Little Dove

by Layla Frost

  I shook my head. “I want to feel everything.”

  “Don’t say shit like that when I’m already working not to come.” He positioned himself again. With one last searching gaze, he lowered his eyes to raptly watch as he slowly pressed in.

  Inch by long, thick inch.

  Even as prepared as I was, it stung as he stretched me. I was so full, I thought I’d burst. I hissed out a breath at the unfamiliar intrusion.

  But I wanted more. All of it. All of him.

  I lifted my hips, pushing him in farther and crying out.

  “I should warm your ass for that.” His muscles were tense, his breathing short and harsh. “But that would involve pulling out of heaven, so it’ll have to wait.” Holding my hips, he thrust in and planted himself fully.

  He stayed like that for long moments that felt like long hours. My body adjusted as best as it could considering his size, and the restless neediness returned times a million.

  I rocked my hips, but he squeezed them, pinning me to the bed so I couldn’t move.

  “You gotta give me a second,” he said gruffly, his expression pained as he closed his eyes. “Told you it’s been a while, and your perfect pussy is squeezing me like a damn vise, I don’t wanna come in less than two pumps.”

  “How long of a while?” I asked before wishing I could choke on the stupid question.

  Or, depending on his answer, choke Maximo.

  Opening his lids, he stared down at me. The look in his brooding, blazing eyes twisted deep inside me, imbedding in my soul until I knew I’d never forget it for the rest of my life. I could be on my deathbed at the old age of a hundred, and I’d still remember the way he was looking at me.

  “A year, little dove.”

  A year?

  Holy shit, a year is a long time.

  It’s also exactly how long I’ve been here.

  That can’t be a coincidence.

  My brows shot up, but before I could form a response, he finally moved. Slow, long strokes, pulling his length out before sliding back in.

  Panic hit me as I realized I had no clue what to do. Did I move? What was I supposed to do with my hands? Was he expecting me to bend, twist, and throw my legs over my head like a Cirque du Soleil performer? Was he bored or disappointed?

  My freak out—and all other thoughts—flew from my head as his pace increased. Raw desire filled his expression as he watched me take him, his hold on my hips digging in.

  This is all he wants.

  Just me.

  Lowering himself, Maximo put one of his forearms flat to the bed near my head. His other kept hold of my hip as he slammed into me. His body brushed mine with each thrust, his cock pounding so hard, I would’ve been propelled up the bed had he not held me in place.

  He surrounded me. Touched every inch of me. Overwhelmed me, but in the best possible way.

  All I saw was Maximo.

  All I felt was Maximo.

  All I needed right then was Maximo.

  There was no chasing the edge. I was launched off it, plunging into pure bliss that zipped through my veins like molten lava and a charged electrical current.

  I forced my lids open to find Maximo’s intense eyes on me. They were wild. Unhinged. Filled with so much desire, I couldn’t believe it was aimed at me.

  Lowering his head near my ear, his breathing was harsh as his pace slowed but his force increased. With a few more brutal thrusts, he came with a groan.

  That rough, unbelievably sexy groan imbedded itself in my memory, too.

  Breathless and exhausted, my thoughts were fleeting, bouncing from everything to nothing. At the feel of Maximo’s cock slipping free, I was able to grab a thought.

  I want to do it again.

  He got up and padded to the bathroom. Giving a languid stretch, I stood and began gathering my clothes.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I jumped at the anger in his quiet yet somehow booming voice. “Uh, going to my room?”

  “This is your room now.” He glared. “Now get your ass back in bed because you’re going to be sore enough without me making it red.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  I also didn’t want to.

  When we climbed back into bed, I belatedly noticed the damp cloth Maximo held. When he tried to wipe between my legs, I reached to do it myself, but his glare intensified.

  “I take care of you, dove. You know the rules. Spread your legs for Daddy.”

  I’d already come so hard, I wasn’t sure my body could take anymore, but a surge of arousal shot through me anyway. I did as ordered and was rewarded by his wicked smile. When he finished, he sat back. “What do you need from your room?”

  “I can grab it.” When his only response was the look, I said, “My toothbrush and face wash.”

  Once we finished our nighttime stuff, we climbed back into bed. My back had barely hit the mattress when he rolled me on my side and wrapped his body around mine.

  I felt warm and safe and content—three things I didn’t have a wealth of experience with.

  “Juliet.”

  At the tone of voice, my tired eyes snapped open and I went alert. “Hmm?”

  “You’re in here every night. Your clothes and all your things will be moved.”

  “I have a lot of stuff,” I pointed out as if he wasn’t the one who’d bought it all.

  “I have a shit-ton of room.”

  I hoped my voice was nonchalant and cool, and not the excited giddy squeal I felt like giving. “Okay.”

  “And if you ever try to leave after sex, I’ll take that to mean I haven’t fucked you hard enough. I’ll make sure to rectify that until you can’t even think about standing. That, or I’ll tie you to the bed.”

  Either sounds good to me.

  I didn’t share that.

  “Okay,” I repeated.

  Like the night before, his hand moved to my throat and the other cupped my tender pussy. The hold was hot and oddly comforting. “You’re not a whore who leaves right after. And your pussy isn’t the only thing I want or the only thing I like.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I pointed out through a yawn.

