her nipples, bringing h
er into a soft, aching moan. It would be absurd to say she’d never had sex like this or had never felt like this – she was quite sure she’d had every kind of sex there was, and loving sex didn’t make her unfeeling – but it had been a while since she’d had someone move slowly over her body, exploring every inch of her with tongue and lips and fingers, instead of just pushing in hard to get what they wanted. What she wanted, too.
“How rough are you comfortable being?” he asked, tracing his hand over the softness of her belly. She knew in her head that what was growing there was tiny, nothing like a baby yet, but very real. There was no swell in her stomach, nothing for him to feel. But in her heart, there was something so sweet and gentle about that gesture. She could see Milo, suddenly, holding a toddler in his arms, showing the baby the world around them. She could see just how it would be.
“I mean, don’t punch me in the stomach or something,” she said with a laugh, knowing that was something he wouldn’t ever do in play. “But otherwise, I’m fine.”