UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Zoey Parker

  The words—from Micah and me both—made me remember all too well the dreams I’d had the night before, and it was only too easy to imagine how Micah might in the future make use of a “personal slut” if the opportunity arose. I wasn’t sure whether I was more aroused or disgusted at the idea of Micah making me stay naked in his bed every night for a month, there to be fucked whenever and however he wanted, to pay off my brother’s debt. He never said anything of the sort—just in your dreams. Stop jumping to conclusions. But Micah was obviously attracted to me, at least sexually; he had obviously enjoyed himself, and I got a very strong feeling that what Micah Rintley wanted, he generally managed to get.

  By the time I managed to collect my composure, Micah was fully clothed, looking as if nothing at all had happened. I almost resented him for the fact that there was no sign he’d just gotten off inside of me; no lingering look on his face or in his eyes. It wasn’t fair! Two can play that game. I took a quick, deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the throbbing complaint in my nipples.

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” Micah said, leaning slightly against my dresser. “We can talk about your new job.”

  “New job?” I sat on the edge of my bed, legs crossed, back straight. I wasn’t about to let Micah enjoy the sight of me humiliated and reeling or even just satisfied from his rough fucking. “What do you mean by a new job?”

  “You’re going to get my girls into bed with your bankers’ clients,” Micah told me. I stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Your bank has high-dollar clients,” he said. “I want them for my girls. You’re going to facilitate that.”

  “And I’m going to do that, because…”

  “Because I’ll cancel your brother’s debt against me.” I swallowed. I had only just really recovered from the mind-twist of saying that I belonged to a brutal mob boss, that my body belonged to him. I wasn’t ready for something so seemingly simple as a way to get rid of Chris’ problem.

  The idea of hooking up the bank’s clientele with prostitutes was appalling. It could completely destroy me—it could get me fired. Worse: it would, I was sure, absolutely destroy my professional reputation.

  “What about the bad debts I was collecting?”

  Micah shook his head. “This is more important,” Micah told me. “If you find a way to get my girls into the clients’ hotel beds, Chris Bamber goes back to being a normal guy who doesn’t owe me anything.”

  I wanted to reject the idea completely. I wanted to tell Micah that I wouldn’t do it in a million years; that he’d just have to keep to the original deal. This was putting my job at risk—my own life. So you’re fine with rolling up on drug addicts and dealers and mafia people with nothing more than a gun and your wits, but you’re not okay with facilitating prostitution? I shifted, able to feel Micah’s cum creeping along my labia. I needed another shower, but at the same time, there was part of me that liked the feeling. I pushed that realization out of my head.

  “What do you expect me to do?” Micah smirked.

  “It can’t be that hard to sell the idea of making their clients happy,” Micah told me. “If you could sell me on the idea of letting you collect bad debts to pay what your brother owed me, then people who actually trust you should be easy.” He stood up straight and came toward me, and I felt my whole body go tense—but I couldn’t say for sure whether it was because I was getting turned on by him again or because I was repulsed at the idea of him taking me so forcefully another time. You came all over his cock. You came harder than you’ve ever come with anyone else. Micah’s hand cupped my chin and he forced me to look up at him. “I’ll expect to hear from you soon,” he told me. I could still smell myself on his fingers, and felt a hot rush of something like shame flow through me, mingled with a weird kind of arousal at the memory of what Micah had just done to me only moments before. I still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t about to throw me down on the bed again, maybe pull my robe off completely and humiliate me by making me scream out about being his little slut so my brother could hear again. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  He let go of my face and turned away from me, and for a long time I just sat there, staring at the door. I heard him say something to Manny, and I assumed that he left without Chris, but I was too busy reeling from everything that had happened in a span of no more than maybe an hour to make myself look.

  I fell back onto my bed, staring up at my ceiling. Was I actually going to go through with Micah’s new demand? I didn’t really have much of a choice, did I? Micah obviously wasn’t willing to stick with the original deal of me getting back money for him to cover Chris’ debt. I closed my eyes and thought about the way that Micah had pinned me down. My wrists still ached from it, and my nipples felt tender, sensitive. The soreness between my hips, along my labia, had deepened, and my clit was still faintly throbbing from the rough treatment. But I couldn’t deny that it had been thrilling, that I’d come with him inside me, that some part of me had thrilled at the feeling of Micah’s cock twitching deep inside my pussy, the sensation of hot, sticky-slick cum flooding into me.

  I forced my brain away from that fact and back onto the challenge at hand. Chris, at least, would probably be glad to know that he wasn’t going to have to drive me around town to the homes of various deadbeats. But it was harder than ever not to resent my brother for the fact that I was being put into the position I was—the whole thing, from the confrontation with Chester to the current plan to get my coworkers to hire Micah’s prostitutes for clients. That I’d been violated twice—not against my will exactly, but certainly brutally—seemed to just be part of the greater stress and strain of the situation my brother had put me into with his own stupidity.

