Ex-Con Times Two

by Jay S. Wilder

  I’ve had a damn good time so far, but when Levi steps out of his walk-in closet with a familiar wooden box under his arm, I know for sure he is my soul mate. Or my fuck mate. I don’t know yet. The box is familiar because I own one just like it. Levi's about to pull out all the stops and drive me to insanity. The small, vintage hand-carved wooden box has serpentine embellishments around the latch and keyhole, and is lined with red silk inside.

  “I see we’re about to go kinky,” I say, smiling.

  “You’ve had my treats, now it’s time for a few tricks,” he offers, grinning. He opens the box. “How did you know?”

  I let him in on the fact that I’m into healthy sexual alternatives, ones where the only real limits are the mind, and of course, the utterance of a safe word.

  He's impressed. Maybe a bit relieved, too. “I’ll go easy on you tonight.”

  “I’d rather you not, but okay,” I answer. “But first times should be tame, just in case your idea of mild play turns out to be my idea of unbearable and way too far off the reservation.”

  “Works for me,” he says, holding up a broad, red silk ribbon. “Ready?”

  I nod and laugh. “Go ahead. Have your way with me.”

  His eyes darken and grow lustful as he straddles me. At the moment, his massive cock is so close to my face, I can’t think of anything but taking it into my mouth, but he’s in control now. So I wait. He covers my eyes with the first ribbon and ties it behind my head, then wraps another around my wrists. With the loss of sight, my anticipation grows, my core tightens, and with that, my breathing starts to race. I start to wish for speed in favor of torture. I don’t know how long I can stay like this. Not when it’s Levi holding the reins. Lifting my hands over my head, he fixes them to the headboard.

  I sense warmth close to my cheeks. It’s his hand cupping one side of my face. “It’s not too tight. Relax,” he says, probably referring to my breathing, which is starting to sound like I’m hyperventilating.

  I don’t mean to, but I tug my arms up. He was right that there was lots of wiggle room, but not enough for me to free myself. Levi spreads my legs wide, binding each one before using a longer ribbon or rope to attach me to the footboard. With the blindfold on, my other senses are heightened. I pick up the excitement in his voice, and the warmth of the sheets on my back contrasts with swirls of cool air passing over my body. A window must be open. Or maybe it’s the air conditioning, as it was over seventy-five degrees earlier today, completely normal weather here in Baton Rouge. Either way, the sensation spreads goosebumps all over my body and is making me wet. My arousal wafts into my nose.

  “You’re so fucking sexy like this,” he groans.

  The mattress moves on one side, tilting me to the left, and immediately after that, I hear his footsteps. He’s off the bed for sure. The instinct to call out to him is so strong that I press my lips together to stop myself. I’m so excited that I’m liable to come the second he puts his hands on me. Or his tongue. I start to wonder how long he’ll take to return to the room. It’s perfectly silent except for the humming. There’s movement on the bed again, and Levi settles between my legs.

  Something light and hot moves from my neck all the way down to my lower stomach. It’s not as hot as wax, and it’s not a liquid. I’m stumped about what it might be as he traces it back up my body, across to my neck and up the side of my face. I hiss as the object travels down past the peaks of my breasts. My nipples pebble like rocks. All I want is for him to take it in his mouth and suck, to relieve some of the tingling pressure. My pelvis tilts up on its own, desperate for Levi to pass it over my sweet spot.

  The second I make that move I feel the hot, wet roughness of Levi’s tongue tracing along my folds. My whole body bucks from the shock. He lets out a gravelly laugh that vibrates through my core. He presses his hands to my inner thighs, spreading me wider and exposing more of my pussy to his hot torture. His tongue dips into my center, swiftly passes over my clit and then he’s gone again. I writhe on the bed from his unpredictable touch, struggling under the wrist and ankle bindings.

  Levi groans out, “Fuck, I can’t wait. I have to be inside you now.”

