Dirty Blue: Dirty Justice - Book One

by N. E. Henderson

  “I like.” I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from smiling too big.

  “And I like that hot, sexy mouth of yours . . . on my dick.”

  Leaning between his legs, I bow my head, but before I reach the tip of his cock, I peek up from my lashes, looking at Drago. “Keep your hands where they are. This is my show.”

  “Roger that, baby.”

  Opening my mouth, I continue looking into his eyes as I stick my tongue out, licking wetness and his pre-cum off the tip of his dick. I’ve never tasted myself before—or Drago. It’s almost too perfect to be lapping up at the same time, enjoying the taste of us both melded together.

  His chest expands as he breathes air deep into his lungs.

  Wrapping my fingers around the base, I lick around the entire head of his cock, coating it with my saliva, wetting him to take into my mouth.

  “Mmm,” he moans out, enjoying it.

  I open my mouth, sliding him over my lips and then I slowly pull away, kissing the tip of his dick.

  Pushing him back inside, I inch down his thickness, moving my tongue from side-to-side underneath him.

  “Jesus, that feels good.”

  Smiling at his praise, I sink my mouth down farther until his head meets the back of my throat. I pull back a little faster, so when I push him back through my mouth, I open my throat, taking an inch down and then back out.

  A pleasurable moan escapes his lips. “Holy fuck.”

  It’s hard not to smile around his curse, but knowing I’m pleasing him spurs me on, so I bring him back into my mouth faster and a little farther down my throat this time.

  This is really the first time I’ve ever tried deep-throating a man, so it’s taking a minute to get used to it. It’s not as easy as it looks in porn, but I guess with anything, practice makes perfect. And for some odd reason, I want to be perfect for Drago.

  I suck faster, greedier, continuing to bob my head up and down his shaft, sucking at a steady pace, creating a man whose body is starting to tense up with the need to release.

  Giving him the best blow job of his life is hard when you’re trying to be sly, multitasking something else at the same time, and I’m not exactly a pro at either, so this isn’t easy. It’s damn near impossible, but just the thought—the image I have of him in my head—is all I need to continue with my plan.

  Feeling for the item I placed on the floor, Drago lets out a loud grunt. He’s close to coming, so I need to get my ass in gear.

  I grab the metal cuffs with my free hand, lifting them off the ground and feeling around on the chair for a place to attach them to. I’m lucky because I’m able to secure one side to the wooden piece that connects the armrest to the seat.

  “That’s it, baby, keep sucking that dick.”

  I smile on the inside as I pick up my pace, sucking and slurping, not caring that my saliva is running out of my mouth and down Drago’s cock, pooling at his base.

  He tenses, and then hot, salty liquid shoots out, coating my mouth. I swallow everything he gives me, wanting every drop of him going down my throat.

  Before he finishes, I’m able to click the other end of the cuff around his wrist without him realizing what I’m doing.

  There is no way I have time to wrap his necktie around his other wrist, so I forego that part of the plan. I’ll at least be able to make my point—same as he did to me.

  When he’s done coming and I’ve cleaned his cum off him, I pull him out of my mouth.

  D’s eyes are closed. He’s spent and that pleases my soul greatly. Sitting back on my heels, I watch him. I admire him from above me still coming down from his orgasm.

  I watch as his eyes flutter, opening back up to our world. His head rolls forward and with it a satisfied grin.

  He tries to lift his arm, the one that is cuffed to his chair. A giggle bubbles from my throat as I see his lazy smile vanish, turning into confusion at first. Then they widen when they land on the restraint, and that’s when everything goes to hell.

  “What the—” He yanks on his wrist, pulling like he’s going to be able to free himself. He should know better. “Bri, what the fuck?”

  His eyes cut to mine as he continues pulling.

  “Payback, baby.”

  My celebratory smirk dies when Drago starts bucking in his chair. I quickly jump up from my spot on the floor so that I don’t get kneed or my hand smashed with one of the legs of the chair that’s hopping off the floor.

