by Dani René
I turn to face him. He’s drenched in darkness and shadows. But that’s who he is. That’s where his past lies. I don’t know much about it, but from the folder of info my father’s PI found, I know Callan O’Leary must have a treacherous past.
“I . . .” There’s no other way to say this, so I swallow my anxiety and glance up at his dark eyes. “I wanted to see if you’re as dangerous as you looked. I noticed you a couple of months ago when I was with Amber, and she said you’re probably a serial killer.”
A sound vibrates through his chest at my admission. A low, gravelly chuckle. “And do you make it your life’s purpose to go around teasing serial killers?”
“No, of course not. I just . . . I felt like . . . I don’t know, like I wanted to know you. Is that so difficult to understand?” He stalks toward me, closing the distance in an instant. His frame is large, strong, and it cocoons my smaller one.
“I got a job today,” he tells me, not answering my question.
“O-kay,” I drag out the word, confused at why he’s telling me this. He places a hand on my hip, and the other finds my chin, tilting it up so I’m looking directly at him. Maybe he’s going to tell me he really is a serial killer, and I’m on his hit list.
“You may know my boss,” he utters, but doesn’t offer more. My brows kick together in confusion before he tells me a name that causes my mouth to fall open. “Mr. Parker.”
“What? My father?” I step back, but his hand juts out, gripping my wrist. He tugs me closer, his body molding to mine, or is it mine that’s clearly so needy for him I’m pressing my curves against him? I place my hand on his chest, pushing him backward, needing space. As much as I want him near me, against me, inside me, I also have to think.
“Don’t go running off now,” he warns, but my gaze is pinned on him, questioning him with just one look. “Yes, I’m working for your father, but in essence, I’m at your service.” His smile lights up his rather dark demeanor. The steely expression he normally has plastered on his face changes. There are wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. His lips, full, pink, curl into a boyish grin. Even though he looks far too old for me, I can’t help noticing how handsome he is.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll be your new security detail, chauffeur,” he says smugly. His face a picture of devilish intent and naughty satisfaction.
“Callan, I don’t need—”
He cuts me off by tugging me against his solid frame. My hands landing on his shoulders, feeling the muscle tighten and bulge. The response of my body to him, to his touch is scorching. And this time I can’t push away because I want this.
He leans in so close I can smell the alcohol on his warm breath.
“You do need,” he murmurs. “You do want. And trust me when I say this, I’m about to deliver.”
Gently, he brushes his lips along mine. It’s not a kiss — it’s torture. My body hums, my blood heats, and my panties near enough disintegrate. His hands are rough, calloused, but his mouth is inviting, tempting. Too sinful to even think about because he shouldn’t be doing this.
If my father saw me now, saw us now, he’d have Callan killed or worse. They think I don’t know about the shady shit my father does, and I wonder if my new bodyguard has any inkling. As quickly as his mouth finds mine, it disappears. He moves away, releasing my hips.
“Tonight, we play. Are you ready?” he questions me.
“I’ve been ready for a while.” My response earns me a chuckle.
He gestures to the chair. “Sit.” It’s an order, and so the game begins. I move to the ornate wingback chair, which reminds me of the stormy clouds on a winter’s day. Once I’m perched on the plush cushion, he turns to grab his drink. “Now, I want you to lift your skirt.” There’s a coldness, almost brashness to his command, but I obey.
With trembling fingers, I lift the hem of my dress, knowing he’ll soon see what I’ve hidden for so long from everyone but Hudson. His gaze burns my skin as it follows the track of the material. The growl that vibrates through his chest tells me he’s noticed them, and I don’t know what he’s going to do now.
“Sit back and open your legs,” he bites out but doesn’t make mention of the scars he’s seen.
He’s so calm. But the muscles of his arms bulge as they tense under the crisp white material of his shirt. There’s tension rolling through his muscles as his hands fist, causing the veins to pop out, and I wonder what he looks like naked.
