by Jenika Snow
She clenched her hands at her sides and shook her head, although she didn’t know what she was trying to deny. Pushing her way past him she was surprised he let her leave. He was drunk and arrogant enough, that Angelina assumed he’d make her stay, force her to listen to what he had to say. Marco was dead, and she couldn’t even find enough emotion to give a shit. There would be no tears shed, no remorse for the shitty sibling relationship they had. They’d had nothing together in terms of having a family bond, and aside from her brother being blood, he’d been a stranger to her, a cruel man that terrified her.
Going into the room she turned, about to shut the door, but a startled sound left her at the fact Fury was right behind her.
“Go, leave,” she said, her voice raised, her anger and frustration making her arousal take a backseat, and having her strength rise. But she had to crane her neck back just to look into Fury’s face, and Angelina couldn’t help the desire that washed through her at the sight of all the masculinity that poured from him.
“You got some balls telling me what I should do.” He stepped further into the room, and while staring at her he shut the door behind him. They were closed in together, the smell of whatever dark and spicy cologne he wore, and the scent of the alcohol coming from him, filling the room and making her wetter.
“You’re a bastard.” Angelina clenched her jaw and knew pushing him like this wasn’t smart. But she was pissed at herself, and at her family, and especially at the situation she was in. She had no control over what was happening, and it reminded her of being back at home. She fucking hated it.
And then he was on her before she could even grasp what in the hell he was doing. He used his upper body to push her backward, and she fell onto the mattress, bouncing for a second, his big body pressing her down. He wedged his hips between her thighs, and she parted her lips as shock and a shot of heightened desire consumed her. Angelina sucked in a lungful of air, feeling dizzy and lightheaded.
“You think I’m a bastard?” he challenged her in a deep, low voice. His focus was on her lips, and she felt herself getting drunk from her lust. “You’re pissed because I have you here against your will?” The way he spoke didn’t sound like a question, but more that he was taunting her.
“You’re an asshole, a psychopath.” She struggled, but it wasn’t as forceful as she could have made it.
He smirked, but it was dark, haunting.
“I know,” was all he said.
He was so damn cocky, but sure of himself. He was a bastard for what he had done, for what he was doing to her, but it also made the dark, hidden part of her rise up and appreciate it … need more of it.
“Fuck. You.”
Why am I playing with the devil, pushing him like this?
“Mmm.” He pushed up a bit and looked down the length of her body. “I can make that happen if you are desperate for my cock.” He pressed his hips further against her, and the feel of his huge erection pressed right on her pussy had an involuntary gasp leaving her.
“I want you to tell me that you want me, even though I’m a motherfucker.” He let those words sink in before continuing.
“I’ll never say that.” Even though it is true.
He leaned in close, and she held her breath, waiting to see what he would do, what he would say. When their lips were only an inch apart she turned her head, not wanting to give in to the twisted desires she felt. Truth was she was so wet, so aroused, that it was hard to even think straight.
He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him again. For long seconds he didn’t say anything, didn’t even move, but his damn erection was like a thick steel rod pressed right up against her pussy.
“I can feel how hot your cunt is, Angelina.” He growled out the words, like he wanted her to be humiliated. “I bet if I touched your cunt you’d be wet.”
“You’re drunk and a bastard,” she whispered. Would he have done this, acted this way if he’d been sober?
“I am, on both accounts.” He ground his erection into her, and she hated that her body had this reaction to him. His dick was pressed right up against her pussy, and even with layers of clothing separating them Angelina could feel how big and long he was, how thick and massive his cock was.
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t need this.
“I don’t want this.” She lied.
He ground harder into her, rotating his hips so he rubbed her clit, and hot tears spilled out of her eyes. “Yes, you do.” He leaned in another inch closer. “You want it bad enough you’re lying to yourself and me.”
She shook her head, but couldn’t find the words to make this stop.
It’s because you don’t want to stop this. You do want him.
Angelina’s traitorous body was giving her arousal away, and she wanted to scream, to claw at him, and make him see she was stronger than this.
He pulled back just enough to look down at her chest. She might be dressed in an oversized shirt and sweats, but she was braless and panty-less. Angelina should have been humiliated more than she was, but the sight of his half-lidded eyes, the way his mouth was parted and he was breathing harder, and the feel of his erection, had that embarrassment leaving.
Her pussy grew wetter at the gentle yet insistent thrusting of his hips between her legs, of his cock adding pressure right between her thighs.
“Are you wet for me?” he asked, his focus still on her chest, and probably staring right at the way her nipples stabbed through the material of her shirt.
“No.” She lied again.
He lifted his gaze to hers then. “Fucking liar.”
She started breathing harder.
“You’re telling me if I touched you between those luscious thighs of yours, pushed my fingers through your cunt, you wouldn’t be soaked for me?” He lifted an eyebrow, his expression full of challenge.
She didn’t answer.
A moment of silence passed between them, and then shocking the hell out of her he placed his hand between them, right over her pussy. Fury leaned in close to her mouth, their lips nearly touching.
