Tied to Him

by Tia Siren

  It took some doing, but as the sun was rising, I had him. I had tracked him down to a high-rise building in the center of Times Square. It would be tough; I knew that much. Ramos would have ten men, twenty even, protecting him. My boss had been big time, but Ramos made him look ridiculous. I got into an elevator on the ground floor and headed for the penthouse apartment. It was a long ride, and I prepared for what I was about to do. There was a chance I wouldn’t make it. I might fail. There was a chance, but I felt good about my odds. I had rage and anger on my side. I had Chloe. The elevator stopped, the doors slid open with a ding, and I thought of her as I lifted my shotgun.

  4

  I had told Chloe I would be a couple of days, but I returned to her almost twenty-four hours after I had left. She was in the living room, wearing one of my T-shirts and boy shorts that hugged her ass. I came in, my shirt splattered with blood, most of it not my own. I had a busted lip and a bullet had grazed my arm, but I had given way worse than I had gotten.

  The young woman came to me as soon as I unlocked and opened the door, and she wrapped her arms around me. I thought she would speak, or I thought I would, but she pressed her lips to mine and I kissed her back instead, wincing as pain shot through my busted lip but not willing to stop our kiss.

  My arms went around her, and when she was sure I was in a position to support her weight, she lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped her legs around my waist. Her panty-clad crotch was pressed against my own, and immediately my dick began to pulse and grow rigid.

  I thought about carrying her up the wooden stairs to the bedroom, but we never got that far. The cabin was cozy, two small floors, but it was private enough, so I just took two steps to the couch before turning and sitting so that she was on my lap. She giggled as we kissed and wriggled a bit, grinding against my manhood.

  My fingers pulled her shirt up and over her head, and I buried my face in her breasts, as she was wearing no bra. My lips found a nipple, my tongue flicking it back and forth before my teeth nibbled softly. She groaned and moaned, her head tilted back.

  She climbed off me and lowered herself to her knees before me. Her fingers were slow, her movements delicate as she unbuttoned my pants and pulled them off, along with my shoes and socks. She left me in my boxer briefs for a moment, my cock hard and evident. She planted kisses on my inner thigh and then switched to the other.

  Finally, she gave my boy some attention, reaching a slender hand up the leg of my underwear and gripping my dick. She amused herself by sliding my cock out through the same leg of my boxer briefs, and then she took me into her mouth.

  Chloe gave the best head in the world. I had already gotten to know that. She was perfect. She built to the right speed, applied the right pressure with her hand. She gripped me at the base of my cock and held me where she wanted me, her lips and tongue and mouth handling the rest. When I could take no more, I forced her to stop and moved her to the couch.

  I reached up and pulled her panties off. She was nude now, and she smiled as she watched me look up and down her body. I loved every inch of it. I sent my fingertips up and down, from her toes to her forehead. Then I used my hands to part her legs and buried my face in her pussy. She smelled great and tasted better. I lapped at her pink slit, and she gave me plenty to lap up, her pussy wet and warm.

  My cock was aching to be inside her, so I didn’t make him wait any longer. I got up off my knees and then positioned her so she was facing away from me, knees on the cushion of the couch, arms on the back. I slid into her tight pussy, pushing until I had nothing left to give and then pulling back.

  “No one has had my ass,” she whispered, looking at me over her shoulder. I didn’t need to be told twice. I pulled my slick cock from her and then spread her ass cheeks with both hands. Her butthole was tight, and I rubbed the head of my cock against it until she opened up and I could slide in. If her pussy was tight, her asshole was like nothing I had ever felt. She groaned and bent her head forward, burying her face in the back of the couch. I knew she was in pain, but she reached between her legs and began rubbing her own clit, and I knew she was enjoying it as well.

  She came right before I did, biting into the couch cushion and screaming. I had my hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them, groping them, leaving red lines on her tanned flesh. She must have known I was about to come, because she called to me once more, turning her head over her shoulder.

