by S. Massery
I swipe my card and hit the button for one of the lower floors. We drop, and my stomach swoops. I’ll make it up to her. I’ll ease the fear later, when she realizes what could’ve happened.
I take her arm and lead her down a long, narrow hallway. We go through an empty lobby, then a side door. We’re in a public-access space now, although things are still very much controlled. She shivers in my grip.
“Aiden—”
“Be silent,” I snap.
This is a darker part of the DeSantis legacy.
We enter a room that’s thick with steam. There is a shallow pool in the center of the room, and girls lounge in it. I hate this floor—I’ve always hated it. The women are draped over the edges, and they perk up when we enter. Scantily clad, happy to do whatever you ask for a buck.
They create fantasies for men—and sometimes, women—who don’t want to exist in the real world.
But they sell their souls at the same time. It’s a trade-off.
Farther back, there are women who don’t know anything else. The ones hooked on coke or heroin, who are here because we supply them with enough drugs that they don’t care their bodies are the payment.
Gemma’s attention latches on to one of the large cushions off to the side. They’re separated by nearly translucent curtains. Not enough to hide the fact that there are men here, too, taking what they can buy.
The one she’s focused on, there are just shadows moving—a man’s back. And if you listen over the gurgle of water and murmur of low conversation, grunting.
Put her with the whores. This is where my father wanted to send her after I captured the princess. Here, with the filth.
“Strip,” I say.
She shivers and doesn’t move.
“Take off your clothes or I’ll cut them off.” I let her feel the sharp prick of the blade—her blade, again in my possession—against her hip.
And slowly, she does as I say. She kicks off her sandals and inches her dress over her head, standing before me in just her lace bralette and matching panties. Her injuries are dark red, blue-black bruises surrounding them and other spots.
I ignore them.
“Get in the pool.”
Her gaze flies to mine. “You can’t be serious.”
I don’t let my expression soften. I just lift my chin, and my cock twitches when she shudders. There are more threats on the tip of my tongue, but I’m most curious to see what she’ll do. How much persuasion she’ll need—and how far she’ll go.
She takes a step back, eyes narrowing.
The girls have gone silent, watching us, and now the only sound is the slap of skin from behind the curtains. I stride toward their partition and rip it open.
The man isn’t one of ours, but the girl immediately stills. He glances over his shoulder, and fury contorts his expression. Until he realizes who stands at his back, anyway. Then it flickers quickly into fear.
“Out.”
The girl pushes backward on the cushions, making the decision for him. His dick slips out of her, but the idiot seems stuck. Dumbfounded.
“Get the fuck out,” I yell.
He bolts for his pants, forgoing his shoes and shirt, and races past me for the door. Only when it’s swung shut behind him do I turn back to Gemma.
“Get in the pool,” I repeat.
I don’t like to repeat myself, and I’ve pushed my patience to the limit today. I want to go upstairs and fuck her into submission, but she would enjoy that too much.
I lift my chin and wait her out.
It doesn’t take long.
She steps delicately into the pool. The water sloshes around her calves, then thighs as she wades deeper. It won’t go past her hips unless she falls, but she holds her hands out to the sides nonetheless.
Her skin is like porcelain that’s been broken and glued back together. Smooth and perfect until your eyes catch on her cracks. Still beautiful, but not the untouchable object she might once have been.
I jerk my head at one of the girls behind her. They’re all waiting for my command. Father comes down here when he needs to blow off steam, but he doesn’t care.
I first ventured onto this floor to conquer.
“Hold her.”
They’re quick to follow my order. Their expressions are hungry. One comes up and takes Gemma’s wrists, pinning them behind her. These girls are overlooked by almost anyone—but not me. Not when I realized who they saw on a regular basis, with their guards down.
Who would use a prostitute as an informant?
“She’s got pretty hair,” the first coos in Gemma’s ear.
“Pretty skin,” another says. She licks Gemma’s face.
My girl doesn’t flinch. Her gaze doesn’t even leave mine as she fights their hands.
Someone grabs her hair and forces her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. Fingers run down her neck, her shoulders. They shove her bralette down, exposing her breasts, and I bite the inside of my cheek.
This is nothing.
This is just a flicker of a snapshot of what her life would be like if she was brought here. They wouldn’t be gentle with her. Gentleness, hope, kindness—they all kill in a place like this.
I keep waiting for her to break, but she just shivers as they manipulate her flesh. They don’t go lower than her waist, but they pinch her skin, pull her hair. The water splashes up over the lip of the pool, responding to her struggle.
“Down,” I order.
They submerge her.
She comes up fighting like a wildcat, doing her best to get free. As soon as she gets an arm free, someone else captures it.
“This is where you would’ve come if Jameson had his way.”
Some of the women flinch—those on the periphery, not participating. The newer arrivals.
The brunette, the first to move, runs her hand between Gemma’s breasts, dipping lower. Gemma’s chest heaves, and she doesn’t take her eyes off me. Even as water streams down her face. The brunette’s fingers span wide over Gemma’s stomach, then dip into her panties.
