by Gina Whitney
“Then take it out on me. If you’ve had a bad day, I want to carry that burden for you. I can take it…” I practically begged as softly as I could, my words and breaths becoming caught in my throat. Pain rolled through my body, yet fear was nowhere to be found. Didn’t he see? Didn’t he understand that I wanted to be this person for him? I wanted to be the one who’d bring him back from the ledge he teetered on. I wanted to be the one to calm his storm, to put out his fires…the one he could count on at the end of it all.
“Fuck, Jordana.” His voice fought for control, sounding strained and forced as it tore from his lips, followed by ragged, desperate breaths of air. “I need something. Will you trust me?”
“Of course.”
I remained calm and kept my eyes shut tightly, anticipating his next move as he rolled me onto my back. While the air shifted around me, the sound of drawers opening and slamming shut echoed in the room, bouncing off the cold walls and running through me. I had to bite my lip to keep the smile off my face. I knew what was next, and so did my aching pussy. The situation flourished to explosive levels as it grew inside of me, the anticipation increasing with every passing second. I knew what he’d gone to retrieve—it was the one thing he sought out anytime his mood had become this dark.
“Eyes on me.”
My eyes flew open as my hands fisted the sheet below, awaiting what was to come. The cool tethers of a leather flogger swept softly across my pussy in one agonizing stroke. I held my breath, refusing my lungs the oxygen they needed. Just fucking do it already. My body craved this kind of kink—his rigid stroke and the hold he had on me. This is what kept me grounded when everything else in my life was in turmoil.
“Christ, Jordana,” he said, the flogger dropping to the floor with a light thud. His breath came out labored, his eyes never leaving mine. Was that guilt I saw? His warm hands touched the fresh marks. Tiny kisses rained down across my flesh, heating me up all over again.
When his eyes are clear and his mind isn’t hazy with the daily life of family business, he hated to see the marks he left behind on my body—the red outlines of his hands, the teeth impressions left behind by his overzealous bites, and the small, circular bruises on my hips caused by the desperate grasp he had on me. However, they never seemed to bother him when he’d put them there while blinded by the stresses of his daily life…the stress I couldn’t help but provoke. He said my skin was too perfect to be riddled with his pain. But those marks turned me on so much. They branded me as his. And I loved nothing more than to carry that reminder around with me…on me.
He was only two years older than me, but sometimes seemed older. His eyes were tormented and besieged with baggage that went beyond his twenty-eight years of existence.
“Tell me I didn’t hurt you too badly. That I didn’t push you too far.” The fear in his eyes nearly broke me. Seeing it caused my heart to swell, knowing the meaning behind it. He could act as tough as he wanted, say as many hurtful things as he could come up with, but in the end, he cared about me. Those eyes told me that if I ever left, he’d be devastated.
I reached for him, bringing his tanned hand to my lips. The gesture seemed to surprise him. However, the slight smile on his lips told me that he appreciated it. “I’m very much with you,” I said in a mere whisper, brushing my dry lips with the rough pads of his fingers.
He pulled his hand down my body and moved it between my thighs, running his fingers along my seam as my wetness coated his knuckles. His eyes flared with carnal desire as he groaned, licking my juices from his hand. “Amazing…all this pain, and yet you’re drenched. Hmmm, my girl likes it rough. Flip over and spread your legs wide.” His voice was calm, soft, yet still demanding and full of control.
I did as I was told, and without another word, he pushed into me. I groaned at the feel of his girth filling me. My body instantly clenched around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper. He seated himself deeply while his hands held me in place, his hot breaths hitting my bare back in waves. The last of my self-control slipped away. I truly belonged to him in that moment. Whatever he wanted to do with me, I was in.
He eased back and thrust into me again, hard. His thighs hit the backs of mine, reactivating the burn from his fresh handprints while the momentum rocked my clit against the edge of the mattress—a killer combination. I whimpered my approval into the sheets against my face.
“I know I hurt you. I should be gentle. But…it’s not possible. I need to fuck you hard, Tesoro. You understand? Do you understand what I need?”
I mumbled something that resembled yes, unable to find my voice for more.
“Say it so I know you understand. What do I need?” he questioned, seeking my verbal acceptance.
“You need me hard,” I said through my wavering breaths. “I want it hard, Stefan. Please, don’t hold back. I need you to fuck me.”
His thrusts slowed, his breaths deepened, and even without seeing his eyes, I knew something about my words, about this moment, struck him. “I own you, Tesoro,” he whispered hoarsely, picking up his slackened speed. “And not just for tonight. You’re mine. Tell me you’re mine.” His voice was desperately strained as he rocked into me deeper, his thrusts becoming punishing. Something inside of him changed, and he took it out on my body.
“Always yours.” I gasped, never needing to question the validity of that statement. I whimpered as his fingers found my engorged clit. My world began slipping away as he pinched me roughly, my orgasm almost too much. “All yours. Not just tonight. Always. Always yours.”
“That’s fucking right.” His voice came out tight and labored, a hint of pride running deep in his tone. “I’ll always give you pleasure. What you give me…I could never thank you enough. Your trust in me to take care of you…invaluable.”
