“You’re liking this too much. It’s my turn.” I quickly unbuckle my belt and free my cock from my pants. I stand above her, and she looks up into my eyes, waiting for instruction.
I tap my cock against her lips, and instantly, she opens for me. Christ, her mouth is heaven. I slide in and out, savoring the feeling. She moans around my dick and takes it all the way to the back of her throat. I pull her hair away from her face and gather it in my fists as I start fucking her mouth. She doesn’t object. In fact, she braces her hands on my thighs and sucks me harder. I fuck her throat faster, harder. Tears stream down her cheeks, but the choking and gagging sounds only spur me on. Her hands move to wrap around the back of my thighs, wanting more. This fucking woman.
I pull myself out of her mouth and throw her face on the couch. “You want my cock, Quinn? Tell me.”
“Yes!” she gasps out, still catching her breath.
I yank up her shirt and smack her ass. She squeals and arches back, pressing her fine ass into me. I line my cock up with her pussy and snap my hips forward, to the hilt. She screams, so I cover her mouth with my palm once again. I’m finally inside Quinn, and it’s even better than I imagined. So warm, so wet, so tight, so right. I could live inside her.
I fuck her brutally, but she meets me thrust for thrust. My own little savage.
“You want more, Quinn? Tell. Me. What. You. Want,” I grind out, punctuating each word with a slam of my hips.
“God, yes, give me more! Make it hurt.”
I pull out and lift her into my arms before laying her on the floor. I spread her legs wide and dip down to lap at her pussy a few times before sliding back into her. My hands grip her narrow hips as I fuck her, but I can’t get deep enough. I’ll never be deep enough inside Quinn for my liking. She reaches down to rub her clit and throws her head back in pleasure. Her slender neck is on display, and I want to bite it. Mark it. Wrap my hands around it. So, I do. I squeeze her neck, and she rubs her clit faster, fucking me from the bottom. I pull her up so she’s sitting on my lap, and I use both hands to grip her neck. Quinn covers my hands with her own as I squeeze harder, loving the way her cunt tightens around me. She’s getting off on this just as much as I am, if not more.
“Come on my cock, Quinn. Now,” I demand. Her pussy clenches over and over, and her eyes roll back into her head, causing me to lose control. I fuck her like an animal. I feel it building, the need to come inside of her stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.
I roar out, giving one last jerk of my hips, and release her neck from my grasp as I spill inside her. She slumps against me while I catch my breath.
“Bloody hell, woman,” I say, running my hands up and down the baby-soft skin of her back.
But she doesn’t respond. And her hand falls to her side listlessly.
“Quinn?” I shake her shoulders, but she’s…unconscious. “Quinn!” I lay her on her back, my cock still nestled inside her.
What have I done?
As soon as her back hits the floor, she starts to stir, thank feck, and opens her eyes.
“Oh my God, that was amazing,” she breathes. I must look at her like she grew two heads.
“I could have killed you!” I pull out of her and tuck myself back into my pants. “What the hell did I just do?”
“Carter, stop!” Quinn tugs on my arm. “I’m fine! I’m better than fine. That was an out-of-body experience.” She bites her lip and looks down at the floor, like she’s embarrassed by the fact that she liked it. My softening cock jumps in my slacks at the thought of doing it again, and I hate myself for it.
“I need to get out of here.” I hate myself even more for leaving her like this, but I can’t. I can’t be here. I can’t risk hurting her again.
“Carter, please, don’t ruin this. Stay.”
But I don’t. I’d rather hurt her by leaving now than risk killing her later.
I wake up with my hand wrapped around my neck. I squeeze it, a little too tightly, and my eyes flutter open. Gia is somewhere near my legs, trying to swim her way out of the duvet and lick me in greeting. I blink, my hand sliding from my throat down to my chest and stomach.
