Baby for the Brute_A Fake Boyfriend Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  “Angelo, it’s not just some simple thing we can brush under the rug. What are we going to do. In detail,” I add. “I’m going to go crazy bit by bit over this, and if all I know is that you’re going to figure it out, I’m going to lose it.”

  “I can’t give you anything too concrete yet, Ana. I have one idea, but it’s… extreme. I’m still working on something less permanent. I promise. When I’m not with you, the issue has my full attention. I will figure something out. There’s nothing more important to me. We’re going to be together.”

  I swallow hard. Less permanent? “My father hasn’t been good to me. I know that. But I could never live with myself if I knew something happened to him because of me. Because of us.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to him. I’m exploring other options.”

  I study his face for some hint of his intentions but find no answers. “You promise he won’t get hurt? That no one will get hurt because of us?”

  “I promise none of my plans involve hurting people. And I won’t consider any new ones that do.”

  I let out a sigh of relief, feeling a burden lift from my shoulders. “Okay. Okay. And you’ll tell me what’s going on as soon as you can?”

  “Yes, Ana,” he says, laughing a little, but the smile falls from his lips when he puts his hands around my face and bends to look me hard in the eyes. “You and this baby matter more to me than anything.”

  He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak and then hesitates, which is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do. “What?” I ask.

  He flashes a half-smile, almost like he’s embarrassed. He lets his hands fall from my face and studies the ground for a moment before looking back at me. “You changed me,” he says slowly, as if he’s thinking out loud or admitting something he didn’t want to. “I used to think I was broken somehow, that somewhere along the way I’d done something that made me incapable of…” he trails off, then chuckles at himself and shakes his head. “Nevermind. I’m not making any sense.”

  “No,” I say. “Please. I want to know what you were going to say.”

  He continues, reluctantly at first but with increasing confidence as he speaks. “I didn’t think I could feel anything real anymore. It always felt like I was faking it. Then as soon as I met you, it was different. I thought maybe it was just attraction, that I needed to fuck you out of my system or something. But it only got worse.”

  “You make me sound like a disease,” I say with a small laugh, even though my heart is pounding and I feel like I’m about to break out in a sweat.

  The shadow of a smile plays across his lips as he reaches to rub his thumb across my lip, eyes searching and thoughtful. “If you were a disease, then I’d be crazy, because I don’t want to get rid of you, even if it kills me.”

  I smile, leaning my forehead against his chest. “I wasn’t planning on killing you, if that helps anything.”

  “Then you had better indulge me and come to the club with me tonight.”

  I pull my head back to grin at him. “Was this all just an elaborate ploy to get me to agree to go to the club?”

  “I wish I was that clever. All I know is I need to make you cum again. I think I’m addicted to the sound you make when it hits you.”

  I blush, wanting to cover my face with my hands but resisting. “I’m pretty sure I don’t make any particular sound.”

  “Oh, you make a sound. It’s something between a gasp, a sigh, and a grunt. It’s sexy as hell, and you do it as soon as the orgasm hits you.”

  “You’re lying,” I say, half statement and half question.

  “That settles it. Come to the club tonight. I’ll prove it.”

  I stand beside Angelo in the elevator of his club for the second time. I’m wearing a dress he had waiting for me at his house and, by his orders, no panties. He undressed me himself and slid this black, lace dress on over me while sneaking a few warm kisses, and knowing he dressed me himself makes me feel oddly sexy and owned. If Angelo always treated me like a possession, it might grate on me, but he has a way of only taking it to extreme lengths when he’s stepping into his role as a Dom. Piece by piece, I realize he’s training me to accept my own role in his world, or more accurately, my roles.

  When he’s acting as my Dom, he is training me to be the perfect submissive for him. When we’re with his friends, he gently encourages me to be independent but never lets me forget that I’m still his. When we’re just talking, he listens and makes me feel like everything I have to say is extremely important, never letting his attention waver or letting signs of boredom show.

  With him, there are no boundaries, and there’s a blissfully liberating freedom in that. Before I met Angelo, I was bait for my father. My mother hardly interacts with me anymore, or my father, for that matter. It must be her way of dealing with the guilt for how she allowed my father to raise me, to groom me to be nothing more than a shiny fishing lure to attract the right heir-to-be for my father’s empire. When I wasn’t trying to keep my father happy, I buried myself in books because it helped me cling to some distant, unlikely hope at a better future.

  “The third floor is going to be a little interesting for you,” says Angelo when the elevator doors ding.”

  “Okay…” I say slowly. “In what way, exactly?”

  “You’re about to see some things in person you’ve probably never even seen in movies. Even if you watch smutty films in your spare time.”

  I laugh nervously. “Yeah. I’m always watching smut in my downtime.”

  He grins as we step out of the elevator and the doors swoosh closed behind us. “You joke, but it wouldn’t surprise me with that dirty mouth of yours.”

  “Hey,” I laugh, trying to slap his arm, but he catches my wrist just before my hand reaches his shoulder.

  “Wouldn’t want to provoke your Dom, remember?” he asks.

