by A. J. Downey
“Thought this would look good on you,” she said, and her gaze was steely. She was trying to gauge my reaction.
I smiled and said, “You bought me a present with my own money?”
“Thought you’d look good in it, and no, I used my own money for this.”
I cocked my head to the side and swept her up and down with my gaze. She didn’t have a lot of money. She couldn’t have. She came from poverty the like that shouldn’t even be on American soil by my estimation. Brand name shit from the Harley store wasn’t cheap. This meant something. What, I just didn’t know. Not yet.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the gift. She was right. It was right up my alley and with how hard I was getting in my jeans; I was about to be right up hers.
I shut the door and tossed the shirt she’d bought me up onto my shoulder.
“Turn around, hands on the desk. If you’re up for it, I’m going to eat your pussy then fuck you into next week.”
Her eyes widened and she sort of just froze. Like a little rabbit.
“Because I bought you a shirt to say thanks for getting me out of that shithole?” she asked.
I smiled and knew it was a bit feral.
“A man needs to know when to show his appreciation – the how of it is personal to him. Welcome to the life, Zaychik. I can either fuck you on my desk, here and now, which is my preference… or out on the pool table out there in front of the guys.” I was only throwing that option in to get what I wanted. My hard-on was starting to ache already. At the slight edge of utter fear and panic on her face, I backpedaled. “Although, I suppose, if I must, I could wait until I got you back at my place but where’s the fun in that?”
She swallowed hard, and I watched the calculations formulate and play out behind her eyes.
“Here,” she whispered and turned around, putting her palms flat to my desk’s top, sticking out that gorgeous ass of hers as if I were the man and she were about to be frisked.
I went to her and pressed my body to hers, gauging things, rubbing my cock back and forth against her pussy through the layers of fabric that separated us.
She was the perfect height in her boots to take me. I massaged her shoulders and she tensed even more until I murmured, “Relax, baby. It’s gonna be all good, I promise. There’s no bad here.”
I grunted in appreciation and sucked in a breath past clenched teeth. “You are so goddamn sexy, ” I whispered, and some more of the tension left her.
“Yeah?” she asked, stammering, her voice tripping over the word, her insecurities bubbling to the surface with the onset of her nervousness.
“Fuck yeah,” I said and smacked her jeans-clad ass. She jumped slightly and moaned, thrusting herself back against me. I gripped her hips and pressed forward, meeting the backward jerk of her hips and the friction building between us was delicious.
“You like it dirty like this?” she asked, her voice husky.
“I’ll take you any way I can get you,” I answered. “But yeah, the filthier the better.” I leaned over her and swept my hands to the front of her pants. She made to pull her hands off the top of the desk, to help me I think, and I admonished her with a sharp, “Ah!”
I paused in my attempts to get her pants undone and down, so I could fuck her first with my mouth then with my cock, until I was sure she was going to comply.
She didn’t know it, but I’d already read her like a damn book. She was feisty, had the potential to be fiery, and it was a monumental turn-on to keep that fire tamed. The only way to do that was through firm consistency and so here we were. Her training started now.
“Keep those hands right where I can see them,” I ordered coldly through a smile she couldn’t see with the way she faced forward. She made to turn her head and I snapped, “Eyes front!”
She defied me, looking back and with a devilish grin, I made her pay for it, slapping her ass with a resounding crack of my hand. It only semi had the desired effect. She faced forward, but she also thrust her ass back against me and writhed so beautifully, I damn near bust a nut in my pants.
I worked her belt from its loops and asked her, “You trust me?”
“Yes and no,” she said truthfully.
“You trust me not to hurt you?” I demanded.
“Physically?”
“We’ll start there, yeah.”
“Yes and no.”
I paused.
“I will never hit you in any way that isn’t erotic,” I told her. “I will never hurt you without your prior consent. We clear on that?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Do you believe me?”
She hesitated and I wondered who did what, exactly, to damage her ability to trust so thoroughly.
“Yes,” she said finally, but it lacked the enthusiasm of her prior answer. I hesitated with what I wanted to do with that belt and decided fuck it – I knew I wouldn’t hurt her, and I also knew the only way to earn her trust was to prove it. I slid the belt’s tongue through the buckle and slipped the loop over her head, tightening it up, wrapping the length of faux leather around my fist, yoking her.
“Bad?” I asked, but I knew the answer by the way she shifted on her feet, her hips swaying sensually, rubbing herself against me.
“No,” she answered, and I smiled with a savage glee.
“Pull your pants down, panties too and put your hands right back against that desk.”
She did as I commanded and I smiled, uncoiling the tail end of her belt from around my fist as I took a step back, giving her some slack as I went to my knees behind her. I wanted her compliant, it was about control. I wasn’t about to choke her out. That shit was for later and only if she consented.
“Thrust those hips back, baby,” I murmured, intoxicated by the perfume of her arousal, her pussy slick with her desire – flesh glistening and begging for my kiss.
I licked along the seam of her sex and plunged my tongue inside of her and she cried out, legs quivering as she moved slightly away by leaning heavier onto her hands to support herself. I opened her up with my hands and went at her clit, teasing it with my tongue as she panted sharply.
