UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Zoey Parker

  “Someone could walk in,” I protested, looking at the door.

  “No one will,” Micah said. “And if you really cared about Brody knowing you’re a dirty little slut you wouldn’t have agreed to let me fuck you right here the first time.” I bit my bottom lip, wanting to disagree but not quite able to make myself do it. “Ride me.” I looked down and saw that Micah was stroking himself slowly, his absurdly big cock somehow getting even harder.

  Reluctantly I climbed onto his lap; I straddled his legs, feeling self-conscious, shamed, dirty and needy all at the same time. Before I could even think about getting onto him, Micah’s hands closed on my hips and he shoved me down, forcing me onto his cock even as he thrust up to meet me. “Oh!” I grabbed at the back of the chair, trying to steady myself.

  “I said, ride me,” Micah told me firmly, pulling my hips up and then shoving them back down. “I want to see your tits shaking right here in my face.” His fingers bit into the sensitive skin at my hips and I began to move on top of him, trying to find my own rhythm—but Micah wouldn’t let me. He thrust up into me and pushed me down, forcing me to take him hard and fast, making my whole body shake with the reaction of the movements. I moaned out again and again—he was just as thick, just as big and full inside of me as he’d been the first time, and even though it should have been easier to take him with me on top, it still felt like I was being taken by some kind of battering ram.

  In spite of how dirty I felt, how shamed I knew I should be, I felt myself getting more and more turned on by the moment. Micah buried his face against my tits, and I cried out when his mouth found one of my nipples and claimed it—and then almost screamed when I felt his teeth barely dig into my tender flesh there. He switched between the two, worshipping them and assaulting them with his lips and teeth and tongue, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through my body that I couldn’t control or even fully understand.

  Then, somehow, he was on his feet, holding me in place, and carrying me to his desk. I fell on my ass against the paperwork and clutter on the surface of it, the sharp corners biting into my sensitive skin, and Micah took full control, pounding into me just as hard as he had the first time, slamming deep inside of me faster than I would have thought possible. I fell back, unable to do anything but take him, giving into his brutality; it shocked me that I could feel myself coming, again and again—it seemed to be never ending—as Micah violated me on his desk once more, pulling out almost completely and then slamming into me hard, pounding me like he wanted to break me as much as he wanted to make me come.

  I woke up out of the dream, panting and gasping, drenched in sweat. “Fuck,” I murmured, turning over onto my side. My mouth was completely dry; but my pussy was soaking wet from the intensity of the dream. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I shivered, thinking of the threat that Micah had made in the dream—that he would kill my brother if I didn’t submit to being, basically, his personal sex slave for a month.

  I slipped back into sleep before I could really puzzle out what was going on in my own mind, my whole body still tingling everywhere with the reaction to the dream, from how aroused I was.

  “Admit you like it, Sadie.” I was in Micah’s office again, bent over his desk—but this time I was completely naked, stripped of everything but my heels. “Tell me how much you like feeling my dick inside you.”

  “It’s—it’s just for the thou,” I said, my voice sounding like a lie even to my own ears. “It’s just to get the debt down.”

  “Which is why you keep coming to me even though I’ve already canceled your brother’s debt?” I shook my head—that didn’t make any sense. I’d only gotten a little less than four hundred of what Chris owed. “Say it.”

  “No!” I was pushing my hips back, even as Micah slammed into me, even as I felt his fingers pressing into the skin on my waist. “No, because it’s not true!”

  “You paid off his debt three weeks ago,” Micah told me, his breath hot against my ear, against my cheek. “And you keep showing up here, asking me if I’m sure no one’s going to go after him. And somehow…” Micah groaned. “Somehow you always end up taking my dick.”

  He pulled my head back by the hair at the base of my skull, and I cried out as I felt his teeth sink into the skin between my neck and my shoulder. “Say it—say you love how it feels to take my cock,” Micah growled in my ear. “Or I’ll stop fucking you right this second.”

  “I love it,” I cried out. “I love how it feels inside me, I love—I love how it feels when you fuck me.”

  “And you love being pumped full of my come, don’t you?” I shook my head; I wasn’t going to admit that—it wasn’t true. Micah slid out of me and I trembled, and then he thrust into me all at once, wrenching a half-moaning cry out of my throat. “Say it.”

  “I love when...when you come inside me,” I murmured. Micah pinned me down against his desk, his hand hard against my shoulders, my hair wrapped around his fingers, and I gave myself up to him, feeling my body flex and tighten around him as I came, again and again, helpless and hungry for more.

  I woke up again, shaking once more, my whole body on fire once again, panting and gasping for breath. I stared up into the darkness, in the direction of my ceiling. I wanted—more than almost anything in the world—to reach into the drawer next to my bed, find my vibrator, and get myself off. But somehow, the idea of getting myself off to the idea of being violated by the guy who wanted to hurt—if not kill—my brother seemed wrong. It seemed crazy. I’m just trying to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight, I told myself. I’m exhausted and stressed out. This is totally normal—but it wouldn’t be normal to enjoy it. I thought about taking a cold shower, but even with how turned on I was, my whole body ached too much, and I was too tired, to actually get out of bed.

