“Move your legs wider,” he commands, and I shuffle my feet out.
He returns his hand to give himself more traction and fucks me until my body quivers on the verge of orgasm.
His panting breath, my racing heart, the throb of my clit all conspire against me until that blissful moment when everything explodes and pure pleasure washes over me. “Yes, yes… please…. more.”
Quinn obliges my cries. My body rules my mind and lets the bliss wash over me. I register that Quinn has stopped pumping into me as my mind switches back on, leaving me groggy and lightheaded.
I’m picked up and tossed toward the bed where I crumple into a sated mass of limbs.
“I’ve not had my fill. Show me your wet cunt.” His words make me feel degraded, but compel me to move. My knees tumble outward, giving him a truly pornographic view of me.
Quinn’s eyes burn into my skin. First my boobs, and then travelling down to the apex of my legs, now spread open for anything he may want to do. He strips his expensive suit from his handsome frame before crawling onto the bed to claim me again. My legs are hoisted around his waist and he shoves his cock into me again.
My body relaxes completely from Quinn’s thorough treatment of me, and I put up no fight. What’s the point? He can have me; I’m resigned to the inevitability of it all.
He slams his cock inside of me over and over, and I curse my body, warming to him once again.
“Your cunt is desperate for my cock, dirty girl.”
I block his words and close my eyes to his too appealing body. He fooled me once, and that’s how I got into this mess. But it doesn’t stop the buzz taking over my body, the slow and sensual build from Quinn’s movements hitting me in all the right places. He grinds and swivels his hips, igniting all the nerves in my clit. I dig my hands into the silk sheets to stop me grabbing for him.
“Go on, Emily. Let yourself go,” he grunts, tension and strain in his voice.
I try to block it out, pushing the feelings back down and riding them out, but they build stronger and stronger, like a tsunami ready to drown me.
My eyes open to look at Quinn. Both of us, gazes hooded with lust and desire, lock onto each other.
“Fuck…Yes!” His roar signals his release and I watch in awe at the ropes of muscle tensing down his neck as he tilts his head back. The sight, together with what he’s doing to my body, tip me over into oblivion for the second time. Stars dance in front of my eyes as they drift shut again, and I let my body calm.
My eyes flutter open. The room is quiet, and it takes me a few moments to remember where I am. I’m comfortable and… warm. Fine, silk sheets encase me in the softest bed I’ve ever been in. Part of me wants to roll over and go back to sleep, but I know that’s an impossibility. My stomach lets out an embarrassing growl and reminds me that I’ve not eaten for what feels like days.
I sit up and look around the room. The lights are on, but Quinn is nowhere in sight. The deep breath releases from my lungs, a sigh of relief, and I go to move from the bed. My body aches, tired and used from all the fucking. I used to think the word was so crude. That’s all changed now. After everything that Quinn’s done to me over the last few days, sex will never be the same again. I’m not sure I could even protest and claim rape. Two minutes with his fingers on me and I turn to putty in his hands. His wicked, cruel and devastatingly delicious hands.
My stomach takes another roll and nausea from what I’ve done bursts through me. A buzzing starts in my gut and grows louder and louder. What have I done? Dizziness swamps me, and my heart pounds. Tears threaten, but I don’t want to cry anymore. My head falls back to the pillow, and I look across the room.
The plate with a few slices of meat and bread sits on the table across from me, a glass of wine at the side of it. I dive out of bed, my legs giving out and landing me on my knees. I don’t care. I crawl the last few feet and pull the plate down into my lap. My fingers grab the bread and stuff it into my mouth.
My taste buds go mad over such a simple morsel. I gorge on the small selection until there isn’t a scrap of food left on the plate. The minutes tick past as the food settles in my stomach and I take in the room around me, listening to anything from the other side of the door.
The pounding from my heart is the only noise I can hear.
