VICIOUS MEN: THE COMPLETE VICIOUS CITY COLLECTION

by Renard, Loki

  I need to stay in control. She needs to lose it.

  “Do you want to cum, Kitty?”

  I hear a soft moan and nothing more.

  “Answer me. Now.” I fist her hair and pull it back, making her raise her eyes to me as I thrust my thigh between hers. The hard ridge of my leg finds her soft sex. She pushes back, grinding, dry humping me like a teenager.

  “Yesss….” The word is dragged from the very core of her.

  My hand goes to the breasts my whip has tasted, my fingers finding the tips of her nipples. I pinch them lightly as she rubs her crotch over my leg, shamelessly stimulating herself. The whip has made the world a different place, it has intoxicated her with endorphins. She would do anything right now, sexually at least. But she still isn’t telling me what I want to know.

  “You’re going to cum for me, Kitty, because you’re a naughty girl and you like pain, don’t you… don’t you!” I insist more, my fingers pinching her nipples harder. She jolts her hips forward, grinding against me with growing desperation.

  I am giving her almost nothing in the way of stimulation. Not my kiss. Not my cock. Just my fingertips and my thigh, and that is enough for her to rub her frenzied body over my leg. In my experience, sexual release like this is symptomatic of long periods of repression. This is a girl who usually keeps her nose clean. Stays away from the wrong men and the wrong situations. Now she doesn’t have a choice. The juices from her sex are soaking through her leggings and dampening my pants.

  “I do,” her admission is hissed through clenched teeth.

  My hands slide from her breasts and find her bottom. I pull her forward, harder against my thigh, giving myself enough room to swing my arm while still keeping her in her shackles, and I slap her round ass hard and fast, jolting her against my hard thigh over and over until she screams her climax and goes limp in my grasp.

  Kitty

  I collapse, sated, hanging from my shackles. That was an orgasm like I have never had before. He just took everything that was pent up inside me and released it in one torrent of pure pleasure. The sensation is still rippling through my body, making me tingle all over. My bottom aches where he slapped me, my breasts sting from the little kisses of the whip, and I am trapped on the fulcrum of his thigh, my pussy grinding against his leg until he withdraws and steps back.

  I am a mess.

  “I’m still not going to tell you what you want to know,” I gasp weakly.

  “Uh huh.” He smirks, triumphant. He’s already back to business, standing before me cool and collected while I lean against my shackles and try to gather a semblance of thought. “Let me tell you what I know, in that case. Yesterday, you took a message to a man. You met him at the municipal library. Your exchange was uneventful, at least on the surface.”

  That’s right. That’s exactly what I did yesterday. “What the… if you knew, why did you take all this time interrogating me?”

  “You can always assume I don’t ask a question I don’t know the answer to,” he rumbles. “You will have to get into the habit of answering me when I ask. Not because I don’t know, but because it is your duty to tell me.”

  He comes forward and unhooks my shackles. My arms are aching, and I am flushed and embarrassed at my reaction to his treatment. All it took was a touch of the whip and I was lost in sensation, ready to give my intimate self to him.

  Vicious could have taken full advantage of me. He could have… I don’t even dare to think of all the things I would have allowed him to do to me once that lash started to land.

  Blaze is right. I don’t have much sex. That’s because most sex is pedestrian and uninteresting. Grunting and thrusting, in and out, in and out, nothing exciting. But when there is pain, that’s when I come alive. That’s when my desire rages out of control. I just rutted myself shamelessly on a near stranger’s leg because he used a whip on me. Any respect Vicious might have had for me must be obliterated by now.

  “Asshole,” I groan, collapsing down onto the couch he guides me over to. As I grow weaker, he seems to be growing stronger. I curl up on the soft surface. To my surprise, he pulls a blanket over me, his hand drifting lightly over my hair.

  “Rest, Kitty. You’ll need your strength.”