I spread my legs, my stomach tumbling as he watches me eagerly. There’s a hunger in his gaze. A grunt rumbles in his chest when he sees my lace panties. The bright orange color matches my bra, the skimpy material barely covering my pussy. They’re tight, revealing, and drenched.
Callan is all man. Strong, foreboding, but also handsome. He slowly unbuttons his shirt. Moving so torturously slow I want to beg him to hurry. I want to see him. Naked, but also needy for me as I am for him.
His strong hands tug the material from the waistband of his jeans. They hug his muscled thighs; the dark fabric looks like it’s been painted on. When his shirt finally hits the floor, I’m met with the beautifully chiseled man who has me squirming as I trail my gaze over him. Corded veins are prominent on his hands and up his arms, making my mouth water.
“Do you like the view, sweetheart?” he smirks confidently. There’s so much about this man that makes me want to slap him for being so arrogant, but it’s that quality that makes me want him so much more.
“You’re far too confident, Mr. O’Leary,” I tell him, allowing my fingers to tease my sex.
His gaze drops between my legs, not mentioning my imperfections. “If you touch your pretty pussy again, I’ll make sure you beg me to stop tonight,” he warns. There’s an underlying threat, one that sets my body alight. “But you like that, don’t you?”
He stalks closer, his body only inches from mine when he rips my hand from between my legs. I’m about to pull my skirt down, but his large calloused fingers grip me painfully.
“Is that what you hide from everyone?” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Answer me, Madison, or I swear to god I’ll fucking punish you so badly you’ll need an ambulance to leave here tonight.”
My mouth falls open, but I can’t find my confidence to respond. Tears sting my eyes when he glares, the heat of his eyes trickle over me like flames licking at a piece of paper, and I’m afraid I’m about to go up in smoke.
“It’s . . . I need it, Callan.” My whisper is barely audible, and I’m sure he hasn’t heard, but a moment later, he shakes his head.
“That’s bullshit, Madison.” The low, menacing growl that leaves his lips is enough to have my heart leaping into my throat, threatening to choke me.
“It’s none of your business,” I hiss, pushing him away. I don’t need this. All my life I’ve been judged. First for my body, then from my so-called boyfriend for my coping mechanism.
Callan rips me out of the chair seconds later and drags me, literally fucking drags me to the St. Andrews Cross. He binds me to the leather apparatus, and even though I’m cursing him, he ignores me.
My wrists are taut against the contraption, my ankles are spread wide, and I’m standing on my tip toes to keep my hands from losing feeling.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I bite out, anger and desire all swirling together in a maelstrom of an impending disaster. I feel like there’s a storm coming, and I’m not prepared. The name of the hurricane is Callan O’Leary. He stalks off, leaving me there for long moments. When he finally returns, he seems far too calm. In his hand, he’s gripping a leather whip that only makes my anxiety peak.
“What is your safe word?”
I meet his intense stare and spit the word at him. “Wrath.”
The corner of his mouth quirks into a sinful grin. One so fucking handsome, so downright gorgeous all I want is to see him between my thighs.
“Oh, Blossom, when I’m done with you, you’ll indeed be wanting vengeance.” His promise, a
vow to cause me pain, doesn’t scare me. He doesn’t fucking scare me.
“Do your worst,” I taunt.
He lifts his hand, and the leather licks my skin, again and again. I count in my head, but when I reach ten, I lose it. I can’t think straight.
“Callan!”
He stalls for a moment, drops the whip, and I think my punishment is over, but it’s not. It’s far from it. His hands grip my face, holding me in place. Even though I can’t move my limbs or my body, his hold on my face is what leaves me paralyzed.
“If you ever, and I fucking mean ever hurt yourself,” he hisses, the deep baritone of his voice vibrating through me, “I’ll whip you so hard that you bleed. I’ll watch the pretty crimson drip from your flesh.”
“Please,” I whimper. I’m unsure of what I’m asking of him, what I want, but there’s something I need from him. An ache low in my belly starts, and I can feel the arousal dripping from me.
