Deal with the Devil

by Stacia Stone

  “Pretty good, sweetheart.” He smiles down at me in the mocking way that I’m really starting to hate. “Of course, I’m gonna have to punish you that much harder now.”

  “What! Why?”

  His smile is darkly amused. “You think you can manipulate me with good head?”

  “I wasn’t—” My voice fades at the knowing look in his eyes. We both know exactly what I was trying to do. “That’s not fair.”

  “Life never is, baby.”

  Before I can decide if I should be terrified or aroused, he scoops me up and strides toward the bedroom with me in his arms. He kicks open the bedroom door and then drops me unceremoniously onto the bed. I scoot back against the headboard and watch him warily. The bedspread is rough against my bare backside.

  Leo sheds his white button-down shirt and tosses it somewhere in the general direction of the hamper. Then he surprises me when he does up his pants and tucks himself away. He slides the belt out of the loops of his slacks until it hangs loosely in his hands.

  He catches the confused look on my face and smiles slightly. “It’s nice bit of power imbalance, don’t you think? You scared and naked, while I’m still mostly dressed. If I dragged you outside right now, no one would pay me any attention.”

  I hate that I shiver at the thought. Equal amounts of fear and arousal moving through me. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I can’t decide if I love it or hate it. He coils the belt in his hands, obviously priming it for action.

  “You’re a sadist.” He raises an eyebrow at that and I quickly add, “Sir.”

  “That’s a fancy word to throw around, especially considering that I haven’t even hurt you yet.” Leo walks slowly toward the bed. He holds the belt in a loop between his hands and snaps it loudly. I can practically hear the sound of leather on leather in my bones. “Get on your knees. I want your ass in the air.”

  I slowly move to obey him. It might just be the most degrading position that I can imagine. He moves slowly around the bed. I have to tilt my head at an awkward angle to follow the movement.

  “You’re going to cry for me, Mara.” His voice is devoid of emotion and so cold that I feel the chill of it in the very marrow of my bones. “I’m not going to stop until I see tears.”

  I just stare up at him, too dumbfounded for words.

  “What’s the least sexy word you can think of?”

  It seems like a strange question to answer with my ass literally up in the air, but I try anyway. “Um…smorgasbord.”

  The ghost of a smile passes over his lips but quickly disappears. “If anything I do gets to be too much — hurts too bad — you say that word. But you better fucking mean it.”

  “What if I can’t cry?” Real fear has started to replace the desire. The question is my last ditch attempt to appeal to his humanity. I shouldn’t be surprised that it doesn’t work.

  “Then you’re in for a world of hurt.”

  The first lash of the belt is more surprising than it is painful. It isn’t until the second one that I realize a slow burn builds into a terrible fire.

  “Shit, Oww!”

  “Shut up.”

  His tone makes me want to slap the shit out of him, but I feel an answering coil of heat in my belly at the way he’s talking to me. It doesn’t make any sense.

  Why am I letting this happen?

  Leather whistles through the air and I feel another crack across the tender skin of my upper thigh. His hand follows the belt, roughly groping so the pain sharpens into something harsher and more immediate.

  “I don’t see any tears, Mara.”

  I don’t understand why this is so important to him. Before I can think too much about it, the belt strikes me again in almost the same spot that it did before.

  The pain of it rips a scream from me. But I still don’t cry. My eyes feel liquid and searing, but still, the tears don’t come. He might just kill me before they do.

  “What’s it gonna take to melt the ice princess?” Leo’s voice is mocking but relaxed as if he has all of the time in the world to torture me. “Do you need something stronger? I just sharpened the knives in the kitchen.”

  Part of me wants to hold out. Let him keep going until he kills me because my pride refuses to just let him win.

  He hits me again, hard enough that the pain is immediate and devastating.

  Tears spring into my eyes completely unbidden. I feel them burning trails down my cheeks.

  The moment that they do, Leo tosses the belt away. He climbs onto the bed and turns me so I’m lying on my back. I stare up into his face through a watery haze.

  Now that the tears have started, they don’t stop. I don’t even know what I’m crying for. Maybe for everything and for everyone — myself, my grandfather, maybe even my mother.

  Maybe even for him.

  Leo stares down at me. His fingers stroke my cheeks and play in the salty wet of my tears. I can’t read the look on his face. But it almost looks like sympathy and maybe a little regret. No, that can’t be right. I remind myself that this is the man that just threatened to slice me open with a kitchen knife.

  And then he lays a gentle kiss on my forehead — in acknowledgment or commiseration, or maybe just because.

  And then the floodgates open.

  He wraps me up in his arms as I begin to sob. The tears draw a blubbering noise from deep inside me, from the place where I had tried to bury all of my emotions. And I know that I’m not just crying for right now, but for everything that came before. For Papa, who went to his grave convinced that no matter how much he accomplished that he needed to be something more than he was. For my mother who doesn’t really know how to love anyone, not even herself.

  I’m also crying for myself.

  Leo waits until the racking sobs abate and the tears have dried on my cheeks. I look at him, not sure what I’m expecting to see — sympathy, maybe, or even satisfaction. But the expression on his face is carefully neutral, like he isn’t even a part of it anymore.

