by Dani René
“Hudson will be here soon,” I inform him, but the look on his face tells me I’m wrong. He’s done something. “What did you do?” I move back onto the bed, my head on the pillows.
“He’s rather tied up at the moment,” he responds with a wink then proceeds in tying my wrists to the posts on either side of the headboard. My legs are bound open to the wooden frame foot-end of the bed. When he’s done, he steps back to admire me from where he’s standing. “Perfect.”
The small pair of shorts I was wearing, and the slinky material of my panties are sliced from my body along with my tank top. I’m bared to him once more, and I wonder if he can see my soul crying out for this, for him.
From the inner part of his dark jacket, he pulls out a long, slim strip of leather, and I note it’s a whip. It’s coiled like a serpent, and when he grips the handle and releases the long tongue, it whooshes in the air. He shrugs his jacket off and tugs the T-shirt he’s wearing from the waistband of his jeans.
“Are you ready to play?”
“Yes, Callan.” I whimper when he brings the whip down over my thighs. Again and again. Over the marks I’ve hidden for so long. His gaze burns into me, past those silver reminders of my past. He turns my skin red, and I revel in it. My hips lift when the fine point of the leather nips at where my clit is hidden by my panties, causing me to cry out in agonizing pleasure.
“Please. Oh, god, please,” I beg, pleading with him to fuck me, make me come. Anything. It’s torture being away from him, but being near him and not feeling his hands on me is driving me insane.
“Did you fuck him?” he asks as he continues his assault on my legs, shins, my stomach. “Did you, Madison?”
“No!” I shriek when it hits my nipple, the hardened bud throbbing as he smirks down at me. After the lashings, he sets the whip down and shoves his shoes off. Then with one hand, pulls his tee up and over his head, and I’m met with the glorious view of his toned torso, his tanned skin, and the thick bulge in his now open jeans. The zipper is low, and his pants hang from his tapered hips.
He crawls over me, hovering above me like a hunter about to attack its prey. He uses his knife and trails it over and around my nipple, the rosy color darkening and puckering against the cold metal.
“So pretty,” he says in awe, copying the action with my other breast. “All day, all night, every fucking hour of the day, Madison,” he grunts, then lifts his gaze to mine. The sharp tip of the blade under my chin. “I think about you, about your smile, your eyes, I fantasize about your pretty little cunt and how tight it is around my dick.”
The filthy words he’s offering only intensifies the ache between my legs. My skin is tingling from my whipping, my clit throbbing for attention.
“And you know what I do?” he says, leaning in, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it harshly. Tugging it between his teeth, then laving at it with his tongue. He tortures me like this for what feels like hours.
He lifts his gaze to mine. “I fist my cock. I stroke it slowly,” he tells me, and by the time his mouth moves lower, over my bare stomach to my belly button, I’m a puddle of arousal just waiting for him to drink me in.
“Callan, please,” I beg shamelessly. My legs splayed, I’m open. I can smell myself.
“You’re so wet, Blossom,” he smirks. “Is my pretty flower wanting to be plucked and devoured?” He uses the knife in his hand to trail along my mound, eliciting a whimper and mewl from me. “Look at that beautiful cunt.” His gaze is locked on my core, his tongue darting out to lick his lips hungrily. “I want to eat it until you’re shaking, then I’m going to fuck you raw. I want you to hurt tomorrow. I want you to remember when he walks in here later that I’m the one who fucking owns you.”
He drops his head between my thighs, and his mouth goes to work on my body. His tongue fucks me deep as if his cock is driving into me. My toes curl when he sucks my clit into his mouth. With two thick fingers, he dips them into my pussy, crooking them to press against the sweet spot inside me that sets the fireworks off. They shoot behind my eyelids as I cry out in pleasure.
