Brutal Prince: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance (Brutal Birthright Book 1)

by Sophie Lark

  I’m pretty fucking pissed myself. Where does he get off listening in on my private conversation? Acting like I’m his property, like he has any right to be jealous?

  Oliver loved me at least, in his own stupid, immature way. Callum doesn’t love me. Why should he care if some guy tries to put his hand up my skirt?

  “Keep working,” I hiss at him. “And stay the fuck out of my personal life. You want a pretty little accessory on your arm? I did it. I came to your stupid party, wore this ugly dress. Told Mitts he should support you. I’m holding up my end of the bargain. Who I dated before is none of your fucking business.”

  “Did you love him?” Callum demands.

  “None of your business!” I shout. “I just fucking said that!”

  “Tell me,” Callum orders. “Did you love that arrogant piece of shit?”

  He’s got that crazed look of hunger again. Like it’s driving him nuts and he has to know.

  Well, I’m not telling him shit. I’m pissed that he was eavesdropping, and I’m pissed that he thinks he has a right to my thoughts and feelings when he hasn’t earned the slightest shred of trust.

  “What do you care?” I ask. “What does it matter?”

  “I need to know. Did you like how he touched you? How he fucked you?”

  Without seeming to realize it, he’s put his hand on my bare thigh. His fingers slide upward, under the stiff beaded skirt of the dress he made me wear.

  I slap his hand away, shoving him in the chest for good measure.

  “Maybe I did,” I say.

  “Who fucks you better? Me or him?” Callum demands. His hand is on my thigh again, and his other hand reaches for the back of my neck, trying to pull me closer. He’s pressing me back against the seat, climbing on top of me.

  This time I slap him across the face, hard enough to split his lip.

  The slap echoes in the back of the limo, loud in the silence because there’s no music playing.

  For a second, it seems to shake him awake.

  Then he blinks, and his eyes are more lustful than ever. Hungry as a wolf.

  He kisses me, mashing his lips against mine and shoving his tongue into my mouth. I can taste the blood from his split lip, salty and hot.

  His weight crushes me against the deep leather seat. His body temperature seems like it’s two hundred degrees.

  I hate Callum the most when he’s cold, stiff, robotic. When he walks past me in the hallway like I’m not even there. When he sleeps next to me in bed without holding me, without even touching me.

  When I drive him into a rage like this, when he finally cracks and loses control . . . that’s when I don’t hate him. In fact, I almost like him a little. Because that’s when I see a little more of myself.

  When he has a temper. When he’s angry. When he wants to kill somebody.

  That’s when I understand him.

  That’s when we finally have common ground.

  I kiss him back, grabbing his face in my hands. My fingers thrust into his hair. His hair is wet with sweat, and his scalp is radiating heat. So is his neck.

  I want to feel the rest of his body.

  I fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt, which are the stupid covered kind, the kind you can never undo even when you can see them in full light.

  I tear open the front of his shirt instead, like he’s Superman and there’s an asteroid headed right at us. I run my hands over his burning flesh, feeling the muscles twitching with arousal.

  His tongue delves into my mouth, so deep that it almost chokes me. The close-trimmed stubble on his face scratches my cheek. He’s trying to get my dress off, but it’s so stiff and tight that he can’t even pull the skirt up around my waist.

  Snarling with frustration, he grabs his jacket off the floor and pulls a knife out of the breast pocket. He presses a button and the blade flips up, swift and brutally sharp. It’s a lot like the one Nero carries. And just like Nero, I can tell from the way Callum holds it that he knows how to use a knife.

  “Hold still,” he growls, pinning me down against the seat.

  I hold perfectly still. With five or six quick jerks, he’s cut the dress off my body, leaving it in pieces on the limo floor.

  I’m completely naked underneath.

  Callum takes one second to devour my body with his eyes. Then he unbuttons his trousers, letting his cock spring free.

  I’d never admit it to him, but Callum has a gorgeous cock. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The deep cuts of his Adonis belt lead directly to the shaft, which is too thick for me to close my hand around. His skin is pale and creamy, and his cock is almost exactly the same color, with just a hint of pink on the head.

  I quite enjoyed having it in my mouth that time in the shower. It was incredibly smooth, sliding in and out of my lips with ease.

  In fact, I’d be willing to do it again right now. But Callum is too impatient.

  He pulls me down on top of him so I’m straddling his lap. His cock stands up between us, reaching almost all the way up to my bellybutton. I slide my pussy lips back and forth along the shaft, moistening it. Then I lower myself down on the fat head, letting it slip inside of me.

  Callum leans his head back against the seat, letting out a deep, guttural moan as my pussy swallows up his cock. His hands are wrapped tight around my waist, pulling me down.

  Oh my fucking god it feels so good . . .

  I’ve been wet all night long from the maddening friction of my bare pussy under that dress. I was horny and frustrated, wondering when the hell I was going to have sex again.

  I have to admit, for a second Oliver’s offer didn’t sound that bad. He’s arrogant, and immature, and kind of an idiot, but at least he worshipped my body.

