Wicked Sin

by Ainsley Booth

I step into her closet and go my tiny section of suits in the corner. I need one of my ties. No, two of them.

  Back at the bed, she hasn’t moved.

  “Good girl,” I say, running my fingers up her leg, from her ankle to the delectable curve at the bottom of her ass. I raise my hand and bring it down in a sharp, stinging slap.

  She cries out.

  “Is that green?”

  “Yes,” she pants.

  “Good.” I go to her hands and bind them tightly with one of the ties, checking her circulation before I move back down her body—pausing to give her another rough spank—to do the same at her ankles.

  Once she’s trussed up, I climb back onto the bed and haul her over my lap.

  She squeaks at the rough movement.

  “Still green?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” I bring my hand down on her ass. “I’m not going to punish you, Taylor.”

  She cries out.

  “Do you know why?” Another smack.

  “No.”

  “Because you aren’t bad.” Whack, whack. “Say, I know I’m not a bad girl.”

  She doesn’t say it, so I give her three more, alternating back and forth between her jiggling cheeks. Each spanking makes her flesh a little more pink.

  It’s beautiful.

  “Taylor.”

  “I…I know I’m not a bad girl.”

  “Good.” I grin as I add two more strokes for my own pleasure. “Say thank you, Luke.”

  “Thank you, Luke.”

  I trace my fingers lightly over the well-spanked flesh. “Tell me that you love me.”

  “I love you,” she pants.

  “Tell me again. Tell me while I hurt you.” I grab the tender spot at the top of her thigh, just below her ass, and squeeze my fingers together.

  “I. Love—ah. You.” She beams at me as her eyes go wide. I release her perfect skin, now marked red where I pinched her. She convulses, and I finally shove my hand between her legs, where I find slippery proof of just how much she likes it when I do that.

  Loves it.

  “I’m going to untie your feet now,” I croon to her as I rub her clit and her swelling pussy lips. “Do you know why?”

  She shakes her head as she pants. No.

  “Because I want to fuck you like this. Trussed up. I’ve missed having you as my captive sex slave, Taylor.”

  She groans and buries her face in the blanket.

  We’re both exhausted, and after we fuck, we pass out. But it’s like she’s unlocked something dirty and depraved in me again, after our stretch of needing to be gentle and careful.

  When she wakes up in the middle of the night, I wake up, too.

  I watch silently as she pads to the bathroom, pushing the door closed. I roll over and take a condom and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. And then I wait.

  When she comes back, I wait until she lies back down, and then I roughly roll on top of her, my hands grabby from the word go. One palm squeezes both of her tits together, the other gropes her hip, trying to get her up on her knees again. That was a fucking hot way to take her earlier.

  I want more of that, but primal this time.

  Ruthless.

  “Mmm,” she whispers, rocking back against me. She’s insatiable, too. But then, “No…”

  It’s a mind fuck, and it’s hot.

  No? Maybe my sweet dirty princess wants to play a game in the middle of the night.

  I push myself down on top of her, bringing my mouth to her ear. My voice is extra deep from sleep. Growly. Almost not like me at all. “I don’t think you want me to stop, do you?”

  She whimpers, but repeats the magic words. “You don’t know what I want.”

  I shove her down onto the bed, my hand big between her shoulder blades. My fingers probe between her thighs.

  She’s fucking soaked again.

  “I know you want me to take this pussy,” I snarl.

  “My cunt is off-limits,” she bites out, twisting beneath me. Follow my lead. Use it if I use it.

  “Your cunt is mine.” I pinch her where I spanked her earlier, and she yelps. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you? You can’t get enough of my big cock. That’s why you made me cookies.”

  “I was just being nice,” she whispers.

  “You are nice. Such a nice girl. With such a nice pussy. All wet and ready for me.” I stroke my cock through her folds, bumping against her clit and then all the way up to her perineum. Touching every bit of her sex without giving her what we both want.

  I want her frustrated and worked up. I want her to howl when I finally shove my big, fat cock in her sweet hole.

  I want her to beg to be violated by the mean, mean man with the dirty, dirty words.

  Me.

  I want her to beg me.

  “No,” she pants. “Stop.”

  Time to check in again. “You don’t want me to stop.”

  “If you aren’t going to stop, then just fuck me already,” she hisses.

  There’s my wildcat. I laugh, full of power and lust for her. “You have to ask nicer than that. Or maybe I’ll take you here.”

  While I stroke her asshole with my thumb, I grab the lube with my other hand and squeeze a bit out onto my middle finger.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she pants as I stretch her out. First the middle finger, then I add the index. She takes them both faster than I thought.

  My knuckles brush her pussy lips and come away soaked.

  “Beg me, Taylor. Ask me to fuck your pussy instead of taking your ass.”

  She moans like a wounded animal and pushes her hips higher in the air.

  Fine with me. I slide on protection and add more lube on top of the condom. If she wants me to take her ass in the middle of the night, who the fuck am I to argue?

