Dirty Wrong: BBW & Older Alpha (Off-Limits Love Book 1)

by Q. Zayne

  He worked me to the edge of madness. Grinning, he switched to one-handed push-ups, thumbing my bud to make me lose control. I panted, yanking at the restraints, moaning as he made my body respond, my whole being respond to his power. He thumbed me right to the edge, gazing into my eyes.

  “Let go, girl. Obey me. Release your pleasure to complete mine and take in my essence. Come with me, girl, take us to the underworld!” His unrelenting thumb pushed me over the edge. I came, shaking out of control in my bonds, gripping him deep inside me. “Surrender and take your medicine—take us deeper into this secret place.”

  I shrieked as he reared back, making my belly tent higher. I felt faint and my eyes rolled back. I clung to consciousness. He bellowed and shot into my unprotected body. He stretched me so wide and filled me so deep I squealed.

  “Father. Oh, thank you, Father.” He gave me the special fluid I’d craved.

  A horrible thought but a true one, I wanted to have his baby. I made my mind return to the gateway he told me to envision. The temple remained solid around us. We were still trapped.

  I raised my head and stared between my legs. Streaks of blood painted my inner thighs. He did it. He ravaged me, destroyed my virginity. He lowered his weight on me and kissed my throat, my lips, my eyelids.

  “Ah, my girl. So good to me. You must surrender whenever I want you. These rites will help us survive.”

  I believed him. I did. Some people believed it was possible to survive on air. With Ignatius, I was willing to try. And we had more. Medicine. The sacred fluid of the medicine man. Priest and healer in one. My ankle didn’t hurt any more. For the first time in days, I wasn’t afraid.

  He pulled out; our juices dripped on the altar. Invisible tongues lapped at me, beings scurried between my legs and away. The demon tongues eased my soreness. We slaked their hunger for now. We might be safe.

  He reached into his pocket and brought out a rosary. He put it around my neck, arranged my hair tenderly as though for my funeral, and placed the vivid crucifix between my breasts.

  My heart still beat under it.

  His gaze lingered. My nipples stayed hard in the chill; he bent and kissed each one, making me gasp as his whiskers and lips grazed my skin. His scent was as familiar to me as my own. This man guided me through sacred acts for years. He was the one, of all men, right for my surrender. It wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be. I shook inside from what we did.

  He pressed his hand over my heart. He took me on the ancient altar amid bloodthirsty forces and my heart remained inside me. My hymen, though, he sacrificed. The powerful former priest annihilated my virginity. If this was the first time he had sex, he made up for lost time.

  “Bless you—.” He stopped the words and kissed me on the lips. Swallowing what we both knew I was to him, what he needed me to be. I swallowed, too. Shocked at our forbidden secret, what we became to each other on the altar, the powerful lust that commanded us. It made us different than we were before, made us a degraded unity, a partnership based on sin. We were in this together. I felt dirty, but I wasn’t dirty alone.

  I raised my face and kissed him back. His eyes widened. He grasped my breasts, his hands shaking, his tongue met mine. I felt his gratitude. I was, at last for him, a willing victim to his needs.

  He reached into his pack and brought forth the phallic relic. He set it on my belly, intoning lilting words in a language that wasn’t Latin. Ancient Maya? Would he speak ancient Maya after symbolically sacrificing me on this altar?

  “One more thing for me, for all the world, you recent virgin love. Blair, accept this phallus, the symbolic organ of generation belonging to the lord of the underworld, into the passage I’ve opened.”

  I didn’t fathom what he meant, although I suspected it earlier. Without hesitation, he raised the stone member and aimed it at my flowing opening. It glowed like a brand. I blinked. This could not be happening. In his flow of words, I recognized the lord of the underworld. He pushed the fanged snake head at me. It felt too warm, like a cooling sauna-hot stone. His muscles corded. I screamed. He shoved. It penetrated me, the lord of the underworld taking me, too. A name I couldn’t understand tore my mind and made me scream it.

  “You’re the key. You’ll take us through the gateway.”