My hips rock against his face. I’m fucking myself on his mouth, and all I can think of is more. I need it. I want it. He doesn’t relent. His lips close around my smooth lips, and he drinks me like I’m his favorite beverage. His fingers tease my back entrance, swirling around it with my arousal, and when his finger slips into the tight ring of muscle, I find another release, soaking Callan’s mouth, chin, and coating his tongue in my juices.
I’m nowhere near coming down from my high when I feel him at my pussy. His cock gently nudging me open. “Look, Madison,” he tells me.
I open my eyes and find the sight of his cock against the lips of my pussy too much, and I moan loudly. “Please, Callan, just fuck me.”
“Watch how my big cock splits your pretty petals. Look how I break my Blossom.” He’s growling like a rabid dog as he inches into me. Once he’s fully seated, he doesn’t move for a moment, and then, before I have time to say anything, he pulls out and drives back in, causing my body to slide up the bed.
He reaches for my neck, gripping me tightly, and my body pulses with need. “You love my fingers wrapped around your throat. Don’t you, Blossom?” he grits out through clenched teeth. “You see, Madison, you’re breathless and vulnerable.”
I want to claw at his wrist, to dig my nails into the flesh, igniting dark desire inside him, but I can’t. Instead, I nod as I lift my hips, begging wordlessly for more.
“You’re mine.” Two words have me whimpering as tears form in my eyes when I realize it’s true. I see it in his eyes. He loves me. He can’t say it, but he doesn’t need to. It’s written all over his face. His expression tells me everything I need to know.
We move in sync.
Our hips slam against each other.
His hands on my hips, holding me in place as he fucks me into the mattress.
There’s an overflow of love here, but we’re not sweet and gentle. There’s nothing more than two people who need each other to be whole. And when we’re connected, with him inside my like this, I’m me.
Finally.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he utters into my neck, his mouth latching on as he ruts like an animal that’s just lost all control.
“I want to come. I want you to fill me, Callan, please.” Words fall from my mouth. My wrists ache, my ankles protest, but when I roll my hips and squeeze myself around him, I draw his orgasm as mine suddenly slams into me, and I call his name again.
I chant it. It’s my prayer.
He’s my savior.
And my sin.
Callan
My body is still tense from seeing her. I laid my claim. She knows she’s mine, and as much as her father doesn’t approve, there’s no fucking denying it. I left her in bed, her body draped in the soft, white sheet. One of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.
But when my phone vibrated beside the bed where I was holding onto Madison like she was my lifeline, I knew. I got the message from Oliver there’s an urgent meeting this morning at the Parker residence. Mr. Oliver Michaelson, a man who wears many caps, one being his law degree, has been called in to help.
The video leaked this morning. As soon as Magnus Parker’s PR saw it, they sent a request of removal, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, once it’s on the internet and gone viral, there’s no way of unseeing it.
I can’t help chuckling at the thought of Magnus crumbling to his knees, begging for Oliver’s help. A man on his knees shows his weakness — that’s what my father used to tell me. But when I’m with Madison, I’ll gladly show her my weakness because she makes me want to show her my soul.
I’ve been a bad man all my life. I don’t deny I am. But I’ll spend the rest of my days changing that to make her smile. To have the love of Madison Parker is a gift I don’t feel worthy of, but she gives it anyway.
The sun is just rising on the horizon, the sky turning from th
e darkness of night to the soft hues of day. Last night is playing on my mind. Those tender moments, along with the rough, have burrowed themselves in my heart. It was the moment Madison begged me to fill her — I found in that moment I did want to. The idea of her pregnant with my child brings out the caveman in me.
I thought I could walk away, I thought I could leave her after one taste, but it’s not satiated my hunger. No, I need her beneath and beside me forever. I want to hear her cry. To watch her porcelain skin welt with red when I whip her into submission.
Don’t get me wrong. I want nothing more than to have her by my side as my partner, but in the bedroom, she’ll be on her knees as my equal, because God knows that woman is strong and resilient.
First though, I have to find out what her father is planning to do now that his seat has been threatened by his extracurricular activities. I can’t be in the meeting with them, but Oliver has given me a way in without them knowing. As I pull up to the rear of the mansion, I set the car in park and wait.
