by S. E. Lund
"Do you want me, Celia?" he asked, poised at the opening, his thumb circling my clit in lazy strokes that drove me wild with need.
"Yes," I managed, barely able to speak.
"What do you want me to do, Celia?" he asked. "Say it."
I licked my lips. "Fuck me," I whispered.
"Louder," he said.
"Fuck me," I said more forcefully. I remembered him playing with me like that years ago, wanting me to beg. "Please," I added and he smiled.
"Why should I?" he asked, not satisfied with just my begging. "Why should I fuck you and make you come, Celia? Tell me."
"Because I need it," I replied, and it was true. I needed to feel his cock inside of me. All the way.
"You need it, do you? How long has it been since you had a cock inside you?"
He kept pressing gently at my opening, kept stroking my clit.
"Eight months."
He frowned at that. "Eight months? Fuck," he said, his voice incredulous. "How can you survive so long without sex? Jesus…"
I licked my lips, pushing my hips up, not wanting to talk about my lack of love life. "Fuck me please, Hunter."
"God," he said, his gaze moving over me. "Why don’t you have someone fucking you every night? If you were mine…"
Then he pushed into me entirely, his hands gripping my hips, and it felt so good, I groaned out loud, my eyes closed. He positioned me so that he could thrust while still stroking my clit, and soon, with very few thrusts, my body went over the edge once more and I began to spasm, my core tightening, my flesh clenching around his thick hard cock.
"Oh God, oh God," I cried out as I came, the sensation of pleasure so intense I felt momentarily blinded by it. He thrust even harder at that, and soon, when I cracked open my eyes and peeked at him through my eyelashes, I saw he was close as well, eyes half-closed but watching his cock sliding in and out of me, his face red, neck muscles and shoulders tense, jaw clenched.
"Fuck, oh, fuck," he groaned, thrusting hard and deep, ejaculating with each thrust. When he finally collapsed on top of me and lay still, I could still feel his cock spasm inside of me.
I wrapped my arms around him, and together we breathed deeply as we both recovered.
It felt completely strange and, at the same time, completely right to be lying like that, in Hunter's arms, his cock still deep inside me. It felt like no time had passed since that first night—except, of course, so much had happened.
So much bad had happened between us, to each of us, since then…
After a few moments, he rose and removed the condom from his cock, still semi-erect, then tied it off and tossed it in a trash can beside the bed. He crawled off the bed and grabbed his boxer briefs, pulling them on quickly.
Then he turned and left me lying there while he went to the ensuite bathroom.
I frowned. I heard him take a piss, then decided I had better get up myself. I went into the bathroom and found my towel, then stopped beside him, wondering what I should do next.
"Bacon and eggs," he said and pointed at the door. "I like my toast light with butter. Oh, and fresh-squeezed juice. There's a juicer in the cupboard by the refrigerator."
"Yes, Sir," I said tartly, feeling suddenly like what I was—a servant. A sex servant. A sex worker, who doubled as a cook and whatever else Hunter wanted.
There was no moment of post-coital intimacy between us. It was like I'd just made his bed or cleaned his room. He leaned close to the mirror and examined his cut, touching the butterfly bandages where one had come a bit loose from the steam.
He saw me still standing there, and turned to me.
"You don't want to be late for class, Celia. Chop-chop."
I stomped out of the bathroom and went to my own bedroom, my body feeling well-used after two shattering orgasms and his big thick cock pounding into me, but my feelings were hurt. I felt empty as I pulled on my clothes. I brushed my hair back and stared at my face in the mirror.
"You're a prostitute," I said to my reflection. "So much for your fancy Harvard degree…"
I made him breakfast, frying bacon and eggs in a pan I found in a cupboard, and he finally showed up to eat, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a pale blue shirt and black tie that set off his eyes.
I placed his plate of food down, along with a glass of fresh orange juice and coffee. Barely a word passed between us the entire time. He sat at the island and read the paper while he ate, his focus on the financial section. For my part, I ate some eggs and toast, and drank some coffee.
Finally, he glanced at his very expensive watch and eyed me. "Gotta go. James should be downstairs for you in about thirty minutes."
He folded up his paper and left it on the island, then went to the closet by the front entrance to slip on his shoes. He adjusted his tie in the mirror beside the door and then left, not even looking back.
I sat there in mute incomprehension.
He felt nothing. While I was all mixed up inside, aroused and upset, feeling sick about everything but enjoying it anyway, he acted like nothing happened out of the ordinary.
I left the kitchen and plopped onto the sofa, staring out the window at the bay, a sense of emptiness making me feel like crying. I glanced around the apartment. In truth, it wasn't a bad job, as jobs went. Sleep in a huge four-poster bed, fuck the lord of the manor and orgasm twice. Make breakfast, and then go to class.
Hunter had become a mafia money man. He owned me—at least, for as long as it took to pay off my debt. I'd become his call girl.
I sighed and went to the bedroom to make the bed before I left for class.
One night down, one hundred and ninety-nine nights to go…
Chapter 6: Hunter
Hunter
Running the clubs and gym were child's play for me—a piece of cake.
I could run them in my fucking sleep.