  My eyes rolled back, my body stuffed beyond my limits. He pressed his body down on me, mastering me, capturing me, bringing me back to life with lust as he humped the stone rhythmically into my too-stretched core.

  “Good girl, good girl. Feel it, welcome it. This has to work. We have to go to the lord of the underworld. I studied this. He’s the one to petition at the end of days.”

  I was as shocked by his apparent belief in what most people would call superstition as by the extreme impalement. By archaeological standards, he violated the relic as much as he violated me. I couldn’t speak, but his rhythmic thrusts forced me to respond. Gritting my teeth, I shook in climax.

  “Yes, girl, yes! I love you!”

  I wanted to cling to him with my arms and legs but my bonds kept me pinned on the stone. I held his words to my heart.

  “I love you, too, Father.” I felt it, a glow in my heart as strong as the brand thrust deep between my legs. The world split open.

  Flame-bright light skewered us with red loud as screams. The altar lurched and descended, stones rumbling. A whoosh of sulfurous air gave me goosebumps as we dropped.

  Ignatius held me, praying in Latin and in the unknown tongue. Our bodies, still united by the phallus pressed between us, fell so fast on the altar into the depths below the tomb my belly flipped.

  We landed with a thud. Maya demons surrounded us. I recognized the headdresses. Their muscular brown bodies gleamed in the firelight. Men, all of them. Most of them were hard.

  I panted, pulling at the shackles. I wanted to cover myself. I wanted to run. Even if I wasn’t chained and covered by Ignatius, the lord’s wand commanded me to stay put. The weight of the relic pinned me, keeping me open like a specimen butterfly. Even if they unchained me, I couldn’t close my legs.

  Bobbing feathers on the tallest headdress of all gleamed above the heads of the demons. They parted for their lord. An imposing, muscular figure, he towered over us. I didn’t blink. His pectoral rested on a muscular, smooth, bronze chest. He wasn’t breathing. It never occurred to me before, demons must not need to breathe. But he needed, or wanted, to fuck. His rampant cock waved before him. For a dizzy moment, I wondered if he’d pick Ignatius over me, bend him over the altar at my feet and spear him up the ass, as punishment or reward, I didn’t know. The image excited me despite my fear.

  The demon lord reached the altar. I smelled smoke and fur. I fought to close my legs. The shackles bit my ankles.

  His obsidian claws gleamed. Flames shot up from his hooves. Hooves? I didn’t know if I hallucinated or mixed my expectations of a demon from my culture with the beings around me. Maybe I lost my mind, or hit my head. I averted my eyes and caught sight of a man with lighter skin in the surging crowd. Was that Jace, watching?

  The demon lord pushed Ignatius off me and raked his claws down my breasts and belly. Blood beaded and flowed from my flesh. Groans, gurgles, slurps and cracking sounds rose from the others. They crowded near in a muscular, sulfurous miasma. Ignatius scrambled to his feet and rushed forward, his crotch stained with my cherry juice, his hands out, shaking. The demon lord bared his teeth and growled. Ignatius sent me apologies, his misery at being unable to defend me palpable.

  Thank you, the lord said without speaking aloud. She pleases me. You’ll have your reward. He licked his lips with a long pointed tongue and leaped onto the altar between my legs.

  Who sold me out? My former priest, or my godfather? The demon’s teeth held my attention, so long and sharp. He slid his claws lower and prepared to take me.

  “No!” Ignatius rushed at him, but one big hand flicked in his direction sent him sprawling and howling through the flames.

  I closed my eyes. This wasn’t happening. />
  The demon plucked his snake relic out of me and I howled, eyes shocked open. The lord of the underworld held his stone wand over me. If he wanted, he could clobber me with it. His knees burned my thighs. Real, as real as me. I screamed.

  To be Continued … .

  Stay tuned for Punished, the next episode of Mayan Apocalypse.

  Thank you for reading Innocent Captive. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Innocent Captive listing page for reviews.

  Thank you.

  Q.

  Get more forbidden adventure in Virgin Captive, the complete collection of my Mayan Demon’s Taboo Punishments serial.