  In an instant, that familiar iron edge is back in his voice and eyes, like he has moved the softer parts of himself into some compartment and sealed them away for now. I instinctively shrink into myself at the sight of that side of him, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. For my whole life, I’ve been forced to be submissive to my father’s wishes. With Angelo, it’s a kind of game. I get to choose to submit, that makes all the difference. It gives me control over the one thing I never had a choice in. As strange as it may be, choosing to submit to him feels like a release, like freedom.

  I lower my eyes and relax my hand. “No, I wouldn’t want to provoke my Dom,” I agree meekly.

  He tilts my chin up with his forefinger, then bends to kiss me softly. His lips are warm and soft against mine. “Good girl,” he breathes. “Come. The show should be starting any minute.”

  The show?

  I take in the third floor of his club for the first time since we stepped out of the elevator. It’s dark and lit mostly by candlelight. Silky black drapes and smooth, expensive looking leather furniture dominates the space, making me feel like I’m in some sort of ancient gothic cult headquarters. The men are dressed in suits with black ties like Angelo and the women wear black as well—mostly in tight fitting dresses that are far more revealing than mine.

  I feel sexy in the dress Angelo picked for me, but it also doesn’t show off much of my cleavage or leave too much of my legs exposed. He wants me to feel sexy, but doesn’t want to give other men too much of me to lust over. Possessive. The thought makes my stomach flutter with warmth.

  “How do people even find out about this place?” I ask.

  He glares down at me like I’ve done something wrong.

  I open my mouth to ask a question, but decide maybe that was my mistake.

  “When we’re here, you let me guide your experience, little pet. That means you don’t need to ask questions. You don’t need to make suggestions. I expect total control. Total obedience. Give me that, and I’ll give you exactly what you need. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly.

  “Say my name w
hen you speak to me.”

  “Yes, Angelo.”

  He rewards me with the faintest movement of his lips—maybe a smile. “Now come. We’re going to miss the opening act.” He pauses just slightly before he says act, giving the word an odd significance that makes me wonder if he’s really talking about a play.

  We follow the trickle of couples moving through the dark, curved hallway lined with doors. Some of the doors are open and others are closed, apparently at random. Angelo gestures for me to step inside one of the open doors and then closes it behind us. Inside, there is a plush leather couch, a recliner, a table similar to the one Angelo strapped me to on the second floor of his beach house, and leather restraints dangling from hooks at the ceiling and floor. The far wall of the room is a huge pane of glass giving us a view of a large, circular room surrounded by big square mirrors. A woman with a black mask over her head stands at the center, completely naked. Her arms are stretched overhead and held there by handcuffs attached to a hook in the ceiling.

  “Wh—” I start, then catch myself and remember I’m not supposed to ask. Instead, I try to give Angelo a searching look, but he only sinks into the recliner and then motions for me to sit on his lap.

  I gulp down a swallow, steal a glance at the naked woman one more time, and them cautiously move to sit on his lap.

  He wraps his arms around me, holding me to his chest and roaming my leg with his other hand idly as we wait, watching the woman.

  Confusion and jealousy ripple through me. I want to know if he really thinks my idea of a good time is sitting here with him while he gawks at some naked woman, but when I sneak a glance back at him, he’s not even watching her. His eyes are on my neck and leg where his fingers trace blazing trails across my skin.

  If she’s not for him, then what does he think I’m going to get out of looking at some naked woman? And what would she think if she looked up and realized we were just watching her through this huge window like a couple creeps?

  Two men emerge from doors hidden in the darkness between mirrors, huge and well-muscled. They’re topless, but wear black leather pants and masks over their faces.

  My breath hitches. I itch to say something to Angelo. To protest. To ask what the hell is going on. To cover my eyes. Yet all I can think of is his command to let him have control. Absolute control. I try as hard as I can to trust his judgment, but it doesn’t quiet the ache to act out and fight back against whatever this is.

  “You’re probably wondering what is going on,” he says, voice vibrating through his chest against my back. “And you’re probably hoping I’ll explain, but wondering is half the fun, little pet.”

  I could slap him or kiss him, but right now slapping him sounds a little more satisfying. All I can do is sit there, feeling the pulsing heat of his erection against my ass while I sit on his lap and the rough tingle of his hands exploring me like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

  The two men are running their hands over the woman now. One is sucking her nipples while the other is gripping her ass and… My cheeks flush when I see that he’s burying his face in her ass in a way that makes me think it’s not her pussy he’s licking.

  One of the mirrors directly across from us suddenly turns into a window. It takes my eyes a second to register what’s happening. I see a man and woman sitting on a recliner like the one Angelo and I are on in a room that looks identical to ours.

  “One-way mirrors,” explains Angelo. “Unless you press that button,” he says, pointing to a inconspicuous gray button on the wall. “Some couples prefer to participate in the show instead of remaining as spectators.”

  “Is ours a mirror or a window to them?”

  He gives me a stern look, reminding me that I wasn’t supposed to ask. I lower my eyes, sneaking a glance at the button, as if it will give me the answers he won’t. I self-consciously tug at my dress, making sure I’m not flashing anyone if our mirror is set to be see-through. He wouldn’t let me wear panties, after all. Still, it’s a ridiculous act of modesty, given the circumstances. The woman in the center of the room is moaning loudly now while each man has his head between her legs—one at her ass and one in front. Their large, veined hands reach up to grasp at her flesh hard enough to leave trailing red lines where their fingers go.