  “Come in my pussy,” she moaned. “Please.”

  Looking back, I wondered if she knew. Up to that point, I hadn’t come in her before. I had always pulled out, plastered her face, or sent stringy white strands of cum over her big tits. But now I pulled my cock out of her ass and shoved forward into her pussy just as my cock jumped and I came. I threw my head back and arched my hips, sending all I had into her. When I pulled out, she stayed like that for a minute, her back to me, on the couch, and I saw a bit of my cum leak from her gushing pussy.

  We went to sleep after that. We woke up in the morning, and we knew things had changed. We kissed, but we didn’t fuck, and we didn’t make love.

  “I’m safe?” she asked me over breakfast, which was simple bowls of cereal.

  I nodded.

  “Are you?”

  “I think so,” I said with a grin.

  “So I can go back?”

  I sighed and nodded.

  “I love you,” she said. “I do.”

  “I know,” I said. “I love you too. But…you don’t belong here. You aren’t mine.”

  Chloe smiled at me. It was sad and sweet and filled with longing. “I am yours. You bought me.”

  Two days later I saw her off at an airport in Boston. She was headed home. I stood for a long time after she had gone, watching the planes land and take off through a large window that overlooked the tarmac. I knew I would never forget my bought bride.

  *****

  THE END

  If you prefer longer stories, please go to the Table of Contents and choose Big Bad Alpha or Big Bad Fake Groom.

  The Table of Contents is always available to help you decide what to read next.

  xx Tia

  MAFIA Romance – Owned by the Mafia

  It was terrifying to have a pistol shoved in his mouth. More terrifying was the knowledge that he had no way of repaying his debt.

  “How dare you,” Grigori said. “How dare you sit at my table and gamble with me when you know you don't have the funds to cover your debts.”

  Grigori tightened his grip around Lenny's throat. Lenny looked up at him with saliva running from his open mouth and a great deal of fear in his eyes.

  “I ought to kill you now, you asshole. But I'm a benevolent man. I'm going to give you a chance.” Grigori looked at the photo on the mantelpiece. “She's very pretty, isn't she?” he said. Lenny growled at him and tried to break free. One of Grigori's henchmen stepped forward and assisted his boss in restraining Lenny. “What time will she be home?” Grigori asked, removing the gun from Lenny's mouth to allow him to speak.

  “You fucking bastard. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll kill you,” Lenny growled.

  “From where I'm standing, you don't seem to be in much of a position to carry out your threat,” Grigori said as he forced the gun back into Lenny's mouth.

  Lenny was forty-five, the son of an Irish immigrant father and a Hungarian dancer. His father had left them when he was two and his mother, struggling to find work as a dancer, had turned to prostitution. Neglected and alone, by the age of eight he was a master pickpocket, and by the age of thirteen he was one of the best lock pickers in New York. When his mother was murdered by a drunken client, he was fifteen. The authorities wanted to take him into care, but he'd already amassed enough money to look after himself, and he disappeared. When he came back to New York, it was as a heavily muscled strongman who lived from the proceeds of his criminal activities. In and out of jail, he managed to hide his ill-gotten gains and channel them into several pieces of real estate. Lenny was a rich
man; he just didn't have any cash. In his opinion, he'd invested wisely, but he would have admitted to one very simple mistake: an evening of gambling with the Russians in Brighton Beach when he knew he didn't have the liquidity to pay if he incurred losses.

  “Dad, I'm home,” Lucy shouted. Funny, she thought when he didn't reply. Her dad always shouted to her when she got home. He loved asking her about her day at art college, sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, and chatting with her. She hung her coat in the hall and put her satchel down on the black and white tiled floor. “Dad, where are you?” she shouted again.

  “Sit down and shut up,” Grigori shouted when she walked into the sitting room. She screamed and put her hand over her mouth.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted. She didn't sit down as asked; she walked to Grigori and began to throw punches at him.