  Excerpt: Losing It in Africa

  People should have to have a license to have a baby, and if they can’t come up with a humane baby name, they should be denied. Ancestor names should be banned, except in the rare case where the ancestors have sexy names.

  I got stuck with Ida, and may never forgive my parents. I changed it to Ivy, got a strand of the vine tattooed around my ankle in high school. I don’t think they’ll forgive me, either.

  Their lack of taste is why I had to stand in front of my killer-handsome potential new boss and correct him about my name.

  “Excuse me, sir, it’s Ivy.”

  “What’s Ivy?” His eyes sparkled. I wondered if he was messing with me.

  “My name. My name is Ivy.”

  He lifted a print-out from his desk, and peered at it. Probably did a background check on my social security number. He was hot. Muscular bod filling out his classy charcoal suit, black hair, and eyes so dark they looked black, too, from across his massive teak desk. Big hands with no wedding ring. But was this powerful, hot man a paranoid bastard?

  “It says here your name is Ida.”

  I took a deep breath, and dug my nails into my palms. I’d borrowed a skirt suit and chiffon blouse from my roommate, and stuck my hair up in a French twist in an attempt to look older. I was 19, but lots of people were prejudiced, like you didn’t need a job—or have a right to any freedom or responsibility at my age. The paper he held in his big hands showed my hope to pass myself off as older was as blown as the truth about my name. Ida was someone from a past century, not me.

  “That’s a mistake. My parents’ mistake.” I blushed. I made it sound like I was an accident.

  He laughed. It transformed him, made his male beauty more human and approachable. I approached.

  “Really, sir, it’s so awful, I started calling myself Ivy years ago.” I raised my chin. “I don’t answer to anything else.” I braved rounding the end of his desk, and stuck out my foot, displaying my tattoo as proof. It showed through the sheer stockings I bought for the interview and complemented the sexy glossy black patent leather high heels I’d worn to spice up the conservative suit.

  He whistled. He was enough older than me that it sounded appreciative, not crass. Maybe he could see my panties in the reflective shoe. Close up, I caught the glints of silver at his temples. He was older than my dad. But hot, so hot. I felt self-conscious standing near him, right in his zone behind his power desk. I could reach out and touch him, or he me. The thought made me turn a brighter shade of red. His head remained bent, as though he were memorizing my tattoo. I kept my ankle raised for his inspection. Years of dance training paid off. I could stand balanced on one high heel for a long time. My breathing sped up, and I felt warm all over.

  “Ivy it is, then. Lovely tat.”

  I liked his deep, friendly voice. Strange yet good to hear a guy his age say tat. From him it didn’t seem put on, the way some teachers tried to use slang to sound like they understood us, but they didn’t. I put my foot down, moving slow, like a stork in front of a predator. I backed away from him, and something crashed.

  I whipped around. A statue of blindfolded Justice with her scales of balance on fine chains lay in a heap on the floor. I bent and gathered it up. I felt his eyes on my ass. I couldn’t help myself. I bent over deeper.

  No way I’d get this job on my qualifications. I was willing to get it on the view. I never had a job; in my resume, I made the most of my stint as editor for the school paper. So I took my time getting her scales in my hands, and untangling the chains so the metal trays would hang just so. I rose and put it on his desk. After treating him to the sight of my clinging red lace panties, I didn’t feel so insecure.

  “Sorry about that.” I smiled. He looked flushed.

  He murmured something. I think he said, “I’m not.”

  “Come in tomorrow at eight, Ivy.” He said my name with emphasis. I liked how it sounded coming from his mouth. My first boss. Who knew the world of work could be so hot?

  “No questions?”

  He grinned, his face still red. “Not at this time.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see you at eight.” I gave him my best smile and twisted a loose strand of hair around my finger. A deep breath made my blouse gap, showing my matching bra filled to overflowing with my abundant girls. I strode to the door and put extra wiggle in my walk. He sighed behind me. One thing I could tell about my new boss, he liked my curves.

