by Skye Darrel
I guess I’ll play along until I get my hands on a phone. Then I’ll call Sarah—or the police. She must’ve gone to the cops by now.
Except I’m not playing because my feelings are real. No boy’s made me feel the way Jaime does. He’s so possessive, so intense, like I’m the greatest treasure in the world to him. But he gives me these harsh angry looks. He confuses me.
As we leave the city, Jaime reveals how much he knows about my life. He knows my name, my dorm building, and even my class schedule. I should be creeped out, but I’m not. My tummy tightens and flutters when I imagine him forcing me to do . . . stuff. I can’t explain my feelings. It’s not because he’s ungodly beautiful—although he is—it’s more than that.
Somehow, I know he really means to protect me.
“Rourke wants you dead, Nicole,” he says. “I won’t let that happen.”
I scoff. “I’m in this mess because of you!”
“I know,” he says, speeding up.
Jaime turns off the highway and drives us through a small suburb. Boston’s skyline fades behind us, and the horizon glows brighter. It’s nearly morning. He asks me terse questions about that day in the alley. Did I tell anyone about what I saw? Who else knows? Only Sarah. Did I go to the police? No, but I should have.
Then he asks my age.
“Eighteen.”
Jaime throws me a glare. “How’d you get in that bar?”
“Sarah used fake IDs.”
“You shouldn’t have been drinking.”
“I wasn’t drinking.” My face heats. “How old are you?”
“Older.”
Silence settles. Deep down, I already know why he really asked for my age. He rescued me, sure, but he wants something else. I try to feel disgusted, but I can’t help the heat blooming between my thighs.
Jaime turns onto a dirt road that leads toward the coast. There are trees and fields all around, and I can smell the ocean. Half an hour later, he turns onto a narrow lane that takes us to a house on the shore. The Massachusetts Bay stretches out in the east.
“You’ll be safe here,” Jaime says.
“Says you.”
He leads me up the porch, and I have to admit, the house looks nice. When he opens the door, there’s a gray cat with a pink nose sitting on the welcome mat like a guard dog. I guess it’s a good sign there’s a welcome mat. The cat hisses at me.
“Easy, Chomper,” Jaime says. “Good boy.”
The cat winks its nose before he rubs against Jaime’s legs, purring. Then he pads away. I stare at the big man in disbelief. Jaime Sullivan can’t be a complete psychopath if he owns a cat.
“You named your cat Chomper?”
“That a problem?”
“He’s not a dog.”
“Chomper is Chomper.”
I scoff. Probably not the best idea to argue with a mob hitman. But I get that warm feeling in my chest again. Jaime won’t hurt me. He’s not like the three guys who tried to snatch me outside the bar. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.
A puzzle.
Jaime takes me upstairs to an airy bedroom that overlooks the ocean. He opens the windows, and a breeze makes the white curtains rustle. I look around the spacious room, obviously decorated with a woman in mind, and I wonder if he has a wife or something. The house looks big, but there are no pictures on the walls. No sign of family or friends.
“I prepared this room for your stay,” Jaime says.
“You planned for my stay?”
“I planned to get you out of the city.”
I take a deep breath. “This is your home?”
“One of them.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
I hold my elbows. My grandparents always said that if a man’s still single by the time he turns thirty, there must be something wrong with him. And Jaime looks around thirty.
But the bedroom looks clean, luxurious really. A faint citrus scent mingles with the ocean breeze.
“Get some sleep, you had a long night.” He looks me over and mutters under his breath. “You’ll be safe here.”
“You keep saying that.”
He leaves and shuts the door. I wait a few minutes before I test the doorknob to find it unlocked. His voice booms from the other side, "Don't even think about it."
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“You’re not leaving.”
“Are you going to stand outside forever?”
“If I have to.”
“Psycho.”
“For your own protection.”
“Do you say that to every girl you bring here?”
“You’re the only one.”
