by Rose, Renee
“Thanks. I’ll be right back with this.”
She disappears into the bathroom and I close my eyes and lean against the wall.
Maybe Paolo was right.
Maybe I was thinking with my dick when I had her dragged here.
Maybe my dick is an opportunistic fuck who doesn’t give a shit who I ruin.
* * *
Desiree
I sleep maybe three hours, which is no surprise. I put codeine in Gio’s drip, but he still wakes every thirty minutes groaning.
And even though I’m dead tired, I’m too keyed up about being Junior Tacone’s prisoner to be able to rest. I get up when the clock reads 6:34 a.m. and slip into the bathroom to pee.
Gio’s asleep, and a peek in Junior’s cracked door tells me he is, too.
It’s my chance to leave. I should take it. Because even though Junior promised me a big payout for staying, I’m not sure his word is good. That might just be what he’s telling me to make sure I do a good job. And when Gio doesn’t need me anymore, I end up in Lake Michigan with cement shoes.
I didn’t miss the threat he made if I told my mom. He’d have to get rid of her. So why would he keep me around?
He wouldn’t.
No, I can’t let my attraction to dangerous men keep me in danger. If I have a chance to run, I should run right now.
Gio jerks in his sleep and moans.
Shit. Maybe I should wait until his condition is more stable. What will they do without me?
No, fuck that.
It’s not my problem.
I didn’t volunteer for this job. They need to figure it out on their own.
I slip on my shoes and coat and hunt for my purse, which they took from me when they grabbed me at the hospital.
I search downstairs, checking closets. I even step into Junior’s room and do a cursory sweep. When he snorts and rolls over, I dart back out of the room.
Screw the purse. My life isn’t worth risking on the stuff in my purse.
I head back down the stairs and crack the front door. I stop at the bite of cold wind and the stare out at the graying dark.
Fuck. Should I leave?
If I do, then what? Go to the cops?
Maybe I’m nuts, but I don’t have any desire to throw Junior or Gio to the authorities, even though they’re surely involved in something very illegal. Probably deadly.
But if I don’t go to the cops, what stops Junior from just grabbing my ass off the streets again and dragging me back here? And then I’m sure I’ll forfeit the money he promised, which I desperately need.
To add to my dilemma, if I walk out this door, I don’t even know where to go. I don’t have a car or a phone. It’s freaking freezing out and who knows how far we are from public transportation. The neighborhood looks ritzy—like Oak Park or some other neighborhood named after a tree.
“Shut the door.”
I jump and gasp at Junior’s angry voice coming down the stairs. I freeze, unable to make myself bolt out the door, or obey him and shut it. The indecision that kept me there for the last eighty seconds still has me paralyzed.
“I said, shut it.” His hand slaps against the door, slamming it.
I still don’t move. Don’t turn to look at him. Don’t try to run. I guess this is what they mean by “petrified.”
Tacone grabs the sleeve of my jacket and tugs it off me, tossing it onto the floor. “Where in the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Oh shit. He has the most effective angry voice I’ve ever heard. I’m surprised I don’t piss myself.
I still don’t turn around—just stand facing the door like it somehow makes me safe if I can’t see him.
His hand crashes down on my ass.
I gasp in surprise, but honestly, the spank is welcome.
It’s not a gun. Not a wire around my neck. It’s not even a backhand. It’s a slap. On my ass. Simple and sexual.
He slaps me again, hard.
I bring my hands to the door to brace myself, spread my fingers, push my ass out.
I hear Junior’s breath rasp out in a rush. He grunts and reaches up to capture my hands, stacking one wrist over the other and pinning them above my head as he rains stinging smacks all over my ass and the backs of my legs.
My heart pounds against my chest. It hurts and I’m still frightened, but I’m getting more and more turned on by the second.
This is like a scene out of my fantasies. Okay, they never involved spanking, but they totally involved Junior dominating me. Bending me over the couch and forcing me to have sex, or shoving me to my knees and making me suck his cock.
