Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

I move in, and she shivers as my lips trail over one cheek, my hand skimming down her thighs.

  This was another game we used to play — me making her crazy and driving her to the point of breaking before I’d give in and fuck her or let her come. And I plan on playing that game again.

  My teeth find the waist of that thong, and she moans as I grip it with my jaw and slowly start to peel it down. Yoga pants and thong are caught mid-thigh as my hands skim over her ass, squeezing her body possessively as I lean in.

  Aela moans as I spread her thighs and dive, and when my tongue strokes over her lips, she cries out loud.

  I push my tongue deep, groaning as I inhale the sweet scent of her and taste the honey from her pussy. She arches her back, hair tossing over her shoulder as she drops her face against one arm. Her thighs clench, bare toes curling on the floor as I drag my tongue up and down her seam.

  I move teasingly, swirling my tongue over the tender nub of her clit, listening to her moans fill the room. I push a finger inside, curling it down and stroking that spot just inside as I tease her clit over and over again.

  She gasps. She bucks against my face, her thighs shake, and as her whole body stiffens, I know she’s going to come for me. I flick my tongue across her clit as my hand comes swatting down on her ass, and she breaks.

  Aela screams into her arm as she comes, quaking and shaking against my mouth as I taste her right through that orgasm. I groan as I drink her sweet honey, getting drunk on the taste of her as she slowly comes down from her climax.

  I stand and start to go for my belt, when she suddenly whirls, grabs me by the shirt, and kisses me hungrily. I grab her ass, hauling her against me and growling into that kiss as she molds that body to mine.

  “You were supposed to stay bent over,” I husk into her ear.

  “So demanding,” she teases back, nipping at my bottom lip and pushing my t-shirt up my chest.

  My hand tightens on her ass, making her gasp. “Except I happen to know you love it when I’m demanding like that.”

  “Maybe.”

  She bites her lip coyly, her eyes flashing and that spark of something wicked glinting in them.

  “Or maybe I’ve been away so long you don’t know what I like.”

  “That a dare?”

  She swallows. “Maybe.”

  My hand slides down between her legs, fingers stroking her slick pussy as her brow crumbles slightly.

  “Maybe,” she pants, swallowing thickly again and pushing my hand away teasingly. “Maybe you have no idea what I like or what I want.”

  “So what do you want?” I husk into her ear as my fingers roll over her clit.

  She moans as her hands go to my belt, deftly stripping it from my jeans and popping the button before she coyly steps back from my hands on her.

  “I want this.”

  She sinks to her knees in front of me, hands pulling my jeans and my boxers down with her. My jaw tenses and my eyes stare in awe as this gorgeous girl slowly licks her lips and fixes her eyes on my heavy cock.

  “Fuck, Liam…” she whispers. One hand comes up, her fingers curling over my shaft as she starts to stroke me. She wets her lips again, and my jaw actually drops as she leans forward, opens her mouth, and wraps those absolutely perfect lips around my head.

  I groan.

  Fuck that, no — I almost melt through the damn floor as she slowly swallows my cock deep into her mouth. Her tongue swirls across the bottom of it, her pouty lips sucking gently as she starts to bob up and down on the shaft. I stare at her, mouth hanging open, breath thick with lust as this perfect creature slowly sucks my cock like some sort of goddess.

  My hands go to her hair, not pulling her, but just tangling in those locks and feeling the way she moves up and down. Her hands leave my shaft, using only her mouth as she drops them to her lap. She moans softly around my cock as she buries both hands between her legs, still half bound by those yoga pants and her panties.

  And as much as I could actually watch Aela Reilly play with her pussy while she sucks my cock all fucking day, I want more.

  I need more of her.

  Her lips leave my slick shaft with a soft popping sound as I pull her away, gritting my teeth.

  “Aww, too much for you?” she says it coyly, grinning wickedly up at me.

  “You picked up quite the sassy mouth out there,” I growl as I pull her up and crush my lips to hers.

  “Funny, I don’t feel like you were complaining about my mouth thirty seconds ago.”

  She grins at me, her teeth raking over her lip as her eyes spark that hungry look. She gasps as my hands drop to her ass and pull her tight against me. She kicks her yoga pants off as I scoop her into my arms again, her legs wrapping around my waist. I step out of my pants and move us to the bed, draping her down across it and stepping back to let my eyes drink her in.

  Fuck is she beautiful. All soft curves and creamy skin — the delicate lines of ink and the glint of her piercings like absolutely perfect imperfections. She’s a work of art — a goddamn masterpiece.

  And she’s mine.

  I stalk onto the bed, moving over her and capturing a nipple in my lips as she arches her back towards me. Her legs spread, and my aching cock drags over her dripping wet seam, making us both groan.

  Aela glances up at me, that wickedly mischievous glint in her eyes again. She hooks her legs around my waist, and suddenly, she’s flipping me over with me on my back.

  I grin. “That how it’s gonna be, huh?”

  She doesn’t respond with words, she only reaches between us and coos as she finds my cock and strokes it against her thigh.