I can still feel his finger pads burning the soft flesh of my throat. I can smell his faint scent. A little sweat and a hint of male deodorant. It’s the best smell in the world, because it brings memories of his hard body pressing against me. I almost died when I felt him inside me.
My hand slides down my stomach, lower, disappearing under the covers.
“Carter,” I mouth, not allowing my lips to utter the word aloud. I should get up, take a shower, and start my day, but I want to bathe in this moment a little longer. In his scent. In the memory of our skin slapping, frantic, desperate, hungry.
My finger slides into my folds, curling against my clit, as I start rubbing it in slow circles.
I hate that he’s no doubt beating himself up right now, but I love that he lost control last night. He didn’t want to take me. He did because he had to.
I love that I had him. The man who doesn’t hit on every living thing.
Carter mostly just keeps to himself. But I knew he’d love it rough. Because we are rough. Both of us. I don’t know what his story is, but I know that we both share the same narrative.
Destruction.
Anger.
Loneliness.
We do things differently, because this is how life programmed us. He scared himself last night, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Not really. He just wanted to mark me. And he did.
Long before he touched me.
I play with myself, stifling my little moans with my arm. Gia escaped the bed—thank God, I’m not too thrilled about masturbating with her so close by—and as I rub my clit, I slide two fingers into myself, then stop.
Wet.
But not the same wetness I know of myself. It’s a trickling, thick, warm liquid that slides down my inner thigh, now that I poked at it. Cum. Carter’s cum.
Fuck.
I fling the covers at the speed of light and run to the living room, stepping into my slippers in the process. I grab my coat, purse, and keys and slam the door behind me as I descend the stairs. I have to get to Duane Reade and get the morning after pill. I must.
The warm, stuffy hallway of my building spits me out to the New York freeze. It’s still snowing lightly all around us. Christmas is approaching. The apples of my cheeks turn red as I secure my coat over my chest as I lightly jog my way to the nearest pharmacy. Fuck. Shit. Oh my God. This is so stupid…but I still don’t regret being with him last night. How awful does that make me?
I’ve been with lots of men. But I know that I’m clean. Which is something I can’t say about Carter for sure. Instinct tells me that he’s far too cautious for that, but I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for him to lose control before last night, either. My biggest concern, however, is the possibility of being pregnant. I cannot have a baby. Not because I don’t like children—quite the opposite, actually.
It’s because I love them too much to subject them to life with me as a mother.
I’m taking a shortcut through an alleyway. I don’t think. Not at all. Not about how Carter warned me not to stray by myself and not about the fact taking little side streets and wandering in alleyways before dawn in New York is a fucking death wish.
My senses are blurred, drowned by the haze of lust, tears, and the trickle of fear that’s making its way to my stomach about an unwanted pregnancy. That’s why I don’t even see it coming when a hand grabs my wrist and jerks me against a brick wall.
I wince from the pain vibrating through my spine and squeeze my eyes shut tight. Maybe if I don’t open them, this won’t be real.
“Hello, Little Miss Hot Property.” Much like my father, I smell him before I open my eyes and see him. Cigarettes, the stench of cheap, old alcohol, and junk food. I don’t want to look at him, but I have no choice.
My eyelids flutter open, and I take him in.
Murray. My dad’s
former sometimes employer. Sometimes supplier. And my own personal nightmare.
“What are you…?” doing here? Talking about? Going to do with me?
I have so many questions I want to ask him, even though I know better than to expect he’ll actually answer any of them.
“What am I doing here? That’s a great question. To answer that, let’s go back to a year ago, around the same time.” The forty-something-year-old rests one of his hands against the brick wall behind my head, his other hand sliding to my waist and traveling up and down like it belongs there. I don’t swat him away. I’ve only fought back twice before, and when I did, he beat me so bad I couldn’t sit on my behind for a week straight. Murray is a sadistic bastard. He used to buy long nights with me just so he could hit me. I begged my dad to stop letting him take me. Cried. Got down on my knees and crawled to the bathtub every morning after Murray dropped me off at my dad’s door. It never helped.