  He’s not just mad or angry, he’s livid; losing his mental control at a rapid pace.

  “D,” I call out, stepping farther away from him.

  He stands, twisting to face his poor chair and still he yanks.

  “Drago, stop,” I order. “I’ll take them off.”

  He doesn’t listen; he continues his madness to free himself.

  “D,” I try again without any success.

  Picking up the chair, he slams it on the ground. I jump, shocked, not expecting this behavior from him.

  “Drago,” I say louder.

  Holy fucking shit. He’s losing his damn mind and breaking the chair in the process.

  I can’t laugh, and I’m not scared in the least because the look on his face is clear as sin. There is terror in his eyes—and I’ve caused it.

  The arm of the chair suddenly breaks from where it’s attached to the seat, sending the rest of the chair to the ground. The cuff that was attached to the wood connecting the arm and seat comes right off.

  Drago doubles over, his hands coming down to his knees. His entire body is shaking, convulsing uncontrollably. I want to go to him, but I’m having a hard time understanding what just happened. It was fine minutes ago. He was fine until he realized I had handcuffed one of his wrists to his chair.

  It was only meant as a joke—a funny “ha ha” kind of joke, just like he did to me not that long ago.

  Lifting back up, he yanks his boxers and pants up his legs, adjusting them in place.

  “So you can handcuff me, with my cuffs, but I can’t pull the same shit on you? Are you serious right now?”

  He just shakes his head side to side, breathing ragged as he buttons his pants.

  “Can you please explain what the fuck just happened?”

  Bending, I snatch my skirt off the floor and quickly pull it up my legs and then I zip it, securing it to my waist.

  He walks to the window, placing the hand that still has the handcuffs dangling from his wrist to the glass. When I notice more tremors coming from his body, I shoot forward, not caring that the upper half of my body is still naked.

  Touching his back seems to calm his shudders, but only slightly, so I wedge myself between him and the glass, wrapping my arms around his body and holding him tight, trying to offer what comfort I can.

  What the hell happened? Why did he lose his shit like that?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—” I try to apologize, but I’m cut off.

  “Fuck.” His other hand comes up behind me, cupping the back of my head and pulling me even tighter against him. “I’m . . .” He inhales, not finishing. “Shit,” he huffs out finally.

  I don’t know whether to keep my mouth shut and wait for him to tell me or prod him again. Eventually, my need to know wins out.

  “D,” I start to press him, but that’s all I have to say for him to open up.

  “I thought I was over this shit. Past it. Goddammit,” he draws out in frustration.

  “Past what?”

  “My hang up with restraints.” Another shudder rolls through him when he breathes, taking air into his lungs.

  I want to help him. I want to make it right, fix it, but I don’t know how and that causes an ache in the center of my chest so great it feels like I might break.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” I try again, but he cuts me off once again.

  “It’s not you, Bri. I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t mean to flip my shit on you.” He pulls back, looking down at me with the most haunted expression I’ve ever seen.
His eyes slowly close, tightening, as does his jaw. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  He must take my worry and the pain I feel for him as being scared.

  “I’m not scared of you, D. You’ve never done anything that’s made me feel frightened.”

  His eyes open, giving me that hard look he does sometimes when he’s trying to read between the lines, as if he’s trying to figure out if there is more to what I’m telling him.

  We’re a lot alike in that sense.

  His hand, the one that still has my cuffs dangling from his wrist, skims up my front, stopping just below my throat. Drago presses gently on me, making my back touch the cool glass window, holding me in place. His head dips and he kisses me. First on my cheek, then on my jaw, moving to my chin and then to the other side of my face, repeating the feather-like kisses before stopping on my lips.

  When he’s done, I open my eyes to find him looking at me. He’s calmer now; his breathing back to normal.

  “Babe?” I coax, needing to know why this happened.