He releases me, reaches to his side, and then he’s back in front of me. So close I can smell the spicy cinnamon scent of his cologne.
“Now,” he starts. “I’m going to do something I’ve never done with a girl in our first scene.” He pulls out a blade, shiny and luminous in the dim light. “Is this what you used to fuck-up your perfect body?”
“Fuck you, Callan,” I bite out, my anger fueling my speech, making me spew out words of rage rather than desire.
“Tell me,” he insists. “I want to hear it from your lips.” His taunting causes me to cry out. I should call out my safe word. I should make him stop, but he’s seen right through me. He’s looked into the very depth of my soul, and I have no way of getting him out.
“I needed to feel,” I sob. When I finally blink, tears stream down my face. But he doesn’t relent. He lifts the blade, placing it on the curve of my breasts. Gently, he trails it over the flesh, causing me to shudder.
I watch it move over my body, the hypnotic feeling of the steel against me makes me want more, I need him to press harder, to see the sweet crimson release of letting go of pain, but he doesn’t. Instead, the gentle scrapes make their way to my stomach. When he reaches between my legs, I pull in a harsh breath.
The panties I was wearing fall to the floor, and I’m now bared to him. Open and wanton. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses a kiss to my mound, then harshly swats my wet pussy with his large hand, causing me to cry out loudly.
He takes his knife, the blade against my smooth flesh, just above my clit. “I’m here, Madison, because for some inexplicable reason you’ve caught my eye,” he confesses, not looking at me. But rather, his rapt attention is on the sleek blade. His fingers twist it round and round, allowing it to scratch against me slightly, which only makes me wetter.
“And that’s a bad thing?” I smile, but when he lifts his deep blue eyes to meet mine, I see the war raging within those dark pools.
“It’s a very bad thing, Blossom.”
“Why?” I challenge, leaning forward, but I can only move an inch before my wrists protest.
Callan’s eyes darken further when his fingers push into my core. It’s not far enough for me to feel filled, but it’s enough to make me whimper. By the time he shakes his head, I meet his gaze and find both orbs black as night before he averts them. “Because you’re not mine to take,” he finally tells me.
I consider his words for a moment. Granted, I’m not the most experienced girl out there, but I know what he means. He wants to have me, to fuck me, to devour me, just like I want him to. The only thing that stops us is my father. Hudson is not part of the reasoning that Callan has. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s nothing to me.
“And now I work for you, I should keep things professional.” His words are pained. He wants me as much as I do him.
“I’m not going to make it easy on you to resist me,” I warn, earning me a sinful smirk.
He nods, the weapon in his hand now pressing against my core. The handle pushes against my bare lips as he taunts my body with it.
“Do you wish this was my dick?” He chuckles as he pushes an inch inside me.
“You shouldn’t taunt me,” I tell him, thankful he’s not asking about the scars on my legs and stomach. I don’t need affection. I want it rough. I need to feel something other than the guilt and agony that sits in my mind constantly.
“I like to taunt little girls,” he says. “And when you look at me with those big brown eyes, it makes me want to do filthy things to you. It makes me want to feel your slick walls tighten around my cock.”
“Then do it,” I bite out. My body needy and wanting to be filled by him.
He clutches my throat, squeezing the breath from my lungs, and I hear the knife clatter to the cabinet inches from us. The hiss of a zipper sound, and seconds later, I feel the slickness of his cock against me.
“I thought you said you can’t have me?” I tease, watching him, waiting for that inkling that tells me he was lying. A small flicker in his eyes confirms I’m right. He wants the job, but he wants something more. Me.
“Oh, Blossom, I can’t have you since I signed your Daddy’s contract, but that doesn’t make me care. I’m not proclaiming love, I’m not even giving you a fucking ring.” He brings a foil packet to his lips and rips it with his teeth. He releases my neck as he sheaths himself.
When his eyes find mine once more, he smirks.