  Relief washes over me. If he took any more time teasing me this way I swear I’d be a puddle on the floor. The familiar sound of a condom wrapper crinkles, then rips. He shoves a thick pillow under my hips. There’s a pause. Then I gasp and tremble as he buries his cock inside me in one sharp move. It almost feels like an instant orgasm. Scratch that. It has to be one, because I’m convulsing and shaking from an explosion of raw pleasure that expands up to the hairs on my head and down to my curled toes. Flashes of every color of the rainbow flood the blackness behind my eyelids. Then Levi thrusts into my quivering center again before pulling out and slamming into me that much harder. Giving. Taking. Owning me.

  I cry out, almost drowning out his own sounds as he drives into me for what seems like forever. It can be five minutes or fifty that have passed. That’s what this partial sensory deprivation followed by sensual overload does to my perception. He pounds me until each thrust is more erratic than the last one. On his last stroke, where he keeps his groin pressed tightly against my mound, he comes with a foreign, primal growl.

  I’m in my bliss at the moment, weak and barely registering his heavy breaths. After pulling out, he removes the blindfold and bindings one by one and stretches out beside me. I reach my hands up around his neck and press into his hot, wet torso. Levi kisses the top of my head.

  “Rest.” That’s all he says. Smiling, my eyes close and I drift off with my body buzzing, and my head and heart united.

  Chapter 9

  Levi

  “I’m not letting you leave here,” I tell Mary Anne for the tenth time since we arrived at my place.

  We’ve had a few hours of rest, but deep sleep is impossible now that I have her in my bed and with her sweet, musky scent in the room. I pull her tight against my chest and bury my nose in her hair. The floral fragrance together with her slight moan stir my senses. Deep down, I have no clue how I’ll manage that task. We have years of college education ahead of us. I have an intense schedule, with college football and working for my father. I have my dad to deal with, and he’s no walk in the park. Plus Mary Anne and I work together. Still, there’s a tiny voice reminding me that I’ve wanted her for ages. Taking a breath, I run my hand down her shoulder and back up again until my fingers are in her hair. With a bit of a tug, I force her head back so she’ll look up at me.

  “You’re all mine,” I tell her.

  The moment I say the words, I know it’s right, no matter what we’ll be up against. Looking into her mesmerizing hazel eyes is my undoing. Her lips are swollen from my earlier rough play, but they draw me in again. I kiss her urgently, and her fingers claw at my shoulders. She presses up against me. My erection is almost instantaneous, and when she begs me to take her again, I growl out a primal sound full of lust. I release her lips and Mary Anne tilts her head to one side, exposing her neck. My lips trace down to her pulse point. Exposing my teeth, I nip along her neck and collarbone, biting down just enough to make her squirm.

  “Get on top,” I order her, reaching over to the night table for another condom.

  She follows my instruction in a single, smooth movement while I relax on my back, admiring her, inch by exquisite inch. The woman is perfection. She’s firm, yet soft and incredible in all the right places. And Jesus, all that flaming red hair makes her irresistible. I catch sight of her breasts and lift up to nuzzle my face against the softness of her cleavage. I capture her nipple in my mouth, grazing it with my teeth before sucking it in deeply, rhythmically tugging until she moans again. At that point, I blow a cold breath against the spot to numb the pain.

  Mary Anne picks up the condom beside me, rips it open, and her eyes darken as she slowly rolls it up my shaft, lifts her hips, and hovers over my cock. Nudging her soaking wet entrance, I reach up to her shoulders. With a sharp shove, I pull her down my cock. She h
isses at the way I’m now slamming into her, and rolls her hips. The way her tight inner walls grip me with her soft, wicked heat and envelops my cock, I nearly lose it. She encourages me along, winding her arms around my back, pressing her breasts into my chest to feel me deeper, even if that’s not possible. If I plunge any farther inside of her I’m sure to break her in two. Still, I let her try.

