His Captive_A Mafia Romance

by Nikki Chase

  The sight stokes the fire inside me. I don’t care if it hurts. I want him inside me.

  As Damon presses the head of his cock against my opening, I feel it pulsing, and my pussy clenches instinctively.

  There’s no need to worry. My body knows exactly what to do.

  “I’ll make you come princess,” he says as he pushes inside me. “I’ll make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

  That’s exactly what I need. I spread my legs, allowing him free admission to my body. Damon enters gently, letting my muscles stretch to accommodate him before going deeper.

  “You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he says as I feel his balls press against my ass. “Does it hurt?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good.” Damon grabs my hips and pulls me flush against him. He groans with pleasure. He fucks me at a leisurely pace, pulling all the way out before he thrusts all the way back in, letting me get used to his size.

  Damon presses the pad of his finger against the hood of my clit, making me arch my back from the sensation. As he increases the pressure, my body shivers all over.

  Just as I feel the peak beckoning, Damon pulls out of me. Before I can protest, he flips me onto my stomach and pushes my knees up until my ass is in the air. I look behind me to find Damon kneeling behind me.

  He cocks me a smirk then thrusts inside me. I’m so wet he goes in all the way in one smooth move. His pace is perfect. I start to rock my hips back to meet his thrusts.

  “Good girl,” he says. “You like it, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I try to look over my shoulder but Damon grabs my waist and pushes me down.

  He lies on top of me, then pulls my hair and whispers, “Just take it. Take it like a good girl. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

  His weight on top of me makes it hard to breath, but I manage a response. “Yeah.”

  “Very good.”

  Smack!

  Damon’s palm makes contact with my ass, and I cry out. At the same time, my pussy muscles clench around him, gripping him harder.

  “I knew you’d like that, princess. You’re a bad, bad girl. You like it when I hurt you?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Say it,” he says as he fucks me harder, making my cheek rub against the couch with every thrust.

  “I like it when you hurt me,” I say.

  Damon places his arms on both sides of me, making it so I have no escape. I’m totally trapped. He pulls my hair with one hand while his other hand seizes my hip and slams me onto him again and again as he thrusts into me.

  “Beg me to make you come,” he demands.

  “Please make me come, Damon. I beg you. Please,” I say feverishly. I’ve lost my inhibitions now that my instincts have taken over.

  “As you wish.” Damon slides his hand over my stomach and between my legs, then he rubs my clit insistently as he fucks me harder and deeper.

  I clench the couch as jolts of pleasure shoot up and down my body. “Damon,” I scream out his name as my body goes into overdrive, shaking and quivering out of control.

  Damon grunts as he pulls on my hair harder, his movements frantic as he bites me on the shoulder. Then, with one deafening blow, Damon unleashes inside me, his cock twitching inside me as he fills me with his gooey orgasm.

  As I catch my breath, he lays down on top of me, resting his whole weight on my back. Just when I think I’ve fully come down from the peak, my whole body shivers, my muscles clenching around Damon one last time. He chuckles as he gently strokes my hair.

  Violent and gentle. Dominant and powerful. Kind and protective. Angry and guilty. Damon is an enigma wrapped in contradictions.

  And I’ll never see him again.

  Damon

  6.15 p.m.

  I feel like an executioner walking the condemned up the creaky wooden stage to the noose.

  Sure, Elena isn’t the one whose life I’m going to take, and my executioner’s hood is invisible, but I imagine I’m feeling the same ancient sense of doom and guilt executioners did.

  But justice must be carried out. Otherwise, what kind of a world would this be?

  The sun has disappeared outside, and the sky has turned a dark shade of purple. The car frame slices the warm street lights that spill inside, casting a yellow glow on our laps for a short moment at a time.

  “Damon,” Elena says quietly, breaking her silence.

  “Yeah?” I glance at her. She’s wearing her red dress and black jacket again, but her face is sober, in stark contrast to her girlish excitement when I picked her up from the airport.

  Before the night ends, her heart will be broken.

  The longer she spends with me, the more pain I’ll inflict on her. I wish that weren’t the case.

  Yet, the plan must go on. I decided on that a long time ago, and it would be a big mistake to change my mind over a girl. I’d regret that for the rest of my life.

  “Have you made a decision?” she asks.

  “About what?”I feign ignorance.

  “When I asked you what you were going to do to my dad. You said you hadn’t decided yet.”

  The muted hum of the car engine fills the silence.

  I can’t think of a single thing to say to Elena to make her feel better. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I’m not blind. I know she has feelings for me.

  Her lover is about to kill her father. Do the words exist that will make her feel like that’s not a big deal, like that’s not going to leave a life-long scar for her?

  “Damon, I need to know,” she says. “I wanted to ask you before this, and I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I was afraid of what the answer would be. But now, I need to know.”

  I rented this car mainly because my bike would be too conspicuous. Also, to be honest, I was hoping to have one last conversation with Elena, maybe give her some closure, let her know this isn’t about her.

  Yes, I’m using her to get to her dad. But despite that, I care about her. I always have, even back when we were just kids. It never seemed appropriate, so I killed those feelings.