“Psycho!” A tiny part of me is thrilled. Maybe more than a tiny part. I must be suffering from Stockholm syndrome. I lean my ear into the door and hear soft grunting. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Go to bed.”
I yank the door open to see him standing there with one hand on the door frame, the zipper in his jeans open, and his other fisted around a massive cock. He’s jacking off, and he doesn’t stop when he sees me. Holding my gaze, he strokes faster, his blue eyes dark and angry.
I gasp and look away.
“You’re disgusting,” I say in a voice so soft I barely hear it. I lick my lips. I should tell him to stop. A normal person would say stop right freaking now, but I don’t. I’ve never watched a man do that, and I want to see what happens when he—finishes. Sarah loves to brag about the guys she’s been with, and I’m sure she exaggerates, but Jaime Sullivan is no exaggeration.
“Look at me,” Jaime orders.
I look him in the eye as my chest flutters.
“You did this,” he growls like he’s in pain. His hand moves up and down that gorgeous, thick thing etched with veins. It’s like he’s punishing himself, and oh my God I can smell him. “You make me this way,” Jaime grits out. His fist moves faster, the head of his erection shining with wetness.
Then his whole body seizes up, the muscles in his forearm popping and his neck cording out. His cock seems to twitch as Jaime clenches his jaw. Thick, white cum pumps out of the tip to fall in gobs on the carpet. A pungent, musky aroma fills the air that makes me shudder. I’m shocked, and I can feel my panties sticking to me. Jaime bends over, breathing harshly as he zips up. He walks down the hallway and returns with some towels and a spray bottle. He starts to clean the floor.
“Go to bed,” he grunts.
I slam the door shut and fall into the big bed, my heart pounding, heat blazing in my face. I nearly put a hand under my shorts, but I grip the sheets instead, counting backward in my head from a hundred until the throb in my pussy fades. The clock on the nightstand reads five in the morning.
It takes a long time before I fall asleep.
A knock wakes me.
I push up on an elbow. It’s eight at night. I’ve slept the day away. The first thing I feel is how wet I am, and the dream I had lingers in my head. It was the filthiest dream I’ve had my entire life.
Jaime had me under him on this very bed. He had me on my hands and knees, doing the filthiest things. In the dream, he made me cum before he rolled me over and put his tongue down there.
I rub my eyes. It was only a dream. I check my clothes to be sure he didn't try anything while I was sleeping.
The knocking gets louder. Jaime’s voice sounds from outside the door. “Can I come in?”
As if I can stop him. “Yes!”
Jaime opens the door. He’s wearing a sleeveless undershirt that hugs the muscles of his chest. “You need to eat something, Nicole.”
“No, go away.”
“You haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours.”
I roll my eyes. “Leave me alone.”
“It’s not a request. I won’t let you starve. Come downstairs and—”
“What if I don’t?”
Jaime steps closer, the muscles at the corners of his jaw popping and shifting. He’s so much taller than me. “I’
ll make you,” he says.
“I’d like to see you try.”
He leans down, and our faces are inches away. Then he scoops me up and flings me on the bed. The mattress is so soft it cushions my weight like air. Blood rushes to my face as Jaime glowers above, his hulking frame towering over mine.
“You’re in a heap of trouble, little girl.”
The front of his pants juts out in a tent, and every fiber of my body tingles. “You’re not my daddy,” I whisper.
“In this house, I am.”
The tugging in my belly sharpens as Jaime pulls out his belt. He opens his shirt one button at a time until the ridges of his hard torso are bared. Everything about him makes me hot inside. A tiny voice in my head screams to run. This man is a mobster, and he has me cornered in his bedroom. But that voice dwindles and dwindles until all that's left is my throbbing heartbeat.
“In this house,” Jaime says, “I’m in charge.”
He kneels and touches my ankles, and a moan leaves me. I can’t look away from Jaime’s blue eyes as he unties the laces of my sneakers. One by one, he takes my shoes off. Then his hands are on my shorts, yanking. They slip off, my top goes next, and I’m left in my underwear and bra.
