by Stacia Stone
“It wouldn’t have to mean anything. I just need a piece of paper. You can go on living your life the way you always have after I go back to school. I just need something to keep Cecile and Mack off my back.” She stands and comes around the couch, her palms up in entreaty. “Look, I get you’re not attracted to me. But it’s not like I’m asking for a real marriage.”
Not attracted to her? Is that what she fucking thinks? After that searing hot kiss this morning, I pushed her away because I was trying to do the right thing, for the sake of Vito’s memory. Though it seems like the more I try to do right, the bigger the pile of shit I end up having to shovel.
Maybe I should try doing the wrong thing.
“You think I don’t want you?”
Mara looks startled. “You said you didn’t.”
“No, you’re wrong.” I gently wag my finger at her. “I said that it wasn’t going to happen, but maybe now I’m reconsidering.”
“What does that mean?” Her voice quavers ever so slightly.
“It means…keep your money.” I take a slow step toward her. She takes a reflexive step back, her face wary. “I’ll marry you — keep you safe from those jerk-offs — but I want something else in return.”
I can see the little pulse in her neck flutter as she swallows. I bet it takes her a real effort to get any words out. I may have teased her a bit before, but that was just fun and games. Now she has my undivided attention.
“What do you want?”
I smile and I know it’s menacing. “You.”
I think of all the women that have practically run screaming from this apartment when I tell them what I want to do to them. All the times that I’ve given it to a girl vanilla and sweet like she wanted, when I want anything but sweet.
To her credit, Mara doesn’t flinch. There’s a backbone of pure steel running through this chick, I’ll give her that.
“You’re going to have to explain that to me.” Her voice is deceptively calm.
“You think I’m about to have some broad sleeping in my house, eating my food, with a ring on her finger and I don’t fucking touch her?”
I push into her personal space, deliberately trapping her between my body and the back of the couch. She could climb over it to get away from me, but I don’t think she will. It wouldn’t be dignified.
Silence descends as we stare at each other. I want her off-balance and a little afraid. I want to break down that imperious and impersonal shell to get to what’s underneath.
“Are you drunk?”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Sober as a church mouse. This is all me, baby.”
“What exactly are you saying?” she asks, making a good impression of someone that’s not cornered like a mouse under the paw of a house cat.
“I’m saying if you want this, then you’re going to get it all. I have particular tastes. My wife doesn’t get to say no to anything that I want to do.”
The fear is still there, but a look of slight curiosity crosses her features. “What is it you want to do?”
“Everything.”
“So, what?” If I didn’t have such a good read on her, that imperious tone would be enough to hide a nervous little stutter. “I…I agree to be your little sex slave or you throw me to the wolves?”
“Sounds about right.”
I wait for her to react to that, but she just stares at me. "Would you hurt me?”
Yes. “I’d make sure you liked it — most of the time.”
I tell myself that I’m just trying to scare her away, get this ridiculous idea out of her head. But the part of me that craves the control, the part of me that feels a little spurt of satisfaction every time I lay one between the eyes of a target — it’s hoping she’ll say yes.
Because that same part of me wants to own her.
My hand rises slowly, giving her a chance to tell me to stop. But she just stares up at me, lips slightly parted, and waits. She’s the most intoxicating mix of strength and vulnerability.
It’s delicious.
I touch her throat, stroking my fingers down the jumping pulse in her neck. One hand wraps around her throat. Just the barest use of strength could snuff the very life from her. I’m so much bigger than her and stronger. I wonder if that’s the allure for women, that not-so-subtle edge of danger in being close to something deadly.
“Leo—"
“Sir,” I correct her, smiling a little when her lips pull together in a thin line. She doesn’t like that.
“Like hell.”
“It’s this or the door, sweetheart.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Try me.”
“Sir,” she bites out.
I know I’m taking advantage of her. I know that it’s wrong. But the thought of having this girl here and doing what I want with her, is more alluring than almost anything else I can imagine. And she’s getting something in return. It’s fair.
“Turn around.”
She doesn’t move, stubborn resistance is written into every line of her body. “What are you going to do?”
I shake my head. “What are you going to do….?”
“What are you doing…sir?” she bites out.
“I’m sampling the merchandise before I decide if I want to buy.”
Indecision flits across her face as she considers it as she stares up at me. She’s obviously trying to decide how real my threat is. It’s real enough. I have no problem kicking her ass out. All the goodness in my heart was sucked dry a long time ago.
Mara turns on shaky legs, her body tense. She’s obviously wondering what I’m going to do to her.
I’m wondering the same thing.
I push a hand into her thick hair and yank her head back to expose the long curve of her neck. She swallows hard, making her throat jump.
I chuckle. “Gulp.”
“Fuck you, sir.”
That smart mouth of hers is really gonna get her in trouble one day. She’s lucky I’m in the kind of mood where I think it’s more amusing than disrespectful.