  Now that I’ve had an intoxicating taste of what we could be, forgetting this whole thing will be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.

  Maybe this rental car wasn’t such a good idea after all. Conversation won’t do anyone any good. I should’ve gagged Elena from the moment she arrived at my apartment until after I’ve carried out my whole plan.

  “Damon. Please.” Elena puts her hand on mine and strokes my forearm.

  “He’ll have to pay for what he’s done, princess,” I say finally.

  “What does that mean?” she asks. “Do you mean the money and the clubs? Or do you mean you’ll kill him?”

  I remain silent. I don’t want to torture her by keeping her in suspense. But would it really be better for her to know for sure that her dad will die at my hands?

  Her grip on my forearm tightens. “Damon, I know he’s a bad person. I’m his daughter, and I know that. But maybe there’s a different way to punish him.”

  I glance at Elena and notice tears have welled up in her eyes. Even though I know she’ll shed even more tears tonight, I can’t help but feel my chest tighten at the sight.

  Maybe I should’ve gotten Giovanni to take Elena to the meeting place—not Antonio because he would’ve scared her and maybe even touched her inappropriately, but Giovanni would’ve made a better escort than me.

  “Damon. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” she asks again, her hand slipping onto my thigh.

  Anger flares up within me. “Get your hands off me.”

  With a jump, Elena pulls back and sits firmly on her side.

  “Don’t act like you only did what you did to bargain for your dad’s safety. You know you wanted it. You know you liked it. I know it too.” I shut my mouth.

  I’ve said too much. I should’ve been able to control myself. But I can’t stand the thought that everything that has happened between us
could be a lie, that she only did everything she did to bargain for her father’s life.

  It was real. Despite the circumstances, it was all real. I need to believe that for the sake of my sanity.

  After my parents died, I’d been feeling numb. I tried everything—alcohol, drugs, women—but nothing worked. Ever since I learned the truth from one of my dad’s closest friends, only my plans of vengeance could help me get through the days.

  Elena feels like a breath of fresh air. When she’s around, I no longer feel like a walking zombie. I notice the warmth of the sun, the brightness of her smile, the gentleness of her touch . . .

  “Sorry, Damon,” Elena says softly. Her voice is small.

  It breaks my heart that she’s afraid of me, but what other kind of outcome did I expect?

  “You are going to kill him, aren’t you?” she asks.

  Ignoring her question, I park the car by the curb and turn off the engine. “We’re here.”

  Elena

  We’re here,” Damon says.

  I look around.

  It’s dark here. It’s not even the kind of dark where the light poles are spaced too far apart to evenly illuminate the street but you can still kind of see what’s around you.

  There are street lights lining up the street, yes. But none of them work. Did Damon get his men to break every single one of them or were they already broken before tonight?

  The only way I know we’re in a residential area is because I saw houses—dark, empty, abandoned ones—before he turned off the headlights.

  “Damon,” I say, grabbing his hand. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to be touched anymore. This is far too important. I can’t give up just because he yelled at me. “Please tell me what’s going to happen.”

  “Justice is what’s going to happen, princess.” Damon opens the glove compartment and takes something out, then he grabs my hands firmly, pulls them behind my back, and ties them together.

  The rope he uses is soft, and he’s not hurting me, but tears fill my eyes anyway, making it even harder for me to see where we are.

  “Damon, please,” I beg him.

  Damon says nothing. He just continues working on his knots as I start to sob.

  As he reaches into the glove compartment again, his shoulder graze mine and we get close enough for me to smell his musky scent.

  He looks exactly like the Damon I know and love, and he smells the same too. So why is he acting like a stranger? Maybe I never really knew him at all?

  “I’m sorry, princess.” Damon wraps a long piece of cloth around my head and over my mouth, using it as a gag. “I promise you I won’t hurt you.”

  I scream against the gag, but Damon doesn’t even flinch. He won’t hurt me? He’s hurting me right now. How is killing my dad not going to hurt me?

  He may not have said it explicitly, but I’m not dumb. If he were planning to let my dad live, he would’ve said so.

  My dad should’ve stayed home and not bother coming here to give Damon his demands. After all, this was entirely my fault. I was the one who came to Damon of my own free will.

  He didn’t even have to kidnap me or fight my bodyguards to get to me. What an idiot.

  And now my stupidity is about to cost my dad his life. After decades of surviving the dangers of the mafia world, I’m about to become his downfall.

  Is there really nothing I can do? Must I just sit here while my dad gets murdered?

  As Damon opens the driver’s side door and walks out of the vehicle, I swing around to pull the door handle and kick it open. Jumping out of the car, I run as fast as I can along the sidewalk, getting away from Damon.

  I can’t warn my dad not to come here. But I’m sure he’ll ask to see me before doing anything else. When Damon can’t show my dad he has me, my dad will know something’s wrong. I can buy him a little time.

  My legs carry me down the street, the wind whooshing in my ear in the darkness.

  I can do this.

  The houses here are mostly dark and empty, but all I have to do is find just one that’s occupied.

  As soon as I see lights turned on inside one of these houses, all I have to do is pound on the front door. They’ll call the cops for me. And then I’ll—

  Wham!