  I lie there, utterly undone. I don’t fully understand what happened. On a mechanical level, it was just a sexual encounter, and not even a very explicit or intimate one. He was fully dressed the whole time, and for the most part, so was I.

  I have been running on adrenaline for hours. Suddenly, I am bereft of it. He has given me release which lets the full force of my exhaustion be felt. I have to stay alert. I have to keep whatever shreds of control remain. I have to…

  3

  Vicious

  My sweet Kitty is asleep on my couch, curled up beneath the blanket with a sweet expression on her face.

  That was hot, if not informative.

  I figured she’d put up a fight. I didn’t think I’d have her chained up and orgasming on my thigh within hours of meeting her, but I reckon I can roll with that. Everyone has their price, their trigger, the thing they’ll work for. For most people it’s money. For this girl, it’s pleasure - or perhaps pain. Maybe both. I haven’t quite figured her out yet.

  Things are going well though. While she sleeps, I pour myself a couple of fingers of my best whiskey and get some work done. There are a lot of moving parts in my operation and I have to know what each one of them is doing. The cogs have to keep turning at all cost.

  My phone lights up with a new message more or less just as I glance at it.

  S: YOU GOT A MOMENT?

  Shoot

  S: I GOT THE STUFF.

  I take a swig of my drink before texting back.

  I’m at the place on Scorpio Drive. Bring it by.

  It’s probably a risk doing business with Kitty here, but if she’s going to be part of my operation, I’m going to have to trust her with a lot more than this. Plus, she’s unconscious, sleeping like a baby. She looks so fucking sweet with her mouth slightly open, drooling on my couch just a little.

  My guess is she’s probably just recharging for another round of resisting me. I don’t expect her agreement to work for me to last very long. Once she gets a taste of what that really means, she’s going to want to run.

  About ten minutes later, the elevator opens. I put my finger to my lips and gesture at the couch as Slick slips in. It’s unnecessary really, Slick has never been one for making a lot of noise. It’s his job to be perfectly quiet.

  “Who is that?” He mouths the question as I draw him to the other side of the open room. I don’t want to leave her on her own, just in case she isn’t really asleep. This girl needs a close eye kept on her.

  “With any luck, the new courier.”

  “Oh, you picked her up? Cool. I have the schematics.”

  Slick isn’t overly interested in, or even curious as to why the new courier is passed out on the couch. Even if he was, he knows better than to ask questions. He is a consummate professional, a long term associate and probably one of the closest people to me in the world.

  We spread the documents he brought with him on a table and start going over them.

  “There’s a lot of security,” Slick says. “But it’s outdated.”

  “So we could get in without much trouble.”

  He shrugs. “Well, outdated doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. There’s a lot of manpower. We’d need a distraction.”

  “Not a problem. Our old friend Dynamite has been bored lately.” Dynamite is one of the men who works for me. At least, when I have something that needs his specific skill set.

  “A distraction that doesn’t destroy a city block,” Slick smirks. “Something refined and mundane. Like, I don’t know. A sewer leak or similar.”

  “That could work,” I nod. “Let’s go over the target again.”

  He pulls out a photo. And there she is. A twelfth century painting of a woman wearing nothing but a smile and a long skirt. She’
s cradling a lamb under one arm. Allegedly it’s a portrait of Mary Magdalene, reimagined by someone or other. The details of the artist are not important. The fact that the painting is worth an estimated forty million dollars is. It’s owned by a man who should have known better than to cross me. Not an enemy per se, more like a client who didn’t pay his bills.

  Kitty thinks I’m a murderer, but that’s hardly true. A man like me has to have a reputation, or he’ll spend every minute of every day looking over his shoulder. There’s rarely any money in killing people. There’s plenty of it in taking them for everything they’re worth.

  A vibration at my side heralds a new message. My phone lights up again. This time it’s not a message from a friend. This time it’s an SOS code.

  THE BAKER IS IN THE OVEN.

  Not the worst kind of emergency, but it needs my attention. Unfortunately, so does Kitty.