God, that sound was music to my fucking ears.
I feasted on her pussy while she stood there, compliant, taking what I had to give her but oh, I had so very much to fuckin’ give. I slid a finger inside her and worked her with my hand. She looked back at me, eyes glazed, pussy soaking wet, and that look was just as intoxicating as her taste and fragrance.
My cock throbbed behind my zipper and I stood up saying, “You stay right there, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good. Mm.”
I got myself out of my pants as she stood, hands on my desk, hips thrust back, pussy open and wanting as she shifted impatiently from foot to food and goddamn, it was a sight.
I fished a condom out of the pocket of my leather jacket, tearing it open with my teeth and rolling it on double time. She moaned slightly at the sound in anticipation and I about died with the deep ache of anticipation.
Grabbing her hips, I lined myself up with her opening and shoved into her hard in one stroke. She cried out, thrusting her hips back to meet me – her pussy tightening around the head of my cock in a way that made me grunt in deep satisfaction.
I had some girth, but thankfully I was just short enough in length that I could pound the shit out of a woman like I liked without being a total cervix buster and hot damn, Marisol could take a pounding.
She collapsed some over the desk, pressing her body against the calendar blotter and the scarred wood, thrusting her hips back, swaying slightly as I pressed into her balls fucking deep.
“Touch yourself, I want you to come all over my dick,” I grated and she didn’t hesitate, just reached a hand down her front to press her fingertips into her clit, her voice a breathy high whine of pleasure where it passed between her gorgeous, lush lips.
I hammered into her, felt her clench around my dick, her hot, soft walls pressing around my shaft, enveloping the head of my c
ock in rough sensuality, and I gritted my teeth. She was close, she was so fucking close. I couldn’t let up; I wouldn’t let up until –
The door crashed open behind us and Marisol jumped, straightening. I slipped out of her and put my arms around her reflexively, putting my back to the door, twisting her slightly as much as the desk would allow to shelter her with my body against whatever incoming threat might or might not be there. At the very least, I could try to preserve her modesty for her, even though I legit had none of my own, my ass hanging out in front of, it turned out, my best friend since childhood – Mallory. Dahlia to the rest of the guys around here. It was her burlesque stage name, Dahlia Darlin.’
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Mav!” Dahlia cried and the hard edge in her voice made me smirk at first, wondering who she was annoyed with this time. That smirk quickly fled when she said, “You, whore, out!”
Marisol stiffened and straightened turning her face as I locked my hands around her wrists and held her tight against my chest.
“Who you callin’ a whore, coño de mierda!” Her nudity forgotten, she braced feet against the desk and kicked out, feisty.
I almost lost my hold on her and grinning savagely I yelled at Dahlia, “Give us a minute, Flower!” Dahlia was in super bitch mode, and simply stepped to the inside of the room and leaned her back against the wall beside it, her willowy arms coming up to cross themselves under her tits.
She was dressed to the nines, as always. A white sleeveless silk blouse with a deep cut ‘V’ neckline, a gently breezy ruffle from her shoulders tapering elegantly in front of her breasts to point out her narrow waist which was ensconced in a tight, knee-length, black pencil skirt. Her black hose were perfect, the lines in the back straight as an arrow, the crimson heels she had on absolutely on point. Her hair was perfectly coiffed as well, the victory rolls in the 1940s style with no hair out of place and tucked behind her ear, into her raven locks, was a crimson dahlia flower, the match for those lofty heels she wore.
Her makeup was smoky and perfect, and she was beautiful, as always – she was also the equivalent of my little sister. My father’s and her father’s crime families closely intertwined and the way we grew up together? The way we played as children, and the secrets we both knew?
No, we kept each other in balance, in check, but there was nothing romantic about it. In fact, I’d told more than one motherfucker out there, you make her cry, and I’m gonna make you cry.
That was the way thing were, and they weren’t changing.
Marisol, by comparison to Dahlia’s cool, calm, and collected dagger staring, was an absolute wildcat at the perceived disrespect, ready to throw down with my bestie over her callin’ her a whore. It was drama I didn’t need, but a tinderbox that Dahlia was seemingly glad to throw a match to by the little smirk raising the corner of her equally crimson lips.
“Whoa there, Zaychik!” I cried and couldn’t help the laughter. Dahlia didn’t know it, but she’d be lucky to get out of here without getting her ass kicked. Just not by Marisol. I had a mind to set her a lesson myself on just where she fell in the actual hierarchy of this place because right now? She was damn sure above her station barging in here and starting a ruckus like this.
I eventually had to settle for shoving Marisol out the door to my office and across the hall into the chapel, sending her stumbling, sprawling into the chair at the foot of my table and calling sharply in after her, “Settle down!” and slightly less harshly, but no less sternly, “And pull yourself together.”
I shut the door behind me, went back across the hall tucking myself into my pants and slammed the door to my office closed.
“Just what’s the fucking problem, Dahl?” I growled out.