My thoughts drift back to my girl in bed this morning. Leaving her was difficult, but I made it back to the city with time to spare. Now, as I sit here with my phone burning a hole in my pocket, I watch my mark pull up to Magnus’s property. Hudson Brockovich, the asshole who wants to fuck me over by hurting Madison. I know he will. There’s an iciness in the way he looked at me, one of a killer.
It reminds me of who I was. And yes, right now, I realize why Carrick stopped working for our father. I know now why he wanted an out. I recall the moment he took his revenge. It was only a few months ago now, but it feels like yesterday. The only thing is, he doesn’t know what really happened that day, and I don’t intend to tell him either.
* * *
I should’ve done it. I should’ve told my brother to stay home while I exact the revenge he’s been wanting for so long, but I know if I’d have done that, he would never get the closure he needs.
The sun is low on the horizon as we make our way up to the house. The building is old, but it’s warning of darkened windows tells us to stay away. My brother, however, has never been one for rules or someone telling him what to do.
I follow him toward the door, my steps right behind his. Watching his back has been my life’s work. I’ve always been there for him, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I glance up, I note the man we’ve come here for in the window. He sees us. He knows us. We move to the door, which opens before Carrick can knock. A woman regards us warily as if we’re the bad guys. If only she knew she was in the same house as the devil.
“Hello,” she says quietly. There’s an Irish lilt in her voice, and I recognize it as a Northern accent. She knows who we are, and I wonder if he’s warned her. If he told her why we’re here. She doesn’t look scared, but there’s a flit in her gaze that tells me she’s been waiting to open the door to us.
We move inside, and already the tension in the space is enough to fucking choke us to death. Wouldn’t he enjoy that? But today this asshole is not taking anything else from the O’Learys.
“Carrick Aiden O'Leary.” When he uses Rick’s full name, there’s a thick accent behind his words, one that reminds me of days at home. When I was knee-deep in blood and guts after killing the men who wronged us.
I know why my brother walked out. I understood it. But deep down, I know that will never be me. I can never walk away. I have no reason to.
“Seamus Moran,” Carrick says, and the man watches us. I’m hyperaware of the silence in the house, there’s more to this meeting than we can both see, and I have a feeling shit is about to hit the fan.
I pull out my phone, recording the meeting for our father. The confession of our sworn enemy is something that will please him.
When Moran offers me a seat, I pin him with a hateful glare. There’s no way I want to stay here longer than is needed. My weapon is ready in the holster, and I know I’m going to need it.
Call it instinct, but I feel it trickle over me, as if warning me.
“I’ve come to make sure you pay your dues,” Carrick says in a tone dripping with confidence. I’ve seen my brother kill before. I’ve watched him torture people, but I know it’s not him.
Moran doesn’t say anything. He gestures instead with his hands for Carrick to do as he wishes because he knows the way we live. The code we follow. I can’t draw my gaze away from my brother pulling the trigger. The resounding shot hits the asshole in the knee, but it’s not the sound that makes me step closer to the scene and shove my phone in my pocket.
It’s the flinch in my brother’s expression that tells me he’s not going to be able to do this. And like so many times before, I’ll help my younger brother.
The second bullet hits Moran’s other kneecap, and his grip on the oozing wounds is almost comical. Four men appear, and my heart kicks against my ribs. This is going down.
My hand is on my gun. The grip is white knuckled as I watch my brother, then I land my eyes on the men in the room. The slightest movement and I’ll kill the fucking lot of them.
“They say cockroaches never learn. They never die either, but I’m here to ensure that you’re on the path straight to hell, Moran,” Carrick bites out angrily.
“As you know the code we live by, O'Leary. An eye for an eye. This is done. The men behind me will escort you from this house, and I suggest you stay away. I’ll move on, back to Ireland, but you’re not to follow. Your father will know I’ve paid with my legs.”
