by Nikki Chase
This tattoo, though, stands for something else.
“All done, doll.” Luca’s voice is dripping with lust.
I may have been the one to come up with the idea to get a tattoo, but obviously, he enjoys branding my skin and watching me go through this pain, too.
I look down at my outer thigh, where one word is written on my skin in black ink. The skin underneath the fresh tattoo is raised and angry. The cursive script looks girly and flirty. It sits near the top of my thigh, so most people will never get to see it—except Luca … and medical professionals, I guess.
I read the word out loud. “Doll.”
“That’s right. That’s what you are,” Luca says darkly as he takes off his black gloves. He climbs up onto the bed and sits between my open legs. His hungry eyes are fixated on my soaked pussy. “You’re so wet you’re dripping onto the bed. What kind of a doll gets this dirty?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m a bad doll,” I say.
“That’s right. And bad dolls get punished, don’t they?” Luca yanks his clothes off in record speed.
“Yes, Sir.”
Every time I see those six-pack abs and the V-shaped ridge just underneath, I get the urge to lick him all over. I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call this hot, tattooed hunk my husband sometimes. My gaze drops to the thick, hard cock in his fist.
Luca hovers over me, making my heart pound. My hands are restrained to the bed with handcuffs, while my legs are spread wide apart by a metal bar that’s attached to loops around my ankles.
I’m completely helpless. Utterly at Luca’s mercy.
“This may not be fun for you, doll, but I don’t care.” Luca’s eyes glint dangerously as he presses his shaft against my pussy lips. Keeping his eyes on me, he grinds against me, sliding up and down my petals.
Instinctively, I whimper and lift my hips up off the bed.
“What’s that, doll? You want me inside you?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir,” I moan.
“Okay.” Luca pushes against my opening, and I hold my breath. But instead of spearing into me, Luca stays still. His fist wrap around his shaft and he jerks himself off with just the head of his cock inside me.
“Please, Sir,” I beg. “Please …”
“I’m inside you, like you wanted,” he teases me.
“Please … I want you all the way inside me.”
“You should’ve said that,” he says, suddenly thrusting so deep he steals my breath away.
My eyebrows squeeze together and my lips part as I gasp. My breathing grows ragged, following the rhythm of Luca fucking me.
With my legs spread, all I can do is let Luca take what he wants and try to enjoy it. Even after being with him for a whole year, it still hurts the first few seconds he’s inside me. But the pain, especially if he’s being rough, only makes my arousal grow.
“You like that?” Luca asks, trapping my gaze.
I bite my lower lip and nod. “Yes, Sir.”
“Let’s see how you like this.” Luca smirks as he pulls out of me.
I moan in frustration as my muscles clench around air. It feels empty. I raise my hips, but quickly realize my mistake when I feel Luca moving to my ass.
“Are you going to fuck me in my ass, Sir?” I ask nervously.
“What if I am?” Luca rubs the head of his cock, slick from my arousal, between my cheeks.
I whimper. “Please fuck me in my pussy, Sir.”
“I just did.” Luca cocks an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me what to do, doll?”
“No.” Nerves flit around inside me. But whatever Luca wants, I want to give it to him. I want to please him, even if I don’t enjoy it myself. I want to be used. “You can fuck my ass if you want to, Sir.”
“Good girl … I’m going to reward you.” Luca pushes into my pussy, making me sigh with relief and relish. But it’s not long until he pulls out again.
I look up in apprehension and watch darkness take over his green eyes. He smirks.
“Now I’m all lubed up and ready to fuck you in the ass,” he whispers in my ear.
Luca puts his hand on my head as he slowly thrusts inside me, stretching me painfully. Every time I try to inch away, he pushes me down onto his cock.
“This ass is mine, and I can use it whenever I want. Right, doll?” he asks as he buries himself to the hilt.
“Y—Yeah,” I say as cold sweat dots my forehead.
“Does it hurt?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Luca starts his ramming into me, saying, “Take it.”
I give in to his demands, letting my body go limp as a ragdoll and letting him play with me however he wants.
Luca looks down at the place where our bodies meet, then drags his gaze back up to my face, watching me like he owns me.
His hand moves between my legs and I moan when he lightly pulls on the curved, barbell-shaped jewelry embedded in my clitoral hood. I’ve been so sensitive since I got the piercing, Luca only has to touch me on the right spot and that’s enough to get me off.
“Does it feel good?” Luca asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I see. So you like having my cock in your ass, don’t you?”
I can’t deny that it makes me feel dirty—in a good way. “Yes, Sir.”
“I knew it. You’re my dirty doll.” Luca pushes two fingers inside my pussy as he starts to earnestly slam into my ass.
I scream as the pain and the pleasure swirl together inside me, driving me mad with their all-consuming intensity. My body shakes involuntarily. Luca rams into me mercilessly until we both explode together, two entwined bodies quivering against each other.
“We’re not done yet,” Luca says as he gets up off the bed. As he puts on his clothes, he says, “Wait here. I’m coming back.”