  “Can you watch her? I’m going to deal with this.”

  “Sure,” Slick shrugs. “She a flight risk?”

  “Let’s say yes.”

  He nods. “No worries. See you when you get back.”

  Kitty

  I wake up, not realizing that I had fallen asleep.

  “Well, hello.”

  The voice that greets me doesn’t have an English accent. It has a New York twang, a heavy one similar to mine.

  For a second, I have the amnesia of the freshly woken. The couch is comfortable and the place is nice and - oh shit, it all comes back. Vicious kidnapping me, the river, this place... shackles.

  I push up from the couch and sit on my knees, rubbing my hand over my face.

  “Sleep good?”

  My head turns in the direction of the voice, and my hand stops over my mouth.

  Blue eyes run over me. Through me. I am caught in the gaze of an predator. Tall, with a dancer’s body. Pale eyes like ice.

  This man isn’t Vicious. But it could be his Nordic brother. It’s not that they look alike. They’re not physically similar at all, but there’s a sameness about them. Something in their eyes. And they are both handsome enough to turn heads wherever they go. These aren’t men who can slip in anywhere and not be noticed - maybe at a male model convention, but I don’t imagine either one of them has much business in that sort of place.

  This man has longish hair that risks falling into his eyes. He’s a little younger than Vicious. Maybe thirty or so.

  “Where’s Vicious?”

  “He’s out. You must be the new courier.”

  “Uh no, I’m not.”

  “Oh?” His brows lift in surprise.

  “I’m Vicious’ new captive, pending release.”

  He gets up and leaves the room without a word. I hold my breath. Last time a man did that in this apartment, he came back with a whip. When this guy returns, it’s just with a sweater. He tosses it to me, his eyes dipping down to where my body is exposed under my torn shirt.

  “Thanks,” I say, trying not to blush as I pull it on. It’s pale blue Cashmere, and it feels amazing against my skin.

  “So,” he smirks. “You think resisting is a good idea.”

  “I know it is. Fuck that guy.” I’m feeling particularly brave without Vicious here, and I have some pride to reclaim. A lot of it, actually. I’ve woken to a world of shame, one where I threw myself at a criminal.

  Blond’s smile grows wider. He has one of those grins that lights up his face, a broad, easy smile which makes me feel much better about everything even though nothing has changed.

  “Brave girl,” he notes. “Though, I’d like to see you say that to his face.”

  “Yeah, I bet you would. You’re a bad influence.”

  “I’m Slick,” he says, extending his hand across the space between us.

  “Kitty,” I return the introduction. His grip is firm and warm.

  He’s not dressed like he’s just come from a board meeting, not like Vicious who seems to think every day is a day to wear formal attire. Slick is wearing a tight t-shirt which does a lot to showcase the hours he must spend in the gym.

  “So I’m going to head out,” I say, awkwardly. Vicious isn’t here and soon I won’t be either.

  Slick watches me as I get up and head toward the elevator. I try to act natural, as if this is all normal, as if there’s no reason for him to even think about stopping me.

  Just as I press the button for the elevator, one long arm reaches over me and Slick’s body blocks the doors.

  “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” He smiles down at me, calm and charming.

  I find myself smirking back at him. “Well, I mean, I had to try.”

  “Sure you did,” he agrees, pointing back to the couch. “Go sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

  I find myself doing as he says, not because I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me, but because he has a relaxed, easy way about him that makes complying feel less like falling into a void of total undoing.

  He goes to the kitchen and bangs around for a bit. I’m expecting coffee or tea or something, but he comes back with a beer. It’s exactly what I need.

  “How did you know?”

  “You look like a beer girl,” he says, settling into an armchair nearby. His every move is smooth, but I notice that he’s stationed himself between me and the elevator doors. I am still every bit the prisoner I was when Vicious was here.