  Even with the stretching, she’s tight from the first push. I go slow as molasses, sinking into her inch by inch. Her hands claw at the sheets, her words a depraved song of wonder and mystery. “Oh, no, yes, God, stop, no, don’t stop, Luke, fuck, owwwww, ahhhhh, ohhhh….”

  “You’re okay,” I whisper as I finally sink my hips firmly against her bottom.

  She squirms under me. “No I’m not,” she pants. “You’re mean.”

  My cock flexes inside her ass.

  Fucking right I am.

  “And you love it. Your clit must be throbbing right now. I’ll let you rub it and get yourself off while I use your sweet bottom. How does that sound?”

  She whimpers and shoves her hand in front of her, between her body and the mattress, and she cries out when she touches herself. I feel it from the inside out. The start of her orgasm already, a trembling right along the edge of pleasure and pain.

  I move my hips, pulling out halfway, then slowly thrusting back into her heat. She feels amazing. “I’m going to come inside you,” I growl. “You make me so fucking hot. I can’t help myself.”

  “Ow,” she whispers, her voice floating on bliss. “No.”

  “Touch yourself,” I remind her.

  “I am.”

  “I can feel it. I know how much you like this. Can you feel how hard I am? My balls are aching for you, Taylor. Ready to burst.”

  Her thighs shake beneath me, her head twisting left and right with abandon as I pick up speed, chasing her now. She’s going to come first. She’s going to come, and I’m going to feel it and go off like a rocket with her.

  I hunch up, a beast on top of her, and fuck her as she howls through the start of it. The first deep clench pushes me over the edge, and it almost hurts how my body tries to turn itself inside out for her.

  All for her.

  My sweet, beautiful Taylor.

  “Love you,” I mutter as I roll off her.

  “I bet you say that to all your captive sex slaves,” she whispers as she climbs on top of me to kiss me.

  “Dunno.” I fling my shaking arm around her. “You were my first and last and only.”

  [ Epilogue 1 ]
<
br />   Luke

  One Month Later

  “Happy birthday to you,” Taylor sings, swaying toward me. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, Detective Vasquez, happy birthday toooooo youuuuu.”

  On the last two notes, she sinks to her knees in front of me, holding the cupcake out.

  But when I lean in to blow out the candle, she beats me too it. “Blowing is my job tonight,” she says with a wink.

  I groan and laugh because hot damn, and yessss, thank you.

  “Hold this,” she says pertly, giving me the cupcake. “But I’ll want it back in a second. After I open my present.”

  “You blew out the candle, and you’re opening a present… Whose birthday is it, princess?”

  “Yours,” she says breathily. “And you’ll get more presents later. I have a whole pile of them in my closet.”

  I can’t wait.

  But could anything be better than the view I have of her sweet, plump mouth moving against me, sucking like she can’t get enough of my swollen, angry cock? Or when she pulls off with a wet slurp to grin at me before licking around my head, her wet, slick tongue hitting all my favorite spots?

  Nothing is better than this.

  Nothing is better than her eager service, her hot mouth, her sharp, knowing gaze as she watches me watching her.

  “Best birthday ever,” I growl after I come down her throat in thick, hot spurts. “Kiss me, Princess.”

  She crawls into my lap and I taste myself on her mouth. Then I tumble her sideways and drop to my knees.

  It’s my birthday. I’ll return the fucking treat if I damn well feel like it.

  Once we’re both sated with birthday sex, she scampers away and returns with a bag overflowing with presents. Some are big, some are small. As I open each of them, she has a story to go with them all. The book of sports cars she found in a vintage shop. The scarf she wants me to wear when we go to D.C. for Thanksgiving, a holiday Hailey is insisting on hosting for the first time ever. A cleansing of sorts for the Reid sisters.

  I fully support.

  The last present is a flat envelope, and she doesn’t give me a preamble story for it. Just shoves it at me and looks away shyly.

  “What is this?” I open the envelope and pull out a letter from Taylor’s bank.

  It’s a pre-authorization for a mortgage.

  “I hear that’s a thing that regular people do before they buy a house,” she says in an adorable rush. “Sodoyouwanttobuyahousewithmemaybe?”

  “Say that again slower.”

  “Come on, Luke! Don’t be mean.”

  I grin. “Slow-er.”

  “Do you want to buy a house with me, maybe?”

  “Ab-so-fucking-lutely. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  I crawl on top of her, pinning her down so she can’t run away. “You come to meet my family on Sunday night for dinner.”

  My worry about Taylor being overwhelmed was completely misplaced. She loves my sisters, she loves my mom, she loves the noise.

  “I love this,” she tells me for the tenth time after I drag her downstairs to the basement for a bit of a break from the chaos before we sit down to eat.

  “It’s a bit overwhelming.”

  “No, it’s amazing. Everyone is laughing and smiling. Do you know how rare that is?”

  “Yeah,” I murmur. “I do. But thank you for reminding me, because I’d forgotten.”

  I nuzzle her neck. I thought I wanted to one day find that one special person who would love/hate my family with me.

  Taylor just loves them, and that’s even better.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I’m fine. I just wanted a minute alone with you.”

  “Mmm.” She wiggles against me, then steps back. “Okay, but I promised to help with the salad, so I’m heading back upstairs.”

