by Renee Rose
If I stopped for even a moment to consider how strange and crazy it is that I turned my shakedown into a BDSM extravaganza, I would laugh until I cried. But I’m too lost in the moment. Too turned on, too surrendered in submissive mode. The guy could probably do anything to me right now and I’d let him.
And that’s the danger of my quirks.
Risky behavior, is what the school counselor told the social worker back in high school when I filed for emancipation.
I don’t care. In this moment, it feels good.
My would-be hitman shoves my upper body down on the mattress and dribbles an ample amount of lube over my crack.
Again, thank God.
With one side of my face pressed to the bedcovers, I watch the man behind me unbutton his dress shirt and tug it off. Dayum. What I see makes my pussy clench in anticipation. He’s not what I expected. I mean, yes, he’s a big burly bear of a man with wide, muscled shoulders and ample chest hair curling above his undershirt. But there’s no flashy gold chain or rings on his fingers. The suit is obviously expensive but very tasteful.
He’s classy.
That’s the part that surprises me. This isn’t the street thug mafia man from the movies.
Scratch that. I rode here in the trunk of his car and he’s about to buttfuck me for trying to escape. Except it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like two people engaged in consensual nonconsent. An extended scene at the local BDSM club.
“All right, little girl. You ready to have your ass fucked?”
“Um…”
Is he waiting for a green light? After he told me I deserved to have my ass shredded by him? He rubs my pussy, playing with my clit until my knees slide wider on the bed.
“You look ready, bella.” He pressed the tip of his cock against my anus.
Even though I know the trick is to relax, I tighten.
He waits.
When the tight ring of muscles finally relaxes, he pushes forward.
I gasp and tighten again.
“Lie flat, little hacker, it will loosen things up.”
It will? Okay. I slide my knees back until I’m on my belly. He pushes my cheeks wide and dribbles more lube over my anus. Then he resumes entry. He’s right. This time it’s not as tight. He gets in and it stretches, but it’s not horrible. I breathe through it, my eyes squeezed closed. When he’s finally seated, he waits.
I forgot about the tie around my neck, but he didn’t. He picks it up and pulls it tight. My back bows up and I lean on my elbows to take the pressure off, but my hitman has started rocking in and out of my ass. Just a tiny movement, but it feels…
Really good.
Yeah, really freaking good.
I start making sounds. Moans of discomfort and pleasure mingled together.
He pumps a little harder—increases the range of his strokes. Tightens the leash around my neck.
“Ow, please,” I whimper, but I don’t want him to stop.
“Please, what, little hacker? Please fuck me harder?”
My pussy is swollen, sopping. Wanting something inside it, but he’s abusing my ass. I’ve never felt so used, so punished, so submissive in my life.
It’s a heady sensation. The endorphins course through my bloodstream. I’m on the edge of an orgasm.
“Please,” I moan again.
“Please you need to come?”
“Yes!”
He tightens the pressure around my throat at the same time he increases the speed of his pumps.
I try to beg some more, but the sound is choked off with my breath. I want to touch my pussy, shove my fingers in it, give it something to clamp down on, but I can’t move. I’m held prisoner by the band around my neck and the cock in my ass.
My orgasm rips through me. I tighten around his cock and he curses and releases the tie.
I suck in breath as I tumble face forward into the mattress, face forward into release. He holds me down by my nape and fucks my ass hard and fast while I float far, far away.
I hardly hear his shout when he comes. Don’t even know what happened after that.
The next thing I know, he’s put a new zip tie around my ankles and removed the one on my wrists long enough to pull off my shirt and sports bra. And then he must’ve put a new zip tie around my wrists, but I missed when that happened, because I’m suddenly in a bathtub filling with warm water and he’s standing over me, looking very stern as he strips out of his clothes.
“You move from this tub and I’ll shove something even bigger than my cock up your ass and it will stay there until you’ve returned my money. Capiche?”
I blink at him. What did he say? It didn’t even make sense.
I can’t return his money. The money is gone. Does he think I have it?
He steps into the adjacent shower and turns it on. “I’m watching you.”
It’s not funny, but I giggle. Just because he’s sexy when he’s stern, and I just hit subspace and am still riding my way back down.
I close my eyes and sink down into the warm, delicious water of the bath. I know I have problems. Huge, deadly ones. But just for this moment, I let myself forget. Surrender to the water and the will of my captor.
And aftermath of the best scene and sex of my life.
Paolo
Caitlin doesn’t move from the bath. She doesn’t even look around for a weapon, like she did in her bathroom. The girl is in outer space.
She’s definitely cray-cray. Like way off from normal.
Not sure why I find her so damn appealing.
Hot mess crazy isn’t my thing. I mean, I’d usually run away from that shit at the first sign.
But something about this little girl has already burrowed way under my skin. I feel strangely protective of her.
And her crazy thing doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It amuses me. Like I’ve chuckled more tonight than I have in the last month.
I keep an eye on her through the foggy glass of the shower door. She looks beautiful with her head tipped back, her wide mouth curved in pleasure.
I want to give her far more.