Being on the receiving end of a spanking at his hands definitely fits in the same category.
He stops spanking, his breath at my ear. We both pant like we ran a lap around the block. He hasn’t released my wrists and I love how it feels to be captured by him. My body reacts to it before I can stop myself. I toss my head back, push my ass against his body.
To my disappointment, he releases me and steps back. “Go upstairs to my room.”
Ms. Bluster makes a full appearance. I whirl and put my hands on my hips. “What for?”
His gaze is heavy-lidded. He’s standing there in a white undershirt and his boxer briefs, which doesn’t make him seem the slightest bit vulnerable. No, the way he fills them out—chest and shoulder muscles stretching the cotton shirt, cock tenting the briefs—he’s as commanding as he is in a suit. “I’m not done punishing you.” He jerks his chin toward the stairs, in a silent repetition of his command.
My pussy clenches but I can’t seem to drop the attitude. I cock a hip. “What does the punishment entail?”
He moves quicker than I would think possible for such a big guy. One second I’m standing there, facing off to him, the next I’m over his shoulder being carried swiftly upstairs. His hand claps down on my ass. I kick my legs and squirm because resistance is part of my fantasy.
He brings me into his bedroom and kicks the door shut, then tosses me to the middle of the bed.
I’m out of breath, mostly excited, a little scared. So far he hasn’t hurt me, unless you count slapping my ass, which I don’t. Yeah, it still stings, but I remember from spankings as a kid, that will go away in less than a half hour.
I watch, fascinated, as he pulls off my shoes, then yanks my scrubs down my hips and off my legs.
I automatically move to tug my top off and toss it on the floor with the rest of my stuff. I may appear a little too eager. I haven’t had sex in over three years. I’m just thanking God I’m wearing matching bra and panties—a red satin and lace set that look great against my caramel skin.
“Cristo,” he mutters, eyes black, nostrils flaring. He stares at my body with hunger. “You always wear these sexy little lace numbers under your scrubs?” He climbs over me, pushing me to my back and pinning my wrists above my head. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know that when you were working at my ma’s.” He straddles my hips, the savage lines of his face hovering over mine.
“Now listen carefully, little girl. You got one chance to say no if you don’t want your punishment to involve me shoving my cock into one of your sexy-as-fuck holes.”
His words shock me and my body jerks beneath his, but it’s not with fear. It’s from a kick of lust.
Still, I’m a fighter. Always have to show resistance. I lick my lips. “What’s my punishment if I say no?”
He pulls back slightly and I’m almost sorry I asked. “I put my dick away, spank your ass some more and send you back to Gio’s room to do what you’re told.”
Do what I’m told. I’m sure on some level that offends me. It’s just not making it through to my brain at the moment.
“And if I say yes?”
A devilish glint lights up his eyes. “You’re gonna end up with me pounding into you until you’re good and sorry. And then I’ll spank your ass and send you back to Gio’s room to do what you’re told.”
I wriggle on the bed, rolling my hips be
neath his, desperate for some friction on my clit. My entire body is lit up with need. Soaked with desire. “I’ll take the second option.” I hardly recognize my breathy voice.
His eyes gleam with what looks like satisfaction. “Yeah?”
“Do I get to pick which hole?”
His lips twist into a wicked smirk. “Oh no, baby.” He flips me over to my belly. “This is punishment. That means it’s my choice.”
Again, rockets of desire shoot through me. This is exactly what I wanted. The fodder of all my fantasies.
He unhooks my bra in the back and pulls it off me, then pulls my wrists behind my back and ties them with it. My panties come off next, and he pulls my hips up until I’m resting on my knees with my face and shoulders still mashed into the bedcovers. He runs a hand over my ass. “You look so good in my handprints.” He smacks my ass, then rubs. His fingers dip between my legs and he makes a rumble of satisfaction at what he finds there.
“Now tell me, baby.” He circles my clit. “What made you so wet? Your spanking? Or knowing you’re about to get fucked?” He slaps my pussy. “Or is being tied up and at my mercy?”