  Moving slowly in and out, I pound her hard until she cries out, body seizing, inner walls tightening around my cock like a fist. Her mouth opens, her eyes close, and she throws her head back as her climax takes her away. Her muscles squeeze, flutter and clench as I keep thrusting into her, pushing until a primitive instinct takes control. My senses amplify. My vision constricts, the muscles in my ass, legs and groin contract, pushing me over the edge before I implode. A few more strokes of her tightness milks every drop from me into the condom. With all my energy drained, I collapse into the bed and pull her down to rest on top of me.

  She’s panting hard, but stretches out her legs and clings to me for a long time. When her breathing eases, I pull her to rest at my side, not saying a word as we fall into a restful sleep.

  The morning comes way too soon. We both have places to be and hangovers to recover from. I’m barely conscious as Mary Anne climbs out of bed and disappears into my master bathroom, but am wide awake when she steps out in just a towel, with her hair still dripping wet.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I say.

  “Good morning, Mr. Eldridge.”

  I ignore the formality. It’s clear she’s being playful. “Had a good rest?”

  “Oh yeah. I was wondering, to save me from the walk of post-Halloween shame… do you have a long shirt and some pants I can throw on for my trek home?”

  I point to my walk-in closet. “Knock yourself out. Do you a need a ride?”

  She looks back at me with a playful grin and drops her towel. “Only if you can spare the time.”

  Fuck.

  I’ve hit the jackpot.

  I don’t say a word. I just climb out of bed, collect her up in my arms, and take her back to bed.

  “I’ll be late for work,” she reminds me.

  I pull her protectively into my arms and plant a soft kiss on her lips. “So, we’ll be late. I’ll give you a pass,” I groan, quickly forgetting everything except who’s with me in this bed.

  Mary Anne is mine.

  I'll let her leave this room eventually, but I’m never going to let her go.

  The END

  The Billionaire’s Empire Complete Series

  A Dark Standalone Romance

  Bella Love-Wins

  Part One

  Prologue

  The valet looks on in horror as he catches sight of a young woman on the floor of the luxury condo parking elevator. It’s the end of his first shift. He’s damned if this gets him in trouble. It’s the best gig he’s had since he left his trailer park in Arkansas and hopped on the bus to New York City.

  He looks down. He studies her for a moment. She’s dressed in a skin tight blue dress, and stilettos that can kill. There’s a needle in her arm. She’s in a pool of her own blood, eyes rolled back in her head. He takes out his cell phone and calls the concierge desk.

  “Hey man, I think there’s a dead body down here in the green elevator on the P three.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Woman. Pretty. Young, maybe 19 or 20.”

  “Do you recognize her from the building?”

  “Never seen her before.”

  “Call 911 from your phone.”

  “Why from my phone?”

  “Because you fucking found her. I’ll get the security manager to come down. He’ll probably pull the security tapes for the cops…and Nick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Next time, call the cops yourself and don’t fucking get me involved. Got that?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  Nick hears the phone slam down on the other end, and calls 9-1-1 next.

  Chapter 1

  Jonathan

  My dad only calls me for three reasons. First, when he’s sick of the board of directors giving him hell for some crap decision he makes that bleeds money out of Sloan Sports and Entertainment. Second, when it’s my birthday. The man loves to celebrate shit. He’d probably celebrate waking up in the morning if he could. Third, when he’s in a bind.

  It’s Saturday morning, and I’m getting ready to hit the gym when I see his number come up on my phone. That only means one thing—he’s with a call girl or one of his eclectic, artsy girlfriends who lives in the village on Friday night, and something goes wrong. I don’t know why he can’t find some other poor fuck, and have them clean up his mess. But no, I’m his kid. That’s what I was born to do. I know where I stand. So I brace myself and pick up the phone, because it’s some shit going down.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “I need you over here at the Fifth Street condo now.”

  “What Fifth Street condo?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Jonathan.”

  I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I let him stew a little. Sloan Sports and Entertainment, contrary to the company name, has many real estate holdings. The one on Fifth Street is an entire floor of seven luxury condos he set aside for visiting executives and other guests. There’s a special one he keeps for MMA sparring with his top guys, or his play time with the call girls.