“You need to toughen up, Quinn.” He’d wince and shake his leg away from my grip, like I was an old dog who needed to be put down. “The world is not all roses and smiles. You’ll benefit from it. It will make you stronger, even. Trust me.”
I didn’t. I didn’t benefit from it then, and I don’t benefit from it today.
“I see you’ve expanded your clientele.” Murray traces my throat, where Carter left a mark, and I wince at his words visibly. He chuckles darkly. “Well, that’s about to change. You’re mine again. This time, forever. A year ago, your sorry-ass father started drinking on the job. Got pretty fucking sloppy. I caught him stealing cash from my wallet. Not once. Three times. A lot of dough. Then I found out he started gambling again and lost his house.”
I close my eyes again and shake my head. No.
But my head is saying yes. That sounds like something my dad would do. Why did he reach out to me all those weeks ago when Carter caught him? Because he sold me and Murray was finally ready to get his new shiny toy. His purchase. His fucking possession.
“He needed money. Fast. Since he was a useless drunk at his job, I didn’t want to give him any more shifts. And I couldn’t give a loan to someone who’d been stealing from me. Even you can see there’s no logic in that.” His hand finds its way to my leggings, and I clench my fists, wanting nothing more than to slap his hand away, but I can’t. He will hurt me. Severely. And even though I haven’t exactly been enthusiastic about living, I am definitely not enthusiastic about getting beaten to death.
“So, to settle up his debts, he offered me…you.” He stubs his finger to my sternum, his voice smiling smugly.
My father sold me, like I was his property.
He betrayed me, when all I wanted was to get my life on track.
I ran away once.
I thought it was over when he was killed in the hands of my lover.
But he came back for me…even from the dead.
“So here’s how this is going to play out, little Quinn.” Murray hooks his thumb to my leggings and pushes them down, along with my panties. The bite of the New York winter pierces through my skin, and my whole body shudders violently. I look the other way, narrowing my eyes to the trashcans and industrial bins sitting outside a restaurant that’s obviously closed at this hour.
All it took was one wrong turn.
One bad decision.
And here I am.
“I’ll take you back home for a spin. We’ll get to know each other again, and tomorrow, I’ll drop you off at your apartment to pick up your shit. You’re coming with me to Long Island, where you’ll stay. You will cook for me, live with me, and fuck me. As I please, and as much as I’d like. You’ll take orders from me, and you’ll obey.”
“What makes you think that I will?” I ask. I don’t really want to know the answer. I’m just wondering if he has some kind of an additional leverage on me that I should be aware of. Not because I will run away. He’ll find me again and probably kill me. He’s done it once before. Killed a wise guy. A pimp. Got off on self-defense. He’ll do it again.
Once again, I’m held in a smelly alleyway, being threatened by a monster from my past.
“I will kill you if you disobey. And I will make sure it’ll be graphic and a ton of fun for me…a little less for you, though.” Murray winks, flashing me a rotting smile. I blink twice, but don’t answer.
I will kill myself before he touches me again.
Murray steps away from me for the first time since he cornered me in this alley, and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Chop, chop, little lamb. It’s time to go where you belong. In my bed.” Murray pulls out a switchblade and ushers me to the end of the alleyway, toward a white Ford Explorer I recognize as his own.
As I buckle myself up, I look out the window frantically, looking for someone. Looking for him. My savior. Where is he? Will he let this happen to me? He can’t. He won’t. He promised he’d protect me, even if he didn’t use words.
He used something far more reassuring. His touch. His presence. His lips.
Carter is everywhere. I can still feel him on my body. Inside me and everywhere around me.
Shit. It reminds me why I left the house in the first place.
“Can I make a quick stop at Duane Reade?” I ask Murray as he kicks his vehicle into drive. He laughs, his eyes still focused on the empty road ahead in this early morning hour.