  And I realize that this wasn’t just about hurting me because seeing me in pain gets him off. He’s also doing this for me because he thinks I need it.

  And maybe I do.

  This time, I kiss him. My lips are soft and sweet as they move on his. He doesn’t try to deepen the kiss or take control. I don’t know what to think about that. Now that he’s seen me breakdown, has that killed the mood? Does he not want me anymore?

  I pull back from the kiss and stare up at his face. His expression is still gentle but expectation blooms in his eyes. I just don’t understand what he wants from me.

  My hand drifts up, almost of its own accord, and gently touches his face. “Please…sir.”

  Leo lowers his head until his lips just barely brush the shell of my ear. I think he’s going to whisper something sweet, maybe even loving.

  “Beg me to fuck you.”

  The filthy words make something contract in the pit of my stomach. I don’t care that it’s degrading and a little humiliating. I can be a feminist and still desperately want him to bash me over the head and drag me off like a caveman.

  “Please, fuck me, sir. Please, please. I can’t wait anymore—.”

  Whatever else I was going to say is swallowed up by an all-consuming kiss. He devours my mouth, licking and biting like I’m some tasty dessert that he just can’t get enough of.

  Leo shoves me back onto the bed with one hand as the other works at the fly of his pants. My legs fall open and he slides between them. He enters me in one smooth stroke. I’m already so close to the edge that stars burst in my vision.

  His hips surge forward and I gasp at the forceful invasion. Raw pain blooms as my walls slowly expand to accommodate him, but that quickly gives way to a rush of pleasure. My breathing comes in hitched gasps and too fast like I’ve just run a mile.

  If it’s possible to die from too much pleasure, then I just might.

  My hands roam up over his shoulders and down his back. I can’t sto
p the frantic movement. He withdraws until the tip of him just barely touches my entrance. I make a frantic, needy sound deep in my throat. He rushes forward again until he’s completely sheathed in one hard stroke.

  My nails dig into the sweat-slick skin of his back, hard enough that it will probably leave a mark. His body weight moves more fully onto me and one of his hands moves up to wrap around my throat.

  The frenetic pulse in my neck beats against his fingers. He uses the grip to pull me harder down on to him. The movement is so rough that I know I’ll feel like I’ve beaten come the morning. When his fingers tighten, I feel a matching surge of pleasure, shocking me.

  I could die like this, I think. And I would go with a smile on my face.

  I’ve never been dominated like this during sex. I realize what I must have been missing by wasting time with the boys at school. Leo is a man. He fucks me like he owns me.

  His body slams into mine. The hand not on my throat slips down between us to stroke the sensitive little ball of nerves right above my opening. He plays my clit like a musician. Lightness swells in my head. The electric waves of shock coursing through me are almost more than I can handle. It’s ecstasy and it’s torment.

  “Come for me,” he growls against my cheek. “Come with me. Now.”

  I explode like a firecracker shooting off into the night sky. It’s all light and sparks. I’m temporarily blinded by the force of it.

  Leo’s own orgasm transforms his face. For a brief moment, I get a glimpse of what hides behind the stony exterior.

  Something moves in my chest, like fingers have wrapped around my heart and gently squeezed. It’s a feeling that I don’t have a name for, but I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon.

  Chapter Eleven

  Leo

  I am fucked.

  It’s obvious from the way Carmine’s glaring at me that the negotiation with the Devil’s Rejects isn’t going the way he wants it to.

  We’re alone in the back room at Sonny’s Bar, which Carmine has turned into a sort of office. It’s where he’s been doing business for the last couple of weeks.

  Physically, Carmine Lugati doesn’t look much like what most people imagine as a mafia boss. His unlined face makes him look at least a decade younger than he really is. Brown hair, that’s more sandy than chestnut, flops over his forehead like he just spent the day catching waves. His perpetual tan just adds to the image of a California surfer.

  Except, Carmine has a mean streak that’s a mile wide. I don’t plan to ever go up against him unless I have absolutely no choice.

  “What the fuck is going on, Leo?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and lean back against the door. It hasn’t escaped my notice that Carmine doesn’t offer me a chair. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you had your guys go after those MC fuckers.”

  “It’s my crew and I run it how I want.” Technically true, but I have a feeling Carmine knows that it hadn’t been about business. “That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “You still need to tell me why.”

  “They were nosing around where they didn’t belong. I could have clipped them, but I just delivered a warning instead. You should be appreciating my restraint.”

  “I look appreciative to you, asshole?” Lines of stress deepen in the corners of Carmine’s mouth. Shit, maybe things are worse than I thought.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “The fucking truth, for one. I got a meet setup with Adrian Hancock. He’s the boss of that Apocalypse MC in Philly. This shit is about to turn into a war. Give me a good reason not to just let them have you and wash my hands of all this shit.”

  I’m a surprised at the threat. “The fuck, Carmine?”

  He leans forward on the desk, hazel eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. “What the fuck is really going on? I know you didn’t go after those MC fucks just to get your rocks off. You running some shit on the side and thinking I won’t find out?”