  “Okay, what do you need me there for?”

  “There was another accident. I need you to cover for me.”

  “What kind of accident, Dad? A harder than expected beat-down kind of accident, or a dead hooker?”

  “Call girl, Jonathan. You know I don’t mess with hookers. Anyway, she’s really young, and probably dead, except she got away and might be in the building bleeding out somewhere.”

  “What? So what do you need from me?”

  “Alibi. Maybe a cleanup if no one’s found her yet.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Dad, can’t you hire someone for this shit? I thought you said that redhead was the last one?”

  “Watch your mouth, boy. I’m still your old man, and I’m the one who got you where you are now. You think you’d be a Senior VP at Fairchild’s at twenty-six if it wasn’t for me? Now put your ass in gear and get over here.”

  The man holds this position over my head every time shit gets serious. It doesn’t matter that I was smart enough to earn grants and hold my own all the way through Harvard. Yes, they were all wrestling and football athletic grants—and some student loan forgiveness funds—but getting through that place required a level of academic bullshitting to finish my sports management degree. Still, he’s right that at twenty-six, with my past, I would never be in this Fairchild gig if he didn’t marry Mandy.

  “Alright. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Remember to take the back stairs. The one with the camera loop I had Marty set up. I can’t have them place you anywhere else but here last night.”

  “What the hell did I—”

  He hangs up before I could finish my question, and I know this is the real deal. When the redhead died, he got me over there fast, but his so-called clean-up crew were already wrapping her body in plastic and dousing industrial cleaning products all over the condo floor. That time, I was only there to figure out a spot to dump the body, because he had a board meeting with a Japanese trade delegation.

  I throw on some sweat pants and a hoody, pull out my duffel bag for cleaning up my dad’s shit, and grab my keys so I can get over there fast. I get down to my garage, and I have decisions to make. I can’t take the Maserati. It’s too conspicuous. It won’t hold a dead body anyway. Ditto for the Porsche. I go for the forest green Escalade. It’s roomy and not too showy in that part of town.

  On the drive there, all I want to do is punch something. The man promises on his own life that he would stop the S & M shit he’s into. But he’s an addict. A sex addict of the worst kind. He has sex to feel alive. Because he’s an addict, he
has to have more of it, and it’s more intense every time. One woman is not enough. In New York City alone, he probably boasts twenty or more mistresses, and still, they’re not enough. After he’s with them, he has to finish off with a call girl, with his sick, fucked up game. More often than not, someone ends up dying.

  I don’t know why I covered for him the first time back in Reno. I was just sixteen years old, and I had put him up on a pedestal back then. That was my biggest mistake. I should have turned and left the motel room, skipped town, and I would have had my own life. Instead, I felt sorry for him, and helped. The man knows how to manipulate. He sat on the edge of the motel room bed that night. He was crying like a toddler. All he could do was look at the blood pouring from the naked girl on the floor, heroine needle sticking out of her arm, her hands bound, with bruises all over her body like he used her as a punching bag.

  Time was slipping by, and he was no fucking use, so I swung into action. I stood him in the corner, and stripped off the bedsheets so I could roll up the body inside of it. He bawled when I threw it over my shoulder. I took it out to my beat-up old pickup truck—the one he gave me when I got my driver’s license on my sixteenth birthday—and left the motel to bury it in the desert. When I got back, my dad was still standing in the corner, catatonic. After the first time, it got easier. I could never look at the women’s faces, though. That was the first thing I’d cover up.

  Today, I get to the condo building, and there are cops everywhere. The place is cordoned off in emergency police tape. There are even officers posted in the back alleyway. I drive around the block until I see Matheson. Detective Ben Matheson. He’s on dad’s payroll, and helps keep shit tight whenever things get dicey. I stop on the other side of the street and roll my window down enough to get his attention, so he can come to me. If this is the big one, I need to make sure I’m not seen—and Matheson can make it happen.