“Sure. Why the fuck not? If Duane Reade is code for my fucking dick.”
I don’t answer that.
I don’t tell him what the urgency is. There’s no telling how he’d react.
I don’t say a word.
I just stare out the window, screaming internally.
Carter, where are you?
It’s the first time I didn’t wait outside her window the moment the first ray of sunshine cracked through the black sky.
Normally, I’m up way before that. I have my workout session, my breakfast, then I go and wait for Quinn to wake up, watching her from her balcony. I love those first few moments when she realizes that consciousness creeped its way into her good night’s sleep. She always frowns like she is mad at the world for interrupting her. She is not a morning person. That’s okay. She doesn’t need to be. I’m here to protect her all hours of the day.
Other than today.
Truth is, I’m too ashamed and embarrassed to face her. And scared of what I did to her and if it could happen again. I know she knows when I’m around, so I don’t want to chance her talking to me about it or at all.
It takes me until noon to come to my senses and go check on her. Tonight, I need to go with Graham to an Italian restaurant in SoHo and retaliate on the Lucky Lucianos. Until then, I can watch her. Make sure she’s okay after last night.
I jog the way to her house with my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my pea coat. I don’t know why Americans always complain about it being cold in Europe. New York is pretty fecking freezing in the winter.
Something is wrong. I feel it as I climb up her balcony, swiftly, as I am used to it. I use my key for her flat only when she’s asleep. When she’s awake, I watch from afar.
But the light is turned off. Quinn should be up by now. And the little, loud dog is pawing at the glass window of the balcony, barking at me to open it for her. There’s a pool of yellow beside her. She wasn’t taken out this morning.
Why?
I don’t even think about my next move. It’s an impulse. I push the window open—it’s pretty big—and bend down, sliding through it and into her apartment. I walk straight to her tiny bedroom. Empty. I throw the bathroom door open without a warning. Nothing. I pace to the kitchen—the place is so small I remember every square foot by heart—and sure enough, there’s no one here. Worry gnaws at my gut, and I feel my head swirling. She left? Maybe she’d finally realized that I’m a fuck up and decided to leave. But that doesn’t make any sense. She’d take the dog with her. She’s crazy about this little rat, despite their tumultuous relationship.
I l
ink my fingers behind my head and pace back and forth in the small space of her apartment—eight steps forward, eight steps back—hating myself for every moment that I’m here and not out searching for her. But where would I look? I never tracked her phone like Cole and Graham did to their wives, but I’m kicking myself for it now.
Reluctantly, I take out my cell phone and call Jade, Cole’s wife. She answers on the second ring.
“Carter?” She sounds surprised. I would be, too. I’ve never called her in my entire life. The only reason I have her phone number is because she keeps texting me about social functions, badgering me to join the Savages every time they go out for dinner and drinks. She’s a nester, this one.
“Do you know where Quinn is?” I’m too riled up for small talk.
She mulls this over, offering a half-arsed “hmmmm”.
“My best bet is at home or at the club helping out with something.”
I tsk with my tongue. “Neither. Her dog was sitting in a puddle of piss when I got here, and she’s nowhere to be found.”
She’s not at the club because we have new soldiers working there twenty-four seven, and all of them have specific instructions to inform me as soon as she walks into the place. I never got a text about it. Of course, I leave that part out to Jade.
“I don’t know, Carter, but now you have me worried. I’ll call Cole.”
I should say no, but I hear myself choking out a “thank you”. I won’t let my pride get in the way of Quinn’s safety. I’ll take all the help I can get.
“I’ll call Graham,” I add.
“You do that.”
We both hang up.
I stare at my phone, debating my next move, when it vibrates with a text from Quinn. An address in Long Island. She doesn’t give me any instructions, just “please hurry” underneath. My gut churns. I should be relieved, knowing she’s well enough to send a text, but instead, all I feel is fear. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to.
Savage Savior (Savage People Book 3) Page 5