by Brook Wilder
“Yes! I love your cock!” she shouted, eager to say anything that would make him fuck her harder.
“Put your hand between your legs,” he commanded. “Rub your clit for me.”
Sharon loosened her grip on his blanket and slid on hand underneath her body. Her pussy began to pulse as she rubbed her clit. She gasped as the sound of her own wanton pleasure grew louder and faster as she neared her orgasm.
“Who’s the only man that ever made you cum?” Vittorio asked.
“You… you are…” Sharon said dreamily, right on the edge of total ecstasy.
“That’s fuckin’ right,” he grunted. As soon as she said it, he unleashed himself upon her, fucking her as deep, as hard and as fast as he could. He hoped it hurt a little; he wanted the orgasm to overwhelm her.
Sharon screamed, the prettiest and loudest sound to come out of her sweet mouth so far, and her sex clamped hard around him as she came. A squirt of fresh juices flooded his cock and brought Vittorio right up the edge with her. He fucked her through her scream, delighting in the pleasure he caused her.
“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” he growled. “Are you my dirty little whore?”
“Yes!” She cried. “Yes! I’m your dirty little whore!”
His cock throbbed and then burst inside Sharon. She continued to cry out as he filled her with his warm load. The tight constrictions of her cunt milked him for everything he had. Vittorio practically went blind, lost every sense except for the overwhelming pleasure radiating from his cock.
He pulled himself out of Sharon, watching her filmy juices leak out of her along with his milky cum. Mine, he thought possessively as he flopped down on the bed next to her, suddenly exhausted.
Sharon fell forward onto her belly, her shaky thighs collapsing as she laid down. She fought to catch her breath and bring herself back down to Earth. She lay there, panting and frazzled, while Vittorio put a hand on his chest and steadied his own breath.
After a few more moments of recovery, Sharon propped herself up on her elbows and gave Vittorio a bewildered look.
“That…” she started. “That was incredible.”
“I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?” Vittorio asked. Now that he felt a little more human than animal, he was actually a little concerned.
“No, no” Sharon insisted. “It was great.”
“Good.” Vittorio breathed.
Sharon rolled over on her back, her tits falling out to each side slightly as she lay there, gathering herself. Her world was still spinning. She couldn’t believe she had been missing out on a feeling like that for this long. What else had she been missing out on?
Vittorio was surprised by the affection he felt for this girl. He surprised himself by saying “Come here,” and pulling her limp frame into the crook of his arm.
Sharon tentatively rested her head on Vittorio’s tattooed chest. She heard the harried beating of his heart and had to fight the notion that he felt like home.
This was just sex, she reminded herself firmly. Pleasure didn’t mean love. But the rush of pleasure still pumping through her freshly deflowered brain was doing a pretty job of convincing her otherwise.
Besides, Vittorio had already implied that he was going to let her go once he was done fucking her. She had a life to get back to; school, work, her dreams. None of those things really worked with a dangerous Mafia Don in the picture.
And what was he going to do, date her? Not only did he openly have a lot of options, but he didn’t seem like the “settle down” type. What could they even have in common anyway? She was a broke college student and he was a wealthy career criminal. It could never work.
Sharon patted Vittorio’s chest and pushed herself up.
“That really was incredible,” she told him. “But I really should be going. It’s late and I have class in the morning—”
“Going?” Vittorio asked. “And where do you think you’re going exactly?”
Sharon felt her heart drop. “I thought you said…”
“Oh no, sweetheart, I didn’t say anything,” Vittorio said, a dark glint in his eyes. He reached over to his bedside table and began feeling around in the drawer without breaking eye contact.
“Wh-what do you mean?” Sharon asked, her voice wavering.
Before Sharon realized what he was doing, Vittorio snapped a handcuff around her wrist and wrapped the other cuff around the bedpost. Her heart rate spiked as he locked the cuff to the frame.
“You… you’re going to keep me here?”
“Yeah, I am.” Vittorio climbed off the bed and stood, one hand on his chin as if admiring his handy work. He began to retrieve his clothes from where they lay scattered around the room. He dressed himself slowly, while Sharon began to panic.
“You can’t do that!” she hollered at him.
“Actually,” Vittorio said with a playful shrug, “I can. I own you, remember.”