  “I know more than you think.” He nipped my neck. “I may know you better than you know yourself.”

  My eyes got heavy, and I hovered between consciousness and sleep.

  “Thank you for giving me you,” he whispered.

  “Thank you for wanting me,” I whispered back.

  And then I was out.

  Maximo

  ‘Thank you for wanting me.’

  Fuck me, her sweet voice whispering those words ricocheted around my brain like a bullet in my skull.

  Except her words did more damage.

  My broken girl.

  She’d thought I didn’t want her. That I’d changed my mind, which would also mean I’d lost my damn mind.

  I’d taken her to the fight with no warning or explanations so she wouldn’t have time to form walls, expectations, or justifications. I needed it to be crystal fucking clear who she was agreeing to be with. Who she was giving herself to. I was a ruthless asshole who didn’t hesitate to do what was needed—or what I wanted.

  And that included pulling strings to manipulate Juliet without her realizing.

  My obsession had been growing for a year—a year I shouldn’t have been looking at her much less thinking the things I had. A year I’d spent planning and plotting, each action and response meticulous.

  A year I’d spent waiting for her.

  With her body pressed to mine, her pussy in my hand and her heart beating under my other palm, I knew two things down to my bones.

  It’d been worth every second.

  And I was never letting her go.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Got It Bad

  Juliet

  WAKING UP THE next morning, I knew I was alone because Maximo wasn’t pressed to my back like he’d been the whole night. I rolled and stretched. And then I s
miled at the dull ache between my thighs.

  I had sex.

  With Maximo.

  And it was better than my fantasies, which is saying something.

  I can’t wait to do it again.

  Climbing from the bed, I winced as the ache grew.

  Okay, I can’t wait to take some Motrin and then do it again.

  Padding across the room, I used the bathroom and was washing my hands when I looked up.

  What the hell?

  I leaned forward to inspect the love bites in the mirror. Bites, plural. Two more marked my neck and a dark hickey was on my breast.

  This is ridiculous and immature and possessive and… Who am I kidding?

  I like it as much as he does.

  I finished washing up before brushing my teeth. I didn’t want to pull my dress back on, so I raided his armoire and threw on a pair of joggers and a tee.

  Just like old times.

  Opening the door, I didn’t bother with my stealth routine since everyone already knew. I headed for my sewing room but slowed when I saw Maximo’s office door was open. Unfortunately, he was on the phone, so I continued across the hall.

  Sitting at my desk, I felt inspired. I grabbed a pad of paper and colored pencils and closed my eyes, visualizing what I wanted.

  And then I sketched it. Badly.

  But it would do.

  I was sorting through my fabric when the door opened.

  Maximo paused in the doorway. A warm, small smile pulled at his mouth as he checked out what I was wearing. Walking over, he hauled me to him and kissed me so hard, it was a wonder our lips didn’t fuse together. He pulled away but kept his face close as he studied mine. “You good?”

  “Very.”

  “Sore?”

  “Yeah.” I hoped my meaning came across when I added, “But not too sore.”

  His groan showed he got what I was saying. I thought I’d get his mouth back, but instead he gave me a stern expression. “If I’m working from home, I expect you to come kiss me when you wake up.”

  “You were on the phone,” I said.

  “I don’t give a damn. You can always interrupt me. I would’ve welcomed it during that call.”

  Noticing the lines on his forehead and the way his jaw clenched, I asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “Just the usual bullshit. Which is why I could’ve used your sweet mouth as a distraction.”

  “If you want to go back and pretend to be on a call, we can have a do-over.”

  He looked genuinely disappointed when he shook his head. “I was waiting for you to wake up so I could check on you, but I’ve got to run for a meeting at Sunrise.”

  “Is that one of your casinos?” I was excited to get that tidbit of info.

  He lifted his chin. “Sunrise, Moonlight, Star, and Nebula.”

  My jaw dropped to the floor. “I didn’t realize those were yours. I’ve never been, but they’re always on the lists of the top places to stay off-Strip.”

  He smirked. “Glad my PR team earns their salaries.”

  Maximo owns four hugely popular resorts and I own…

  Nothing.

  Yeah, that’s not an imbalance at all.

  Maximo cupped the sides of my head in the possessive hold. “I’m sending someone up with lunch.”

  “Lunch?”

  “It’s almost noon.”

  “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “You were wiped. You didn’t even twitch when I kissed you before getting up this morning.” His smile was cocky and wicked and packed with male satisfaction.

  He kissed me before getting out of bed.

  A bed we shared.

  And now he hung around so he could make sure I’m okay.

  His eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re good?”

  I was better than good.

  I was happy.

  “I’m sure, Daddy,” I said instantly.

  When we’d first talked, I’d figured the name was only for him and it wouldn’t do much for me.

  I’d been wrong.

  Calling him Daddy did a lot for me.

  The more I said it, the more I liked it. I was still a little flustered and a lot awkward, but I’d get more comfortable.

  Especially if saying it meant I got to see the look of fiery lust and warm affection he was giving me.

