by B. B. Hamel
I walked past the desk and down a short hall. Offices lined either side. Stefano ducked into the first one and began to systematically destroy it: every paper, every book, every stick of furniture ripped out and broken.
I caught up with Ash and draped an arm across her shoulder. She flinched a little and looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear and excitement. I liked that excitement—it was a fucking turn-on. I felt a tinge of that adrenaline rush through me as we reached the last door at the end of the hall and read Stuart’s name on the gold plaque tacked in the middle.
“Be my guest,” I said, gesturing.
“What a gentleman,” Ash said, and opened Stuart’s office door.
Inside was the biggest room yet. Large bookshelves flanked a massive desk carved with pillars and snaking vines along the top. A small sitting area to the left had several couches and comfortable chairs, along with expensive-looking bottles of alcohol neatly lined up on a serving table. The whole room looked immaculate, like Stuart didn’t like disorder, and it brought a massive smile to my face.
I walked over to the alcohol, weighed a bottle of whiskey in my hand, and cracked it open. I took a long drink then threw it as hard as I could at the wall. It smashed into tiny pieces, the glass ricocheting all around, and Ash let out a shocked yelp before covering her mouth with both hands.
I grinned at her. “Go ahead, princess,” I said, as the sounds of smashing drifted in from down the hall. Stefano and Tomaso loved their jobs.
She walked over to the desk and tentatively picked up the monitor. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.
I picked up another bottle: fancy gin. The guy was such a goddamn cliché. I took a long pull, then smashed it. “I’m sure,” I said. “We need to send him a message.”
Ash raised the monitor up over her head then smashed it down. The screen popped and broke against the carpet and she laughed with shocked glee. “Holy shit,” she said. “That felt good.”
I picked up a bottle of vodka and gestured with it. “Go nuts,” I said. “Make sure nothing’s left standing.”
“You really think this’ll scare him?” she asked.
“Maybe not scare him,” I said. “But it’ll send the right message.”
“Which is what?” She walked around to the back of the desk and started ripping the drawers open. She threw pens, papers, folders, financial documents, an old calculator, a wad of condoms, several small alcohol bottles, tape, pocket knives, a screwdriver, a remote control, decks of cards, wireless computer mice, and more miscellaneous junk onto the floor. She stomped on what could be stomped, smashing it all into a pile.
I leaned over the desk toward her then brushed everything on top onto the floor. Books and pictures and small horse statues scattered along the rug.
“That we can come for him,” I said. “That his office isn’t safe. His house isn’t safe. His money doesn’t make him invincible.”
“I like that message,” she said, and turned to the bookshelves. She ripped things down, broke more pictures, tore pages from books, and threw everything onto the pile.
She beamed as she did it. She glowed like an angel, a huge smile on her lips, clearly loving every second as she ripped through the room, a whirlwind of mayhem, a destroying beast. I took another bottle of alcohol, this time scotch, and leaned against the wall sipping and watching her go to down. She was sweating from the work as she stomped, smashed, and ruined everything in sight, and laughed to herself as she did it.
After a few more minutes, there wasn’t as much to throw onto the floor. The formerly pristine office was a miasma of glass and paper. Ash stepped over the wreckage gingerly and came toward me, a sheen on her forehead, her eyes glistening. In the other room, Stefano hooted. Probably found some cash.
“How’d I do?” she asked, stopping right in front of me. She grabbed the bottle of scotch and took a hit.
I tilted my head and looked down at her—long legs in dark jeans, tight black tank top, hair up in a messy bun. She grinned back at me, a little uncertain, and I reached out unable to help myself.
I pulled her against me. She let out a soft gasp, pressed her hands on my chest—but didn’t fight me. I held her hips, feeling her body against mine, a pulse in my throat, my cock half-hard thinking about fucking her right there on the desk, leave another little gift for Stuart, but knew we didn’t have time for that, and besides, she was a lady.
I kissed her neck. “You’re perfect,” I said.
“You just want another taste of the other night,” she said, hitting me softly with her palms. “And it’s not going to happen.”
I kissed her and bit her lower lip. “Says the girl that moans every time I touch her.”
“Asshole.” She pushed herself again, still grinning and gorgeous. “You really are a bastard, you know?”
I caught her wrist and pulled her against me. I turned her and pinned her against the wall, crushing her body with my weight. I wanted her to feel my hard cock, wanted her to know what I was thinking as I kissed her. She melted against me, moaned into my lips. Something shattered nearby, and she tried to pull away, but I held her there. I took her arms and pushed them above her head, kissed her throat, bit her lip, and stared into her eyes.
“I really am,” I whispered and her pretty, plump lips hung open.
Stefano came in through the door. He stared at us, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
Nobody moved or spoke until Stefano cleared his throat. “Uh, boss,” he said. “I think we’re almost done.”
Ash stared into my eyes, mouth hanging open, her pretty pink tongue against her straight white teeth. God, I wanted that tongue, wanted to feel it lapping up and down my cock while my fingers slid in and out of her tight, soaking wet pussy.
“Boss?” Stefano said. “We should go.”