  My lungs collapse as I tumble to the ground, my knees scraping against the rough concrete.

  As soon as I can breathe again, I scream as loud as I can. But even if there was someone who could hear me in this neighborhood, they’d only hear muffled noises. Definitely nothing that would prompt anyone to call the cops.

  Tears run down my cheeks, seeping into the gag and dropping onto the gray, concrete sidewalk.

  “I’m sorry, princess,” Damon repeats.

  No! I won’t forgive you! I want to tell him.

  But it’s too late. There’s nothing I can do now.

  Damon tugs me up to my feet and grabs my arm. But when he tries to make me walk back to where we came from, I pull back with all my strength, putting my entire body weight behind it.

  But Damon doesn’t budge. He just lets out a deep sigh before he leans down and effortlessly scoops me up onto his arms.

  “You’re going to come with me one way or another,” he says.

  I kick my legs and struggle, but Damon doesn’t even slow down.

  With my head against his chest, I can hear his heart racing. Maybe he’s not as calm and in control as he seems to be.

  But I can also feel how hard his body is, how big his muscles are. Hell, I’ve heard and seen him pound his sandbag every day I was in his apartment. He can take on three of me, and he’d still win.

  I have no chance of escaping, not when his whole plan depends on me being there. And my dad has no chance of fighting him either. He’s fit and healthy for his age, but he’s so much older than Damon.

  That means there’s only one outcome tonight. Whatever Damon wants, that’s what’s going to happen.

  I feel like I’ve been sitting against the wall forever. But I know they’re supposed to meet up at seven, and my dad is always punctual, so it must’ve been half an hour at the most.

  A single emergency light sits on the floor in the middle of the room—if this space can be called a room.

  The front door has come off the hinges; it’s leaning against a wall. The paint has peeled off the walls, and the tiles on the floor are broken into small, probably sharp pieces.

  Damon has been talking to Sunglasses (although this place is so dark even Sunglasses has taken his sunglasses off). They speak in hushed voices, too busy to pay much attention to me.

  Teeth must be with my dad right now, bringing him here from their meeting place.

  I’ve been shifting up the wall inch by inch, my fingers fumbling around behind me, trying to find just one piece of ceramic tile I can use as a makeshift knife to slash the rope around my wrists.

  I got my dad into this trouble, and now I’ll do my best to get him out. Maybe it’s too late, but I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t do anything.

  I rest my butt on a patch of uneven concrete, and my heart starts beating faster. This could be it. If I’m sitting on a patch of floor with broken tiles, I might find my weapon here.

  Then I hear the hum of a car engine. Looking through the broken windows, I see a car stopped right outside. It’s a black sedan. I can’t make out what kind it is, but it could be one of my dad’s. Or maybe Teeth’s. There are two dark silhouettes in the car.

  Damn it. There are pieces of tile all over the room, but I can’t find any in my corner? Did Damon clean this area before putting me down here?

  My heart pounds so hard I start shaking as a man steps out of the car. I don’t need any lighting to tell who that dark silhouette belongs to. I’ve seen it almost every day of my life.

  Dad.

  Even though I know it won’t do much good, I try screaming again. I want to tell him to run away; Damon won’t hurt me anyway.

  He’s no saint, Damon. But as the dau
ghter of a man who hurts people for a living, I know that even criminals will protect what’s precious to them.

  But of course, my dad can’t hear what I’m trying so hard to tell him. Even if heard my muffled screams, he’d probably interpret them as cries for help.

  “Damon.” My dad’s voice. The soles of his Italian leather shoes tap loudly against the floor and cause a ghostly echo.

  Watching him walk inside the abandoned house makes me want to cry again. It’s so weird to hear his familiar voice in this completely unfamiliar environment where he doesn’t belong.

  He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be anywhere near Damon.

  “Enzo,” Damon says. “Good to see you made it here.”

  Tears well up in my eyes and quietly roll down my cheeks as Damon and his men take their places. My dad faces Damon, who has his back to me. The other two men stand behind my dad.

  My dad glances at me but quickly looks back at Damon. He’s guarded, as he should be. It’s so unnatural, my dad not being in a position of power. I never thought I’d ever see him like this.

  “Is she hurt?” my dad asks.

  “No,” Damon says.

  “Let her go.”

  “Show me what you’ve got first.” Damon shakes his head.

  My dad puts a black suitcase on the floor. “All the paperwork is in here. Signed. The money too.”

  “Good,” Damon says. “Now open it and show me what’s inside.”

  “Give me my daughter first,” Dad insists.

  As the two of them go back and forth, the suitcase falls on its side with a loud thud.

  Heads jerk to face the source of the noise. Hands reach into jackets.

  “It’s just the uneven floor,” Sunglasses says as he takes his hand out of his jacket.

  Uneven flooring and broken tiles. That’s right. Stop crying, damn it, I tell myself. This is not the time.

  The atmosphere is tense as the men eye one another, noting where they keep their guns as my dad crouches down to open the suitcase and show its contents to Damon and his men.

  I flinch as something sharp pokes my finger. Is that . . .?