My fingers tighten in her hair, pulling a little harder. She lets out a tiny gasp that has me rock hard in an instant. My gaze moves over the arch of her throat and down to where her tits are practically spilling out of the tight tank top she’s wearing.
Her nipples are hard like tiny beads under the fabric. I suddenly can’t wait anymore to get my first look. One hand keeps its tight grip on her hair while the other slides down her throat and pushes underneath the neckline of her top.
I pull down on the shirt, exposing her chest to the cold air.
“The fuck?”
A raging blush picks up on her cheeks and travels down her neck and chest. It’s like a bright red trail straight to the little bits of metal poked through her nipples.
“Don’t say it—"
“Nipple piercings?” I ask on a burst of laughter. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
She squirms uncomfortably in my arms. “I was drunk and my friends took advantage.”
“This, I’m going to have fun with.”
I squeeze one nipple hard between my fingers and whatever she was going to say next is swallowed in a loud gasp. She instinctively tries to pull away at the pain, but my arm tightens around her, stilling the movement.
Bending down so my mouth just barely touches her ear, I whisper. “I don’t come cheap. If you want my protection, then I’m gonna need something of equal value in return.”
I see the question forming on her lips, but I decide to answer it before she can ask.
“Complete control…over you.”
The reaction to my words surges through her body in a reaction so strong I can feel it. A sort of energy passes between us. That’s when I’m sure. Most women want the man to be a man, to be stronger and harsher. But then there are some women who want more than that, who want to be taken and owned.
And then consumed.
Mara is one of the latter, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
“What do you think I’ll find down here?”
She tries to shove me away, but I just grip her a little tighter with my free arm and squeeze. Not too hard, just enough to let her know that she can fight if she wants too. But it won’t do any good.
I know she wants this. And I only need another minute to prove it.
My hand slides under her panties as her breathing turns into frantic pants. The soft curls covering her mound catch on my fingers. She’s stopped trying to pull away and a fine tremble courses over her body.
When I find her center it’s even more soaked and molten hot than I had imagined. The momentary surge of joy that streaks through me is like clouds parting on a dark sky to reveal a blazing sun.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” I murmur as I kiss a wet trail down her throat. “Decision time, Mara — is it a yes or a no?”
“You’re sick.” She tries to drive her elbow into me, but I easily evade her and the blow glances off my side. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
That fucking mouth. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will fix that fucking mouth.
“Okay, you don’t like easy. We can try hard.”
I have her face down over the back of the couch before she can react. She tries to fight. I just force her down until her face presses into the leather. Her hips thrust up in the air, the jeans pulled halfway down her ass.
“Now, we’re gonna talk about what happens to broads who come into my fucking house and refuse to remember their place.”
My hand moves over her amazing ass. I admire her curves as I pull the jeans further down her thighs, taking her panties with them. Soft, unblemished skin greets me. I take a moment to appreciate a perfect canvas for the fucking masterpiece I’m about to create.
“You keep talking to me like I’m some fucking jerk-off, Mara.” My hand strokes gently over her skin, drawing out the moment. “I’m not some asshole you can talk to however the fuck you want.”
“I’m sorry, okay. Jesus.” She squirms underneath me, but her voice hasn’t lost that insolent tone. Like she still thinks this is all just a fucking joke.
“Not sorry enough to remember to fucking call me sir.”
My hand comes down hard on her ass, cutting off whatever she was going to say. She lets out a high-pitched scream that turns into a shriek when I spank her again.
I go to town, my hand making a sharp slapping sound with each strike. I’m careful to never hit the same spot twice and I don’t stop until the entirety of her backside is flaming red.
When I finally pull back to look at her face. Wide and wild eyes meet mine. They’ve gone soft and liquid, but no tears have fallen to her cheeks. Not even physical pain is enough to break through the wall that she’s built up. I will break through one day if I have to make it my personal mission in life.
“Last chance,” I say, soothing the irritated skin with the back of my hand. “Is it a yes or is it a no? I’m not going to ask again.”
She glares at me. And if looks could kill, I’d drop dead this very minute. Unfortunately for her, the tools that she has at her disposable are subtler than that.
Wetness glistens on her thighs. If anything, she’s even wetter now than she was before. If I had even a shred of doubt about what kind of a woman she is, it’s gone now.
“Yes,” she bites out finally. “Sir.”
I take a step back as she stands, frantically pulling her clothes back into place.
“I’m going out for a bit,” I say. “Don’t leave the apartment and keep the door locked.”
Mara stares at me like she’s never seen me before, hurt and betrayal shining in her eyes.
Fuck it. I never agreed to be the hero in her little story.
Vito’s house — probably the way I’ll always think of it — is fucking trashed. Beer cans and other debris little the front yard and there are large tracks in the grass from motorcycles peeling out.
I sit in my car, which is parked on the street outside the gate. I’ve been here for at least an hour, watching who enters and leaves the house. I’m waiting to be sure that Mack and Cecile are in there alone before I make a move.