I released Ash. She let out a soft squeal and rubbed her wrists, cheeks blazing red, and couldn’t bring herself to look at Stefano, who grinned at me huge and winked.
I rolled my eyes at him and threw the scotch bottle against the far wall.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Stefano headed out. Tomaso was already on the front stoop. Ash came out behind me, and caught my hand as we left, biting her lip girlishly. She went to close the door, but I stopped her.
“Leave it open,” I said. “Let anyone who wants to go inside and steal from that rich bastard.”
She laughed and left the door wide open.
We returned to the truck and I dropped Stefano and Tomaso off at a Valentino bar several blocks away. “Good stuff in there,” Tomaso said to Ash. “You’re a natural.”
“Real mafia queen,” Stefano added and winked at me again.
“Get the fuck inside, you two,” I said, and pulled away, heading back to my apartment.
Ash stared out the window and leaned down in her seat. She was quiet as I took the long way, making sure we weren’t followed. I didn’t hear sirens, and didn’t see any cops. It was a shockingly quiet night.
“I keep thinking that wasn’t enough,” she said, almost whispering.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He tried to kill us,” she said, and looked at me. “And we just broke some of his stuff.”
I nodded slowly and kept my eyes ahead. I had the same thought, but I was surprised she’d gotten there. Ash didn’t strike me as the violent type, but when she talked about Stuart, I caught a little glimpse of rage, and maybe that rage could lead to something worse. Something vicious.
“We can’t kill Stuart,” I said. “At least not yet. Your family’s got too much power in this city and they’ll know exactly who did it.”
“I didn’t mean we should murder him,” she said with a hint of surprise.
“Then what do you want me to do?” I asked her, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “You think we should roll up on him and beat him up?”
“Maybe,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just mad, that’s all. He sent guys to kill you
, and I feel like he’s getting off easy.”
I pulled up outside of my place and killed the engine, but didn’t get out. I reached across the seat and took her hand, squeezing her palm, before pulling her over toward me. She stared at me in the dim moonlight, eyes wide, skin still damp from exertion. I brushed some hair from her face and kissed her.
She moaned as I pushed my seat back then pulled her into my lap. Her hips rolled and her back arched as she pushed herself down against my thick, hard cock. I grabbed her hair with one hand and unbuttoned her jeans enough to slip my other hand into her panties.
Wet, dripping wet, just like I knew she would be. The girl was a viper hiding behind the shell of a kitten.
“Hurting him’s only going to make him want to come back harder,” I whispered in her ear as my fingers teased her wet little pussy. “I want Stuart scared. I want him to walk into that office and look around, and know that I did it.” I pressed my fingers deep inside and pulled her hair hard before moving back out, rolling them fast around her clit. “I want him to sit down behind that desk and slowly, throughout the day, realize that it was me, and it was you, and we could do that to him whenever we wanted. We know where he lives and we aren’t afraid.”
“God, yes,” she whispered and bit my lip. “I used to be so afraid. Why do I feel like I’m not afraid anymore?”
“Because you’re not on a leash, princess,” I said.
She fumbled at my belt and managed to get it off. I was practically pulsing with need for her as she tugged her jeans off. We managed to strip her down to her panties and got her straddling my thick cock again, her hips rolling up and down my length, the heat of her soaked spot rolling down along my shaft. It was fucking torture.
“I never wanted to be like that,” she said, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. “Did you know my mother used to make me take ballet? I hate ballet.”
I pushed her panties aside and pressed my tip against her warm slit. “I bet you were sexy in those leotards,” I said. “Making those beautiful lines. I can imagine your tight ass bending over.”
“I hated it,” she said, and slid herself down my length with a low moan. “God, I hated ballet, and piano, and calligraphy. I did calligraphy at ten.”
I gripped her hips and let her ride me nice and slow. “That’s not you anymore, princess.”
“No, it’s not,” she moaned, moving faster, the truck shaking with each roll of her hips. “It’s not me anymore. I don’t want it.”
“I know what you want,” I growled as she went faster, body working, taut and gorgeous and lithe. “You want freedom, princess. You want to get mad, and stay mad. I want to see you pissed off. I want to see you stripped, riding my thick cock, getting all that pleasure you need.”
“Yes,” she gasped, “fuck, yes.”
“I want to treat you like the gorgeous piece of sex you are. I want to give you the world, but most of all, I want to make you free again.” I slapped her ass hard as she moved faster, faster, eyes squeezed shut before she leaned back, slamming into the steering wheel.
The horn blared as she came. I felt her clench down as she gasped, eyes rolling back, and I held her hips and fucked her, making her orgasm double down, intensify, rip through her skin like a tidal wave. As she slowly finished, I felt myself peak and fill her, coming deep between her legs, my princess, my Ash.
She collapsed forward and I held her there in the dim streetlight with the full moon peering out above the buildings. God, the girl was gorgeous, and dangerous, and I wanted to take that collar off the little kitty and let her roam wild once more.
“Come on, princess,” I whispered and kissed her cheek. “Let’s go inside. I’m not done with you.”