  It wasn’t his fault that he was robbed, I reminded myself. But it’s definitely his fault that he started working for Micah in the first place. What was he thinking? I had to laugh a bit to myself at that: after all, I had started working for Micah, too. What was I thinking?

  Getting money from Micah’s debtors had been—and would have been—personally dangerous to me, no matter how cavalier I pretended to be. But the new plan; that was professionally and personally dangerous to me. I could absolutely sink my reputation, and end up getting fired, if I did it the wrong way—maybe even if I did it the right way. At the end of the day, it was hard to say what was scarier.

  I decided I was going to take another shower before I confronted my brother with the news of the new plan; I didn’t really want to talk to him mostly naked and smelling of Micah.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sadie

  On Monday, I went back to work, and I had to pretend like nothing had happened. But I also had to figure out how I was going to set things up so that Micah’s prostitutes would end up with one of the bankers’ clients.

  That morning, I’d gotten up the way I always did, taken a quick shower—more to wake myself up than to actually get clean—and had a cup of coffee. Chris had still been asleep in his room when I’d gotten dressed for work, thinking all the while about who I could waylay first, who I could get to go along with Micah’s plan.

  Chris had apparently decided that he was either not curious about what he’d heard from my bedroom or just wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened; we hadn’t talked about it at all the rest of the weekend, while I made my lunches for the week and made dinner for Saturday and Sunday night. We agreed that Chris was going to lie low until I managed to discharge his debt.

  I had told him about the new plan and he’d been shocked that Micah was willing to get me involved in his business. “I knew that he’d wanted to expand things, get access to better clientele—but I didn’t know he was interested in that kind of better clientele,” Chris had said, once I explained what Micah had wanted from me.

  “It makes sense, in a certain way,” I’d had to admit. “I mean—it would make sense if he wanted to expand things and grow his business, repeat clientele who have deep pockets would be a
good idea.”

  I hadn’t liked the idea, even as I acknowledged the sense in it. If it had been someone else Micah had gone to, I would have possibly even encouraged him; but because it was my job on the line, my reputation that might be destroyed, I couldn’t really like it.

  I pulled into my parking spot at the bank, and went to my desk, and thought about how to go about doing what Micah wanted. He’d told me—jokingly, at least half-way—that it couldn’t be hard to sell my coworkers on the concept of making their clients happy. But who would I go to first? It wasn’t like I could make some kind of general announcement—or write up some kind of memo—telling the group I worked with that I was able to facilitate a hookup between their clients and some prostitutes.

  Oh yes, that’d go over well: “To Whom it May Concern: it’s come to my attention that many of our male clientele enjoy having sex, some of them with women other than their wives. I think it would be worth exploring a connection I recently developed to provide for this particular preference in the interest of developing deeper and more meaningful connections with our potential and current clients…”

  I would need to try and start it with just one of my coworkers. I considered my options as I went about my typical Monday morning chores. I was the only woman in the office; there were a few other women who worked in the company, but they were in different areas of the bank, and almost never came to my side of the office building. How I’d ended up the sole source of estrogen in an entire office was beyond me, but it had—I had to admit—come with certain benefits. If I ever wanted a date to something, I’d had only to ask Jack or Nate, at least before they’d started seeing people. I could have asked Harold, too—but he was a bit old for me.

  I looked around as it got closer to lunch and tried to decide who I should approach. I didn’t think that Paul would be a good choice; he was married man, only slightly younger than Harold, and seemed to mostly be straight-laced. Harold might be someone I could talk to but the idea of going to a divorced, middle-aged man and proposing that he let me hook him or his clients up with prostitutes gave me the creeps.

  That left Jack and Nate. They were both within the age range where we had hung out a few times at work functions or after work until they got girlfriends, and they’d both made it clear that they thought I was attractive. If I had been actually interested in dating either of the guys it might have worked out pretty decently—but I didn’t really find either of them all that attractive.

  “Yes!” Jack pumped his fists in the air in his office. I grinned and looked up, all polite interest.

  “Good news?”

  Jack looked out through the door of his office and beamed at me. He was objectively kind of cute: short, dark hair, dark eyes, clean-shaven, always wore tailored suits to the office, got his shoes shined weekly. The fact that all he seemed to be interested in was clothes, accounts, and cars was what had actually turned me off about him. I don’t think he’d ever read a book that wasn’t along the lines of The Secret, at least not once he’d gotten his MBA. But he was good at his job.

  “Just got someone on the hook,” Jack told me. “Potential new client for Wealth Management services.”

  “Oh really?” Jack nodded in response to my question. He came out of his office to lean against my desk.