I don’t answer. I’m actually not sure I’m capable of speech. Plus, it seems like a rhetorical question.
It earns me a flurry of hard spanks. “I asked you a question, doll.”
“Ohh-oh,” I moan as he returns to rubbing my clit. He’s rougher this time and I’m already starting to get close to climax, just from a few spanks and rubs.
“Hmm?” He slaps me five times in the same exact spot and I yelp and list away.
“All of it,” I mumble into the covers.
“All of it,” he muses. “Let’s test that.” He starts spanking, hard and fast. Just spanking. No rubbing. No fondling. It gets intense and I start to twist and whimper a little.
He slaps between my legs.
I cry out.
He rubs over my slit. “Mmm. Yeah. Spanking definitely makes you wet, doesn’t it, doll?” He slaps my pussy again.
It feels so good—even though it startles me. Even though it stings and sends nervous flutters to my belly. I want more of it. Need more of it.
I spread my knees wider, sink into the position, offering it to him.
He curses in Italian and spanks me light and fast between the legs. Slap-slap-slap-slap.
I cry out.
He pinches my clit. “Don’t come, baby. This is punishment, remember?”
Best. Punishment. Ever.
I’m halfway to an orgasm already. Maybe even closer. My body’s feverish, desperate.
Junior grips my thighs and pulls my ass cheeks apart, licking me from clit to anus.
I shriek at the sensation. At the taboo of having my anus licked.
Junior chuckles at my reaction. “I should fuck your ass, shouldn’t I?” He pushes against the tight ring of muscles, massaging my back hole. I tighten against the intrusion, squeezing my eyes shut. “I think your disobedience merits a good ass fucking.”
I shake my head, rubbing my face in the bedspread. “No, please.” I don’t know if I’m damning myself further by letting him know I don’t want it, but I am a total anal virgin. And I’m dying to feel him between my legs. “My pussy. Please. I haven’t had sex in so long.” I know it sounds pathetic, and it hurts my pride to admit it, but maybe he’ll take mercy on me and give me what I need.
“Is that right?” Junior yanks the binding off my wrists and flips me over onto my back. “You need my cock in here?” He plunges his thumb into my pussy, grinding into my clit with his palm.
I arch, thrusting my hard nipples toward the ceiling. “Yes. Please, Junior.”
Still pumping his thumb in and out, he grips his cock with the other hand and pulls it from his boxer briefs.
I prop myself up on my elbows to see better.
His grin is feral. “You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.”
Beautiful.
Huh.
I haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. I’ve got this extra twenty pounds I can never get off, and I’m always stressed out of my mind with worry over finding Jasper. But Junior doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who says stuff just to be nice. And the way he’s looking at me, I actually think he means it.
“Do you have a condom?” I’m surprised at how shy I sound. It’s not like me at all.
His answer is soft, his gaze indulgent. “Yeah.” He keeps stroking his cock and me at the same time. “I’ll find one.” He pulls his thumb out of me like it kills him and pads to the en suite bathroom. He returns with a fistful of condoms. I guess he really does plan on pounding me until I’m good and sorry.
He tosses them on the bed and rips one open with his teeth. I watch, fascinated, as he peels his shirt off over his head. He’s all burly man—hairy chest, a tattoo covering his right pectoral and shoulder. He shoves his briefs off, too, and rolls the condom over his impressive manhood.
“Spread those legs for me, baby. Spread ‘em wide and hold them there.”
I open my legs spread-eagle, feet pointed toward the ceiling.
“That’s it.” He lines the head of his sheathed cock up with my entrance. “You hold them there until I say. Capiche?”
I rack my brain to remember the right answer. “Capito!” I blurt and his eyes light up, a shadow of a smile appears on his face. He collects my wrists and pins them above my head again, then pushes into me.