My hand reached for him, barely hanging on to my sanity. He’d never spoken like this before, never given me these words. I would’ve worried that it had been the moment, the intensity of our passion that fueled his sentiment, but I knew him. And I knew he was never one to get caught up in any moment. Never one to lose control in any situation—intense or otherwise. “Stefan…”
“Hands above your head or I’ll stop,” he demanded in a deep, guttural tone.
I did so, threading my fingers tightly together above my head. I knew he would stop if I didn’t. But I didn’t trust myself to keep them there. I needed grounding. Something to hold on to. Something to keep me from drifting away. My cries escaped, echoing off the walls as he repeatedly hit my g-spot with force.
Stefan let out a slew of filthy, dirty expletives as he ground out his orgasm. A primal groan released from his lips as he spilled himself into me. Our breaths began to slow to a normal pace while we floated back to Earth from our orgasms, drifting down from our high in a tangled mess of sweat and limbs on the sheets. He kissed my forehead before pulling out, causing me to immediately grow cold. A sudden emptiness grew within me.
Exhaustion colored his face along with sweat as he fell to the mattress beside me. His lids began to lower, hiding his dark chocolate eyes from my sight. I hated when he did that. My favorite moments were when he let me look deep into them, searching his soul for the words I knew he’d never say. But I knew he felt them, because I could see them in his eyes. However, I couldn’t argue, considering he’d given me more words tonight than he’d ever given before.
I own you, Tesoro. And not just for tonight. You’re mine. Tell me you’re mine.
“Mmm,” I hummed and began to close my eyes as well, still too incoherent to form actual thoughts.
“Motherfucker,” Stefan gritted out, the harsh word cutting through the warm feeling that engulfed my body and forcing my attention back to his face.
“What?” Panic filled me, choking me.
His expression grew grim as his blazing eyes roamed over my body.
After taking a quick peek, I relaxed with an exhale. “I’m sure I’ll live.”
“God-fucking-dammit,” he said, his tone ful
l of distraught—anguish. “I can’t let you push me this far. And you can’t let me get to this point.” He pointed appallingly at the fresh welts on my ass. One in particular already started to bruise.
“Don’t you fucking start this shit. Not now…not ever. I don’t need you to go easy on me. I can take it. It’s not like you’ve disfigured me or anything.”
His eyes narrowed on mine. “Jordana… You shouldn’t provoke me like this. It’s not safe. You know how my temper can be when I’m pushed too far. I don’t like being that far gone with you. What will happen if I’m so blinded by anger that I don’t know when enough is enough and I end up really hurting you? I need to be in control when we play like this. And I lose control when you test me the way you do. I don’t trust myself when I’m like that.”
I gently laid my hand over his cheek and said, “I trust you,” adding emphasis to “I” so he knew it didn’t matter if he did or not. “You need to trust me enough to know my limits and tell you when it’s too much.” I pulled my hand away and felt my energy already waning. “Stefan, I came here with the understanding of what would happen. I knew before I ever stepped off that elevator that you’d had a bad day. This isn’t our first rodeo. Please, don’t treat me like a child. I’m a grown woman who knows exactly what I want—what I want with you. We are adults. Consenting adults. I’m capable of telling you to stop if I need to, and you’re man enough to listen, no matter how blinded by anger you are.”
He let out a long, arduous breath and shook his head vehemently. “I know you’re a grown, capable woman, Tesoro. That wasn’t what I meant. You have a habit of twisting my words to suit your own need for control. Try all you want, but that is never going to happen here, in this room—ever.”
Stefan pulled away from me and headed to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth. I felt too tired to do much else but sleep, and far too possessive to wash his cum out of me. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t shower for a few days, relishing his scent. His touch. His taste.
Once he was finished cleaning me up, he threw the washcloth on the floor and pulled me against his chest. The smell of sex clung to the air like a blanket of eroticism. I sighed against his skin, wishing I could bottle it up and keep it with me forever.
He was quiet, which meant he was lost in thought. That left me curious and insecure—two things I detested. But I couldn’t fight off the worry over what he’d do when the light of day came. I didn’t want him to regret his possessive words. I’d fought too hard to hear them, I’d never let him take them away. “You okay?”
He didn’t respond right away, and the silence became deafening as it rang in my ears. However, instead of words, he pulled me even closer, nibbling my neck. Gently, he craned my head to the side to meet his gaze.
“Everything’s okay…right?”
Doubt clouded his eyes. Not good. “I’m not sure, Tesoro.”
My father called me to his office the following morning. Normally, I’d play out about a hundred different scenarios as to why—a bill needed to be taken care of, my brother needed something, or an appliance was broken in the house and he needed me to make a call. But with the effects of my time with Stefan last night still coursing through me, I didn’t bother wasting my time figuring out what he wanted ahead of time.
My father never hid the family business from me, but he never included me in the gory details, either. It was a two-headed coin with him. He allowed me to handle the financial aspects of the legal bars and clubs he ran, but that’s the extent of it. But I was completely aware of his role in “the family,” so being asked to his office wasn’t abnormal. However, meeting with him—in his office no less—typically occurred at the end of the month when it was time to go over the books together. But this was not the end of the month. And this meeting was not scheduled.