  My hands slide up to her hips as she raises up, slipping around to cup her ass as she centers my pulsing cock against her entrance. She slides down me like hot silk, letting me fill her with every damn inch until I’m buried to the hilt inside of her.

  Her hands drop to my chest, fingers tightening across my skin as she slowly raises up and then rocks her hips back down, swallowing my length. I groan, as she starts to bounce up and down on my shaft. Her eyes close, her mouth hangs open in bliss, and her hair falls in tangles around her face as she rides my cock like she’s aching for it.

  My hands grab her ass and her hips possessively, leaving marks on her skin — making her mine all over again.

  And she will be mine.

  I don’t know how, and I know there’s only one outcome of her being back here. I know the job. I know there’s Mick, and Tommy, and the shit curveballs life’s thrown the two of us.

  Except I don’t give a shit about any of that right now. Right now, there’s only her and me, and us doing what we always did best.

  Being each other’s perfect fit. Being the missing piece in each other’s puzzle.

  We move faster, and harder, and deeper, until we’re fucking at this breakneck, frantic pace. Hands paw at skin, mouths groan into the other’s, nipping at skin and lips as the ecstasy roars through us both like a drug.

  And when we come, it’s right together. It’s us crashing and shattering over that edge at the same damn time. She tosses her hair back, and I watch her whole damn body light up from the inside out as she comes. Her name catches on my lips as I explode deep inside of her, arms clutching her tight as I pump into her again and again until there’s nothing left but us collapsing onto the sheets in a haze.

  We start back up twenty minutes later.

  An hour after that, we’re at it again.

  Actually, we end up spending the next three damn days saying things with our bodies we know we can’t say out loud.

  Because saying it with words will mean the end, and even though I know there is an end, I’m not so sure I’m ready to face it yet.

  If I’ll ever be.

  Chapter 25

  Aela

  I smooth the veil over my eyes.

  It’s not helping. It’s not hiding what I’m thinking, or what I can see in my own face in the mirror of the dressing room at the back of Saint Michael’s.


  Music filters in from the church.

  The dress feels stifling — too tight. And I don’t even recognize the girl looking back at me in the mirror.

  Let’s be honest, all girls fantasize about their wedding day when they’re little. But I’d bet very few imagine it to be to the drunk, sleazy, son of a mob boss in exchange for paying off a debt you owe to the mafia.

  Liam and I have spent the last few days ignoring this looming calendar date.

  The reason I’m home.

  The end game.

  The only outcome for all of this.

  We’ve buried ourselves in forgetting with each other, taking our minds off the fact that after this day, I’m stuck with Tommy. And I don’t even really know what that means. Of course I know Tommy’s a tool, and a drunk, and an idiot. And I know we’re actually getting married for this deal to go through.

  But I don’t know what that means for, well, whatever Liam and I are right now.

  I have zero doubts Tommy will have his women on the side — in fact I’m hoping for it. But sneaking around right now or even back then under my dad’s roof with Liam was one thing. When I’m actually married to the son of the head of the Boston chapter of the Dark Saints, that’s another game entirely — one where we wind up dead if we’re caught.

  I slump in the chair in front of the mirror.

  Yeah, not the wedding day I fantasized about.

  The door creaks open behind me.

  “Nora, if you didn’t bring whiskey, I swear—”

  My eyes glance up into the mirror, and I freeze before I whirl towards him.

  “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding you know.”

  Liam’s grin cracks through the grim mask he’s been wearing for the last few days, his eyes burning into me as he leans against the door he’s just closed.

  “Your husband isn’t supposed to see you. I think you’re fair game for me though.”

  Fair game.

  I shiver.

  His eyes spark, and there’s that hungry look on his face. I can feel my breath hitch, and my pulse quicken. The desire teases hot between my legs as he looks at me like, well, like that.

  “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Liam—”

  “Aela.”

  The wicked heat creeps through my body. “Well, since you’re here…” I blush. “How do I look?”

  “Incredible,” he says softly. “You look fucking incredible, Aela, but you already knew that.”

  I smile. “Well, whatever else he is, Mick doesn’t skimp on wedding costs.”

  Liam’s face hardens.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Believe me, it’s not fine that Mick is marrying me off to secure his claim like some sort of tribal barbarian chieftain.”

  Liam grins. “A chieftain huh? Does that make me one of the barbarians now?”

  “You were always a barbarian.”

  His eyes flash as he grins. “Damn right.”

  He steps towards me.

  “Don’t,” I breathe.

  He doesn’t stop.

  “Liam.” I bite my lip, dragging my teeth over it. “What are you doing?”

  “What barbarians do,” he growls, moving even closer to me.

  “Liam, I—”

  “Ravish maidens.”

  I gasp, breathless and my heart beating as he pulls me against him. “We could get caught.”

  “We could,” he growls.

  His hand trails over the back of my dress, teasing me. His other hand grips my waist, and I melt against him.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Whatever we want, Aela.”

  And then he’s kissing me.

  I moan into his lips, falling into him as he takes me in his arms. He’s forceful, his lips bruising against mine in the way I love — in the way that leaves me panting for more.

  We go crashing backwards into the table I’ve just been sitting in front of, makeup and flowers and the program to this absurd wedding going scattering to the floor.