Too bad that’s not going to jive well with the demands I’m about to put on her. Which is the only reason I’m putting it off.
I can lay down the law tomorrow. Tonight it’s late and she’s gotta be falling asleep in that tub after what I put her through.
I shut off the water and grab a towel. She doesn’t open her eyes when I step out and dry off. Not until I pull the drain plug on the tub and the water starts emptying. Then she only lifts her lids halfway and watches me.
It’s damn sexy.
“It’s not going to be so easy lifting me out of this tub,” she observes and again, I’m tempted to smile.
“You gonna make it hard?”
“No.” She sounds surprised, like she hadn’t thought of resisting. “I just don’t see how you’re going to do it.”
“Easy.” I grip her forearms and lift her up enough to sit her on the side of the tub.
“Oh,” she says, like she’s embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess it was easy.”
I wrap a towel around her body and dry her off, then scoop her into my arms to carry to the bed. I want to keep her naked, but I have to remind myself she’s not mine. She may have initiated all the crazy shit we did tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can spread those toned legs in the morning and pound out my morning wood.
And I definitely will if she sleeps naked. Probably wouldn’t even wait until morning.
I put on a pair of boxer briefs and grab one of my t-shirts for her. I have to unclip the zip tie to put it on her. The skin of her wrists is getting raw and bruised, which I don’t love, but I can’t trust her enough to leave her unbound, either. I grab my tie and wrap it around her wrists a few times first, then use the zip tie over it, so she at least has some padding.
“Will you do that for my ankles too?” she asks innocently. Like she’s asking for a glass of Coke from a waiter.
I shove her onto her back and lift her a
nkles in the air, taking the opportunity to slap her ass a few times.
She shrieks.
“These ankles?”
“Yes, please.”
I can’t help myself. Putting a little hurt on her is so fucking satisfying. I had no idea what a sadistic stronzo I was with a woman until now. I paddle her ass all over with my hand, the crack of flesh on flesh and her resulting gasps loud in the bedroom.
I give her extra spanks over her pussy, which protrudes enticingly through her legs. I don’t stop until her ass is red and warm under my hand. Only then do I snip off the zip tie and use one of my socks under a fresh one to keep it from rubbing.
Her cornflower blue gaze is on my face the whole time. The blankness she displayed in the bathroom is gone. I see the keen intelligence now. “What are you going to do with me?” she asks.
“You’re going to make reparations. And after you do, I might let you go. We’ll see.”
I know I didn’t straight out tell her I’d set her free, but I meant the words to put her a little more at ease. Because I know she’s been wondering if I’m going to off her. But she goes pale at my pronouncement, her face shuttering up, shoulders hunching as she curls in on herself on the bed.
I slide the covers out from under her and climb in, then wrap an arm around her waist and pull her ass back against my lap. So much for not tempting myself.
I keep my arm firmly around her waist, my body molded around the outside of hers. If she moves, I’ll feel it. No way she’s going to escape during the night. I’m not a deep sleeper.
“You so much as move a muscle without permission and there will be hell to pay. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir,” she murmurs.
“Huh.” It must be a sexplay thing, calling me sir. She’s way too young and casual in the rest of her speech for me to believe she regularly calls men sir.
“Yes, Mr. Tacone,” she amends, remembering my correction earlier.
I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “Good girl.” It comes out as a satisfied rumble. And I genuinely feel it.
She’d make a great pet. And I’d fucking love to be her master.
Chapter 4
Caitlin
I wake to the smell of pancakes and my tummy rumbles. I never got to eat what I consider the dinner of champions last night—the bowl of Golden Grahams I poured myself before I found the Tacone brother in my apartment.
I squirm around, attempting to sit up. My feet and hands are numb from having the blood cut off and my whole body aches from being forced to stay in the same position for the last twelve hours. I play the game I’ve been playing from the start, which is pretending I’m not a prisoner, and that this is all fun and games to me.
“I smell pancakes!” I call out with exaggerated glee.
I’m satisfied when Mr. Tacone appears in the doorway, amusement playing over his face. He looks sexy as hell in crisp shirt, open at the collar, and his perfectly ironed dress slacks. “You like pancakes, little hacker?”
“I love them,” I profess. “And I’m starving. And about ready to chew my own foot off to get out of these things. Please?” I hold out my hands and put my puppy dog eyes on.
Tacone’s lips twitch. He pulls the nail clippers I used yesterday out of his pocket and clips off both zip ties.
I gasp at the sensation of blood returning to my hands and feet. “Ooh oh ow!” I drop my face back into the covers and roll it back and forth, squirming around and moaning.
After a few minutes, the terrible pins and needles dissipate and I sit back up to find Mr. Tacone just standing there, watching me.
“It’s your fault, you know,” I shoot at him, rather than feel embarrassed of my behavior.
“I’m aware,” he says mildly. A true sadist.
I admit, it turns me on.
He tips his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”
I step gingerly on my feet, gasping some more, and follow him to a modern kitchen with gleaming quartz countertops and stainless steel appliances.
A plate stacked with pancakes is on the breakfast bar. I immediately plop onto a barstool, like this is the morning after a date.
