Bought (Unchained Vice Book 3)

by Nicolette Hugo

Black pinched her nipples with those tiny biting spikes, and she barked a sound of visceral pleasure.

  Killian focused on the white lines appearing and disappearing across the red skin. She was scratched sore, and still she begged for more, her body blindly swaying as it chased Black’s moving hand.

  The sensitivity of his own skin just as excruciating, every sensation moving like the kiss of a thousand lovers’ lips across his flesh, sending shivers throughout his body.

  Black’s bare hand slipped from her body, and her voice cracked in needy protest even as the gloved hand slid down to her mons. Sharp, prickly fingers stroked the fleshy mound, and she sighed, pushing into the pain of the man’s hand as if it offered blessed relief.

  Killian’s cock throbbed with a hurt of his own.

  The pressure for release strained uncomfortably as he held back.

  He was not going over the edge alone.

  Not here.

  Not with her in the room.

  Black slipped his free hand into his pocket, pulled out a pocketknife, and flicked open the blade.

  His gaze met Killian’s for the first time since he’d watched Killian enter the room. It was easy to think he’d been forgotten, but now he had all of Black’s attention.

  The man watched him as he patted his wife’s pussy.

  Each tap released that helpless scream. Each tremor took her closer to the edge. Each sound she made vibrated along his taut nerves.

  Still watching him, Black reached up above Scar’s head, the knife cutting the rope.

  Her hair fell down as the blindfold coils of rope slipped off her face and around her neck.

  Everything about her seemed to sink without the tension.

  Black pulled her against him, into him, holding her tight in the crook of one arm.

  She blinked in the light, blind and dazed as his fingers continued to tease.

  So close to orgasm, she thrashed against him.

  It was almost imperceptible. The small twist of his wrist, the pinch …

  Scar stiffened.

  Frozen in the moment even as her body fell into pleasure.

  Frozen in seeing her husband in the room.

  Frozen in sound, mouth open as she held his gaze and splintered apart. Her orgasm a visible force as it crashed through her body, sucking the air out of both their lungs.

  As if joined by a thread, there was a pull, then a rush as the tingle in his abdomen unraveled.

  A wildfire burned through his nerves.

  The sensitivity around his cock and balls increased until there was a sense of something popping, a violent bursting as the fire roared and erupted onto his fingers.

  Temples pounding, heart beating, Killian watched Scar sink onto the bed.

  Watched her crane her neck back to look at him, even as Black untangled the blue rope from her limbs. Even as Black rubbed the rope patterns left in her skin, making her body spasm from electric jolts.

  Even as she moaned, battling the pull to float back into the pleasure.

  And then she couldn’t fight it anymore.

  Her eyes finally closed, breaking that invisible thread, leaving him alone with his ragged breathing.

  His hands were sticky, a reminder that everything had just become messy.

  He should move.

  Get out and close the door.

  But his limbs suffered the same pleasure lethargy as his wife on the bed. And his thoughts were scrambled.

  It was Black who walked out of the room. Controlled and perfectly put together, the man strode past his chair without acknowledgment.

  This time it mattered.

  Killian had come for his wife, but he was leaving wanting them both.

  Fourteen

  The park was less busy than the last time he’d met Dado. It had rained earlier, and the ground was still wet. Luckily, the metal bench was already dry as Jerricho sat to wait for his blackmailer. The envelope with five thousand dollars sat uncomfortably in his grip. His emergency fund—the only thing between him and free fall.

  And now he had to let go.

  Before coming to the park, he’d given his landlord notice then stopped by his apartment. Standing there on his doorstep, he realized there was nothing worth taking. The place had come fully furnished, a faceless mismatch of cheap and broken furniture. He’d bought a few missing household basics equally as cheap, but there was nothing of worth to keep. His existence here transient, the distance between him and the room already seemed a lifetime ago.

  He’d found an empty box, gone into the kitchen and packed up all the unopened food. On the way out, he’d dropped the box in front of his neighbor’s apartment then left the building without looking back. It was how it had always been for him, easy to move on.