With her sweatpants stopping him from touching bare flesh, Angelina closed her eyes and tried to appear like this wasn’t affecting her.
God, but it is, and I know I can’t hide how I feel.
“Ask me for it.”
She shook her head, not verbally saying anything.
He applied more pressure between her thighs.
“Fucking ask me to touch you.”
Biting her lip, she tried not to moan when Fury started rubbing her clit through her sweats.
“Fuck you,” she managed to say, but it was a whispered moan.
He growled right before he pulled adjusted himself above her, ripped her pants down her legs and off one foot, and pushed her thighs apart again. And then he was touching her bare pussy and growling out like some kind of feral animal. Angelina tried pushing at his hard, pronounced pecs, but she wasn’t really trying if she were being honest.
“You’re fucking soaked for me.” He had his mouth by her ear now, murmuring the words. His jean-covered cock was pressed against her inner thighs now, so hard, so … huge. Fury started rubbing his fingers through her pussy, and it was hard for her not to just let go and enjoy this, to be swept away by the dark desires and promise of what he could give her. A part of her wanted to just say fuck it all and be that twisted woman that accepted her dark arousal.
I hate myself for wanting this, for wanting him.
“Is your life so fucked up you want a bastard like me touching you, getting you off?”
Biting her lip, she must be fucked up to enjoy this. He rubbed her clit, and a gasp of pleasure left her.
“Were you just waiting for someone to be a motherfucker to you, to be dirty and open this side of you up?” His alcohol-laced breath covered her face, but it was intoxicating, and brought her lust out even more. He applied just a little bit of pressure, and she felt tendrils of an orgasm rising violently to the surface.
/> “No, this isn’t what I want.” She tried pushing him away, but it was weak, and she knew it was all in vain. But Fury didn’t move, didn’t relent in his onslaught.
“If I keep touching this hot little cunt of yours will you come for me, Angelina?”
She opened her mouth, maybe going to say no, or tell him yes, but a little mewl of pleasure left her instead.
He continued to rub her clit until her orgasm was right there at the surface. His focus was on her the entire time, his eyes locked on hers, and this intense expression covering his face. Surrendering to him seemed so wrong, but it also seemed so good, so right.
But for as much as she wanted this, wanted to just let go and submit to what was happening around her, she knew she had to be strong, at least for herself. She pushed at his chest with all her strength, fighting off the pleasure that wanted to take her over the edge. But Fury was so damn strong, and it was like trying to move a ton of bricks off of her.
“Just give in, Angelina,” he said gruffly, softly.
Everything seemed to fade away as she felt her orgasm finally peak. Closing her eyes again, she curled her nails into his hard, warm flesh, and let everything else just vanish. Fury kept rubbing her clit, prolonging the pleasure, and she wished this moment would last forever, that this feeling would never leave her.
Fury was thrusting his cock against her inner thigh, the hardness of it impressive. She panted, tried to suck in air, but it was fruitless. Everything was fading away as she drifted from this moment. And then she felt her pleasure lessen, felt herself come back to reality. Angelina heard Fury’s breath hitch, heard him start to groan, and she knew he was getting off, too.
He picked up his pace, rocking his hips back and forth against her, and while holding her gaze with his, he pulled his hand from between their bodies and started sucking the wetness—her arousal—from his fingers. That sight alone had another smaller orgasm rushing through her, and she lifted her hips, needing friction. It felt good … he felt good on top of her.
Once he stopped rocking against her he pushed himself away. He sat on the edge of the bed for a second, neither speaking nor moving. But she didn’t know what in the hell to say. After the fact she felt like, that what they’d done, what she’d allowed herself to experience and feel, was wrong on a deeper level.
Fury got up and kept his back to her, and the atmosphere changed to something darker. He turned and looked at her then, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he had a wet spot on the front of his jeans. A dark thrill moved through her at the fact she’d been the one to cause him to lose control and get off from dry humping her.
“Fuck,” he said on a harsh whisper and turned from her once more.
Angelina pushed herself up so she could look at Fury. He ran his hand over his hair. His muscles flexed from the act, and the atmosphere changed, the room becoming chilled. His body was stiff, and he reached out and grabbed the door handle without turning it. It seemed like minutes passed before he finally left her alone in the room.
In that moment she didn’t know if she’d just sold her soul for a few seconds of pleasure, or if what she’d done would forever change the course of events in her life. Either way it scared the hell out of her.
Chapter Nine
Fury sat on the porch and stared at the sun as it rose. He brought the whiskey to his mouth and took a long drink. He sure as fuck didn’t need any more alcohol, but after what he’d done with Angelina he needed something to take the edge off. The only problem was he wasn’t so drunk he was passed out. Oblivion sounded really fucking good right about now. He needed to get to Sal, to find out where the fucker was, but without help from the MC—because they didn’t know what in the hell he was up to—he’d have to do this alone, which he had no problem doing, or find some shady fuckers to help.