Figuring out what to do with Celia? That was a bit more of a challenge, and was precisely why it occupied an even larger share of my hungry mind's attention.
I stood by the huge multi-paned window on the third floor of the warehouse I owned by the waterfront and waited for George to arrive. While I waited, I contemplated recent events.
Paying off Celia's and Graham's debt had been a success. I met with Victor Romanov and had a real heart-to-heart with him about my old friend's money problems and what I wanted to do. Victor apologized that Stepan had beaten up Graham, but protested that he had no idea Graham was my friend. He agreed that Stepan should have done more research into who Graham was and come to me when there were problems with the payment. He agreed with me that Stepan could take a beating so I could exact punishment for the oversight. Stepan was a psychopath who loved to torture, and he could always use a reminder of who was boss.
Victor was boss. I was his new friend, fast becoming a very good friend, and now considered the head of my family, which held sway in the world of gangsters and thugs.
My approach to Victor was well-planned and successfully executed. My first drill sergeant in the Marines—the one who had said I would go far one day if I put my mind to it—would be proud of the efficiency with which I arranged a meeting with the mafia boss and got my way with him.
"Who is this fellow to you?" Victor asked as we sat in a booth in his restaurant. Several big-muscled thugs stood around us, watching for any threats to Victor, who was second in command in the Romanov family in Boston.
"He's an old friend," I said. "He and I were supposed to go into business once upon a time but things didn't work out. He made a bad investment, lost his sister's inheritance, and then couldn’t pay the interest. I'm paying it for him out of loyalty and friendship. He couldn't pay the debt, and neither could his little sister."
"That's big of you," he said, eyeing me over his plate of food. "I like a man who's loyal to friends and family. Very big of you to look after his little sister's debt. Isn’t his father the current DA?"
I nodded. "Stepfather. A man doesn't choose his mother's second husb
and," I said, defending Graham, even though Graham had chosen Spencer over me. I hoped to distract his attention away from Celia.
"He doesn't," Victor said and took a drink. "Your friend needs a new investment advisor. Maybe he should have gone into business with you. You've made some smart moves since you took over for Donny. I've been watching you."
I nodded. "Thank you. I have a mind for money."
"My kind of man," Victor said and held up his glass of vodka. We toasted each other and I shot back the vodka, enjoying it as it burned down my throat.
"Was this the pretty little thing that came to the club the other night and made a scene?"
I frowned. How did Victor know?
Then I kicked myself mentally. Of course Victor would know. Misha…
"Yes, that was Celia," I replied, hoping to shrug her off like she was nothing to me. I didn’t want Victor to think he could use her to get leverage over me.
We finished our drinks and I left as quickly as I could, hoping he wouldn't ask any more questions about Celia. I didn't want him interested in her.
The whole business gave me a great deal of satisfaction. Only a few weeks earlier, I’d been wondering how I could get in deeper with Victor and his brother. Now, thanks to Graham's foolhardy investing scheme, I’d found a way in. On his part, Victor probably thought he finally had something to use to reel me in under his control. I was using him to get closer to Sergei, my real target. What better way to ingratiate yourself with a mafia type than to be in debt to them and pay it off on time and with interest?
I left with a promise to come to his restaurant some night for a special family dinner. That was a good sign—if Victor invited me to one of their big family meals, I'd get to meet Sergei, my eventual target.
I heaved a sigh of relief as I left the restaurant. I didn't want Victor to know how much Celia still meant to me. Even if she had thrown me over for Greg, I didn’t want anything to happen to her.
I wasn't obsessed with her, but I thought about her a lot. The idea of having her completely under my control was keeping me in a state of semi-arousal.
As Sun Tzu wrote thousands of years ago, if you know the enemy as you knew yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.
I knew myself and I knew what was happening, but I had it under control.
I'd indulge myself in Celia, enjoy her body, use it for my own pleasure, and then I'd lose interest in her the way I lost interest in every other woman I'd been with.
As I walked down the block to my car, I couldn't remember the last time I’d felt this way about a woman. I never struggled much to have whatever woman I wanted and had never obsessed over those that got away. There weren't many women worthy of much obsessing.
Celia was the exception. She was worthy. She was also proving to be a real challenge but I was always up for a challenge. Hell, lately, I was always up, sporting a semi-hard-on at the prospect of seeing her at night. But my little visit to Victor worried me. He seemed too interested in her for my own good. That was the thing about gangsters. They were always thinking of ways to get more money out of you.
I planned on visiting Celia's dorm later in the day to install some bugs so she'd be safe when she was away from me.
I didn’t want to have to hire a bodyguard for her, because that wouldn't work on campus, but I could install a hidden camera and mic so her room could be monitored.
As for Celia, she had been nicely responsive to me the previous night. She couldn’t deny her body's response to me.
But I wanted more than just reluctant obedience.
I wanted her willing compliance. I had to use different tactics to win her over than what I’d used on the usual women I'd seduced and bedded.
I wanted Celia to willingly spread her quivering thighs for me.
Sure, she'd obeyed me when I ordered her to suck and fuck me. She'd even had two orgasms under my tongue and with my cock deep inside of her. But I wanted complete surrender. I wanted her to come to me, to ask me to fuck her.
