Wild Card

by Renee Rose

  “Bullshit. You missed me. Admit it.”

  His lips actually quirk. “A little.”

  A rush of pleasure rolls through me. “A lot.” I finish my first taco and pick up the second.

  He neither confirms nor denies.

  "Are you still watching my brother?"

  He doesn't answer, just takes another mammoth bite of his taco.

  "Leave him alone," I warn, all serious now. Not that I have anything to back up my warning. "I mean it. I did what I was supposed to do."

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.” He finishes his second taco and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

  I pick up my lemonade and take a long pull on the straw. “Thanks for lunch,” I repeat as I hop off the stool. “I’ll see you around, big guy.” I give him a saucy wink and a toss of my hair as I sashay out.

  It was a great exit and I enjoy getting on my bike and riding away, imagining he’s still watching me. It’s only after I’m riding that I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.

  Whether I should’ve given him my number and told him to call next time instead of watching from his car window.

  And then all those thoughts disappear.

  Because when I get to my apartment, I find it swarming with FBI.

  I guess the jig is up.

  Chapter 8

  Caitlin

  I give them my full display of fuck-nuts. Every agent who questions me leaves rolling his or her eyes.

  And then after a night in jail, and the realization that this may be the rest of my life, I shut down completely.

  No more talking. No cray-cray. Nothing.

  They’d get more out of a catatonic schizophrenic than they’ll get out of shut-down Caitlin.

  So when I’m called out of my cell to meet with my lawyer, I barely register it. I hardly see the tall blonde with the firm handshake. I don’t hear what she’s telling me as she pushes some papers across the desk.

  “Ms. West? Do you understand the charges against you?”

  I can’t bring myself to answer.

  She frowns. “You do understand that I’m working for you, right? Are you afraid of Mr. Tacone?”

  I blink once. Twice. What is she saying about Mr. Tacone?

  “What?”

  “Is that why you won’t cooperate with me?”

  I straighten in my chair and attempt to finger comb my mess of hair out of my face. I glance down at the papers she put in front of me. Lucy Lawrence. That’s the name of my attorney. “What’s happening?”

  She cocks her head and gives me the “are you nuts?” expression I’m so used to. “Mr. Tacone hired me to get you out of here. Are you willing to enter into the plea bargain I described?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, would you mind repeating it?”

  She’s patient with me. Now that I focus, I see she’s extraordinarily beautiful and the perfect mix of a sharp professional with the human kindness that’s often missing from her type. “You enter a guilty plea in exchange for returning the full amount and we emphasize the fact that you’re a graduate student in computer science and this was just an experiment on your part. You didn’t believe it would actually work.”

  I blink some more. “I-I don’t have the money to return. It’s”—I clear my throat—“gone.”

  “Mr. Tacone will pony up the missing funds.” She gives me a sharp look. “And I have no information about that arrangement.”

  The world starts to take shape around me again. I’m in a room. With a lawyer Paolo hired to get me out of here.

  “Yeah. Okay. Where do I sign?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I’ll definitely make a deal with the devil to stay out of jail. I was already dead in there. I take the pen from her and sign.

  Four hours later they walk me out of my cell, return my personal effects and release me.

  I blink in the sunlit room. I’m still moving slowly, as if through molasses, or maybe it just feels that way. I’m in a bubble. There are people all around, but I don’t see any I recognize. I pull on my jacket and clutch my bag and step out the door and into the sun.

  And fall straight into Paolo Tacone’s arms.

  Paolo

  I hold Caitlin, but she’s dead weight. There’s no life in her face, in her posture, in anything about her. That flame that’s usually so bright in her is completely out.

  If I could go back in time and make a different arrangement with Caitlin West, I would. How I thought I could watch her go down for the crime she committed because I held her brother’s balls in a vise, I can’t imagine.

  Nothing ever felt so wrong as when I watched her arrest televised on the news. That photo of her flashed on the screen, the picture of her in handcuffs being led away.

  I’m pissed as hell it took so long for my lawyer to get her out.

  I will seriously commit murder if I find out she was mistreated in there.

  “Come on, doll. Let’s get you out of here,” I tell her.

  She lets me maneuver her into the car. She docile. Easy to manage. Possibly in shock.

  Is this what shock looks like?

  “You okay? Talk to me.” I say when I speed away and she still says nothing.

  “Where are we going?” she asks dully.

  Cristo, I would do anything to make her feel better right now. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Your place.” Her tone is flat, but I’m relieved by the answer. At least she didn’t ask me to drop her at home. I’m definitely not willing to leave her alone in this state.

  “What do you need, doll? You hungry?”

  She turns to look at me, but I don’t get the feeling she’s seeing anything. After a long moment, she says, “I want you to hurt me.”

  The flush that runs through me is both lust and fear. My body responds to her request, but my brain rebels. Hurting her is the last thing I want to do right now. And it scares me that she thinks she needs it. But yeah, I’m not going to deny her anything. I’d give my left nut right now if it brought her back to life.

  “It helps me come back into my body,” she explains.

  I relax a little. Okay. She’s been here before. This is part of Cirque du Caitlin. Fine. I can definitely roll with it.