I grit my teeth. “Shall she make you come?”
Gemma’s head shake no borders on violent, even as her head tips back. There are too many hands on her, slipping up and down her arms and legs. Dragging water droplets over her body.
“Hold,” I say quietly.
They all stop.
I kick off my shoes and hop into the pool, going straight for Gemma. Some of the girls scatter, but a few remain to keep her still.
I trace my finger down her wet face. “This is where you would be if I didn’t step in. Men would pick you from the crowd. In fact, you’d probably be good for business. Gemma West, the fallen virgin princess. What would someone have paid for that first time with you?” I lean in until my lips are on her ear. “You’d be used for your holes and nothing more.”
I cut her panties off and tuck them into my pocket.
“You’re a fucking psychopath,” she spits.
I slap her pussy. The sting is amplified by the water, and she hisses through her teeth.
I glance around her, at the two remaining women who hold her against the edge of the pool. One’s hand moves higher, brushing Gemma’s wet hair off her shoulder. She kisses her throat, then nips her earlobe. I bite back my growl—this isn’t about me and Gemma. This is punishment, and it might just serve to torture both of us.
Her cheeks are red.
She’s embarrassed by what’s happening. The violation of another woman touching her against her will.
“When will you learn that I’m just trying to keep you safe?” I thrust two fingers inside her. I need her to understand, but her terror just fuels my anger. Her cunt clenches. She’s slick with wet heat.
Turned on by this situation?
I finger-fuck her, and it’s our only point of contact. I ignore the press of my cock against my zipper, begging to be freed, and instead lean forward again.
“Does this do it for you? Would you let a stranger
touch you like this? He’d call you a whore and grunt in your ear until he comes inside your tight cunt, only for the next one to be waiting in the wings. You want that life?”
My thumb brushes her clit, and she writhes. She rips her arm free. Her slap comes fast and furious across my face.
The sound echoes. But most of all, it stings.
When the fuck was the last time someone hit me?
I touch my lip with my tongue, shocked when blood blooms across my tastebuds.
When’s the last time someone drew blood?
“Fuck you, Aiden.” She shoves at the women, at me. Her gaze sticks on my lips, but her fight is only beginning.
Maybe I underestimated that.
She wouldn’t make it here—she’d bite someone’s dick off if they brought it anywhere near her sharp mouth.
The women scatter when she pushes me, but Gemma doesn’t stick around. She hops out of the pool and pulls her bralette back into place, stooping to collect her dress. She slides it on and walks stiffly to the door.
Out.
Away.
I smack the water.
“Aiden,” the brunette says softly. “That was cruel.”
I meet her eyes and hold. She’s stronger than some of them—all of them here are stronger than the women in the back rooms—but only Gemma has a talent for holding my gaze without flinching. And there it is. She flicks her eyes down to her fidgeting hands.
“I’m trying to prevent her from ending up here.” I run my fingers through my hair, frustration tugging at me.
I hate coming here because I hate what they have to go through. It’s one thing to choose this living. It’s another entirely to be forced into it because you owe money, or you are desperate, or maybe you just have a really shitty family. My frustration runs straight into guilt.
“I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you again—this ends when I’m in charge.”
She nods once and moves back. The women here, regardless of their harsh interaction with newcomers, actually do care for each other. They swallow her back into their ranks.
I shake my head and leap from the pool, following Gemma’s wet footprints.
One day, they’ll be free—and so will my conscience.
25
Gemma
He traces lazy circles around my breast.
My bare breast, when I distinctly remember going to bed fully clothed. And alone.
“Get your fucking hand off me.” My voice comes out clear, despite how early it is. The sun isn’t even fully up—the sky seems to be lightening from midnight-blue to twilight slowly. Painfully slow.
If it were to be light out, it would be later.
I’d have an excuse to slip out of bed and prepare for the day.
Wedding day.
My stomach lurches, and butterflies erupt through my chest. They’re not the good kind, either. I want to puke and gut myself at the same time.
And Aiden’s fingers still create trails of fire on my skin.
I grab his wrist and throw it off me. If he was doing it in his sleep, he must be awake now. I don’t give him the chance to react and hurry into the bathroom. I flip the lock and bury my face in my hands.
I felt his arm fall across my waist in the middle of the night, thought he was asleep after a few minutes, and went to sleep on the couch. Away from him.
He dragged me back. Lifted me over his shoulder as easily as he had that first night.
“I hate you,” I whisper through the door.
Not just for what he did yesterday, but for what I found.
There’s an echo of hands on my skin that I can’t scrub off. His harsh words. My own arousal, which took too damn long to go away. I refused to relieve the pressure, instead suffering in silence… and a cold shower. Maybe two.
When nothing but silence greets me, I turn away. I’m completely naked—not just my shirt missing, but my sleep shorts and underwear, too. My lips purse, and I have to grip the counter to resist going out there and smacking him again.
I’m not the violent type.
I wasn’t, anyway.
But now the violence seems to live under my skin, ready to burst through at any moment. My savage prince seems to have altered my thinking… I just wonder if it’s permanent.