“Promise?” she asked, smiling up at me.
I kissed her again. “Promise.”
15
Ash
I think I might be losing my mind, but the feeling of smashing Stuart’s office was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
I was born and bred to be deferential to the men around me. That was supposed to be my lot in life: marry rich, have some children, and try to eke out some meaning in housework, charity events, or any number of socially acceptable hobbies. But now, with Gian, I felt like I suddenly had an entirely new world ahead of me.
I had agency. I could choose where to go and what to do, and if I wanted to break something, then I could break it. Gian didn’t care if I was a woman and what a woman was supposed to do—there wasn’t that same expectation when I was with him.
Gian wanted me to be myself, while everyone else in my old life wanted me to be whatever they wanted.
My mother, my father, my brother, Stuart, all my friends, everyone I knew, they all had expectations, and if I went against those expectations then I was somehow committing a horrible crime.
But smashing Stuart’s monitor on the carpet, breaking his glass, ripping up his papers, trashing his life, that felt good, it felt so good. For a while, I forgot about the baby growing in me, and could focus on the pure pleasure of destruction.
Of course, the baby was still there and always would be, but I felt like I was finally finding the right place for me.
It was crazy. I knew it was totally insane. I woke up the next morning alone in my bed with a big, stupid smile on myself and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Gian wasn’t up yet and I had the house to myself. I stepped out into the back yard and looked at the small, scrubby plants, at the Tree of Heaven that draped down toward me, at the teardrop-shaped leaves shimmering in the morning wind, and I wondered how I ever cared about massive houses, about nice cars, about mansion and status and power.
This felt good. Right here, this felt good.
My phone rang. I went inside and grabbed it from the counter. My brother’s name flashed on the screen and I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to do this right now, but figured, what the hell, he couldn’t do anything to me anymore.
“Hello, brother,” I said.
“Ashleigh.” I grimaced slightly. Jack was four years older than me, and he already sounded like my father. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I wandered out into the back yard again and kept my voice low.
“Stuart called me just now. He says you trashed his office.” Jack’s tone was patronizing and annoyed. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with that?”
My fist clenched hard. Stuart, that little worm. He went running to my big brother the second I did something to push back—despite the fact that he tried to murder us. It was almost absurd, and yet it was typical Stuart. The spoiled little piece of shit thought he could do anything he pleased anytime he wanted, but when someone fought back, suddenly he was all shocked and appalled and angry.
Going to my brother was low, even for him. I took a breath and forced myself to smile so that he wouldn’t hear the rage in my voice.
“Yes, Jack, I helped,” I said. “Along with my baby’s father and a few other men.”
Jack let out a long, weary sigh. “What are you doing, Ashleigh?” he asked. “Are you having fun slumming it? Those men are beneath you. Come home and do the right thing. Mother and Father will forgive you.”
“I don’t want their forgiveness,” I said. “And I sure as hell don’t want to marry Stuart.”
“I know, but—”
I interrupted him. “You don’t get it Jack,” I said as my smile faded away. “You don’t have the same expectations I do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He spoke quietly, and for the first time I thought he might be opening up to me. “Father holds me to the highest standards imaginable. I don’t think I’ve ever done something right in my life.”
“But you still have freedom,” I said. “You can marry who you want. If you got a girl pregnant, do you think they’d force you out of the family for it?”
He hesitated just a moment too long. “Come on, Ashleigh,” he said. “Come home.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not coming home, and
you can tell Stuart to stop tattling to my brother like a little boy.”
“Stuart’s only angry,” Jack said.
“Start’s a vindictive murdering piece of shit,” I said. “And an abusive motherfucker. You knew that already though, didn’t you?”
“Ash,” he said. “You’re being a little dramatic.”
I let out one sharp laugh. “Of course you think that. You all think that. It can’t possibly be so bad. I should suck it up and do my duty for the family. Well, I’m sick of playing along and being your whipping girl. Tell Father or whoever asks that I’m done with the family. He can cut me off.”
A short silence from Jack. I was practically trembling, but I could feel the power in my words reverberate through me. Leaving the family was no small thing—it meant giving up a lot of money and privilege. My life without my trust fund and the Adamson name would never be the same again.
And yet I thought back to breaking Stuart’s office, and to feeling Gian deep between my legs, and I knew I was making the right call.
“You’re making a mistake,” Jack said. “Take some time and think about it. You’ll understand once things with that guy go sour.”
“It isn’t about him,” I said, although I wasn’t so sure about that. “It’s about making my own choices.”
“Think about it,” he pressed. “I won’t tell Mother or Father about what happened, but please, think about your future.”
He hung up before I could argue. I have been thinking about my future—which was why I wanted to get the hell away from them.
Maybe people outside of my position wouldn’t understand. I could imagine someone thinking I was crazy for giving up all this money and privilege.
But to me, it was a gilded cage. I was rich, but I had no freedom, and if I went back then they’d force me to marry Stuart or someone exactly like him.
I had my baby to think about now. I couldn’t risk putting my child into that family, not when I knew just how toxic it would be.