  But when he was talking about the night we fucked on the sand dunes, a different image flashed into my head: Callum, shoving me up against the glass wall of the shower and sliding that thick, beautiful cock inside of me. I was thinking of my husband’s hands all over me in the humid heat, not my ex-boyfriend.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

  And now that I’m experiencing it again, it feels even better than the first time. Callum is even wilder and more ravenous than before. He’s taking my breasts in his mouth, sucking them like he’s starving and it’s the only thing keeping him alive. When he lets go of my nipple, he starts sucking my neck instead, so rough and so ravenous that I know I’m going to be covered in marks tomorrow.

  I bounce up and down on his lap, riding his cock. The movement of the limo as it runs over rough parts in the road, or turns a corner, only increases the friction of the ride. Even the vibration of the engine is adding to the sensation. I can smell the rich leather of the seats, the alcohol in the sidebar, the blood on Callum’s shirt and the sweat on his skin.

  He grabs a handful of my hair, biting the side of my neck like the vampire I imagine him to be. It sends shivers down my body; it makes me cling to his neck and squeeze around his cock.

  “Aida,” he moans in my ear, “you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

  I freeze for a second.

  Callum has never complimented me before. I thought he liked girls like Christina Huntley-Hart—skinny, blonde, fashionable, popular. Well-bred like a show poodle.

  When he attacked Oliver, I thought it was out of pride. Annoyance that Oliver crashed his fundraiser and tried to put his hands on his property.

  I never imagined Callum might actually be jealous.

  Is my tight-wound, stuck-up, perfectionist husband . . . actually into me?

  I start to ride his cock again, rolling my hips so my pussy slides up and down the full length of his shaft.

  Callum groans, his arms wrapped around me so tight I can hardly breathe.

  I put my lips up against his ear and I whisper, “Do you want me, Cal?”

  “I don’t want you,” he moans, his voice husky and raw. “I need you.”

  His words release something inside of me. That part of me th
at was trying to hold back my own desperate attraction, because it was too intense, too dangerous to indulge. I couldn’t let myself crave this man because it was pointless. I thought I had no power over him.

  But now I realize that he needs this as badly as I do. And I start to cum so hard that my whole body is shaking in the frame of his arms. It feels like a waterfall, thundering through me. A fucking Niagara Falls of pleasure, pounding down and down and down. Unstoppable. Uninhibited.

  Yet, even after I finish climaxing, I still want more. The orgasm was incredible, but it didn’t completely satisfy. I need more.

  Callum lays me down on my back and he climbs on top of me, thrusting into me again. He’s looking directly into my eyes now, his clear blue into my smoky gray.

  Usually when I look him in the eye, it’s because I’m furious, trying to stare him down. We’ve never looked at each other quite like this before: open, curious, questioning.

  Callum isn’t a robot. He feels things as acutely as I do. Maybe even more, because he’s always trying to shove it down inside.

  For the first time, he presses his lips against mine with gentleness. His tongue tasting and exploring.

  I kiss him back, my hips still rolling under his. I can feel another climax building, the other half of the one that came before. Why do our bodies fit together so perfectly when everything else about us is completely opposite?

  “You’re mine, Aida,” Callum growls in my ear. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch you.”

  With that, he erupts inside of me. And I’m coming too, a second orgasm even stronger than the first. The strongest I’ve ever felt, in fact. I’m not sure I’ll be alive when it’s over.

  16

  Callum

  Luckily, Aida and I are the first ones back to the house, because the scraps of her dress are scattered across the limo floor, and she doesn’t have anything else to wear except my suit jacket.

  She doesn’t give a shit. Ever the free spirit, she just wraps my jacket around her body and runs inside barefoot, giving the chauffeur a jaunty salute on her way by.

  I’d like to follow her, but I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket—my father, calling to chastise me.

  “What the fuck were you thinking,” he says the moment I pick up.

  “That piece of shit tried to assault my wife.”

  “You got in a brawl at your own fundraiser. With Oliver Castle! Do you know how that looks?”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t splatter his brains on the concrete.”

  “If you did, you’d be in jail right now,” my father seethes. “That wasn’t some frat boy you hit—Henry Castle is one of the richest men in Chicago. He donated fifty thousand to your campaign!”

  “He’s not getting a refund,” I say.

  “You’re going to have to give him a hell of a lot more than a refund to keep him from torpedoing your run.”

  I grind my teeth so hard that my molars feel like they’re about to crack in half.

  “What does he want,” I say.

  “You’re going to find out tomorrow morning. 8:00 a.m., at Keystone Capital. Don’t be late.”

  Fucking hell. Henry Castle is worse than his son—bloated, arrogant, and hyper-demanding. He’s going to want me to grovel and kiss his ring. While I want to castrate him to prevent him from siring any more shithead sons.

  “I’ll be there,” I say.

  “You lost control tonight,” my father says. “What the fuck is going on with you and that girl?”

  “Nothing.”

  “She’s supposed to be an asset, not a liability.”

  “She didn’t do anything. I told you, it was Castle.”

  “Well pull it together. You can’t allow her to distract you from your goal.”

  I hang up, boiling with everything unsaid that I wanted to scream into the phone.