  “Very spirited,” he said as he held her from him with one arm, the other still holding the pistol in Lenny's mouth. “Get her off me,” Grigori said to one of his men.

  A very large, very Russian-looking man took Lucy and lifted her from the floor. She tried to kick and bite him, but he threw her onto the sofa.

  “Quite a display of aggression, Lucy. I admire spirited women. In fact, it turns me on. Now, if you don't want to see your father's brains splattered all over this lovely room, sit still and fucking well listen to me,” Grigori snarled.

  “What are you doing to him? What has he done?” she asked, tears beginning to escape from her blue eyes.

  “He owes me money, a lot of money, and he can't pay. So, here's what we're going to do. You are going to come with me until he can pay.”

  “No way. You're not taking me hostage,” Lucy shouted as she got up from the sofa and made for the sideboard, where she knew Lenny kept a handgun. Again the large man picked her up and threw her onto the sofa.

  Grigori laughed. “I admire your fight, but it's useless,” he said. He took the gun from Lenny's mouth and wiped it on Lenny's shirt. “She's coming with us, Lenny, and there's not a thing you can do about it.”

  “You fucking asshole, I'll see you burn in hell. When I find you, I'll rip your eyes out and piss on—” Lenny didn't get to finish the rest of his tirade; Grigori pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness. Lucy screamed again and tried to get up, but the big man had learned his lesson and was holding her. “I didn't realize what a beautiful daughter he had. How old are you, Lucy?” Grigori asked. He looked horrified when Lucy's spit landed on his well-pressed trousers. “Take the bitch and put her in the trunk. I've had enough of her.”

  Lucy was thrown from side to side as the car dodged through the residential area her father lived in. She was relieved when they seemed to reach a long, straight piece of the freeway and it was a smoother ride. The tape over her mouth ripped at her skin whenever she moved her mouth, so she tried to stay as expressionless as possible. She had no idea who these men were or where she was being taken. All she knew was that her beloved father was lying unconscious in their home and she was in very grave danger.

  “Take her downstairs,” she heard Grigori say as she was hauled from the trunk. Her legs scraped along the ground as she was dragged along. The man held her in one arm, opened a door, and carried her down a set of stone steps into a basement.

  “Should I tie her up, boss?” he shouted upstairs.

  “Tie her to the roof support,” Grigori shouted back.

  The basement had four posts that supported the upper floor. Lucy found herself tied to one of them a few minutes later.

  “You're so pretty,” the man said as he put the finishing touches to the knot that held her in place. “How an ugly fucker like Lenny could produce a daughter like you, I have no idea. Your mother must have been Cleopatra,” he joked. Her mouth still covered by tape, Lucy wasn't able to reply.

  *****

  Lucy lost track of time. She knew it had been around half past four in the afternoon when they kidnapped her, but there were no windows in the basement, and she had no way of seeing if it was dark or light. After a time, she decided to close her eyes and try to sleep, but her mind was so active that she didn't manage to drop off. All she could think about was how her father was and what these despicable men were going to do to her. She could take a beating, but she was desperately worried by the big man's comments about how pretty she looked. Was he going to help himself to her?

  When the light came on she blinked uncontrollably. She heard someone coming down the stairs and held her breath, wondering what was about to happen to her.

  “Here,” Grigori said as he handed her a cup of water. He tore the tape from her mouth and noticed it had caused a rash on her top lip and chin. Lucy guzzled the water, spilling some of it on her blouse.

  “What time is it?” she asked. For some reason time seemed important.

  “Half past ten. Do you want some food?”

  “How long do you propose to keep me here?” she asked.

  “For as long as it takes your father to come up with the money he owes me.”

  “And how much is that?”

  “Five hundred grand.” Grigori sat down on an old sofa in the corner of the room and looked at her. He too wondered how Lenny had managed to produce such a pretty daughter. He knew her mother couldn’t have been Irish, because Lucy had tanned skin and dark hair, and the Irish, he always joked, were ginger and pasty.

  “But he won't be able to find that kind of money,” she said.