  I arrived 10 minutes early, and breezed past the receptionist’s icy glance. No chance we were going to be friends. If I was here first and if I had a boss as hot as Weston Drake, I wouldn’t be happy to see a fresh face either. Wait. I did have a boss as hot as Mr. Drake.

  I was about levitating as I sashayed into his office in my roommate’s sexiest business suit. It was black, close-fitting, and showed a lot of leg.

  West gave me an appreciative glance as I approached to stand in front of his massive desk with my hands clasped. I made myself admire the enormous aquarium that took up one wall of the room to keep myself from staring at his thick dark hair, and the lines radiating around his eyes.

  The way his shoulders filled out his form-fitting European suit had me stealing glances.

  He took a deep breath, and as he looked me up and down his expression seemed regretful.

  “I’ve got to leave town. Miko will help you get started.”

  “But I want to go with you.” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but I wanted it intensely, like something you had to have to live.

  I was a terrestrial creature dropped in his aquarium gasping for breath.

  He seemed to size me up.

  “I’m going to Africa.” His tone wasn’t quite final. I sensed an opening.

  “Please, please take me with you!” I knew I sounded juvenile, but I’d always wanted to go to Africa. I was rocking on my high heels in my eagerness. My girls bounced. He smiled, but the smile dropped fast.

  “This is a dangerous trip, Ivy.”

  “What’s going on?” I rested my palms on his desk. The wood was luxuriously smooth. I thought I probably shouldn’t touch it but leaning forward made my chiffon wrap blouse open to give him a view. My magical bra gave me mondo cleavage. I wanted this so badly.

  He picked up a letter opener shaped like a dagger and stabbed it into his blotter. It quivered and so did I.

  “My father was into some questionable things, and I’ve been cleaning up his messes for years. I benefit from his fortune, but I don’t condone how he built it.” He looked pained.

  “Tell me.” I made my voice soft and as mature as possible. I pitched it a little breathy like Marilyn Monroe’s. One of the few things my mom and I had in common was loving those old Hollywood movies. This was my first job, a new start. I could be anyone, make myself into a new Ivy. Right now I needed to be an alluring assistant Mr. Drake would take to Africa.

  He took a deep breath.

  “I found out a man who works for me is involved in smuggling fake pharmaceuticals. That means the medicines are worthless.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  He met my eyes in surprise. Clue one for Mr. Drake, I wasn’t empty-headed eye candy. If I wanted him to see me as an asset, I had to take the risk of challenging him
. Maybe my own difficult old man had done me one good turn. He taught me to stand up to a stubborn man and win. I had to then, and I wanted to now.

  “Sorry. Not everyone reads.” His sexy mouth quirked. “What this means right now is that countless people with treatable diseases are waiting for medicine, and what they’re going to get is crap. All those people—babies, children, women, and men—will die. That’s the immediate problem. There’s also my dad’s connections in blood diamonds, but the people at the top have gotten better at concealing the stones’ origins so they can continue to profit without running afoul of increased international scrutiny into of the high costs in human lives of their dirty business.” West spread his hands. “I won’t even start on the illegal antiquities trade.” A snaking vein beat at his temple. “Call it white guilt, call it anything you want. I have to do what I can to clean up after the old man and make a difference.”

  “But you must have people who take care of things for you.” My mouth ran ahead of my brain. I shut up. The man wanted to go to Africa personally to deal with this deadly business, and I wanted to go with him. Suggesting he delegate was the wrong move.

  His eyes flicked to me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “You have to learn to listen, Ivy. This is my problem, and I’m going to take care of it.”

  He didn’t have to add, or die trying. I read those words in the slump of his powerful shoulders, and the way his broad forehead dropped into his hands.

  “Okay. Okay, West,” I dared, trying out his first name in my mouth and liking it.

  “You’ve got spunk, don’t you, girl?” His eyes crinkled, and I read approval in his gaze. I remembered to listen. He wasn’t done.

  “This isn’t a pleasure jaunt. It’s work. You’ll have to be fast, adaptable, able to endure hardship.” He stood up, and peered at my feet. “And you’ll need walking shoes.”