  Besides, he had bigger problems than losing the apartment. He had to figure out how to get Dado to agree to skip a few weekly payments.

  He’d known the risks when he’d stood in Killian’s office and said yes.

  The man had been clear. Payment came at the end of the forty days. He’d understood; it was Killian’s way of keeping him on a leash. He’d also known getting Dado to agree to one big monthly sum was not going to be easy. But the hundred grand was twenty more than he needed, twenty thousand reasons for Dado to agree.

  It sounded so simple. So why was he sitting here fighting some niggling fucking doubt?

  Was it because Dado hadn’t taken the bait when he’d hinted at the bribe?

  Or maybe it was the fact his recent decision-making track record was so stellar it had him on the run for suspected terrorism, jumping an illegal boat, and getting into bed with some human trafficking cartel?

  And not to forget the Baileys—a husband who had bought him for a woman he was starting to feel for instead of just fuck.

  He was doing nothing but excelling in fuckups lately, no wonder he was nervous.

  By the time Dado sat down next to him on the bench, Jerricho was already agitated. This was not going to go well.

  “Jerricho Black, I keep asking myself what it’s going to take for you and me to work together.” He held out his hand for the money.

  It was only forcible will that allowed Jerricho to let go of his safety net, the envelope dropping into the man’s waiting palm.

  “Not going to happen.” His voice was thick, the words strained.

  Dado didn’t seem to notice as he stared off into the distance, casually tapping the envelope on his leg as if he was thinking through his own problems.

  “It would,” the man said as he turned to face him, “if you and I could become friends.”

  “We’ll never be friends, Dado.”

  “That’s where you are wrong, Naavid. I’m already the only friend you’ve got.”

  The fine hairs raised on the back of his neck. Naavid. It had been a year since he’d heard that name. “Just spit it out, Dado.”

  “I was thinking, you want something from me … but when I ask you for something in return”—the man shrugged—“you don’t help me.”

  That was because Dado’s definition of help was illegal and unethical.

  “And then I was thinking, I’m already helping you. Why should I do more?”

  “How is it you help me, Dado?” The look he gave Dado was impatient. He wanted the man to get to the point, to the “no”, because agreement wasn’t coming.

  “I keep your secret. You see, only I can join the dots from Naavid”—Dado stabbed the air with his finger—“to Jerricho Black.” The same finger made an imaginary leap before punctuating the air again. “I’d say my friendship is a pretty big deal. Yes?”

  One look at the man’s smug face, and it dawned on him that Dado had been waiting for this day when he would stop collecting the money for his boss and exert his own personal power.

  “You want me to believe you’ve told no one?”

  Dado nodded.

  “Why?” But he could guess. If the man handed out the information, the trump would no longer be his.

&nbs
p; The man smiled, but on him the gesture was unsavory. “When you sterilize the whores, my boss will remember who made you do it.”

  He kept his face neutral; shoulders locked as he fought the urge to head-butt the piece of shit. He’d give himself up before he operated on someone involuntarily.

  “Of course, that’s only the beginning.” Dado’s smile widened, reminding him of an oil slick spreading like scum on water.

  Of course, they were never going to let him go. Dado, his boss, it didn’t matter—a surgeon in their pocket was too good to let go. All this time, Dado had been reeling him in. His turn of good fortune with Killian had instead played into his enemy’s favor.

  Still grinning, Dado eased back onto the bench, kicking his legs out. “So you see, Jerricho Black, you need to be nicer to your friends.”

  What he saw was that the only way out was no longer through money.

  It was through Dado.

  Fifteen

  Like every other night, the meal had been sublime. The mood at the dinner table was not because the food was unpalatable, just the company. Jerricho pushed back his dessert plate and raised his napkin to wipe his mouth.