“Stay still,” Jaime commands. He glares at me, expecting an answer.
“Yes.” It’s the only word that comes to mind, and my face burns at how needy I sound.
Jaime opens his jeans, and my heart skips faster. The cock between his legs juts out erect, thick and veined and so very big. He strokes himself shamelessly as his eyes wander over my body.
“Are you going to be a bad girl?”
I look into his face. It’s not even a question. It’s a demand, like he wants me to be bad. Like he wants me to fight back. My mind races, and I can’t form words.
He steps out of his jeans. “Answer me, Nicole.”
“Do whatever you want,” I say sharply. “It’s not like I can stop you.” He’s turning me on like crazy, but no way will I admit that.
“I intend to.” Jaime’s hand moves up and down his hard cock. “You’re mine, Nicole. You could’ve left when you had the chance, but now it’s too late.” He grits his teeth. “You belong to Daddy.”
My pussy clenches. I’m falling, falling, my stomach twisting unbearably. Every inch of my skin ignites as Jaime climbs over my legs, his cock swaying between those muscled thighs.
His head stops just short of my belly button. Hands dig into the waistband of my panties, pulling them off, tossing them on the floor. I’m exposed. Oh God. I’m bared to this man, and he sees how wet I am, the folds of my sex glistening. And the scent of my arousal hits the air.
“Are you a virgin?”
I want to smack him. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
My eyes bulge. I must’ve heard wrong. “What?”
“It’s a long story.”
He's lying. He has to be. A man like him? He must have a hundred women lined up somewhere. You’re lying out of your teeth, I think. Then I stop thinking because his tongue hits the peak of my clit.
My body explodes. My toes curl and my hips buck up as Jaime suckles my bud, exploring my girl parts with ravenous hunger. His tongue splits me open, and he holds me by the hipbones as he thrusts in and out, teasing out my wetness. I toss my head back, my hands pushing through his hair.
Jaime seals his mouth around my opening, the tip of his tongue lashing my clit, and the room fills with slurping. An aching itch I’ve never felt swells inside me, and I realize this is what an orgasm feels like.
I’ve touched myself before, but nothing compares to this.
He lifts his head. “You have a cherry.”
“No shit.”
Jaime slaps my clit lightly. “Don’t curse, little one.”
“Or what?” My defiance comes back. “You’ll hit me? You can’t tell me what to do. You don’t own me.”
Our eyes connect, Jaime’s blazing with heat. He sits at the edge of the bed, and before I can say another word, he pulls me over his lap. With one hand around my neck, he rubs my buttocks, squeezing and pinching. A slap stings my bottom.
He spanked me. He’s spanking me. Jaime’s hand whips back and forth, jiggling my cheeks. A clap rings out with every slap. I feel his hard cock against my ribs, and my moans grow louder.
Jaime lays me on the bed again.
He climbs on top, wedging between my thighs. A gentle slap skims across my breasts, just hard enough to graze my nipples. My head feels heavy, and I can’t think straight. I’m not like Sarah—I know how to watch out for guys who want to take advantage—but Jaime Sullivan is an enigma.
I can’t sense what he wants, other than the wild lust in his eyes that sparks something deep inside me. I can't tell how much of what I feel is real, and how much is raw feminine response to a big, sexy man holding me down on his bed. My hands, almost moving on their own, latch on to his sides. I look into the depths of Jaime’s eyes.
I feel weightless.
A hard knob pushes at my pussy, and my breathing catches. His cock slides into me with one, slow thrust that rips the air from my lungs, making me cry out as my virginity breaks.
My walls grip him, and I arch off the bed, clenching every muscle as Daddy takes what he wants. When I think he’s filled me to the brim, I look down to see him only halfway in, my folds stretched thin around the thick middle of his hard cock.
“Oh God.”
“You’ll take all of me, little girl.”