  I could feel the slickness between my labia, the lingering soreness in my nipples where Micah had abused them earlier in the evening—briefly as it had been. I shuddered, telling myself again and again that I was just reacting, that it was just a dream and didn’t mean anything deeper. My fingers itched to slip between my legs, to touch myself. I was so turned on that it was almost painful. I took slow, deep breaths, willing myself to go to sleep for good this time, to not dream of anything else—to just fully sleep myself out and wake up the better for it.

  I wondered if Chris was having trouble sleeping; but irritably I thought—of the two of us—he kind of deserved it. Just by coming to me, just by putting me into the mess he’d made, he’d started this whole business. I turned over in bed, my back to the door, and willed myself to sleep once more, to not even think about Micah or the situation.

  Slowly, slowly, I felt the exhaustion washing through me again, making my eyelids heavy, making my body feel remote. It was a relief after waking up—twice—so aroused that I thought I might explode or die if I didn’t get off. My breathing slowed down, my heart went back to its normal pace, and I slipped into a deep, dark sleep, finally; one I didn’t find interrupted by another dark, disturbingly erotic dream.

  Chapter Ten

  Sadie

  I wasn’t sure what time it was when I fell asleep the night before—any of the times I had fallen asleep—but by the time I woke up, it was two in the afternoon. I had the kind of headache that I usually associated with hangovers, but milder, and the soreness between my hips wasn’t as bad as it had been the night before. I laid in bed for a little while longer, thinking about how incredibly bizarre it was that I’d jumped into the plot to help my brother so willingly. It didn’t feel—exactly—like I was doing it just because I loved him and wanted to keep him safe. It felt almost like I’d been looking for an excuse to be a little bad myself.

  I got out of bed and Chris was up too. “Why don’t I make us some breakfast?” I looked at my brother, almost shocked at his willingness.

  “You?” He rolled his eyes.

  “You’re saving my ass,” he pointed out. “Least I can do is whip up some bacon and eggs.” I looked at my b
rother doubtfully. “Hey—I am a grown man who lives on his own. I can make breakfast.”

  “Okay, if you insist,” I said. I watched my brother go into the kitchen and start moving around. I made us some coffee while he scrambled up eggs and cooked some bacon. I was actually kind of surprised that he managed it without burning.

  “I eat when you’re not around, you know,” Chris told me.

  “Not from what I’ve seen,” I countered.

  I ate and had some coffee and headed back to my room. I still felt a bit weird about Chris, and about his stupidity in getting involved with Micah Rintley, and about the situation I’d gotten myself into. I felt even weirder about the fact that I’d actually agreed to have sex with Micah to get rid of a thousand dollars of my brother’s debt.

  “I’m just going to take a shower,” I called out to my brother—as much because I wanted to be alone for a little while longer as because I remembered, very clearly, how much I’d wanted to take a shower the night before and had just been too exhausted.

  I stripped off my nightgown and turned on the water. I felt a little bit better about the whole thing, but I still couldn’t quite believe what had happened to me. I thought about the night before while I waited for the water to heat up. Jesus Christ. I could almost laugh at the idea of me beating on someone’s door and then pointing a gun at them; but at the same time, the fact that I’d actually done it gave me a chill. I remembered the look on Chester’s face when I’d pointed the gun at him, and the fact that I’d enjoyed his fear made me wonder what kind of person I really was.

  And then, too; as I scrubbed at my hair, lathering the shampoo in it, I couldn’t help but think about Micah himself. I’d always managed to keep my distance from the kinds of circles that my brother operated in. Even two days before, if someone told me that I would find myself walking into the office of a local mafia boss and offering to work for him, I would have told them that they were completely insane. I shook my head, tilting it back under the showerhead. Images from my dreams the night before flitted through my mind, and I could feel myself starting to get turned on again, almost in spite of myself.

  How in the world could I have agreed to that? It seemed just as insane as everything else I’d done the previous night, if in a different way. I had never—in my entire life—even put out on the first date, much less within less than an hour of meeting someone. And yet, I couldn’t deny that even though Micah had been brutal, a very big part of me had liked it. That’s never going to be an option again, so you might as well enjoy the dreams, I thought wryly.

  Micah was exactly the kind of guy I’d always avoided: dangerous, unpredictable, violent. Just look at how he’d dominated me the night before; look at how he’d just straight-up used me, as if my body was something that belonged to him.

  Before I knew it, my hands had begun to stray, moving away from my hair and down over my body. My nipples still felt a little bit sore from Micah’s rough handling, and in my mind I heard his voice, telling me he’d love to watch my tits bounce while I rode his cock. I shuddered; there was nothing about anything he’d said to me the night before that I should have liked, but it had turned me on—I couldn’t lie to myself about that. Maybe it was just because I was so anxious, so excited, so worried—like when you go to a horror movie with a guy on a date. But it didn’t feel like that.