  I take her to my house and bring her to the bathroom where I strip off her clothes and put her in the shower. “How do you want it?” I lean my head through the shower door. I figure I have to prepare while she’s cleaning up.

  The water runs down her face, over her pale breasts and belly, down her slender legs. “Belt, please. And, Paolo?”

  “Yeah, doll?”

  “Don’t stop until I cry.”

  My stomach drops. I may like to put the hurt on, but it’s contingent on her enjoying herself. Making her cry is something else altogether.

  Obviously not a foreign act for me, but it is with a lover.

  With someone I care about.

  I don’t make any promises, I just shake my head. “You’re not in charge, are you, little girl?”

  I see the first hint of a smile. “Talk tough to me, big guy.”

  I relax. That’s the girl I know. And this is definitely a role I can play for her. And for me. For both of us.

  I wait until she’s out of the shower and toweled off and then I tie her face down to the bed, arms and legs spread wide. I pick a wide, flexible belt and roll the buckle end around my fist.

  “Ready, doll?”

  “Mmm,” she agrees. She’s limp and relaxed—which might be a good thing except I would expect her to have a little more excitement. This isn’t post-orgasmic bliss, this is something else.

  Not in her body, I guess she said.

  I give her a few light spanks with the belt and she doesn’t even flinch, so I lay one down hard.

  She jerks, buttocks clenching, feet kicking at the ropes I used to secure her.

  That has to be a good sign. She felt something, anyway.

  I give another hard lick, th
en another.

  The muscles in her back tense and she lifts her head. Her feet jerk in the ropes some more.

  “Okay, doll?”

  “It’s good,” she pants. “Really good.”

  I whip her again and again, keeping it hard enough to produce welts, to make her gasp. Then, after a dozen or so at that pace, I lighten the strokes and go faster. She wiggles and writhes under the belt, moaning.

  Still no sign of tears.

  Cazzo, how much does it take to bring a masochist to tears? Her ass is already red.

  I lay a few down on the backs of her thighs, which makes her jump and gasp, then go back to the lighter strokes all over her ass.

  I stop and squeeze her cheeks, massaging and kneading them. I dip my fingers between her legs and taste her juices.

  Fuck it.

  She can take a sex break.

  I pull her ass cheeks apart and lick her from clit to anus and back again. The position isn’t great, but I flick my tongue over her piercing and tease her folds as much as I can.

  “You’re going to get fucked hard now, little girl,” I warn her.

  She turns her face to the side to look at me. Her eyes are soft, like I just said the most romantic thing. “Paolo.” There’s gratitude in the way she says my name.

  I almost laugh. Whips and chains are this girl’s roses and chocolate. And that’s just fine by me.

  I shuck my clothes and roll on a condom. I keep her bound and helpless for the fucking, just climb up over her and slide in.

  She clenches around me, that tight pussy squeezing like a fist.

  I growl with pleasure and slam in deep. Her body lurches forward, but she only travels an inch, bound too tightly by the ropes.

  Perfect.

  I brace my weight on my hands and ride her. I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of being inside her again. Of hearing the little moans she makes, the cries.

  But then she goes quiet again.

  Not wanting to untie her yet, I pull out and get the lube. Anal penetration will be hard to ignore.

  I lube us both up generously and push in. I was right, she’s back to gasping and crying out, making those cute little sounds of pain and pleasure that get me harder than stone.

  I fuck her, working one hand beneath her to rub her clit at the same time.

  Her breath turns to pants, her cries grow louder. “Please, Paolo,” she begs.

  “Come, little hacker,” I command, thrusting the cone of my fingers into her pussy as I shove deep into her ass and orgasm.

  Her muscles flutter around my fingers and she comes with a strangled cry, her anus tightening almost painfully around my cock.

  I wait until she’s done to ease out and bring a washcloth to clean her up. I don’t untie her, though. Maybe after her orgasm, she’ll cry.

  I grab a wooden spatula from my kitchen and sit beside her. Last time she cried it was talking about her dad. I don’t have it in me to do that to her. Not that I’d even know what to say. I’m about as far from Dr. Phil as they come. I speak more with my actions.

  “Look at me, little hacker.”

  She turns her head, those beautiful blue eyes more open and aware than before, but still lacking her usual fire.

  “It’s time to give me your tears. You owe me them,” I tell her, which may or may not be true, but I know she likes it when I get bossy. I slap her ass with the wooden spatula and she flinches, but then sort of relaxes into bliss.

  Harder, then.

  I smack the same place with more force and she sucks in her breath on a gasp.

  “Ow.” First time I’ve gotten an ow. “Thank you, sir.”

  I smack her just as hard on the other side. “I don’t want your thanks. I want your tears. Cry for me, Caitlin.” I proceed to paddle her ass, alternating right and left, watching closely as she tenses and holds her breath. Then starts to whimper and jerk.

  Still, it's taking too long. I don't want to keep hurting her. She doesn't deserve it, not that this has anything to do with deserve.

  "Cry for me, Caitlin. You better cry now or I'll take you back to that jail where I found you today." It's a cruel thing to say but it works. Caitlin breaks.