  He drops to his knees, and I’m moaning as he pushes the big, poofy wedding dress around my hips. I clutch at the table as his mouth finds me, his breath hot against my pussy.

  He pulls my panties to the side.

  I whimper.

  His tongue pushes deep, drinking the honey from my lips before he moves up. He curls his tongue over my clit, teasing me with the tip and making my muscles clench and writhe.

  “Liam—” I gasp his name, close already as the dirtiness of what we’re doing, and where, and when we’re doing it washes over me in this beautifully naughty haze.

  I’m so close, so close to just letting go when he pulls away.

  I moan, whimpering, and he chuckles.

  Goddammit, he knows it, too.

  “So not fair,” I mumble.

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  He flips me around, and I gasp as I hear his zipper, and then he’s pushing against me.

  “Fuck,” I moan, feeling his cock hard and pulsing hot against my thigh beneath the dress.

  I feel so insanely dirty. I mean I’m getting married in ten minutes. It doesn’t matter how fake it is, or how much I do not care about Tommy, or how this is in no way a relationship.

  But, I’m in a wedding dress, in the back room of a church.

  …And the man who won’t be at the alter with me is grabbing my hips as his cock slides deep inside of me.

  Liam pulls me up, his hand at my throat, his lips at my neck, his cock plunging in and out of me. I reach back, clutching blindly at him, one hand braced on the mirror in front of us as I let him take me away from all of this.

  This is sweet escape

  Sweet release.

  I’m not thinking whether this is the last time or not, because I just let go.

  I moan louder, feeling him get even bigger, feeling my own body starting to tumble. His hands pull tight at my hip, at my neck, his teeth sinking into my shoulder and making me cry out as I start to shatter.

  He rocks in deep, hitting just the perfect angle, and I explode. And when I come, I’m staring at his face in the mirror before my eyes close shut as the wave crashes over me.

  Liam growls into my ear as he pushes deep, and when he comes, filling me to the brim, I can feel myself climax all over again.

  We hold like that for a minute, his lips trailing over my neck, hands stroking my back and my ass before slowly, he’s pulling out. I stand, fixing my dress and making a face at my totally disheveled hair in the mirror.

  Suddenly, Liam’s spinning me around and kissing me.

  “I have to go.”

  I nod quietly. “I’ll see you out there?”

  It’s such a lame thing to say. What, I’ll see you out there, at my wedding?

  His jaw tightens, and I know there’s so much more we both want to say.

  There’s so much more I want to tell him, and things I want to say to him.

  But we can’t.

  That door is shut, and even if we got a glimpse through it these last two weeks, it’s going to stay shut. Because life doesn’t always let you do what you want.

  My own life is a testament to that.

  Sometimes, you do what you have to do.

  Like this.

  Chapter 26

  Liam

  I leave Aela’s dressing room with a fucking storm following.

  Fuck.

  I should be strutting. I should have this grin on my face. I mean, shit, it’s not every day you get to fuck the bride of an asshole you can’t stand ten minutes before she walks down the aisle.

  Except I hate this, and I’m not happy or gloating at all.

  And as I close the door and step away, I can’t help but wonder if that is the last time. The last “last time,” we didn’t know it was. It was in my car, parked on top of the parking garage on Thompson street by the docks with a view of the city.


  That’s about the peak of romance when you’re eighteen.

  It was fast, because she had to be home. But all I knew in that moment with the city laid out before us was how much I wanted it to last forever.

  What I didn’t know was that my brother Gray was being arrested that very night. What I didn’t know was that the FBI was executing a warrant to search her dad’s office that night.

  An office he was smart enough to keep clean, but still.

  After that, shit blew up.

  Four days later, Sheila OD-ed in that stark, dirty apartment in Roxbury, and after that, the whole thing went nuclear.

  The difference between now and then is vast, but it’s still the same feeling.

  The feeling that something big is about to happen. The feeling that things are about to blow up all over again.

  And unlike last time, this one hurts. Because I’m walking away this time and I’ve got a pretty solid idea that what we just did was the last time.

  And man, does that burn deep.

  “Mr. Roarke.”

  I’m camped out by the side door of Saint Michael’s, having one of those moments where I wish I still smoked, when the accented voice has my head turning.

  Six years ago, when shit between the Saints and the Albanian mob was about to explode, Bujar Tahili and I pretty much almost beat each other to death in a street brawl over on Emerson Avenue.

  Of course, that was before Jack Reilly and Lorik Dushku, who ran things with the Albanians back then, brokered a peace. I wouldn’t exactly say Bujar and I are friends these days, but we’re at least civil when we cross paths now.

  I’d say it’s a step above coming at each other with brass knuckles. Just the same, I’m instantly curious why the fuck he’s here, at this wedding.

  Bujar sees the look on my face and quickly shakes his head. “I’m not here for the wedding, Mr. Roarke. But, congratulations.”

  “For?”

  “For the wedding? It is customary to give congratulations and blessings for such a thing, no?”

  I frown. “Not for this one.”

  He raises a brow and I shake my head. “Forget it.”

  “I am looking for your brother.”