“How long am I going to wait, Sir?” I ask as Luca’s hot cum starts to leak out of me.
“For as long as I want you to.” Luca walks out the door, leaving me alone and in bondage.
I let my head fall on the bed. A smile spreads across my cheeks. This is the best way to spend a day off. Maybe I should get more tattoos …
I wonder how long it’ll take until Luca wants me again today. Sometimes, he comes back in under five minutes. Other times, he makes me wait for hours. There’s no way to tell, and the uncertainty only adds to the thrill.
Even though Luca’s outside where I can’t see him, I know he wants me just as much. He tells me sometimes he spends this time watching me on his surveillance feed and stroking himself. It excites me to know he may see me wriggling in frustration, wishing I could touch myself, too.
Maybe this seems weird to some people. Maybe they’d look at us and see an abuser and a victim.
But it’s not like that between Luca and me.
Somehow, we’re both each other’s addiction and cure. Because we have each other, we don’t need anything else.
That’s why, even though Luca’s not here, I know he’s coming back. He said he is, and I trust him. He always comes back.
I may be the one submitting myself to him, but we’re both slaves to this love that we share. Like true addicts, we’ll always come back to each other for more.
Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed Sarah and Luca’s story.
Want more?
There’s Ava’s story, where five brothers protect and defend her from a vengeful ex. Click here to get The Five Brothers Next Door from Amazon.
Jessica, the girl with the poisoned Beagle, has a story of her own, too. Read all about how she finds the love of her life in Stripped—click here to get the book.
Stripped is also available in the Billionaires and Bad Boys Box Set, which contains SEVEN stand-alone (but related) romances and a bonus exclusive, never-before-published novelette, featuring the seven couples from the stories included in the box set:
Guilty
Stripped
His Virgin
Billionaire Protector
; Virgin Fiancée
Single Dad’s Fake Bride
The Billionaire’s Bride
Bonus Novelette: After the Happily Ever After…
Click here to get the Billionaires and Bad Boys Box Set.
Preview: Baby for My Brother’s Friend
Prologue
Katie
What fresh fuckery is this?
I curse in my head as I stare at the plastic stick, the one with my pee on one end and two positive lines on the little window.
Shit. What do I do now?
I never thought this would happen to me—ever.
I don’t just say that because I’m a medical practitioner instead of a clueless teenager who hasn’t even sat through a sex-ed class.
I say that because that’s what multiple doctors have told me about the state of my fertility.
I say that because after going through nursing school and gaining some understanding of what medical test results mean, I agree.
I mean, I agreed. Past tense.
Obviously, I was wrong.
All those doctors were wrong.
Sometimes, medical science gets things wrong. This is one of those rare times.
Usually, people know exactly how to react when they hear news about their health that contradicts what the doctors have told them.
Having worked in a hospital for five years, I’ve seen this scenario a handful of times: doctor makes a grim diagnosis; patient’s family grieves; new test result comes in; turns out the patient’s body has somehow fixed itself; family celebrates.
But in my case, I don’t know if this is cause for celebration.
I’ve often wondered, in the past, whether I’d be able to bring myself to get an abortion in case of accidental pregnancy. I never made a choice, though, because I didn’t think it would ever happen anyway.
It’s ridiculous, but I feel like someone’s playing a trick on me. It’s like there’s an evil genius who sits in the control room of my body—a dark, sinister room with sound-proofing foam all over the walls and dots of flashing red lights all over the machinery. All that infertility stuff was just an experiment he was conducting to see if he could fool modern medicine.
It’s fun to blame my problems on imaginary creatures, but it’s not helping.
I need to make a decision about this pregnancy: keep it, or let it go?
My mind stacks up the pros and cons of my options.
Obviously, if I keep it, I’ll have to raise it—I mean, him or her—and that would turn my whole life upside down.
Just yesterday, Martha, the head nurse, was complaining about how everybody was on maternity leave and there was nobody to fill the schedule. I told her she didn’t have to worry about that with me, and she gave me a sad look.
I wonder if I jinxed myself yesterday. Or maybe, Martha has a secret life: nurse by day, powerful witch by night.
At least, I know getting a maternity leave shouldn’t be a problem. For all the challenges this pregnancy might bring, money’s not one of them. I happen to have a pretty awesome job that pays me well and comes with a ton of great benefits.
Time management could be a bigger challenge because I have a busy calendar and barely have enough time to sleep.
But as I learn from hanging out in the maternity ward, priorities apparently shift after the birth of a child, so things that used to matter to young mothers stop bothering them so much. That means I may not even care about greasy hair or missing out on nights out once the baby comes.
Jesus. What am I saying, once the baby comes? I mean if.
I’m not ruling out abortion. Not yet, at least.
I respect the right of a woman to make her own choices, but I’ve never stopped to consider what I’d do in a situation like that—I mean, situation like this.
Oh, man. I’m in deep shit, aren’t I? I’m living what some people would consider a hypothetical nightmare scenario.