The question was—how?
The real skill would be in making her surrender feel less like a loss than allowing what she had wanted to happen all along. I'd have to make it so that she felt she’d won.
That would take a lot of skill.
She'd reach a point when giving in would be appealing, better than remaining in her safe little dorm.
She'd come to me and put her arms around me, kiss me, ask me to fuck her. Tell me that she needed me.
That would be victory.
A sweet, sweet victory.
I intended to savor every moment of my victory when it came. I was certain it would.
I arrived at the warehouse I owned on the waterfront and went up to the third-floor apartment where I'd set up an office. Several of my security staff were there, waiting for my orders. As for me, I was waiting for my best friend from Afghanistan to arrive—a merc who worked with the US Marines and who was now freelance. He was scheduled to fly in that afternoon and I looked forward to having him with me while I planned my revenge against the Romanov family.
Raucous laughter from the guys brought me back to the present. A pile of money from the weekend's fights at the gym was two feet tall and twice as wide. The mob loved to launder their dirty money through the fights. Two of the guys played with it, fanning their faces with the wads of cash, smelling the money, throwing the wads at each other like the little boys they really were, so impressed with a bunch of paper.
Despite being an investment adviser and stockbroker by training, I didn't get this fetish with actual paper money. For me, it was nothing more than a bargaining chip, a weapon in my war against those who had destroyed my family.
The guys saw it as bottles of booze, dope, women, flashy clothes, and nice cars.
For me, money became a means for vengeance. The more of it I had, the more respect among the mob I gained, the more ins I had with the dirty cops, and the politicians. The more power I had, the more freedom I had to exact revenge.
Luckily, it also gave me a way into Celia's life, and between her milky white thighs.
There was also a way to Celia's heart. Although I could order her to fuck me, suck my dick, that wasn't what I really wanted. I wanted her to wrap her thighs willingly around my neck, around my waist.
Willingly. Not because she had to.
Then, when she did, I'd leave her the way she’d left me.
Noise outside the warehouse dragged my attention away from pleasantly erotic thoughts of Celia's milky white thighs to a black SUV on the street below—Georgi, whom we jokingly called Yorgi after the movie Triple X, and who now went by just George.
He'd been my right-hand man in Afghanistan. Tough but affectionate, with smarts enough to be able to admit he just didn’t know something, George was loyal to a fault. Together, we'd worked the towns and villages in Afghanistan, stalking al Qaeda, paying off tribal leaders to ensure the negotiations for the pipeline from the Caspian went through without a hitch.
I smiled when I saw his salt-and-pepper brush cut, a legacy of his years working with Marines. After months of us each going our own separate paths, seeing George was one of the few moments of genuine pleasure I'd felt in a long time.
I rubbed my hands together with glee and went to the elevator to wait and ambush him once the doors opened.
One of my men emerged first, carrying George's luggage, and I was unable to hold myself back, almost jumping on George as I threw his arms around him. For his part, George dropped a briefcase and embraced me, clapping me on the back.
"Come in, come in, you old bastard." I led George through the door into the third floor. "Welcome to your new home."
George followed me inside and looked around the empty space.
"I'm staying here?" he asked in his thick Russian accent.
"This is your new home. All of it."
He went up to the pile of money on the table. "What's this for?" He picked up a wad of cash. "Do you expect me to make bed out of
this? Stack into table and couch?"
"No," I said, leaning back against the table, crossing my arms. "It's called mon-ey. M–O–N–E–Y. You exchange it for commodities on a market. I want you to go right out and furnish the place to your tastes. Use whatever you need. I want an office up here with a full security system, cameras inside and outside. Whatever you need to provide security."
George nodded and glanced around the empty space. Finally, he turned back to me.
"Where is Donny? Didn't his lawyers get him out of custody?"
I shook my head. "No luck so far."
"I am surprised you didn't spring him," George said and dropped the wad of money back on the pile.
"You're joking, right?"
"You could pull off. How many times we capture bad guys and take them to safe house? It would be great mission. Real challenge. Can you imagine? Getting into his cell and getting him out?"
"Donny'll be fine." I didn't add that I was glad he was out of the way, or that I blamed him for my brother's death.
"How is your dad?"
I shrugged, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Not so good. His heart is bad, plus he has COPD. Losing Sean hit him hard."
George nodded and then sighed, glancing at the pile of money. He took another wad and flipped through it. "First thing I need is bed. Nice big bed fit for sultan. I have been sleeping in flea-bite motels for weeks."
"Ah," I said and put my arm around him and walked him to the door. "The sultan needs a bed fit for his station in life. Will you be requiring a harem? You know, to restore you to your former magnificent self?"
"First things first. I want to buy bed. For past two weeks, I eat nothing but chicken fry steak, tacos, and grits down in South. I want big Russian dinner. Tonight, I want to sleep for twelve hours straight. Then we talk pretty little things."
"Your wish is one of my men's commands. Speaking of pretty little things, I have myself a nice one." I licked my lips. "I'm going over to her place later today to check it out while she's at class. Wanna come and snoop with me?"