  “He’s come into a fortune recently after selling off his company, and is looking to invest in such a way that he doesn’t have to work for a long time while he goes about working on his next big hit,” Jack explained. “Seems like a solid dude.”

  I pressed my lips together; this was exactly the kind of opening that I could use for Micah’s idea: give Jack the line that he could really get the client on his side, seeing things his way, if he got him “companionship” for the night, a little after-dinner entertainment. But I wasn’t sure even how to broach the topic.

  I went to lunch and tried to think of how to go about bringing Jack around to the idea. I thought I’d start out with some hints, and work up to a direct proposal of what I wanted him to do. I picked at my food—pasta salad with chopped up baked chicken, bell pepper, corn, avocado and cheese—and considered. Of course, Jack was out somewhere eating steak or pasta or something; probably having a martini or a beer. I looked around the courtyard, considering my approach, what hints I would drop to get the effect I wanted.

  Being the only woman in the office, I had a kind of “allure”—even once Jack and Nate had gotten girlfriends, they came to me for advice on them. I’d never really thought much of it; I wasn’t really the type of woman—at least, as far as I was concerned—to play the vixen, but it was something that I thought I might be able to use. As I tried to make myself eat, and tried to think of an approach, my thoughts turned to Micah once more.

  Stop lying to yourself, I thought; you haven’t actually stopped thinking about Micah since Saturday afternoon when he left the apartment. I felt my cheeks burning up with the blood rushing into my face. By all rights I should have hated Micah, never wanted to see him again, been revolted by him. I should have felt like a victim, from the way he’d treated me both times we’d had sex. But there was some very large part of my mind that thrilled at the way Micah had dominated me, the fact that I’d come as hard as I had, the words he’d said to me and made me say. I shuddered, remembering all too well the feeling of him inside of me, the way he touched me, the sound of his voice in my ear and the intensity of everything. It was unlike any other experience I’d had in my life, and I couldn’t deny the fact that I had never—ever—come so hard with anyone else I’d been with; not that I’d been with very many guys.

  “You look lonely,” Jack said, stopping on his way through the courtyard to sit down across from me at the table. I rolled my eyes with a little grin, and sat back a little bit.

  “Just thinking,” I replied.

  “You’re too pretty to be sitting around by yourself thinking,” Jack joked.

  “I could say the same to you,” I countered. “But I suspect you didn’t have lunch all by your lonesome.”

  Jack grinned. “I did meet with a client who is looking to maybe cross-enroll in services. Older lady—total cougar.”

  “Did she buy your liquor for you and pinch your cheek?”

  Jack snorted. “I kept it strictly business; I paid with the corporate AmEx,” he told me. “What are you having?”

  “A sort of pasta salad deal,” I replied, showing him the contents of my Tupperware. “Some of us don’t have cushy corporate card deals where we can expense steak-and-martini lunches.”

  “You could if you got into the actual sales end of things,” Jack pointed out.

  “Not really an interest I have,” I told him. “I’m more an analysis-and-reports person, less a ‘deal with people’ person.” I thought for a few moments. “So what about that deal you were working on before lunch?”

  “What about it?”

  “Any plans about how you’re going to really get him hooked?”

  Jack gave me a curious look. “Suddenly you’re interested in my deals?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I know you’ve been working hard at it,” I pointed out. “And I might have an idea or two about how to increase the chances of success.”

  “I thought you said you’re an analysis-and-reports person,” Jack countered.

  “I am, and I’ve done some analysis on attracting clients,” I said.

  “Do tell,” Jack said, looking amused. I caught the shift of his gaze from his face to my chest and then quickly back up again.

  “Well, in case it hasn’t occurred to you, I do manage your receipts and reimbursements,” I explained. “I’ve noticed that you spend a lot of money on wining and dining them.”

  “Part of the whole business,” Jack said with a shrug. “As long as it’s within the guidelines for accounting, why should I worry about it?”

  “Well, you want to be efficient, right?” I took another bite of my pasta salad and let Jack consider that.

  “Okay, I’m
interested,” Jack said. “How can I be more efficient?” My heart was beating faster and faster in my chest, but I actually felt my appetite coming back to me, my mind focusing.

  “Entertainment,” I told him. Jack’s lips twisted into a half-smile.

  “Entertainment?” I nodded.

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “You can spend a little less on the meal, and a little more on post-meal entertainment, and—depending on how you entertain someone—they’ll remember a lot more vividly than if you spent a mint on the meal.”

  “Just what kind of entertainment are we talking about?” I checked the time on my phone; I needed to be back at my desk in fifteen minutes.

  “Let’s just say I have some connections,” I said, grinning at Jack a little bit. “I know some—shall we say—friendly companionship that could help warm some hotel rooms for clients of yours.” Jack’s eyes widened.