If I’ll ever go back to the girl I used to be.
Get through today, Gemma. Then figure out the rest later.
Teeth brushed and flossed, I step into the hot shower.
The door swings open, banging against the far wall.
I straighten and step out of the stream, glaring at Aiden through the glass. “That was locked.”
“They’re flimsy.” He holds up a set of picks.
He smirks at me, and he doesn’t hide the way his gaze crawls down my body.
“It’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day,” I snap.
His smirk widens into a grin. “You don’t believe that.”
I force myself to relax and smile. “No, you’re right. I could use some bad luck. Maybe something will go horribly wrong before we make it to the altar.” I step out of the shower and stride toward him. “Maybe you’ll get shot before we manage to say I do.”
I tap his chest.
He hasn’t stopped grinning, but now I’m within range—mistake.
He snags my hips and yanks me even closer, until we’re flush from knees to chest. His erection rests against my stomach. I automatically bring my hands up and place them on his pecs. He’s shirtless, and I have an unobstructed view of his tattoos. The skull, the flowers. Flowers don’t seem to go well with Mafia hitman, but it works on him.
“You don’t believe that.” He appraises me. “You’re pissed because of yesterday.”
I shudder and pull free from his embrace.
“I’m not just pissed, Aiden.” I… I hate that betrayal has taken up the forefront of my mind. “Whatever I thought you were going to do, it wasn’t…”
He tilts his head and waits.
“That,” I finish lamely.
He pushes his sweats down. I swallow at the sight of his erection and clench my thighs together. How does the sight of him turn me on? My brain is clearly not on the same wavelength as the rest of me.
“Do you want me to apologize?” He steps forward, eyes glittering.
Do I?
He stalks me back into the shower, one step at a time. I’m not even sure I’m aware of where he’s directing me until the warm spray hits my back.
“Stop.” My voice is shaking.
His eyes darken. “I’m not sorry for scaring some fucking sense into you. Now turn around.”
I stare at him, tempted to screech in his ear or claw at him. He’d probably get off on that. Those scratch marks I gave him are long gone, but his expression when he got them is still burned in my mind. He likes a fight.
He likes a challenge.
Isn’t that why he says he likes—loves—me?
“Turn the fuck around, baby. I know you didn’t come last night. Let me do the honors.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Fuck it. I can vow to be chaste and hold it over his head tomorrow. So I give him my back.
He runs a finger down my spine, down to the crack of my ass. I shiver and barely hold back my whimper. Just the anticipation has me squirming.
“You’re mine,” he says in my ear. “Those women’s hands on you were my hands on you. They didn’t violate you—I did.”
His fingers still trace back and forth above my ass, teasing my skin. I’m going to combust.
“Put your hands on the wall.”
I’m quicker to follow his order this time, and I get a face full of water. He moves the stream, directing it in the opposite direction, and turns up the heat. Steam billows around us. He’s in control, and something inside me just… wants that.
For now.
For a moment.
“You’re mine,” he repeats, “in every sense of the word.”
He pulls me back into him by my hips. He kicks out my
legs wider, and suddenly his cock is right at my entrance.
“Hot for me,” he murmurs. He bends over me, kissing my shoulder blade. His fingers go back to tracing the skin above my ass. He inches inside me and stops.
I groan at this new form of torture, trying to get more friction. My body is on fire, and all I can do is helplessly grip the tiles.
“Please,” I let out.
“Please what?”
“Fuck me,” I beg. “Aiden. Fuck me, punish me, just fucking do it.”
I imagine he’s smirking at me.
I wriggle, trying to take matters into my own hands, and he slaps my ass.
“If you move again…” His threat hangs in the air. “Well, Gemma, maybe this is our lesson. Maybe this will nail down the importance of not risking your fucking life.”
His anger roars out of nowhere, and he slams into me.
I scream. The force, the unexpected fullness, brings me higher than I expect. I need relief—now.
He thrusts into me hard, my whole body jolting with the motion. I drop my hand from the wall and flick my clit. He grabs my wrist and tears my hand away, and I whimper.
“Aiden, you said—”
“I was going to help you,” he says on a growl. “But this is a better lesson. You won’t come until you’ve realized how stupid you were.”
The pleasure in my body will destroy me.
I choke on another scream when his finger pushes into my asshole. It’s not bad—it’s like electricity flowing through my body. Sparks fill me, ricocheting around my brain. I groan and grind down on him.
“Aiden, please.” Shame swirls through me. “I’m sorry—”
He stills, buried inside me.
“I’m sorry, please let me come.”
“First you ask to be fucked. Now the princess wants to come.”
He pulls out of me suddenly and wheels me around. He pushes me to my knees before I can react, and I automatically open my mouth. He slides his wet dick into my mouth, and his fingers wind into my wet hair. I taste myself on him, and I suck hard, cupping his balls. He lets out a low groan.
I love that noise.
He lets me blow him the way I want, my tongue swirling. I suck his dick like my life depends on it.
It doesn’t.