  He’s the one who forced me to marry Aida, and now he’s pissed off because she’s not a little chess piece he can shuffle around the board, like he does to everybody else?

  That’s what I admire about her. She’s wild and she’s fierce. It takes everything I’ve got just to get her to wear a damn dress. She’d never grovel in front of Henry Castle. And neither will I.

  I head upstairs to our bedroom, expecting her to be brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed.

  Instead, she pounces on me the minute I come inside the room. She kisses me deeply, pulling me toward the bed.

  “Aren’t you tired?” I ask her.

  “It’s not even midnight,” she laughs. “But if you’d rather go to sleep, old man . . .”

  “Let’s see what it takes to tire you out, you fucking lunatic,” I say, throwing her down on the mattress.

  Aida is still deep asleep when I have to get up for my meeting with Henry Castle the next morning. I pull the blankets up around her bare shoulders, though it seems a pity to cover up all that smooth, glowing skin.

  She looks exhausted after the romping we had last night. We spent an hour doing something that was as close to wrestling as fucking. She was testing me, testing whether I’d let her take control, testing my energy and my stamina.

  There was no fucking way I was tapping out first. Every time she tried to overpower me, I pinned her down again and fucked her ruthlessly, until we were both panting and dripping with sweat.

  I could see how it excited her, feeling my strength against hers, knowing I wouldn’t give an inch to her. She likes to push me, to see how far she can go before I snap. She does it in and out of the bedroom.

  Well, I’m a fucking mountain that can’t be pushed. She’ll learn that soon enough.

  And so will Henry Castle. I know he thinks I’ve come to his office to grovel, but that’s not fucking happening.

  In fact, when his receptionist tells me to sit and wait outside his door, I tell her, “Our meeting’s at eight,” and I sweep inside.

  Just as I suspected, Henry is sitting behind his desk, doing bugger all at the moment.

  He’s a big man, completely bald, well-muscled but also fat. He wears loose suits with wide shoulders, enhancing the impression of his bulk. His eyebrows look very black and rather out of place on his otherwise hairless head.

  “Griffin,” he says with a stern nod.

  He’s trying to set a commanding tone.

  In fact, he gestures for me to sit down opposite his desk. The chair is low and narrow, deliberately inferior to the one that Henry himself sits in.

  “No thanks,” I say, remaining standing and leaning casually against the side of his desk. Now I’m the one looking down on him. I can tell it annoys him. Almost immediately he stands up himself, on the pretext of looking at some of the photographs on his bookshelf.

  “You know Oliver is my only son,” he says, picking up a framed photo of a boy on a beach. The boy is running down toward the water. There’s a house behind him—small, blue, almost more of a cottage. The sand comes right up to its steps.

  “Mm,” I say, nodding noncommittally. “Where’s that?”

  “Chesterton,” Henry says shortly. He wants to turn the conversation back on topic. I draw it out on the tangent instead, to increase his irritation.

  “You go out there a lot?” I say.

  “We used to. Every summer. I just sold it, though. Would have done it sooner, but Oliver made a fuss. He’s more sentimental than I am.”

  Henry sets the picture firmly back down on the shelf, turning to face me again. His thick black brows hang low over his eyes.

  “You assaulted my son last night,” he says.

  “He assaulted my wife.”

  “Aida Gallo?” Henry says with a small sneer. “No offense, but I wouldn’t take her word for it.”

  “That’s extremely offensive,” I say, holding his stare. “Not to mention, I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “You had him escorted out by security,” Henry says tersely. “I expect better treatment for one of your biggest donors.”

  I give a small snort.

 
“Please. I’ve got plenty of money. I’m not going to prostitute my wife for fifty-K. And in any case, my relationship is with you, not with Oliver. I doubt the fact that he’s a handsy drunk is a surprise to you. So let’s cut to the chase of what’s really bothering you.”

  “Fine,” Henry snaps. His face reddens, making his bald head look shinier than ever. “I heard you’re selling the Transit Authority property to Marty Rico. I want it.”

  Jesus Christ. I’m not even Alderman yet, the property isn’t for sale, and half the men in Chicago are trying to close their grubby fists around it.

  “I’ve got several interested parties,” I say, tapping my fingers lightly on the top of his desk. “I’ll be entertaining all bids.”

  “But you’ll give it to me,” Castle says threateningly.

  He can threaten all he wants. I’m not giving anything away for free.

  “If the price is right,” I tell him.

  “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.” Henry is back behind his desk now, standing because he wants to loom over me. Unfortunately for him, that doesn’t work when you’re not the tallest man in the room.

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something good,” I remark. “After all, it says ‘capital’ on the door.”

  His face is turning darker and darker in color. He looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.

  “I’ll be contacting your father about this,” he hisses.

  “Don’t bother,” I tell him. “Unlike your son, I speak for myself.”

  17

  Aida

  Callum gets up early, quietly slipping into the bathroom and closing the door so he doesn’t wake me up with the noise of the shower.

  When I finally come all the way awake, he’s long gone, probably headed off to some meeting. I can still smell his shampoo and aftershave in the air. A scent that’s becoming increasingly erotic to me.