“You!” she hissed. “What’s this I hear you’re picking up jailbait out in fucking Yakima, Mav? That girl ain’t a day over fifteen or sixteen.” She sounded positively venomous, her Medusa out in full scale, but while I went to stone – it wasn’t at her gaze. I was pissed.
“She’s damn near twenty years old, what the fuck, Dahlia? Are you seriously standing there accusing me – me! Of being a goddamned pedo?”
“I saw what I saw just now, Maverick!” she hissed back.
“She’s of age, Mallory!” I shot back coldly.
She scoffed, and just like always, didn’t know when to fuckin’ leave well enough alone, always having to get her digs in when she was fired up.
“I mean, the apple really never does fall far from the tree – your daddy—”
I confess. I felt like shit for what happened when those last two words fell from her crimson painted lips. My hand flashed out in a wicked back-handed strike and caught her right in the side of those lips. She knew, though. She’d been through it countless times before. When we were kids, for the most part, but still – that muscle memory never leaves.
She didn’t stiffen up; it was always worse when you stiffened up. Instead, she let the blow snap her head to the side away from me, the report sharp and echoing off the walls in the small space. The snap of my fingers against her soft flesh making them sting, but the red-raised welts coming up on her chin and cheek, the smear of that red lipstick against her creamy flesh told me this lesson – albeit reflexive and unintentional – was damn sure gonna stick for a while.
We stared at each other, both of our chests heaving, the words we each had prepared to volley at one another sitting like boulders in our chests, piling like rockfall in our throats in the stunned silence between us.
Neither of us launched. Instead, we fixed eyes on each other and stood stalk still for several heaving and uncomfortable breaths.
“No women, no children, huh?” she asked mildly, and reached for the office door, jerking it open.
Her words cut to the quick and she knew it, but my heart wasn’t sinking – it was already sunk. She looked back at me, pausing in the doorway but my words had all dried up and blown away.
I knew we would be alright, eventually, by the cruel little smirk she cast in my direction before walking out. Her heels clipping smartly up the hallway as she walked through the great room of the club, silence radiating – a palpable thing – as she passed. I stood outside my office and watched her go, her head held high, back straight, presence regal. She was a princess, after all. A mob princess of the highest order – one of the biggest crime family syndicates in the United States.
That family bled Merlot when you cut them. They were as Italian as you could get.
I shook my head at the shrouded and curious looks cast by the guys in my direction. All of them had the good sense not to fucking ask.
Fuck.
I finished putting myself together and just as I finished, the door to the chapel opened. Marisol was already flawlessly back in her clothes, her hair fixed, her belt back around her trim waist, the sparks still flying from her honeyed eyes which only deepened in their bronze hue with her rage.
“Get over here,” I barked coldly at her and she flinched and though her feet complied, carrying her closer, her upper body leaned back away from me indicating her fear.
She had nothing to fear from me. Ever. And so, the mystery behind her motivations for coming here, to agreeing to the terms of our arrangement, deepened.
I frowned. Not at her, but at the puzzle she presented. I grabbed her by the back of the neck, thumb and forefinger pinching to either side and massaging at the base of her skull as I marched her back into my office and shut the door behind us.
“Sit,” I demanded and she turned and only half complied, leaning her shapely ass against the edge of my desk, hands gripping it to either side of her fantastic hips until they were mottled in a white-knuckled grip.
It was the only sign of her outward discomfort. Her gaze remained locked and even with my own. I had to give her points for that.
“What?” she demanded. “You going to tell me I can’t react to some puta disrespecting me like that?”
I smirked and shook my head.
“In some ways. I’m tell
ing you that in this life, you never take any disrespect, but if you’re disrespected – there are better ways of going about it than what you just did – more effective ways.”
She eyed me warily and didn’t say anything, so I took it as an invitation that she was listening and wanted to know more. Her thirst for more knowledge made me hard all over again.
Chapter Ten
Marisol…
“What’s on your mind, Zaychik?”
I startled slightly, cuddled tight against his side, head on his shoulder in the close and intimate dark of his bedroom. He traced fingers lightly through my hair, sweeping it behind my ear, trailing the tip of a finger lightly along my jaw as I looked up at him, his face indistinct in the dark.
I stared at him silently. The truth was something I didn’t want to share. I didn’t trust him; not yet… but his words from earlier in the week were swirling around in my thoughts, a drop of ink in a glass of water, diffusing through my being and altering me at a molecular level.
He was right. There were better ways of handling the disrespect and I wasn’t talking about his puta of a best friend. I was thinking about my whole life – but right now, the only way I could see to get out and get my brother back was on my back and so I was here.
The toughest part of that? Mav was an excellent lover. Slow, attentive, gentle, all the things I imagined it could be, that it should be, but had never been.
It had me all messed up inside, and rather than fight it, I was so very tempted to just give into it and to pretend.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” he said and pressed a firm kiss against my hairline.
I sighed out and closed my eyes, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“You think you’re ready for this?” he asked, changing the subject, but I was in such an exhausted state of feel good, it took me a second to realize he meant the ride we were leaving on in the morning, not me getting the fuck away from my toxic damn family and taking my brother with me where he would be safe from all their bullshit.