I toss my head from side to side and give in to my need. “Yes—Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses my forehead. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I moan. The flash of pain when he entered me has faded to an aching pleasure that boils through my belly. “It feels good.”
Jaime ruts against me, pumping his cock faster and harder, pushing to my deepest place as pleasure wracks my body. I feel a hot trickle in my pussy that sharpens with every thrust. When he swings down, he grinds against my clit, and when he pulls back, his cock rakes against a spot under my front wall that has me squealing. I hear a scream and realize it’s my own.
He slams into me with his mouth on my throat. With a furious grunt, Jaime plunges to the very base of his cock. My body erupts, my walls rippling.
At the height of my climax, I open my eyes to meet his. I feel him tense, his muscles tightening harder, his cock tremoring inside me. I open my mouth in a silent cry before Jaime muffles me with a hard kiss. The moment hangs forever. And for an instant, I think I love him. I’m starting to.
His cum floods my channel. So much, so thick, seeping out around his shaft as he grunts out his release. My orgasm pulses higher, and we cling to each other as our bodies melt.
“Good girl.”
“You came inside me,” I gasp.
“Yes.”
When my climax ebbs, panic rises in my chest. Reason returns. What did I just do? I let a complete stranger take my innocence. A mobster. A killer. And he put his seed inside me.
“Get off me,” I say. Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m clawing down the meat of his back, my legs wrapped around his hips. My body betrays me. It wants more of this man, more of that heady pleasure.
I’ve never felt so close to anyone.
4
Jaime
Nicole wiggles as I slide my cock out, but I don’t get off her. She’s still trembling, her arms looped tightly around my neck despite what she said, and I hold her close. I rub her inexperienced clit until she fights for breath. Her pussy is drenched with our cum.
She moans again.
“Jaime, wait. I mean it.”
My fingers stop. “What is it, baby?”
“What did you mean before? You said you’re a—virgin?” She blushes and looks away, her face torn. “Who are you? Really.”
“I told you the truth, Nicole.”
“You’ve never been with anyone?”
“You’re my first, little girl.”
Nicole frowns. “Stop lying.�
�
“I’m not.” Most people take one look at me and assume I’m a womanizer, God’s gift to women and the Devil’s curse. But I’ve never fucked around. When I was a kid, I went to Sunday school. My mother was proud of me, called me her darling angel, so different from my father who gambled and drank himself to sleep every night.
I was a good kid. I read my Bible and prayed for miracles, like a divine cure to my old man’s addictions. I believed in salvation and the goodness in people’s hearts.
At church, they asked good kids like me to enroll in a special program. We took a vow of chastity. No sex before marriage. There were other vows. No alcohol, no drugs, no smoking. I went further and vowed to become a priest.
I would’ve become Father Jaime Sullivan, but by the time I turned fifteen, my own father had run up a gambling debt in the six figures. Those debts put my family at the mercy of Boston’s worst loan sharks.
No one could protect my family—except Fogarty Croy, leader of the Irish mob in Boston. My mother went to him for help. A few days later, the loan sharks vanished. “Under mysterious circumstances,” a news clipping stated.
Nothing’s free in life. Fogarty Croy expected service in return, and my father was more than willing. He didn’t have many career options to begin with. My old man lasted two years as a street soldier before a bullet found him near the docks. Then it was my turn to join.
I did better.
By the time I was twenty-four, I’d become a trusted lieutenant in Croy’s crime family. I stopped praying for divine intervention and started my own interventions. I prayed for forgiveness instead. Then I stopped praying.
Down the years, I kept my vow of chastity. It was the only part of me left from my old life, a remnant I cherished. I never had any reason to break the vow until the day I saw Nicole.
I tell her my past, most of it, while I stroke her hair. My cock stays rock hard. I’ve denied myself for years, and now that I’ve found her, I can’t control the beast inside me.
Nicole listens in silence. I’m surprised how calm she looks as I pour my heart out.