The Devil’s Rejects have clearly been allowed to use this place as a crash pad. I don’t want to run into a bigger problem than I can handle alone.
I wonder what Mack offered them to go after Mara. Money, almost certainly, but the question is how much. The solution might be brokering our own deal, assuming Mara’s willing to pay them off. Lowlifes like this have no loyalty.
And then I remember the silken feel of her skin under my hand and the tempting little sounds she made as I spanked her ass. The current solution is working fine for me at the moment.
Plus, this way I get to go knock her parents head together which is pretty much icing on the cake at this point.
Not to mention that paying off the MC sets a dangerous precedent. What happens when someone else gets the same idea or they come back wanting more.
No, the plan we have is the best one available. And it’s not just the selfish part of me that thinks so.
Once I’m certain that there’re no MC assholes still hanging around, I get out of the car. I adjust my suit jacket over the piece strapped to my hip. I don’t think I’ll need to use it but you can never be too careful, especially around people as unpredictable as Mack and Cecile.
I ease past the open gate of the tall, wrought-iron fence surrounding the house. The yard looks even worse close up. It’s full of cigarette butts and trash like someone couldn’t distinguish manicured sod from the city dump.
Fucking human garbage, these people.
Most people wouldn’t see much difference between me and one of those assholes. But the state of this yard sums up the biggest difference between the mafia and MC. We don’t trash shit just for the hell of it. We take pride in looking like fucking professionals, not like apes that have figured out how to drive a motorcycle.
The door swings open at my touch, not just unlocked but not even latched closed. I keep my head on a swivel as I walk into the foyer, looking for movement. I know they’re here, but that doesn’t mean I have any idea where.
And I’m not in the mood for any surprises.
Mara’s gonna be pissed when she gets a look at this place. Expensive paintings have been ripped down, leaving discolored rectangles on the wall where they hung. The Tiffany lamp that used to sit on a table next to the door is gone. Glass crunches underneath my feet. I look down and realize the glass is all that’s left of the hand-blown Venetian chandelier that used to descend from the ceiling.
I don’t try to calculate the damage that I assume extends to the rest of the house, silently seething on Vito’s behalf — and Mara’s. What the fuck is Cecile thinking, letting this happen?
It’s impossible not to wonder what it must have been like for Mara growing up with a literal crazy person for a mother. Having Vito must have helped some, but the old boss had been anything but a family man. I’m sure he gave Mara money and spent a little time with her growing up, but it’s not like he would have taken her away from that crazy bitch and raised her as his own. That would have interfered too much with business.
The thump of something heavy hitting the floor comes from the second story. I move slowly up the stairs, my feet soundless on the carpeted steps. The noise is louder at the top and I follow it down the hallway to the master suite.
Mack and Cecile are on the floor of the bedroom, facing away from the door. They’re bent over something. Mack raises a hammer and then brings it down. It makes a loud banging sound as it strikes something metal.
“It won’t fucking open,” Cecile cries, hitting her hand on something metal. “Ow, fuck.”
“We just gotta kee
p at it.” Mack strikes again with the hammer. “How much do you think is in here? Gotta be something good.”
I slowly maneuver into the room and see that they’re huddled over a large safe. It was probably too heavy to get out of the house, which is why it hadn’t already been stolen.
And they think they can get it open with a hammer. Fucking idiots.
Moving back into the hallway, I pull my phone out and send a quick text message to Mara. She responds immediately. I memorize the brief message before slipping the phone back into my pocket. I turn back to the room just in time to see a hammer flying toward my face.
Luckily for me, whatever drug they’re on has slowed Mack’s reflexes. The hammer catches me on the edge of my shoulder instead of full in the face.
I grunt from the pain. But it doesn’t stop me from grabbing the hand holding the hammer and twisting it backward until he lets go. His wrist makes a loud cracking sound and he shrieks in pain as the hammer falls to the floor.
“What the fuck!” Mack stumbles back, cradling his hand like it’s an injured baby bird. “I think it’s broken. You broke my fucking hand.”
“Shut up.” I look around the corner to see Cecile watching me from the floor next to the safe, her eyes bloodshot and glassy. “That’s what happens when you start waving hammers around.”
“You broke into my house,” Mack whines. He clearly has no idea who I am.
“This isn’t your house, dipshit.” I shove him into the room toward Cecile. “It’s not yours either, though you seem to have no problem making yourself comfortable.”
“Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here?”
Was he so blitzed in the hospital that he doesn’t remember? Mack may not know me, but Cecile does.
“What do you want?” she asks, voice quavering.
“I want you two to stay the fuck away from Mara.”
Mack makes a rude sound through the pain. “What do you care what happens to that bitch?”
I pick him up and throw him bodily across the room. He lands hard against the safe and sits up, groaning.
“Here’s the deal, you two fucksticks are gonna stay the hell away from Mara. And you’re gonna stop trolling for help with lowlifes like the Devil’s Rejects to work her over.”