  “Hell, no.” This could go bad. If Carmine thinks I’m trying to come up behind his back, he’ll get rid of me for sure. I’d do the same thing if our positions were reversed. I don’t have any choice but to tell him the truth — or at least some of it. “They were putting the screws on someone. I helped her out as a favor. They should have kept to their side of town anyway.”

  Mistrust still rolls off him in waves. “A favor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You said she? Who’s the broad.”

  Fuck. I couldn’t just refuse to answer him. “Mara Matarazzo.”

  Surprise momentarily eases the suspicion on his face. “Vito’s granddaughter?”

  “Yeah. I promised Vito before he died that I’d look after her.”

  It’s an uncomfortable reminder. I doubt Vito had exactly this in mind when he begged me from his deathbed to protect her. But fuck, he probably still thought of her as the little girl with pigtails that he took out for ice cream. Not the sexual fantasy fodder that she’s become.

  I almost missed this meet because she was walking around the apartment with one of my shirts on. And nothing else. Her ass is way too distracting.

  Fucking her has been a revelation. I’ve had my fair share of women, but there’s something very different about her. It’s not just that she lets me whip her ass and does what I say, even when she doesn’t want to. It’s something else, too. Something that’s entirely unique to her. It makes me think thoughts that I’ve never thought before.

  “Why would the Devil’s Rejects give a fuck about Mara Matarazzo?” Carmine’s snarled question pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Vito’s daughter, Cecile, and her piece of shit husband put ‘em up to it. They’re trying to get to the money Vito left her. He cut Cecile out of the will.”

  Carmine lets out a low whistle. “That’s cold-blooded. Everything’s good now?”

  “Should be. Mara’ll be headed back to school soon. This was a one-time deal. I didn’t know it would be the start of something bigger.”

  Carmine sighs and rubs his temples. He looks tired. I wonder if being boss is harder than he expected.

  “Look,” he says, voice calmer than when I first walked in. “Mara seems like a sweet kid, but this is interfering with business. I’m not going to war over some chick, even if she is the old boss’s granddaughter. Understand?”

  “I get it. This is the last time you’ll have to hear about it.”

  “It fucking better be.” Carmine gestures for me to sit and I slide into the chair in front of his desk. “I’ve got something I need you to do.”

  He starts talking about some local deli that just changed hands. The new owner isn’t too keen on paying his protection money. Carmine wants me to straighten out the “misunderstanding”. I listen to the details with a sense of relief that’s almost heady. I need to work and get my mind off of the woman currently walking around my apartment half-naked.

  Mara is a distraction, I’ll give her that. But I refuse to let her be anything more.

  Something has changed between us, even if I can’t put my finger on exactly what. Mara stares at me sometimes when she thinks I’m not looking. The expression on her face is assessing and a little dreamy, as if she’s thinking about something really hard. Most of the time, I just try to ignore it.

  I’m uncomfortably aware of her presence in the apartment. She keeps leaving her shit everywhere. The bathroom sink always has some new beauty product sitting on the counter with the top off. Because she can’t be bothered to close the shit up and put it away when she’s done. I find cabinets open in the kitchen that I know I left closed and laundry on the floor in the bedroom. I’ve started threatening to give her a belt across the ass for every piece of clothing I find that’s not folded in a drawer or put in the hamper. That’d which has helped some. But she enjoys the spankings enough that it doesn’t always work.

  I can smell the light perfume of her shampoo hanging in the air. It’s present even when she’s no
t in the room. It’s impossible to forget she’s there.

  You think I’d be counting down the days until I could sign the annulment papers and take her back to Ithaca. But the thought of her leaving now produces a bittersweet feeling in me. I don’t feel relief when I imagine her walking away.

  You just don’t want to stop fucking her, I tell myself. She might just be the best lay that I’ve ever had. But that’s as far as it goes. I don’t need another fucking wife, especially one that can’t even bother to clean up after herself.

  I’d heard from one of the guys I tasked with keeping an eye on Vito’s house. The bikers have cleared out. Mack and Cecile haven’t been seen around there for the last week or so either.

  When I told Mara, she begged me to take her over there so she could get a look of the damage. I agreed against my better judgment if just to shut her up.

  There have been more than a few times when I don’t recognize the man I’ve become. Getting run around by a broad has never been on my list of acceptable behaviors. It’s tempting to tie her ass to the bed and leave her there for a few hours, just to remind both of us who the fuck is in charge.

  Mara seems relaxed in the car on the way over. She doesn’t even seem to notice that her hand has moved over mine where it rests on the shifter. Her fingers gently play along the skin on the back of my hand.

  “You haven’t heard anything else, right?” Mara asks, breaking the companionable silence. “You’re sure they’re out of the house.”

  I shrug. “Pretty sure. I think all of that shit with the MC has cooled off, too. You might be in the clear. This plan of yours might have actually worked.”

  “I hope so.” She looks a little wistful and turns to stare out the window. “It’s gonna be weird going back to school. I doubt I’ll ever come back here.”

  “Yeah,” I grunt.

  “Are you going to miss me?” she asks, voice teasing.

  “I’ll miss fucking you. You’re pretty good at sucking dick.”