  After this morning’s meeting with Dado, he’d spent the afternoon reading the newspaper in the kitchen, taking comfort in the smell of home-cooked food. The enduring good memories he had of his mother were of food and cooking. Strange how despite everything that happened later, these memories could still bring him some peace.

  But he remembered nights like this too, when he’d felt more than understood that comfort had left his home.

  He looked across the table at Killian. Usually, the man was missing, but after last night, he was not surprised to see him here. Now the man had motivation. They’d gone from two to three, and Jerricho was unclear about the reason behind it.

  Why had Killian hired another man to fuck his wife?

  No. Not just fuck. Dominate his wife.

  And why watch?

  Jerricho was back to the notion of cuckold. Was that how Daniel fit in, why he lived with them?

  Many rich and powerful men got off on humiliation. The alpha male submissive didn’t surprise him, but Killian…no. The profile didn’t fit. The man was not submissive, nor did it seem as if he was seeking some psychological sadomasochism.

  His gaze flicked to Scarlet. Her spoon twirled in her hand as she moved her dessert from one side of the dish to the other.

  The night before sat in the room as the uninvited guest. In the kitchen this afternoon, Sarah had let slip that Killian had left at dawn, and Scarlet had been upset at missing him. He hadn’t seen either for most of the day.

  As long as what had happened remained unresolved for the Baileys, it remained unresolved for him.

  Coupled with the problem of Dado, he was tense as the rest of table. He needed Killian to agree to pay him some money early. He needed to neutralize the imbalance of power Dado would have if he missed his weekly payments. He needed to figure out how to sweeten Dado’s bribe; he no longer thought the twenty grand pay-off would cut it.

  Scarlet’s spoon scraped her bowl, and the sound amplified on his tight nerves. He resisted the urge to grab her hand and still it.

  Sarah came in from the kitchen and started to clear the table. She picked up Killian’s clean bowl. He’d skipped dessert and nursed a whiskey instead. Double shot. Neat.

  Tense.

  “Take mine too please, Sarah.” Scarlet pushed the full bowl toward the tray.

  They were alone again. The table was empty except for their drinks, and a somewhat alluring splotch of the crème anglaise sauce blemishing the dark wood.

  Messy. Because the thing that had his attention the most right now was neither Dado nor Killian.

  It was what was bothering Scarlet.

  He lifted his gaze and found Killian watching him from across the table. Scarlet sighed heavily and pushed her chair back. Killian’s stare stayed on him. Emotions and thoughts flickered across his eyes like clouds on a windy day. Turbulent and unreadable. The man raised his whiskey to take a sip just as his wife left.

  Sometimes you leaked off tension.

  Sometimes you smashed through it.

  “Scarlet.” Jerricho didn’t turn around. The sharp inhalation behind him sounded as if she’d been waiting to draw breath, as if the combustible mix of tension and sex had been suffocating.

  He knew she’d obeyed as the first sign of interest glinted behind Killian’s eyes. The man’s gaze lifted to his wife.

  No longer so unreadable.

  “Come.” Jerricho waited until Scarlet stood next to his chair before he slowly rose and turned to her. “You didn’t eat well.” His words were gentle as he used the crook of his finger to lift her chin.

  “I’m not that hungry.” Scarlet averted her gaze.

  But he’d been studying her. He’d already seen her need. Her hurt.

  “Pity.” Still holding her chin, he brushed the pad of his thumb over the lush swell of her bottom lip. “Because dinner’s not done.” He spoke softly to her, intimately, as if Killian were not in the room. Voyeurs stood on the outside.

  His fist curled into her hair, fingers sinking into cool silk as he grabbed and twisted until his knuckles tucked close against her skull in a tight grip. Everything about her seemed to sink with relief. Limp in surrender, the first smile of the evening played on her lips as her lids shuttered tight.

  Desire squeezed his cock. Unwanted.

  He needed to solve the problem he had with money, not try to solve her hurt.

  But there was something in the way she submitted, a complete and natural abandon that beguiled him—a dangerous lure promising to fill all his lonely places.