  “I’ll tell you,” he nods. “I just can’t tell you today.”

  He pulls me to his chest, my breasts smashing against his open shirt. Drago keeps me in that embrace for several minutes, and all I can wonder is what happened in his past to cause a man as strong as Drago Acerbi to be brought damn near to his knees over something that was supposed to be fun?

  There is no telling and not knowing irks me. I can’t help him if I don’t know and I so badly want to help ease whatever torment he’s clearly going through inside himself right now.

  But when I do find out, I have a feeling someone is going to need to pay for Drago’s pain.

  17

  There is a knock on the door, and since I know Drago left it unlocked when he went out for a run, I know it can’t be him. It’s too hard of a pound for it to be Ms. Lincoln’s; she has more of a softer, dainty knock.

  Sighing, I lay my smartphone down on the coffee table and then get up from the couch where I’ve been lounging most of the morning browsing clothes I can’t afford on my phone.

  When I answer the door, no one is there, so I peek outside, looking down the hall and then down the other side. The stairwell door next to the elevator is closing, telling me someone must have just left. I’m about to close my door when something at my feet catches my attention. Looking down, it’s a medium-sized box, which is weird because I wasn’t expecting anything. As much as I’ve itched to, I haven’t ordered anything online in forever. I can’t spare a dime on myself since Gabe has been with me.

  Bending down, I scoop it up, shaking it as I walk back inside, kicking the door closed with my bare foot.

  After setting the box down on my table, I locate a pair of scissors from the kitchen to cut through the tape. It’s a plain packaging box, so there is nothing telling what might be inside.

  Once I’ve sliced through the clear tape, I set the scissors down and open the top. Inside is another box, but this one is unmistakable. Excitement festers in my belly as I read the logo: PENELOPE Lingerie.

  I quickly tear my way into the smaller white box, finding five pairs of designer bras with matching panties. They are all so pretty—and my size.

  I pause after examining each piece because I didn’t order these. And then I remember . . . Drago said he would replace the pair of underwear he ripped off me. These have to be from him.

  I pull a pair of panties out, holding them up. Leopard print, huh?

  I don’t get to dwell on any of the expensive lingerie he must have ordered for me because there is a quick rap at my door. When I turn around, it’s opening and in walks my sister-in-law.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, happy but surprised.

  “I have a meeting Monday morning”—she closes the door behind her—“so I thought I’d come down for the weekend and steal you to myself. How’s spa weekend with your most favorite person in the whole world sound?”

  “Jackson’s here, too?” I tease.

  “Bitch.” We both laugh. Alana drops her purse down into the seat of my recliner. “So?” she prompts, putting her hands on her designer jean-clad hips. The cream, off the shoulder top she’s wearing reminds me of the Alana from her college years. She looks less uptight than usual. She looks happier than I’ve seen her in the last year.

  “What’s up with you?” I shake my head.

  “What do you mean?” She cocks her head in confusion.

  “You just . . . seem different. Lighter, I guess.” She looks radiant and younger than her thirty-six years.

  Her eyes downcast as if she’s in thought. It only lasts for a second or two, and then she waves her hand as if I’m crazy, turning away from me.

  “Go pack a weekend bag. I want to check-in at the hotel soon.” She opens her purse, riffling through until she finds her smartphone.

  “I can’t.” It comes out as a whine, because as much as it would be great to spend the weekend with her, I don’t have anyone to watch the baby.

  She looks up, away from her phone, but moves her fingers on the screen. She’s an excellent multitasker; always has been.

  “You have a date I don’t know about?”

  “No,” and then I pause “Well, no, not really, but there is something I have to tell you.”

  Her eyes narrow, drilling into me. “So, in other words, you’ve been keeping something from me?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, Bri, really, so what is it?”

  “I’m not one of your kids, remember? Don’t give me that ‘mommy’ look you do so well.”