“You fucking took her from me!” My brother’s tone is filled with anguish, and I feel it down to the marrow in my bones. He’s on his feet, making a move against Moran when the men flanking the asshole cock their guns, but Seamus stops them.
Anger fuels Carrick as he drags Moran to the sofa. Their faces inches apart. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he grits out, “You killed her.” He rains down punch after punch on the man’s face, and I know he’s lost in the anger. There’s crunching of a bone. Blood drenches him, and Seamus is almost limp when Carrick finally stops. He’s crying. I’ve never seen my brother cry. Not even when Aurora was murdered.
I help him to stand. Leaning in, I whisper to him, hoping to get past that wall he’s put up in anger. “It’s done, brother. We need to leave.”
“Remember, O’Leary, there’s always a time and place for everything. You’ve gotten what you came for. If you ever come near me again, I’ll ensure you don’t walk out the door.”
We’re almost at the door when Rick turns to me. “Callan, wait outside.” There’s a plea in his gaze, and I nod. He might be younger, and lower in rank than I am, but I know he needs this.
There’s one shot, just one, and then chaos seems to erupt with a loud crack. I can’t leave him in there. My body is moving swiftly as I race back indoors, my gun already poised and my finger pulling the trigger over and over as I take the men by surprise.
Four dead bodies.
I turn to find Seamus chuckling but slumped on the floor. Carrick must’ve shot him, but he’s not dead. “Your brother has confidence,” he tells me. “Do you?”
I glance at my brother who’s unconscious, and I know I need to get him to the hospital. There’s blood oozing from his shoulder. I meet the cold eyes of Seamus and smirk. “You fucked with the wrong family,” I bite out, pressing the barrel of my gun against his forehead. Point blank. Then pull the trigger.
* * *
The sleek, silver vehicle pulling up to the residence drags me from the memory of me killing Seamus Moran. The asshole deserved it. He should’ve gotten a far more painful death, but I couldn’t do much more with Carrick there. He needed the hospital, and I wasn’t about to let my brother die.
It’s always been about family. There was never a time I didn’t do something that wasn’t for any one of them. When Carrick left, I was there for my father and sister, but deep down I knew I’d bring them all together again. And I hope when this shit is over, the event that will bring us all together is a wedding.
My phone rings loudly, and I swipe the screen. Oliver’s told me to keep my phone on hand so when he calls I can listen to the conversation without anyone knowing I’m there.
“This is fucking ridiculous. I asked for it to be removed.” Madison’s father is panicked. I can tell from the tone in his voice.
“I understand your concerns, Mr. Parker.” Oliver’s smooth tone is unfazed by the manic old man who’s been paying to get his dick wet.
“I’m paying you an extortionate rate. If you can’t get it taken down, I’ll find someone who can,” Magnus hisses angrily, and I can picture just how tense he is. Another call comes through, and I see her pretty face blinking at me, but I can’t answer. Not just yet. I need to wait until Oliver is done.
I ignore the call, hoping she won’t be too angry with me.
I’ll be back for you soon, baby.
“My fucking daughter is planning a wedding!” The shrill voice comes back, drawing me to the present and right to the violent urge to rip his heart from his chest. The fact that he’s forcing his daughter to marry an asshole like Hudson Brockovich is beyond me.
The second call comes through. I want to answer her, to respond, but I can’t.
“I want that O’Leary brought in. I asked him to look after my daughter, and he goes MIA. Find him and get him here.”
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“I don’t fucking pay you to think!”
“Mr. Parker,” Oliver says, attempting to placate the man in his cool yet confident tone, but Magnus is beyond fucking hysterical. “I understand you’re panicking. I’ve already been on the phone with your public relations team. They’ve got the videos down, but you have to realize, it went viral within ten minutes of being uploaded.”
“If my daughter sees that,” Magnus responds, and finally I hear a hint of regret in his voice. I wonder if he really has found a conscience. “She’ll be lost to me forever.”