  One sob erupts, then another. I work quickly to untie her and settle beside her, drawing her into my arms. She burrows into me, crying against my chest until she's wrung out. I stroke her hair, kissing the top of her head.

  Hoping to God this is what she needed, and I didn’t just cause more harm.

  Caitlin

  Paolo Tacone just saved me from hell.

  The man just got me out of jail, then gave me exactly what I needed to shake off the trauma. I rest my head on his chest, blinking at nothing.

  All the terror and shame emptied out with my tears. I’m in a state of nothingness now. Drained, but okay. Paolo’s on his back and I’m tucked against him, my head resting on his shoulder.

  Paolo nudges my face up to peer at me. “You still seem pretty checked out, doll. Did something happen in jail?”

  I sense the violence ripple through him, like he’s going to slit some throats if he finds out I got jail-raped or something.

  “No,” I assure him. “I was just scared.”

  “Understandable.”

  I lean up on my arm to look at him fully. “Why did you come and get me?” I’m not stupid enough to think I won’t owe him big time for this. Favors don’t come for free, especially not from mafia men. But I still want to know why he even bothered. I didn’t ask for help. He just showed up with it.

  Maybe he wants me to start hacking for him on the regular. Some new mafia scheme.

  His brow wrinkles. “Girl like you doesn’t belong in jail.”

  I cock my head. “Girl like me?”

  “You’re like a wildfire—hot. Bright. A fast burn. Nobody should dim your light, doll. I never should have let that happen.”

  Butterflies take flight in my tummy. He does care. He definitely cares.

  “I had a plan going in, you know? I was going to scare you into restoring the money and then let you go. But then I met you. And you’re you. And I shoulda changed the plan.” He shakes his head, regret etched in every line of his face. “I don’t know why I didn’t.” He brushes the backs of his fingers across my collarbone. It’s not a sexual touch, but it’s intimate. Sensual. “You know I didn’t mean what I just said about bringing you back, right?”

  “Of course,” I answer. And I do. I know he just said the thing that would get me to cry, and that’s why I’m floating on gratitude over here. Because there are very few people in this universe who would go there.

  But Paolo’s an out-of-the-box kind of guy.

  I guess you have to be to be a hitman and a sadist to get me.

  I don’t know why I think that’s such a problem.

  I straddle his hips, no longer feeling vacant or devoid of emotion. I feel like me again. All parts of me—the complete me. The crazy me. The smart me. The nymphomaniac. The scared me. And still very much grateful me.

  I rub my breasts over his chest, purring. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  His cock bobs behind me, nudging between my cheeks. He’s ready to go again. I rise up and impale myself on his cock slowly, watching his jaw go slack, feeling his length get harder and thicker.

  I rock my hips, seating him deeper, and lean forward on my hands, rubbing my boobs over his hairy bear-chest. “So what is your plan for me now, big man?”

  He grips my hips and starts conducting, pulling me over him to ride his cock. Controlling the show.

  “This was pretty much my plan.” His voice is gravelly. I like the way his breath stutters out on the exhale.

  “You’re going to keep me as your love-slave?” I purr.

  Of course the idea turns me on—I’m a little maso who loves to be used. But that’s just thinking about it as a short-term kinky scene. In actuality, this could be my worst nightmare. Still, I can’t muster the reservations I should be feeling right now.

 
“Uh huh. No disrespect intended, of course. That gonna work for you?”

  I sit back on my haunches and let him bounce me over his cock, my tits swinging. “For how long?”

  “I figure you can work off your debt to me, one sex act at a time. Just like this.”

  Okay. So still a prisoner. Just a longer timeline now. Good to know.

  I run my nails through the hair on his chest. Scrape them lightly across his nipples. “What’s the going rate?”

  He thrusts his hips up while pulling me down, forcing me to take him deep. “Let’s say five hundred bucks per sex act. And I’ll even count all the times you got me off last week, since that was so generous of you. Especially considering I was shaking you down.”

  My mouth stretches into a wide smile.

  He doesn’t return the expression, but he says, “I like it when you smile like that. You’re really fucking hot, Caitlin.”

  And then I want desperately to please him. I reach behind and cup his balls, rub over his prostate while I ride him.

  Paolo growls and flips us over, so I’m on the bottom and he’s on the top. He leans on one hand and strokes in and out, staring down at my face like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

  I pinch his nipples. He pins my hands beside my head. “I’m not wearing a condom.”

  “I’m on the pill,” I say automatically. Of course I missed a couple nights when he kidnapped me but I made them up and I can make up last night’s missed pill, too.

  “Good, because I want to come inside you.” He doesn’t worry about my orgasm this time, which I find kinda hot. Like I’m his love slave now so my pleasure isn’t his concern. Basically, it just ensures that I come as hard as he does, maybe harder.

  And then he grins. It transforms the normally gruff expression on his face.

  He makes no comment, just sends this affectionate smile as he hovers over me, still buried deep.

  We stare at each other like neither of is sure how we got here, but we’re glad we did.

  And for just this moment, I want to forget everything—grad school, jail, my father’s death, foster care, taking care of my brother. I want to forget Paolo Tacone is a powerful hitman for the mob and just be.