  The woman in the room across from ours is riding the man she’s with already.

  And here I am worried that I might be flashing someone.

  A pressure builds up in my chest, like something fighting to escape, but I don’t know what will relieve the feeling, so I climb on top of Angelo and cup his face in my hands, letting the scruff of his beard tickle my fingers as I look down at his surprised eyes. “This…” I say quietly. “I don’t need all this. I don’t want it. I just want you, Angelo.”

  His eyebrows knead together and for a moment, I think he’s about to scold me again, but instead, he takes a deep, measured breath through his nose and then seems to deflate a little.

  “If it’s really important to you,” I say, “I could try to learn to like it. Maybe? But all the stuff with other people. It doesn’t feel right. I only want you.”

  He slowly nods his head, then strokes my cheek and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “That’s because you’re too fucking perfect for your own good, little pet.” Angelo scoops me up, standing and carrying me from the room and into the now-deserted hallway with ease. He takes me into the elevator, but instead of pressing the button to take us down, he presses the button for the seventh floor.

  My heart starts to pound. I think he’s misunderstood somehow. If the third floor was already this far from my comfort zone, and each floor is a step up in intensity, I don’t even want to imagine what could be on the seventh. “Angelo,” I whisper.

  “Just trust me.” He punctuates his words with another kiss, and I can’t help thinking how perfectly he kisses me, like an internal clock won’t let him go for more than a few minutes before he has to have his lips on me again. Like I’m irresistible.

  When the doors open, I see a long hallway lined with doors, except this one is perfectly straight, unlike the hallway on the third floor. A single door, more ornate than the rest, stands at the end of the hallway, and something tells me that’s the door Angelo is taking us toward. He fishes a key from his pocket and slides it into the lock, twisting until it makes a satisfying metallic click and creaks open.

  To my surprise, the only thing in the room is a huge four-poster bed. There are no tools on the wall. No straps and restraints. No one-way mirrors lining the ceilings or walls. It’s just a room and a bed.

  He sets me down then and gestures toward the bed. “After you.”

  16

  Angelo

  Ana walks toward the bed and then plops down on the edge. She fidgets with her hands in her lap, eyes downcast.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” I say, reading how uncomfortable she is about what just happened in her body language. “There’s no harm in learning you don’t enjoy something.” I move to sit beside her so I can pull her into a tight hug. I keep my voice easy, but inside I feel a clenching in my chest because I know I fucked up.

  Bringing her to a public show like that was idiotic and selfish. Maybe I thought the sexuality of it would shock and excite her, but if I had really thought about it, I’d have known she wouldn’t enjoy something that intense.

  “What happens if I’m not able to be the submissive you want me to be?” she asks.

  “Ana…” I gently push a thread of hair behind her ear, then turn her face up so she’s looking at me. “I put value in all of this for two reasons. The obvious is that it can be fun as hell if we’re both enjoying it. The other is that there’s no bond like the bond between a dom and a submissive. We can give this part of ourselves up in the safety of the club or in my playroom. We can test the edges of our comfort together. Safely. What happened back there? That was my mistake. I should’ve been a better judge of where you were, and I should’ve known that was too much.”
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br />   “How should you have known? I’ve been on what, three dates with you?” She laughs sadly and tears well in her eyes. “Your baby is growing in me and we barely know each other.”

  “I know you’re strong. Your dad has spent your entire life teaching you to bow down to him without question. It never broke you. Fuck. Look where you are right now. Think about what he’d do if he knew.”

  “At this point, he might kill us both. He has been trying to set me up with some guy for months now. I think his plan is to just pretend the baby belongs to whoever this guy is once it’s born and marry me off.”

  “Not happening,” I growl.

  Ana grins, but a little sadly. “I’ve never even met the guy. But that was always my dad’s plan. Marry me off and then he’d know he had someone to take over the business when he was too old to do it.”

  I think about that for a few moments, my mind jumping to the child growing in Ana’s belly. “I’d never want our kid to be involved in this. Hell. I wouldn’t want them to know about it. I can’t imagine grooming your daughter to be some sort of…”

  “Bait,” she finishes.

  “Yeah. Bait.” I chuckle a little to myself when I realize something.

  Ana looks at me, confused.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was just thinking about how easy it seemed for my brother, Enzo, to shrug off his duties and walk away from all this when he and Neela had Brenden. It was like a switch flipped for him. I was happy for him, but jealous. I wished something mattered that much to me.”

  “Does being the big bad boss of the Luciani crime family really mean that much to you?”

  I bristle a little at the way she asks the question, like she can’t possibly understand how someone could find pleasure in being what I am, in doing what I do. I have to remind myself how it would seem from an outside perspective before I talk to keep the edge of anger from my voice. “For better or worse,” I say slowly. “It’s who I am. The men who work for me are all like family. They’re brothers. And there’s pride in knowing what we’ve built and where we’ve come. I’m good at it, too. At least I was.”