  He kissed me again before heading for the door. Stopping when he reached it, he looked over his shoulder. “Make sure you eat, Juliet. And keep this door open from now on.”

  Before I could ask why, he was gone.

  I shrugged and went back to finding fabric.

  A few minutes later, Marco came in carrying a full tray service. There was a ham sandwich, a small salad, a bowl of fruit, and two Diet Cokes.

  Two.

  Seems it’s my lucky day for various reasons.

  “Thanks,” I said, cracking right into one of those bad boys.

  I watched Marco’s face carefully, searching for any sign he was judging or disgusted or any of the other bad things I worried people would feel.

  He looked stoic and bored—business as usual.

  “Shout if you need anything.” When he walked from the room, he started closing the door behind him before stopping and opening it fully.

  Apparently, Maximo shared his new door policy.

  Running to my room, I grabbed my iPad and headphones before returning to my sandwich. As I dug in, I brought up Google and did a search.

  Nebula Vegas NV

  Unsurprisingly, the screen loaded to tell me to contact the network admin. I was pretty sure Cole handled all the tech in the house, and I wasn’t asking him to help me snoop on his boss.

  Exiting out of the browser, I put on music as I finished eating. Once I was done, I laid out the fabric I’d chosen and started measuring it. It took much longer than usual because I kept glancing at the open door.

  There was no one there, but I worried someone would walk by just as I was making some huge mistake. Or as I was dancing and lip-syncing—something I did often.

  With a sigh, I went and closed the door.

  He’s not even home.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  Maximo

  Walking through the isolated building, my anticipation grew with each step I took.

  Ordinarily when someone crossed me, I brought them to the basement of Moonlight. But Jack Murphy hadn’t crossed me.

  He’d hurt Juliet.

  Which meant I didn’t need a secure room with a private exit to a waiting vehicle. I needed the industrial tools, cleaning system, and disposal unit of a former meat-processing plant.

  It was going to get messy.

  And I couldn’t fucking wait.

  Opening another door slowly so it would creak and groan, I stepped in and let the slam echo around the room. Ash sat silently in a chair, but my gaze went to where Jack Murphy hung from a meat hook, his pale torso bare.

  “Who’s there?” His words were slurred with the residual effects of Ash’s drugs. He moved his head back and forth as if he could see past the blindfold.

  Lifting my chin at Ash, I leaned against the wall and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through emails and my calendar, patient to wait until the drugs were out of Murphy’s system. Otherwise, they’d diminish the pain. He didn’t deserve that.

  Plus, anticipation was half the fun.

  Every time Murphy sank back into a stupor, Ash or I would make a noise to set him off again. It was another hour before his voice was normal, no hint of impairment. Completely alert, his movements grew frantic as he worked to escape the bindings.

  It wouldn’t happen—Ash was an expert.

  It also wouldn’t happen because he would be in too much pain.

  “Jack Murphy,” I said, pocketing my phone. “Lowlife, scumbag-for-hire, crony.” I glanced at Ash. “Am I missing anything?”

  “Gemini,” he added. “Oh, and woman beater—professionally and personally.”

  “What the fu
ck is this, some jacked version of This Is Your Life?” Murphy croaked. “Untie me or else—”

  I tugged off his blindfold and whatever blustered threat he was about to spew died abruptly when he saw me. “Fuck.”

  In the face of his panic, my lips tipped but I didn’t speak.

  The longer the silence stretched, thickening the tension in the room, the more agitated Murphy became. “Why the hell am I here?”

  “Do you like beating women, Murphy?”

  “I don’t know what—”

  “Are you too much of a pussy to take on men so you go after their daughters?”

  “Fuck you, asshole.”

  Circling his hanging body, I slid on gloves and an apron before grabbing a small knife from the set that hung on the wall. There were bigger ones—ones that would do the job quicker.

  But I wanted to take my time.

  I ran the blade down his side, hard enough for him to feel its sharpness, but not enough to puncture skin. “Does it get you and your tiny prick off to stab them because you can’t get inside them any other way?”

  “We’ve got no beef with you, Black,” he gritted out, his body tense and his breathing shallow so the blade wouldn’t cut.

  Keeping it pressed tight, I rounded him so I could see his face. His jaw was tight, fury warring with fear.

  “But I’ve got a lot of fucking beef with you,” I said, my tone cold and impassive. My expression was blank as I stabbed him, just above his hip.

  Right where he’d stabbed Juliet.

  “Fucking shit! What the hell? Fuck!”

  “Does it feel like I’m letting you off easy?”

  “What’re you talking about?” His body shook as he fought to stay still so he didn’t make the pain worse.

  He didn’t have to worry, I’d take care of that for him.

  Sliding the knife free, I pressed the tip to the same spot above his other hip. “Shamus McMillon.”

  He shook his head rapidly, confusion tightening his features. “We cut ties with Shamus over a year ago. Before he took off. We’ve got no clue where he is. If he owes you money, try Carmichael—they were tight.”

  “But he owed you?”

  “The Sullivans. But he squared up his last debt a couple weeks before he took off.”

  I stabbed hard enough to puncture the skin before slowing down so the blade inched in.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his eyes dazed at the pain.