“What I am going to do is make you come so hard your knees will give out, your eyes will roll back, and all you remember is my name.” Then he leans in closer, his lips feather along my cheek. “There are times in my life I’ve taken anything I wanted. I didn’t care about those I hurt or even killed, and this time”— he plants a rough kiss on my cheek, his cock nudging me, warning me, and I almost cry out for more — “this time, is no different. You’re too perfect to fuck up, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get a taste of you. All I want to do is violate you every fucking day.”
With that illicit promise, he drives into my pussy, and I do scream. I cry out his name over and over again, and his hips piston into me.
His hand once more finds my throat. He chokes me. He makes my pussy squeeze his cock as he thrusts into me. My body is open for him, and all I can think about is his how deep he is, how good the sting of the pain feels inside me.
The cold metal is back, and I lose myself in the way he trails the knife over my nipples, pressing against the sensitive skin that’s puckered and hard for him.
“Hold tight, Blossom. Can’t be losing your petals,” he murmurs against my neck, and I’m so damn close. His cock, thick and hard, violates me in the most delicious of ways, offering me everything I need as it hits the spot inside that has my toes curling and my throat hoarse from the pleas falling from my lips.
I’ve never experienced just letting go. Callan takes my body and abuses it. His mouth latches onto my shoulder, his teeth grazing the flesh, and I ache for the pain. I moan it out, begging him for more.
My eyes are closed, the darkness sparks with bright lights as he presses the handle of his knife against my puckered entrance and growls when I beg for more. I want him to use me. I need him to violate me. And I crave for him to own me.
I’m filled suddenly. The pain sears me for a moment and tears sting my eyes as I scream his name like a chanting prayer. Like I’m meditating and he’s the only thing to ground me, and he does. He offers me that and so much more.
His cock slams into me. Taking me over an edge I didn’t know existed, and my body explodes, trembling and shaking and squirting my release all over him, drenching him in my musky scent.
“Callan,” I rasp as I feel his cock throb and pulse inside me, and I know he’s found his bliss with me.
“Just enjoy it,” he whispers quietly. And my traitorous heart agrees. She likes this. As dangerous as it is, she wants him, this, and everything we’re doing tonight.
Callan
I should walk out. Leave her here while she gets dressed and rights herself, but I don’t. When I sli
p from her body, she whimpers at the loss, and something inside me jerks to life. Emotions I’ve long shoved aside.
I was lost to the world my father created for me for so long, wanting a normal life just seems trivial. Killing someone came easily to me. Carrick wasn’t like me. He was softer than I ever was. My heart had been cold since the day I turned sixteen. I never wanted to be like our father. But the day that changed me forever enforced what I would become. When I saw what monsters did, I wanted to be the scariest of them all. The men who worked for our father, Padraig O’Leary, watched as the young boy became cold, closed off to everyone around him, and killed for fun.
Silently, I help Madison from the cuffs, lifting her bridal style in my arms. When I set her on the bed, my gaze lingers on her scars. And I feel the pull to her. That invisible tether between us. My scars are hidden within me, deep inside my soul that’s been marred for far too long. Only I know they’re there.
Reminders of who I am.
Her eyes flutter as she regards me with a soft smile.
“You’re lost in your mind again,” Madison utters from the bed. I’m dressed, my shirt unbuttoned, but I pull it over my shoulders. I know I should give her aftercare, hold her and tell her she’s perfect, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m bad at this, at being with a woman, but she doesn’t seem deterred.
Nodding, I respond, “I do that sometimes.”
“Why?” She sounds genuinely curious. Not baiting me, but just innocently wanting to know more. I settle on the bed, placing a hand on her thigh, gently stroking it. My focus is on her flesh, on all the silver marks that mar her perfect skin.
She’s hurt herself. There are so many, which causes me to wonder if she still does it. If she’s still hurting inside.
“This,” I start, ignoring her question. “Will never happen again. Do you hear me?” This time, I do look at her. There’s a gentle defiance in her gaze. I wait for her to refuse me. To tell me I’m not her father, but she doesn’t.