  “Well, there’s Gabe,” I confess. I haven’t brought him up in weeks and neither has she, so I doubt she thinks I still have him.

  “What?” She shakes her head, dropping her smartphone to her side. “Why do you still have him?”

  “Because someone has to take care of him.” And I do. He needs me. I can’t hand him over to some stranger who doesn’t know him, or his routines. It took me forever it seems like to get him to the weight he’s supposed to be. I can’t let someone come behind me and fuck that up. I can’t let him be neglected again.

  “How is that your problem?”

  “Are you kidding me? This coming from you?”

  I’m a bit shocked at her reaction. Alana is nothing if not a protective mother. Child abuse is her biggest fundraiser each year. She and my brother co-chair a charity to raise money to fund free housing for women and men with children that includes extensive parenting classes to make sure the parents have the knowledge and tools to care for their children.

  Coming from a broken home herself where she was routinely mentally abused as a small child, Alana has a short fuse for child neglect.

  “What’s the other?” she asks, ignoring the problem I have with her on the Gabriel issue.

  “The other what?” I bite out.

  “When you said, ‘there’s Gabe’ in a way that sounded like there is something else too.”

  My anger dies as if it never existed.

  “Oh,” I drag out, “that.” I force a smile, but she doesn’t return it. “I might be seeing someone?”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know?” I chew on my lip, knowing she isn’t going to take this well. “A few weeks.” I shrug. “Four, five, sixish maybe,” I say, thinking in my head, not really knowing what timeframe I should give her. It’s technically been right at six weeks since Drago and I first had sex, but we’ve only been really seeing each other about a month.

  She crosses her arms, staring at me.

  This is the Alana I hate, well, not hate, because I love her, but I do not like it when she looks at me like she is doing right now. Like I’ve betrayed her, and she doesn’t know what to do or say to me.

  Luckily, I’m saved when the door flies open and in walks Drago.

  A breath I didn’t know I was holding pushes out of my mouth.

  Closing the door, he looks between Alana and I as he walks farther inside, bypassing me to head in
to my kitchen.

  I leave my spot to go sit on the couch. I beckon my sister-in-law to join me but instead, she just stands there with a curious look as she eyes Drago.

  He walks back into the living room toting a bottle of water. Stopping and leaning into the wall next to my kitchen, he takes a long swallow of water from the plastic bottle as he stares back at Alana.

  Drago’s expression is unreadable, but something gives me the impression he knows her or maybe recognizes her. Looking up at her, I get the same feeling from her about him.

  “So, you’re the notorious Drago Acerbi I’ve heard nothing about.”

  Drago raises an eyebrow. I’m assuming at Alana’s choice of word to describe him.

  “Aren’t you Alana Malone?” he finally asks.

  So, my hunches were right.

  Alana smiles.

  “You’re going to have to do more to impress me than just knowing who I am.”

  His eyes cut over to mine, cocking his head. “Your brother know you’re consorting with the enemy?”

  I die. Right there on the couch, I die. Laughter I didn’t know existed inside me erupts from deep within and I can’t contain it. Nor can I stop it once it starts. I laugh so hard tears leak from my eyes and my body slips off the sofa, landing me on the floor. I try pounding the ground, but it does nothing to contain how funny I find that.

  “What’s so funny about what I asked?” Drago questions. “It was a legit question.”

  “Enemy!” Oh, wow.

  He has no idea, but before I can quit long enough to enlighten him, Alana speaks up. “I’m Jackson’s wife.”

  I look up to see a stunned and possibly disbelieving Drago staring back at her. He finally turns, facing me.

  “It’s true,” I confirm, but why he doesn’t want to believe her, I don’t understand. “Alana is my sister-in-law.”

  “You’re his biggest competition though.” Drago shakes his head. “The Andrews-Malone war is common knowledge and topics of discussion in and around SF.”

  Alana lets outs a huff of air as her hands go to her hips.