But at the same time, it doesn’t feel like a choice at all.
There’s this knot in my gut that tells me that there’s no other option, that I have to do my best to carry this baby and give him life.
There’s an alien longing, deep in the pit of my stomach. I long to take part in this human experience; I never thought I’d have the privilege to do it.
If I let go of this opportunity, I may never get another chance again. I may regret it for the rest of my life.
Either way, this is a life sentence. I can be a mom for the rest of my life, or never be a mom at all.
It takes eighteen years for a baby to reach adulthood. But let’s face it, if current employment trends continue, this baby will still be living in my basement when he’s forty.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I grin at the thought.
Nah, if he’s anything like me, he’s going to run away at sixteen and dodge all my calls because he’s too busy partying.
Am I really considering this?
Am I really choosing to be a mom?
Can I actually do it?
Doubt pollutes my mind, dissipating the brief joy that I felt when fantasizing about the child. My child.
Am I ready?
My blood runs cold as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I only have nine months to prepare myself, if I choose to continue this pregnancy.
Well, that’s not accurate, actually.
Birth happens about forty weeks after conception. I’ve already missed my period twice.
It took me so long to even buy this test stick because I didn’t think it was even possible for me to get pregnant. That’s also why I only bought one.
I should probably go back to the drugstore and get a bunch so I can be sure. And I’ll get myself tested at the hospital, as well.
Since two period cycles are about six to eight weeks, that means, in all likelihood, I have way less than nine months. More like seven or eight. That’s what a doctor would probably tell me, if this turns out to be a real pregnancy.
But if it’s confirmed, I don’t need a doctor to tell me when exactly it happened because I still remember.
Oh, I remember.
It was exactly fifty days ago.
It was another night of working hard and playing hard for me. I sometimes like to combine the two.
That particular night, though, I came to a realization that I probably should, that the two should remain separate. Work is work, and play is play.
But when faced with a man like that, how’s a girl supposed to resist?
He had such a presence. The moment he spoke to me in his low baritone, I was putty in his hands. Then, he dominated my mind and manipulated my body like he knew me, inside and out.
He didn’t, though—he doesn’t. And I don’t know him either.
Still, I can’t forget that man—not for the rest of my life; not even if it turns out I’m not carrying his baby.
Adam
Fifty Days Ago
“How’s your day been?” Mom asks over the phone.
“Terrible.” I cradle my phone between my ear and shoulder while my fingers continue typing on the computer.
No matter how busy I get, I always pick up when my mom calls, unless I’m right in the middle of a meeting. I’m all she has, after all.
Even though we’re no longer poor and desperate, I still worry about her. I don’t want to ignore the wrong phone call and regret it for the rest of my life.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Mom says cheerfully.
“It’s pretty bad. The legal team let this one document slip through the cracks, and now a multi-million-dollar deal is at risk.”
“See? Not that bad at all.”
“We could potentially lose millions of dollars if this doesn’t get fixed in time.” I love my mom, but she has no idea how cut-throat my world is.
I’ve worked my ass off to get here, stepping on a few toes along the way. There are people out there who’d deliberately stick their foot out to trip me, too, and I don’t blame them.
“See, you’re looking at this all wrong, honey,” Mom says. “You’re in a position to lose millions of dollars. That’s tremendous. Lots of people don’t ever get to that stage in their entire lives. And you’re already there.”
“Yeah, I know.” I resist the temptation to cut her off, even though I already know what she’s going to say. I’ve heard it a hundred times before.
“You’ve already made it, and you’re only twenty-eight,” she says. “Why are you still in such a rush? What is it that you’re chasing after now?”
“It’s not that simple, Mom.”
“I know, I know. You’ve told me that before,” she says. “But you should take a step back and look at the bigger picture sometimes. You’ll see just how little the details actually matter.”
“I know, I know. You’ve told me that before,” I say, imitating her.
“Smarty-pants.” Mom laughs. “Try to take some time off work, Adam. Your secretary told me you always stay back in the office until late. Sometimes, she even sees you wearing yesterday’s clothes.”
“Huh. I didn’t think she’d notice. All men’s suits look the same to me.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Mom says. “Promise me you’ll go home at five today.”
“If you want to have dinner with me, all you have to do is ask, Mom.”
She laughs. “Sorry, but I have plans.”
“Plans with a certain gentleman?” I ask.
She giggles. My mom’s always been a happy, optimistic person, but lately she’s been acting like a giddy schoolgirl. It’s interesting to watch.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. “Have fun with Mr. Palmer.”
“Thank you, you cheeky monkey. Go find a date and have fun.” She pauses. “Have you heard about Tinder?”
Jesus.
“Yes, Mom. I’ve heard about the most popular hook-up app that’s been around for years.”
“Just checking,” she says. “Do you already have a Tinder account?”
“I have to go back to work now, Mom,” I say, sighing. “Talk soon, okay?”
“Okay. Remember, go home at five. And I’m told you can download this Tinder app and use it for free on your phone.”