Pushing up from the porch, he leaned against the banister for a second, the world tilting slightly. Fury turned and headed inside, the screen door slamming shut behind him. As the floor started to twist and rise up, he realized he’d had more to drink than he thought. He was just going to bed, but he changed direction and made his way toward the bathroom, a shower sounding pretty fucking good right about now. Not only did he need to clean off the sweat and drunkenness from the night, but also he was always still wearing the damn jizz covered jeans. Yeah, he’d come in his fucking pants like a teenager. Dry humping Angelina like he was fifteen and didn’t know where to stick his cock was ridiculous, but fuck had it felt good.
I can’t keep her chained up like a fucking animal. I have to let her go.
He’d been a fucking idiot to take her, kidnap her from her home. What the fuck had he been thinking?
He braced a hand on the wall and made his way down the hallway and toward the bathroom. Looking at the closed door where Angelina was had his cock coming to life despite the amount of whiskey he’d consumed and the fact he’d already gotten off. He stood there a moment just staring at that door, and finally made himself go into the bathroom. Fumbling for the light switch, he turned it on and winced at the harsh light. But the room started to spin, and soon the floor rose up and greeted him.
****
Angelina sat on the edge of the bed, the room dark, and the light from under the door coming through. She got up and opened the door, seeing the morning light fill the cabin. Her heart was beating fast and hard, and she was nervous about what in the hell the next step was. She’d gotten off at the hands of Fury, and although it had only happened last night, her body was still warm, still lit up from the experience.
She’d thought a lot the past few hours, and as much as freedom from the life she’d led was all she’d ever been looking for, a part of her, a little voice, showed her she could have that. Angelina was having that, in a sense, and as fucked as it all was, and screw up she was even thinking about how this wasn’t “so bad” she reminded herself where she’d come from.
Murder.
Drugs.
Torture.
Shady shit always going down simply because her family could do it.
Isolation and loneliness.
That was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to her family. She looked down the hall, but couldn’t see past the living room. Looking at the bathroom she saw a pair of dark boots peeking out from the corner of the door. Her heart beat faster, and she moved toward the door. The light was on, and she pushed the door open as far as it would go, but Fury’s big body stopped her from opening it all the way.
He was on his back, his chest rising and falling, and the normally harsh lines of his face seeming relaxed. The scent of alcohol filled the small room, and she realized he was passed out cold. Walking further into the bathroom, she stared at his face for a moment, the weight of the chain on her ankle having reality fill her. She bent down and search his pockets. And there they were … the keys. She held them in her palm, staring at the glint of silver that caught the overhead light, her heart racing. Angelina looked at Fury again, at the way his dark hair was a mess around his head, how the dark layer of scruff covered his jaw and cheeks, making him seem so damn masculine.
She stood and backed out of the bathroom. Once in the hallway again she bent once more and undid the lock. The metal fell to the ground, and she started breathing harder, faster. Her knees were starting to buckle as she walked down the hallway, went into the kitchen, and finally stopped. She looked around. The place was rustic, barren. The front door was right there, just a few feet from her … unlocked. Her hands started shaking as adrenaline coursed through her system.
Without thinking anymore she went to the front door, opened it, and let the fresh air wash over her. Hair covered her face as the wind whipped the strands around. Taking a step onto the porch, Angelina was greeted with worn wood on her bare feet. She looked down, the oversized sweats covering the tops of her feet, but the freedom having excitement rush through her.
But fear also filled her, had her frozen to the spot.
Here she was, no longer chained,
yet not running. All she could think about was what waited for her on the outside. Her father would find her, if he hadn’t already known where she was this whole time. What would he do once he had her? He’d be pissed, that was a given, but with Marco’s death would he want to keep her lockdown even more than he already had in the past? Would he want to make an example of her because she’d run? That would be seen as a betrayal, and blood or not, her father wouldn’t let that go, no matter what.
Without a doubt.
Angelina didn’t know how long she stood there, just staring at the trees surrounding her, but she felt free, like being out here there wasn’t anything that could touch her, especially her father. She’d lived in a box for so long, and even after she’d run and spent the last few months’ away from her family, she’d never fully felt like she was free. That worry that her father would find her was always on the back of her mind. All she’d been able to feel was that tingling on the back of her neck, the pressure that she was being watched. But here, now, she didn’t feel that. Angelina didn’t feel like her family would be able to reach her.
Turning and looking at the front door, she envisioned Fury lying in the bathroom. She shouldn’t want anything to do with him, and she should have just run, but here she was, turning around and walking toward the door.
Once she was back inside she made her way back to the bathroom and stared at the chain that was lying on the hallway floor. It symbolized something stronger than just escaping this prison. It also meant she broke away from a life she’d always been tied down to. Maybe it was just her own thoughts and twisted notions that had her feeling like this, but it felt good, right even.
I’m crazy. I have to be to stay here.
But the truth was she had nothing for her out there, not really. What was available was a family thick with crime, murder, and one that had never paid much attention to her. She’d been the daughter of Sal Cardona, and that’s all she had been. Marco had been the apple of her parents’ eyes, and with him gone it was only a matter of time before her mother and father caved into their anger and sadness, if they hadn’t already.