I groan at the sensation of him filling me, shoving inside. It’s been way too long since I’ve had sex, and I don’t remember it feeling this good. I rock my hips up to meet his thrusts, careful to hold the spread-eagle position. It’s sort of ridiculous and I feel like some kind of sex doll, but that’s exactly what works for me. I love the degradation of it, the suggestion that this might be arduous, rather than pleasurable for me.
I start making all kinds of sounds. I’ve never understood how people can have sex and not shout at the top of their lungs. I can’t help all the noise that comes out of my throat—the cries, the moans, the unintelligible words. I beg, plead, coax. I show my appreciation with every honest sound.
“Fanculo,” Junior mutters, pounding harder, sweat beading at his hairline.
True to his promise, he fucks hard. Each thrust rams deeper. If he didn’t keep yanking me back, my head would smash into the headboard.
His hand flashes out and slaps my right breast.
I squeal in offended surprise, but he squeezes it, leans over and flicks his tongue over my nipple, all the while riding me like we’re in a horse race.
“Junior,” I gasp.
The strain of holding back shows on his face, but he still manages to cock a brow. “You feeling good and sorry?”
I let out a hysterical laugh. “So sorry. So damn sorry. Please, Junior.”
Instead of bringing us to a finish, he pulls out.
“No!” I protest.
He rolls me to my belly. “Spread, baby.”
I spread my legs. He grips the back of my neck, like he’s holding me down, and enters me from behind.
It’s so good, I swear I nearly pass out. Every stroke is heaven on wheels.
I turn my face to keep from suffocating in the blankets, and he rides me hard from behind, his loins against my ass, as he thrusts in so deep.
“Junior!”
“Fuck, yeah, baby. Come all over my dick now. Squeeze me tight, doll.”
I clench my muscles around his cock and he shouts something in Italian, slams in with enough force to bang the bed against the wall once, twice, three times. On the fourth, he stays deep inside me and comes.
My internal muscles flutter around his cock, squeezing and releasing as I come, too. I’m lightheaded. I’m lost.
And then, for some unknown reason, I’m crying.
* * *
Junior
Sonofabitch.
Desiree’s beautiful back shakes with sobs and I nearly lose my shit. I roll her over, doing my best to keep my hands gentle when urgency makes me want to yank
and tear.
“Desiree. Baby. Fuck.” I gather her into my arms as she tries to hide her face in her hands.
Merde.
“I didn’t mean to break you, doll. I really didn’t.”
It’s exactly what I was trying not to do. It’s why I went in hot and fucked her instead of turning on the ice and scaring the shit out of her with threats or force.
What am I saying? I didn’t even mean to fuck her. I didn’t know what to do—all I knew was that the usual shit I spew to people when I’m threatening the lives of the people they love wouldn’t come out. So I smacked her ass.
And then she spread her palms out on the door and thrust her hips back like she liked it, and I was a goner.
But I must’ve misread her cues.
Something went terribly wrong because now she’s hiccupping and mopping up tears like she can’t stop.
She struggles to sit up. “It’s good. I’m good.” She wipes her tears with both fingers. “I don’t even know why I cried. Just the release, you know? I’m overtired, and this has been stressful and”—she waves her hand, a rueful twist of her full lips—“it all came out. I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? Fuck that.” I won’t let her go even though she’s fighting for sovereignty. Instead, I pull her around to straddle my lap, hold her tight against my chest. “You’re really okay?” I stroke up and down her bare back.
She gives a watery laugh. “Yes. Can we please forget this happened?”
“Stop,” I command. “I don’t give a shit if you bawl your eyes out every time you come. Hell, I don’t care if you puke. As long as I know it was good for you.”
She laughs against my neck, still hiding her face there. “It was good.”
“Too rough?” I’m still shell-shocked from thinking I hurt or scared her.
“No.” Her lips move against my neck. Is she kissing me? “I liked it.”
I keep holding her tight, partly because I love the feel of so much soft skin up against mine. But also because I figure she needs to be held even if she’s trying to pull her shit together and pretend nothing happened. And I’m not oblivious to the fact that I caused the stress she had to release through her tears.