Oddly, it seems to work. He offers me a mug of coffee, then arranges three pancakes on a plate and slides it in front of me.
“Oh my God,” I say, digging in without even waiting for the butter and syrup he’s passing over. “I’m so hungry and this smells so good.” My mouth is full now, so he may not have understood a word I said.
I look up to find him watching me, same as ever. “It’s an act, right?”
“What is?”
“The crazy thing. I don’t mind it. Actually, I find it cute. I just don’t buy it.”
My fork hovers in midair and I forget to chew. Funny that I’ve never been called on it before and this guy sees through me right away.
I set the fork down. “I have a disorder. Does it make me this nuts? Hard to say. How do you separate it all out?” I don’t know why the hell I’m philosophizing with a mafia man who kidnapped me.
He lifts his chin at my plate. “Mangia.” Clearly not going to partake in the philosophizing.
“Did you eat?”
He starts like he’d forgotten about serving himself. “No.” He fixes a second plate but doesn’t sit down. He remains standing across from me, staring me down as he butters his cakes.
I go back to eating, hoping he’ll drop the previous conversation.
He does, but he shocks me even more when he says, “I like you, Caitlin. It’d be pretty impossible not to.”
I make a dissenting sound in my throat. “I know at least a thousand people who’d disagree with you on that.”
He frowns, then shakes his head.
“I know there’s a but coming.”
“Oh there’s definitely a but, sweetheart.”
I suck in my breath at his brusque tone. Here it comes.
“I brought your computer and all your tech equipment. You have until 5:00 p.m. tomorrow to return the money with interest. If you comply, I’ll let you walk.”
I go cold all over. “I can’t.” I shake my head. “I don’t have it. I used it for tuition.”
“I know you did, doll. Yours and your brother’s.”
He lets that drop like an anvil between us. My fork falls out of my fingers.
He knows about Trevor. Fuck. I was hoping the fact that Trev took his adopted family’s last name would keep him out of it. I was careful to funnel his money through a separate fake scholarship fund, too.
Dammit.
He just shakes his head slowly. “You don’t want me to spell it out, doll. Hell, I don’t want to spell it out for you. But you and I both know what I’m capable of. Right?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. I can hardly breathe. Somehow, I manage to nod.
“So get on that computer of yours and get me the money. The clock is running.”
I feel like puking or crying or both at once.
This isn’t good. Not at all.
It’s a totally different game with Trevor’s life at risk. I didn’t care that much about mine. This life hasn’t shown me all that much worth savoring so far. But if Trevor died because of me… well, I can’t even think about that. My mind whirs on the problem.
“So how much is interest?” I don’t quite manage to keep the tremor out of my voice.
“Normally we charge forty-nine percent, compounded daily. But let’s just call it an even 200K.”
I gulp. “200K in interest or total?”
I catch that glimmer of a smile. I wonder what he’d look like with a full smile. Somehow, I can’t picture it. It would probably crack his face. “Two hundred total.”
I spread my hands on the table. “I need more time,” I tell him firmly. “The scam I set up on the Bellissimo was a fifth of a penny on every transaction. The money accrued slowly, day by day. I didn’t just siphon off two hundred grand. That would’ve gotten me caught six years ago.”
He li
fts his shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“More time,” I insist. I know it’s crazy that I think he’ll negotiate with me, but well, we’ve been doing crazy things. And he did make me pancakes.
“Sorry, doll. Get me the money, dropped into your off-shore account. I’ll handle transferring and washing it from there.” My heart sinks even further, because I’d been considering the very stupid idea of framing him for whatever money I steal.
“And don’t even think about not delivering or messaging for help or anything that will piss me off, bella.” He holds up his phone and I see a video of my brother walking out of his dorm, books tucked under his arm. “I have a guy on him now.”
My stomach sinks to the floor and I suddenly wish I’d skipped the pancake I already ate. I push the plate with the other two away.
I’m not going to get away with this. You can’t steal that much money in a short period of time. Not in the ways I’ve worked out, anyway. Even if I could infiltrate the account system of every casino in Vegas—which I would need months to do—I’m still not even sure I’d rack up the two hundred grand in thirty-one hours.
Fuck.
So basically, I’m going to go down for this.
I guess it’s better than the alternative, which is Trevor getting killed for my stupidity.
I fix my hitman with a glare. “Laptop?”
He arches a brow. “Don’t get bitchy, little girl. We still have to be together for two days.”
I make a snorting sound, but he’s right. We do. And I definitely liked the kinder, gentler side he showed me. I mean, there were moments: the jacket in the trunk of the car. The bath. Pancakes.
Oh God, am I trying to put icing on a cake made out of shit? I’m nuttier than they say.
He clears my plate and lifts his chin in the direction of the dining room. I look over and see all my tech stuff set up—everything from my apartment, including highly illegal blockers and re-routers to keep my identity and location from being discovered.
I get up and pad to the table in the dining room where I sit down and flick the switches on my equipment. I open the lid of my laptop and stare at the screen, which is as blank as my mind.