  Hand in her hair, he pulled her toward him until they were close, so inside each other’s space, they were joined by the whisper of their breath. Her low groan echoed his hunger.

  Tightening his grip, he tore his gaze away and looked at Killian.

  Their gaze met and held as the man leaned forward.

  Whatever last night was, whatever this was, it was opportunity.

  He should cultivate Killian’s inclusion.

  He should renegotiate the terms of hire and payment.

  He should welcome the barrier between him and Scarlet.

  Sobering thoughts.

  With pious restraint, he ghosted his lips over hers, their breaths mingling warmer. She licked her lip as if she’d felt him. An electric shock as her tongue brushed against his skin.

  Rougher than he intended, he pulled away from her and forced her to bend over the table.

  Instead of being unbalanced, she folded with elegant grace, her pale cheek settling on the ebony wood.

  Still pinning her down, he pulled on the zip on her skirt. The yawn of the silver teeth opening joined a sigh floating up from her lips.

  She was sinking deeper into the quiet she liked. By the time he touched her, she would exist on a plane of nerves and flesh.

  Unfastened, her skirt fell effortlessly from her hips. She was unveiled from the waist down—no panties, not since the day he’d arrived.

  She stood there half virgin in her cashmere sweater and pearls, half whore with her ass arched and pussy on display.

  Perfect.

  Inviting.

  He slipped his hand between her spread thighs and sank two of his fingers into the burning heat of her cunt.

  She melted him.

  Scarlet gasped at the invasion as he stretched her, her shock forgotten as she instinctively tried to ride his fingers.

  He knew it was what she wanted, needed … but pleasure would come on his terms, not sooner.

  He kept his fingers buried inside her body, rammed tight and moving with her, denying the friction she chased. Let her wear out her frustration from dinner. He savored her struggle as his cock got harder.

  She settled.

  He moved.

  He pumped his fingers inside her, ground deeper as his thumb brushed over her clit. The velvet of her
cunt twitched. She didn’t move.

  Good girl.

  He would decide how to touch her.

  He fingerfucked her longer.

  Slow dragging strokes and rough thrusting. Fingers curling and pressing then fluttering. Thumb scraping and rubbing. An assault on her senses designed to remind her.

  He finger fucked her until she lay there panting, pussy clenching and thighs trembling. She wanted so desperately to move, and she hadn’t. Such a good, good girl.

  Fingers still buried but teasingly still, he bent down and kissed the swell of her ass.

  He lifted his gaze from between her legs. Killian still sat across the table watching. Like Scarlet, the man had barely moved. His elbows rested on the table; mouth obscured behind steepled hands. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, hanging just above one eye. His hooded lids shielded dilated pupils.

  Killian was aroused.

  All dark and brooding sex, he watched Jerricho handle his wife. The sexual tension in Killian coiled as tightly as the snake tattoo curling around his exposed forearm.

  He watched them like they were the last show on Earth.

  Jerricho didn’t have to cultivate Killian; it was what the man wanted.

  And judging by Scarlet’s responses the night before and now, it was what she wanted.

  Hell, it was what he wanted.

  But for a moment, it rankled. He felt proprietary.

  It was his fucking show.

  Still focused on Killian, Jerricho held Scarlet pinned on the table as he bent down and flicked his tongue at the dimples decorating the base of her spine. His lips trailed slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of her back just before it disappeared under her sweater.

  She moaned under his licks and kisses. Hands opening and closing as if she didn’t know what to do with them, she kept her naked half still. Eventually, her hands slid along the table to above her head, grabbing at the air as she searched out to her husband to save her.

  Killian caught her hand, bent down, and placed a soft, lingering kiss in her palm. The sound she made was one of sweet, unbearable torment. He slowly pulled back, squeezed her hand, and let go.

  Sinking back in his chair, Killian lifted his gaze from his wife to Jerricho. A smirk ghosted his lips; a reminder that he was watching, but Scarlet was his.