There are no ambient noises from downstairs. Of course, Quinn threw his brothers out before ordering me up here. Josh and Nathan. Their resemblance screamed family, and I didn’t need Quinn to tell me they were all related. Two other versions of Quinn. Josh radiated danger and this time my body screamed at me to listen. I felt his eyes stalking me, like he viewed me as little more than a toy. His other brother, Nate, seemed less intimidating, almost kind.
With the food now sitting heavy in my stomach, I push myself off the floor and go towards the door. It worked for me once. Perhaps he left it open again. I twist the ornate handle, but it just jangles. The door doesn’t unlock. I rest my head against it and try to tap down on the panic that spikes. Positivity eludes me. At least this room isn’t a dark box like yesterday.
I explore the bathroom and freshen up before pulling on the sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. I curl up in one of the small sofas by one of the windows. It’s dusk out, and I can’t see anything but some trees from the window.
Am I really in America? My eyes start to water and emotion chokes me. If it’s true, I’ve got no way of leaving—no passport, no documents of any kind. Nothing. Fear chills me, and defeat settles on me like a cold blanket.
My life, my business and my world are thousands of miles away, and nobody even knows where I am, or what I did on Friday. Apart from Jenny. But given it was her who set this up, I have to question whether she was ever my friend in the first place.
I think back to what Quinn said to me in that room. How much do I think I’m worth? How long will he keep me if I have to pay off one hundred thousand pounds? He doesn’t need to prove to me how serious he is. The bruises on my hips tell me, along with the shame in my heart at how I let this happen.
The song I’ve clung to ever since this all started trickles into my mind, the notes appearing one by one. They build in my head until I can hum along and be lifted away to a place that has some hope.
I’m back in the chair. My arms are free but there’s something wrapped around my ankle. I can’t move. I can’t escape.
I kick out my leg and try to shake my shackle free as my mind wakes up from my dream.
“Careful. Or I’ll change my mind about letting you have free reign up here.” Quinn’s voice startles me and I pull my foot out of his grasp.
I sit up and look around the room again, wishing I could get over the startled fear that douses me every time I wake up.
“Time to start being of worth to me. Go and clean yourself up and put this on.” He rests a dress bag on the bed next to me.
“What is it?” I ask, knowing that it’s got to be some sort of outfit. My eyes run over Quinn and note the crisp tux he has on.
“It’s what I want you in for tonight.”
“Where are we going?”
“Fewer questions, more moving. Shower. You look like a cheap whore.”
The words of retaliation are on the end of my tongue, but I don’t have the nerve to speak them. “Hurry up.” He glowers, and I can’t help but scuttle into the bathroom.
I step inside the room-sized shower enclosure and set the waterfall head running. Steam cloaks the room in a matter of minutes, and I happily hide under the spray.
A glass ledge at one end of the shower holds a range of products, and I set about soaping and lathering. I haven’t had a proper wash in days, and the feel of soap over my body is heavenly.
I emerge from the bathroom wrapped in several towels, covering as much of my body as possible. Quinn is sitting in one of the chairs on the far side of the room, running his dice through his hands.
“Your outfit is on the bed. I’d hurry if I were you.” He watches me with amusement shining f
rom his eyes.
“I need to dry my hair.”
“You have a towel.”
I look at him with a stunned expression. My hair will look like a rat’s nest unless I blow-dry it. “If you want to go out, I suggest I blow dry it.” My sudden nerve to talk back pleases me.
There's a knock at the door, but Quinn is on his feet before I can flinch, moving toward the sound. He brings back a bag and hands it to me.
“You’ll need these. No hairdryer. The only thing you’ll blow is me. Now get your ass dressed and ready to go out.” He rips the towel from around my chest and runs his gaze over my naked body.
I hide in the bathroom with my bag of… toiletries. A hairbrush, moisturiser, makeup and perfume. All brand new. And a toothbrush and toothpaste. I can’t help but smile at that simple luxury.