“Men are the head of family and company,” he’d say. “We are the feet that keep the family moving. We are the brains that make the smart decisions and the soul that keeps it alive.” For as long as I can remember, it’s been driven into me that men are greater than women at everything except taking care of the house and childbirth.
It’s not that he thinks women are pointless, otherwise he’d never tell me shit about the family. He trusted me because his blood ran though me. And he depended on me a lot since my mother passed away. But if he called me to his office in the middle of the month, that could only mean a handful of things, none of which were good. I was just thankful that I had seen Stefan and now felt settled before this impromptu meeting.
“Have a seat, Jordana.” He pointed to a chair opposite him at his desk. The computer was off, his books were closed, and he wasn’t on the phone. It was serious.
“What is it, Daddy?” I sat with my spine straight, my hands in my lap, and spoke with a steady, strong voice. It didn’t matter how serious the situation, my feet wouldn’t falter, my brain could process anything, and my soul was strong. I could hold my own against any man, yet my father refused to acknowledge that.
“It’s Matty. He’s gotten himself into some trouble.” His eyes never left mine—waiting, watching, anticipating my reaction. I knew what he sought, but he’d never outright ask me. He’d called me to his office to see what I could do to help. He’d done it before around the house…missing items he needed help finding, the gardener not showing up on time. Things he expected me to handle, yet would never come out and say it. Instead, he’d complain about it until I took charge. And then he’d complain that I hadn’t taken the initiative to begin with. I couldn’t win with him.
“What is it this time?” I hadn’t been surprised. Matteo—Matty—was a typical seventeen-year-old boy. There wasn’t much he didn’t do…or try. I constantly had to pull him out of trouble, in and out of school. When he had a problem, he always came to me first, knowing it would be safer to ask for my help than to have our father involved. Without a mom around, most of the motherly duties fell on my shoulders when it came to my brother whether I wanted that task or not.
But this was the first time I had been called to Daddy’s office because of Matty, which meant it must’ve been serious, but that still wouldn’t make me stammer. It still wouldn’t make me weak or frantic—things my father assumed women were when faced with difficult situations. Stefan tied me up, whipped me, stretched me, and expected me to be silent through it all. There wasn’t much I couldn’t handle.
“He’s in deep with the Giannottis. About half a mill deep.”
Stefan’s quietness and unease the last time I saw him hit me like a ton of bricks to the chest, all while my face remained stoic. I would never let on what went through my head. The Giannottis? Stefan Giannotti and his family were in the business of loan-sharking. And they collected, by any means necessary. His family wasn’t one you wanted to owe money to. It made no sense that my brother would go knocking on their door for money, and made even less sense why they’d give it to him behind my father’s back. There was bad blood between the families, sure, but handing half a million dollars to the teenage son of another boss was just bad business.
“Why would Matty be in debt with them when we have just as much money? If he needed it that badly, he could’ve come to you…right?” It was a risky question, but I threw caution to the wind and asked anyway. My mind spun, trying to sort everything out.
My father leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the armrest. I knew that look. He did it when debating what to say, or how to phrase his words. “He came to me and asked for money. I gave him some. When he came back for more a week later, I denied him. I thought he was just blowing it on girls again, trying to impress them like he always does. I had no idea he was going to some back-alley bookie. I never thought he’d go to the Carraras to place bets. And I certainly didn’t think he’d go to the Giannottis to get the money behind my back.”
Had the moment not been so serious and heavy, I would have laughed in his face. His theory of men and women just blew up in his lap. But I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t b
e selfish about this because it was so serious. Not only do we not take kindly to unpaid debt, it made it worse that his unpaid debt was owed to an opposing family. Business was cutthroat as it was, add in serious competition, and it’d equal a bloodbath.
The Giannottis were responsible for most of the running numbers and loan-sharking within a two hundred mile radius of us. My family was responsible for pretty much all the underground bets—the other bookies were the Carraras. They were a small family, and not much of a threat to us…unless one of our own played in their sandbox. The seriousness wasn’t so much them, as it was the money owed to Stefan’s family. If it were only a few unsettled bets placed with the Carraras, we could handle that no problem. But from what it sounded like to me, behind those bets was a mound of collecting debt to a family you never wanted to cross.
“Then pay it off. What are you waiting for?” My tone was hard and accusing, both of which I’m sure he didn’t appreciate. No one spoke to Gene Albanese that way, regardless of bloodline.
“Five hundred is what he borrowed. That’s not including the vig. It would take too much time to come up with that kind of money. They’ve given us a week. I’d need longer.” And of course, the Giannotti’s vig—the interest—was astronomical; it was their way of ensuring they got paid. Smart play on their part, yet dire consequences for those who owed it.
“Okay. So, let me see what I can do. I can check the books at the clubs and see how much we can come up with.” I slid to the edge of my seat, ready to do what was needed to get my brother out of the mess he made.
Daddy shook his head firmly and leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled in front of his face. “No, Jordana. I’ve already checked those books. Most of the money is already tied up in other obligations. Taxes, payouts, wages… You know we keep those businesses on the up and up.”