  I reach out and grab her wrist. “Did you forget to ask something, princess?”

  Her eyes go wide, bright, and then her smile cracks, even wider. Brighter. “Sorry. Uh, can I go to the kitchen and help?”

  A heady pulse of power slithers through me. I tug her closer, wanting to breathe in her scent before I let her go. “Of course,” I murmur. “But later we’ll have to talk about how forgetful you are.”

  “Okay,” she breathes. “I can’t wait.”

  I release her wrist, and she turns, sliding her palm against my thick erection before disappearing.

  Fuck.

  Yes.

  I let her have a head start, then I follow her back upstairs.

  I find my mother in the living room, reading a book to two of my nephews. She smiles at me as I join them. Once the story is over, the boys scamper off and she moves over, closer to me.

  “So, we finally meet Taylor.”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “The most beautiful woman in the world to me.”

  A thoughtful expression crosses her face. “She’s been through a lot.”

  “Yep.”

  Ma tilts her head to the side. “Are you going to stick with her through the rest of her journey?”

  My mother slays me. She doesn’t worry about the impact of Taylor’s history on me. No, she’s smarter than that. She wants to make sure that I’m going to do what I promise.

  “I’m going to stick with her for the rest of my life, Ma.”

  She beams. “Good boy. Your father would be proud of you.”

  I exhale roughly, and she squeezes my knee. “Worried about that conversation a bit?”

  “Little bit.”

  “Don’t be. We’re going to love her just as much as you do.”

  [ Epilogue 2 ]

  Taylor

  Three months later

  My hands shake as I open Melinda’s email.

  Here’s the direct link.

  It’ll go live on the site in the morning.

  Thank you for sharing your story with me and trusting me to tell it right.

  As I click on it, my head spins. Like maybe this was a complete mistake. But it’s done, and either it will make waves, or it won’t.

  Either way, I know my own truth. I know I am good, and loved, and safe. For the first time in my life, I have a home, a lover, and best of all, a true friend.

  Before I read the article, I go back to my email and forward it to Hailey and Ali. And I grin. That’s another truth I know about myself. I lost a trust fund and re-gained a sister. I’m definitely on the right track.

  The Art of Self-Forgiveness: Confessions of a Former Party Girl

  By Melinda Gray

  * * *

  All names and locations in this article have been changed at the request of Clara*, not to protect herself, but to center this story on the things that happened to her, and the the things she did to others.

  * * *

  * not her real name

  * * *

  Clara doesn’t like the title for this article. She makes a rueful smile when I scribble it across the notebook open between us in a diner well off Broadway. She likes New York City because of the anonymity she has here. She also likes the distance it gives her from her family on the west coast.

  She does not like talking about herself, or reporters who get too nosy about her past.

  Born into wealth, she knows she’s never experienced real hardship. It’s the first thing she says to me, to minimize the angle I keep pushing for this article: that she is a survivor of lifelong trauma. That her trauma led her to hurt others.

  “I made poor choices. And they were choices. I could have done things differently.”

  She’s talking about an escalation of destructive sexual relationships that ended up imploding much of her parents’ social circle. Affairs with older men, violating people’s trust. Much of her history is well-known.

  “You think that I wouldn’t have done any of those things if I hadn’t been abused,” she says to me after we order lunch.

  That’s the angle I pushed fo
r with this piece, absolutely. Clara, like a lot of women in her social circles, was exposed to party lifestyles that would make most parents see red.

  Not hers.

  At thirteen, Clara spent the weekend with a family friend on his yacht—a floating rape palace off the Florida coast. He was a wealthy billionaire. She was a child.

  At fourteen, she seduced a teacher at her private school.

  At fifteen, she…

  I stop reading there and start skimming. It’s too hard to read my mistakes in black and white. At the end, Melinda circles back to our conversations at the diner. It was in West Hollywood, not Manhattan. She inverted almost everything in the article.

  But not the blind item hints at Gerome Lively’s identity.

  Those she kept as precise and pointed as possible.

  That was my deal with her in the end. She could write my story so long as we gave it an even chance of launching a national conversation about childhood sexual assault.

  Other than Melinda, the only people who know that I am Clara are Luke and my boss. After my second interview for the article, I went to her and explained what I was doing.

  LAST is launching a new campaign tomorrow to coincide with the article drop. And I’m ready to go with an anonymous Twitter account to use the hashtags #Iwasonlythirteen and #rapechangedmeforever and #rapeisnotsex to tell more of my story.

  It’s scary.

  It’s unknown.

  But it’s also freaking healing.

  THE END (for now, because there’s always more with the Horus Group…)

  * * *

  If this is the first book you’ve read in The Forbidden Bodyguards series, go back and start at the beginning with Cole and Hailey’s story, Hate F*@k.

  And if you have read all the way along with me and are eager for Jason and Melinda’s book…that’s coming next year. FILTHY LIAR will be the last book in this series.

  Also coming in this world, at some point, is FIRST LADY, a standalone story first teased at the end of Dirty Love. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about Ginny and Deacon.