The brush works the tangles free before I towel dry my hair, repeating several times to get it as dry as possible. I fluff it and run my fingers through the locks before giving up. The makeup is all smoky eyes and red lips. Despite trying as hard as I can not to look like a cheap hooker, I do. Right now, that’s how I feel. Mascara and some rouge for my lips are as far as I go.
It’s clear Quinn has some plan for tonight. And somewhere in my brain, I’ve decided to try to do as Quinn says or wants. He may be holding me prisoner, but he’s also my only way of escaping this.
I wrap a towel around my torso again before heading out. My feet try to move with purpose and without fear, but his eyes follow me as I head towards the bed. My fingers unzip the garment bag and I’m assaulted by a glittering black dress.
The fabric slides free from it’s confines as I hold it up. A deep, plunging neckline, together with spaghetti straps and an even lower back has my heart stammering.
“I can’t wear this.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think.
“You will.”
“I can’t. It won’t fit,” I protest.
“Emily, you’ll wear it, and that’s final.”
“Underwear?” I ask, looking over at him. He just smiles and shakes his head.
The towel slips as I perch on the bed, attempting to climb into this gaudy creation. It hugs my hips as I pull it up, covering as much of my boobs as I can. The tiny straps feel like they could ping free at any moment, releasing my chest for all to see. I stand and pull the zip to the side, fastening myself in.
It’s a perfect fit. The hem is cut on the bias and falls below my knee to my ankle on one side, rising to my mid-thigh on the other. The problem, though, is the dress barely covers my nipples. All I can see is cleavage, adding to my hooker look.
I fidget and try to pull the dress around to cover more of me.
“Turn around and show me.”
My head drops and I squeeze my eyes shut. Resigned, I shift to show Quinn.
“Very nice, dirty girl. You’ll do nicely.”
“Quinn, please, I can’t wear this.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I gesture with my hands at my chest.
Quinn stands and walks towards me. My eyes flick between his and try to read what he’ll do. He places a finger at the hollow of my neck and draws a line down over the flesh of my chest to the edge of the dress. “You look just how I want you to. Now…” He takes his dice from his pocket. “Shall we see if your ass is as tight as your cunt?”
I step away, fear infusing my blood. I shake my head but get nowhere as I back into the bed.
“You can’t run away. You’re mine to take as I want. Now, give me a number.”
“Seven,” I shout. He rolls the dice, but I don’t wait to see my fate. I scramble over the bed and try to escape to the bathroom and lock myself in.
“Looks like I’ll only get to fuck your pussy now.” He beats me to the door and spins me around, slamming me into the wood. He wraps his hand around my throat, and with his other hand, releases his fly and his hard cock.
“You look much more the part like this, dirty girl.”
He hitches my dress and shoves his dick against my tender flesh. I try to fight, but as soon as he’s inside of me, he uses both his hands to subdue me.
He’s rougher and more ferocious than ever. He pulls me against him and lifts me, shoving me against the door and using my weight to benefit him. Each thrust of his hips pushes me up the door, and as much as I don’t want to, my legs creep around his waist to keep me in position.
His eyes are fixed on my chest, watching them bounce and jiggle with each move of his hips. I look down, and it’s an erotic sight. I’ve never been taken with as much intent as Quinn has shown me. Conflicted emotions twist and turn in my mind, as he carries on, groaning and driving in. I don’t want this. I shouldn’t want to be treated this way. Yet, just like before, my body relaxes and warms to Quinn. I’m tender and feel used from earlier, but that doesn’t make this any less pleasurable. My back scrapes the door, causing pain, but my fingers grip onto him for more. It feels closer than I could imagine for some reason.
“I can’t get enough of fucking your cunt,” he grunts, gritting his teeth, his orgasm taking over before he stills, leaving me hanging.
He releases me, letting me slide down the door to my feet as he tucks himself away and turns from me.
I’m left feeling empty and… unsatisfied. The feeling confuses me further as I watch him move. His come now trickling down my inner thigh, I sneak into the bathroom to clean myself up.