  “How many houses does he own?”

  “Five.”

  “They are enormous places, each worth at least a million. All he has to do is sell one and pay me.”

  “But it's not a good time to sell real estate; it could take forever,” Lucy said.

  “Then you can look forward to growing old down here.”

  She fixed her eyes on him in a death stare. “You're heartless. I bet your mother didn't bring you up to treat women like you are treating me.”

  “What mother? I was given away when I was a baby. My mother didn't give a shit about me.”

  “Untie me, please. This rope is cutting me. I won't do anything stupid,” she pleaded.

  He got up, walked to her, and took out a knife. In one swift movement he cut through the rope and pulled it from her. Lucy rubbed her wrists, which were red and developing the same rash she had on her face. “Are you really going to keep me all that time?”

  “Yes. You'll stay here until he pays.”

  “The cops—”

  “Fuck the cops. Do you think the cops will do anything? I pay them to do what I want,” he snarled.

  If he hadn't been so brutal to her, she would have found him enormously attractive. He was tall and athletic looking. His dark hair was cropped and his Slavic features were fine. The most attractive thing about him were his eyes. When she looked at him, she was lost in a sea of green.

  “Let me go, please. What can I possibly do to you? I'm just a young woman trying to get an art degree.”

  “Where is your mother?” he asked.

  “Dead,” she replied.

  “How?” he asked, expressing no sympathy.

  “Car crash. She was Spanish. She went to see her mother in Madrid and never came back to us.” Lucy's mind flashed back to the day the policeman had called at their house and told them what had happened. The tormented look on her father's face had stayed with her ever since.

  “Too bad. I'm sorry to hear that. How long ago?”

  “Three years.”

  “I don't know what it's like to have parents. I was a Moscow street kid until I was fifteen, and then I came to the US.”

  Lucy got up and walked a few steps. She needed to stretch, and as she bent to touch her toes, Grigori looked at her. She was wearing tight jeans, and they stretched over her body when she bent over, showing the most perfect ass he'd ever seen. He liked to think of himself as a professional criminal, the kind of man who could kidnap a beautiful woman and ignore the treasures she had to offer. But in Lucy, he found out he w
as, after all, fallible.

  Lucy sat down on the sofa next to him and considered how quickly she could thrust her long nails into his eyes. Was it worth trying? Maybe, she thought, but she decided to see whether she was able to talk her way out of her predicament first.

  “Why did you come to the US?” she asked.

  “Opportunity. I wanted to get rich.”

  “And you are, but aren't you ashamed of yourself?”

  He looked shocked by her question. “No. Why would I be?”

  “Because you haven't become rich by hard work or ingenuity. You've bludgeoned your way to wealth by threatening people, scaring them, and who knows, probably even killing a few of them. That's a dishonorable way, a way that gains no respect.”

  His face darkened, and Lucy thought he was going to slap her. “What would you have done if you'd lived on the streets in Moscow, freezing to death? Nobody gave me a start in life like you have had. I had to fend for myself. Whacking people was all I knew, and it got me to where I am today.”

  *****

  “Where is the bitch?” Lucy heard a woman scream. The light went on, and Lucy sheltered her eyes. There was the sound of women's shoes on the stairs and then the sound of somebody following her.

  “Ah, so here she is,” the woman said. She was around thirty and thin. She was rather goth-like in her appearance. Her hair was jet black, and her eye shadow matched it. Her lipstick was very dark, and she wore a ring on each finger. Lucy took an instant dislike to her. “Why the fuck isn't she tied up?” she said in her Russian-American dialect.

  “Because she can't go anywhere and her wrists are hurt,” Grigori replied.

  “Who are you?” Lucy asked.

  The woman slapped Lucy's face, causing her to stagger backward. “Don't you dare ask me any questions. If I want you to know anything, I'll tell you. Understand?” Lucy nodded, her hand over her stinging face. “Pretty, isn't she?” she said.

  “Very attractive,” Grigori said.