  My hand slipped down between my legs and I was stroking myself before I even really knew what I was doing. I was still sore—I bit my bottom lip, remembering how huge Micah had felt. The dream-version of Micah flashed through my mind. There’s no way he’s that big, I thought, exploring my slippery folds, feeling the roughened flesh there. But he was definitely bigger than anyone else I’d ever been with, that was certain.

  I forced myself to stop, shaking off the lingering feeling of arousal that the thoughts of Micah brought up in me. Everything between him and I was going to be business from that point forward, I told myself. I scrubbed at the rest of my body, ignoring the tenderness I felt in certain specific places. “Keep focused. Just get it done.” I reminded myself of what I’d been thinking of shortly before I finally fell asleep: I was going to have to get Chris to drive me to at least three of the addresses on the list, in the hopes of collecting maybe another nine hundred—if I was optimistic—for Micah, before the weekend was over. Preferably before the night was done. If I could at least get him three thousand, I thought I could maybe negotiate the rest.

  I stayed in the shower until I had a plan, working through what I could remember of the list from the night before. Chris and I would hit the addresses we knew were valid first; we’d get started as soon as we knew where they all were and could get from one to the other quickly. Chris, I decided, was going to pay for the gas—he had to have some money that hadn’t been stolen from him, since what had been stolen was Micah’s. We’d hit at least three places before the end of the night, maybe four if nothing too terrible happened.

  I was feeling optimistic when I finally stepped out of the shower and dried off. I was going to get Chris to get a damn shower of his own, and then we’d be off to get some work done. I slipped one of my robes on; Chris wouldn’t care what I came out of the bedroom wearing as long as I wasn’t naked.

  I combed my hair and then left my room. “Chris! Come on, we need to get going.” I walked down the hall when I saw his door open, hoping that maybe my brother had done the dishes—maybe he was even in the living room, dressed and ready to go. “I had an idea about how we can get this done as quickly as possible.” I stepped into the living room and looked around.

  Chris was sitting on the couch, all right; but he wasn’t alone. Micah Rintley was seated in one of my chairs, and the guy from the night before—Manny, I thought he was—was in the other. My heart pounded in my chest and for a second I thought it might actually explode out of me, even as it felt as if my knees might give at the same time.

  “You probably should have given a fake name,” Micah said quietly, smiling slightly. My brother looked at me sheepishly.

  “You let them in?” I crossed my arms over my chest, scowling at Chris.

  “What choice did I have?” Chris gestured between the two men. I took a quick, deep breath and tried to swallow down the thick, dry feeling in my throat.

  Micah rose to his feet and I longed for my gun—I had put it back in its case the night before, and it was in Chris’ car. “Manny, I think you should stay with Chris, here,” Micah said. He looked at me, and I could see his gaze lingering at my chest, at my hips. “I need to talk some business with Sadie—privately.” He walked toward me and I had to fight back the temptation to flinch away. “Let’s step into your room, Sadie.” I tried to pull my robe around me tighter. I couldn’t see any way to avoid it; I took another deep breath and followed Micah Rintley toward my bedroom.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sadie

  Micah somehow managed to look even more dangerous in my bedroom, and I was acutely aware of the fact that I was standing only a few feet away from him, dressed in nothing more than a flimsy robe. “Surprised to see me?”

  “Considering that a little more than twelve hours ago you didn’t even know I existed? Yeah, a little surprised,” I replied, pulling the robe around me tighter. “You didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to see me again when I left your office last night.”

  “That was before I got the intel on you,” Micah told me. He glanced around my room like he was sizing it up, and I wondered just what criteria he used to judge it. “Once Manny found out about you, I figured I could use a bit more information straight from the source.”

  “What have you found out?” My mind reeled over the possibilities. What could someone like Micah Rintley have found out about me in less than twenty-four hours? What kind of resources did he have? Who had he been talking to?

  “I know you work at First Savings and Trust,” Micah said, a gleam in his bright, cold eyes. “What do you do there?”

  “I’m just an administrative assistan
t,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t handle any of the money—just run of the mill stuff.”

  “But you work with the actual bankers, don’t you?” I looked at Micah more closely.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “Why? What does this have to do with me getting your money back?”

  “Tell me about them.” Micah sat down on the edge of my bed and I immediately felt uncomfortable. But then, it wasn’t as if there were a lot of places in my room to sit—and Micah seemed to be interested in a long conversation.

  “I only really work with about half a dozen of the bankers,” I said, shrugging.

  “So tell me about them,” Micah repeated, more firmly.

  “What do you want to know? I mean—names, addresses, what they do in the bank?”

  “That’s a start,” Micah said.

  “There’s Jack Harrow, Nate Blanchard, Paul Rothkin, and Harold Neems,” I said.

  “How old are they?” I frowned; that was an odd question to ask—but then, all of the questions coming from Micah were odd.