“Emily!” he shouts.
“What?”
“We’re leaving. Now.”
“I need shoes and something to wear over this.”
“Shoes are here.” He hands me a pair of black patent leather heels that look like skyscrapers. I’ve never worn more than a modest heel, and these look like they could do permanent damage. I slip my feet into them and immediately feel like I’m falling forward.
“That’s all you’re getting.”
“I can’t walk in these.”
“Tough. It’s what I want.” He storms off out the door, and I’m left stumbling behind him. I catch my reflection in a mirror as I follow him downstairs. I might as well be naked for all this dress covers.
Humiliated and cheap. He’s just fucked me for his pleasure and is now parading me in front of whomever. Anger ignites somewhere deep within me. Everything is out of my control. All my choices have been taken from me and I’m now little more than a puppet to amuse Quinn. The thought is horribly sobering.
Chapter Thirteen
The bright lights of Chicago invade the car as we pull up, highlighting her ample cleavage and plunging neckline. I smirk, amused by her discomfort and humiliation, and then exit the car to walk over to Rody by the door. He nods his head at me, crossing his arms over his chest as I weave through the crowd queueing to get in.
“The Russians are already here,” he says, “playing your tables like God gave them every right to screw us over.” I chuckle at that and smooth over my tux, already knowing they will. I don’t care. We make more money out of their gun running than they could ever win back from me, regardless of me handing some over to them tonight for previous runs.
Emily looks fucking ridiculous as she suddenly clambers out of the car, struggling to balance in her heels and grabbing the driver’s hand for support.
“What’s this?” Rody asks.
It’s none of his business is what it is.
“Date.”
He laughs and glances over her frame, appreciating curves he’s got no right to even look at.
“Unusual for you.” I’m not sure if he means the date aspect, or why I even said the word, but to have said she was a debt would have been absurd. No one takes a debt out of the four walls they’re kept inside, let alone brings them to a casino. She trips over the kerb, awkwardly trying to tidy her black-sequined dress after her mistake. “She gonna keep doing that all night?”
Probably.
I frown at him as he laughs and opens the glass and gold door, inexplicably interested in her inept actions
for some reason. It might just be that she fucks without care once the right mood is forced upon her, or the fact that she’s nothing like anyone I’ve been with before.
Fuck knows.
Marco Mortoni comes into view as we walk in, his sharp demeanour owning the ten feet around him. Much as I might fucking hate it, he’s good at what he does, and we’ve spent enough time dealing with each other now to understand our dynamics. Regardless of the past.
“Quinn,” he says, nodding at me as I pull Emily into my side.
“Marco. Trying to win some of your money back?”
He laughs and walks with us, unconcerned with the wealth we continue to move between families.
“I want to talk with you.”
Does he? I keep walking towards my private section, annoyed with his presence in what I’m considering downtime.
“Times are changing.” I stop and look across at him, tucking Emily behind me for some fucking reason. I know they are, have done since I took over, but this is the first time Marco’s mentioned it with any seriousness.
“And?”
“Mortoni’s changing with it.”
He looks nervous for a half second, eyes flicking around the room. Is it fuck. We might have discussed it before, card games and drunken talk, but the words coming from him now haven’t got any damn strength.
I chuckle at him, amused that he thinks he’s got any sort of power. The only way anything will organise itself into a new order is if someone knocks off the father, Joe Mortoni. By the look of him now, that killer is unlikely to be Marco, and few else would dare.
“Yeah, call me when that happens.”
“I’m calling you now.” I stare for a few minutes, trying to work out what the fuck he’s telling me as Emily fidgets behind me. He looks around again, acknowledging the crowds. “Somewhere else?”
I shake my head, needing a stronger version of this fucker to come at me if we’re going to have this conversation sober.
“Not tonight,” I reply. Tonight I’ve got other business to deal with. Marco isn’t part of it. “You know what needs to happen, Marco. That’s not Cane business.”
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