  “So you work for him?” I ask the question after taking refreshing swig of the beer. Outside, the day is starting to turn golden as the sun fades toward the horizon. It has been a long day. From brunch with Blaze, to bodies with Vicious, to beer with Slick. And what came in between, that shameful, entirely out of character orgasm Vicious dragged out of me.

  “With,” Slick says. “Not for.”

  “So you’re assistant regional manager,” I quip. “Not assistant to the regional manager.”

  He smirks, catching the reference. “It’s not quite that formal.”

  I take another sip of my beer. I’m starting to feel a little warmer and a little better, even though I’m still captive.

  “I’m not going to work for him,” I say, conversationally.

  “No?” His golden brow rises again, and that ready smile makes another appearance.

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t like money?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  It’s not entirely true. It’s not that I don’t like Vicious, it’s that he scares the shit out of me. The sooner I get out of this place, the better.

  “Well, I don’t blame you. After what happened to the last courier…”

  “What happened to the last courier?

  “Don’t worry about that,” he says. “You’re not going to work for Vicious anyway. You’re going to be the first person to ever successfully turn him down.”

  I let out a nervous little laugh. “Yeah, I am.” I take another sip of beer and side eye him. “You should help me get out of here.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I don’t want to be here. Because I was kidnapped, and beaten. I’m innocent, and I need your help.” I give him a wide eyed look with a little girl pout. I am hoping that my disguise will do what it needs to do: make me look like a damsel in distress and activate whatever kind of inherent masculine capacity for pity he might have

  His eyes gleam. “Uh huh. Now I see why he had the whip out. You’re just full of reasons for him to use it, aren’t you, little girl.”

  Slick’s voice takes on a deeper, more resonant tone and his entire demeanor shifts without him moving at all. It’s his energy that has changed. I’m no longer looking at his casual, easy going facade. I’m seeing the side of him I first detected when I looked at him the first time. He’s cold underneath it all. Ruthless. Just like Vicious.

  I sink back into the couch, pull the blanket over my lap and drink my beer. I really need to get out of here. If I spend too much time with them, I might get… I don’t know, addicted or something.

  Another u
ncomfortable truth is starting to make itself apparent. I like these people. I don’t want to, but I do. There’s something very raw and immediate and alive about a criminal, someone who has decided that they don’t care about the comfortable rules which make the rest of the world feel safe. The consequences of what they do range from imprisonment to terrible death. They don’t care, because it’s the freedom that matters. Vicious wasn’t afraid to kidnap me, and this man, Slick, isn’t afraid to keep me. Their refusal to follow the rules of society frees me as well.

  Maybe this is what Blaze has been seeing all along.

  My job takes me to the fringes of this world, but I was never really part of it. Until now. Now I am sitting in one of Vicious’ homes, held captive by his friend, waiting for his return, wearing the marks of his displeasure on my body.

  “I think you liked the pain,” Slick says, interrupting my silence with a sly smile.

  “What?”

  “When he whipped you, I think you liked it.”

  “I think it’s none of your fucking business,” I snap back, my face beginning to heat with embarrassment. I don’t want to talk about what happened between Vicious and me, or what it means. I don’t know how this man seems to know either. Has Vicious been gossiping about me? Is this some kind of underworld locker room?

  “Easy, tiger,” he chuckles. “No shame in liking being disciplined. You look like you need it.”

  Okay, this conversation is getting worse by the moment.

  “You’re a criminal. What do you care about discipline?” I try to discourage him, but it doesn’t work.

  “It’s even more important when you’re outside the law. Have to establish order somehow, keep the little devils in line…” he leans forward. “And you’re quite the little devil, aren’t you…”

  My heart starts to pound. My hips begin to squirm. My body is reacting to him, and I can’t help it. Oh god. Not again.

  “Cut it out, Slick. She’s not yours to toy with.”

  I didn’t ever think I’d be glad to hear those overly refined tones, but right now Vicious’ return saves me from death by blushing. Slick has gotten under my skin.