Sharon was dumbfounded.
“You said so yourself.” He was now fully clothed and checking his watch.
“Well I didn’t mean…” Sharon started.
Vittorio leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
“Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, sweetheart,” he told her, before he walked out of the room and shut the door.
To be continued
Read on for an excerpt from Book 1 of the Dirty Cruisers MC series – Ride Hard:
PREVIEW: Ride Hard
HE’LL TAKE EVERYTHING FROM ME, AND HE’S JUST GETTING STARTED.
It was supposed to be a simple delivery—until Joel Lasseter forced me off the road, held me up, and told me he was taking whatever he wanted.
I want to say that I resisted.
I want to say that I put up the good fight.
I want to say that I never saw him again.
But none of that would be the truth.
Chapter 1
The snowcapped mountains sank like the teeth of a saw blade into the azure blue sky and streams of white clouds hung like fat cotton balls as the breeze stilled for a brief moment. It whipped up again, sweeping them away like ribbons of white caught in an eddy of sapphire and it brought the smell of crisp evergreen and earthy mulch, along with another, more pungent smell.
Carla wiped the slight dew of sweat from her brow as she bent over the small seedling she was nurturing to life--along with the rows of its brothers and sisters--and put it back in its place before moving on to the next one. When she had graduated from the University of Colorado with a degree in botany earlier that year, Honey Bud Farms was the last place she’d imagined herself working in. She’d always pictured herself in some lab, in a clean white coat and goggles, researching new or unknown species. She learned pretty quickly that botany research jobs didn’t hang on trees, and as her student loan bills had started to come due, she’d been out of options.
As the breeze moved in, cooler now that the sun was just starting to dip behind the mountain peaks, she shivered slightly. The temperature could drop rapidly--and drastically--at this altitude and she regretted not grabbing her jacket from her truck earlier. Her dust-coated jeans and tank top did nothing as the air around her chilled even more and Carla gratefully ducked into the greenhouse.
She was instantly greeted by a blessed wave of humidity and she took a deep breath of the warm, peat scented air as she walked slowly down the long rows. This was where she belonged. Where she felt most at peace. Each tiny plant, some hardly more than a bare sprout, each sat nestled in their canvas bag wrapped soil, each in their place under the grow lights that hung low and filled the eighty-foot greenhouse with a warm, sunny yellow light. Carla instantly relaxed as she set to work going over each row, doing the last checks before closing up for the night.
Her job at the farm was simple. She was in charge of making sure the species of plants were all healthy and thriving, and she was even producing a new splice of plants that should result in higher yields next season. She bent down and ran the pads of her fingers along the
newly developed plants, each with their familiar five leaf shape, and shook her head with a small grin. She never thought she’d be using her degree in botany to grow new strains of weed, but at least she was using her knowledge, and working with the thing she loved most. Plants, that is, not marijuana, even though she did indulge from time to time.
She’d always had a green thumb, some of her earliest memories were of working out in the garden with her grandma, getting dirt underneath her fingernails and loving every minute of it. There was a special kind of magic in bringing life to something as mundane as a tiny seed, of watching it grow, nurturing it. Carla had always known she wanted to work with plants but it had taken going to college to fall in love with the science behind it. And now, she was working at Honey Bud Farm. Growing weed.
The thought of college made her stomach knot uncomfortably, like it always did these days. The debt from her student loans kept piling higher and higher and she had to scrape together everything she could just to make the monthly payments. She’d gradated almost a year ago, believing that she would be able to walk into any job she wanted. Turns out, the jobs she wanted were few and far between. Very far between. And she had struggled from waitress gigs to bartending until finally landing here.
On top of her school bills, there was rent to pay and groceries to buy. A girl had to eat, even though surviving on canned soup everyday couldn’t really be considered ‘eating’. Not good eating, anyway. A twinge of guilt had her shifting her shoulders. The last couple months had been really hard and her neighbor and friend, Elle, had helped her out with rent. Carla still hadn’t been able to pay her back, even though she’d been trying. It was just one more line item on her growing list of debts. At least she had a steady job now, so she could plan on her paychecks, but lately she had been wondering if it was even worth the money.
It had been almost four months since she started working at the farm, and so far it had been great, giving her the opportunity to at least work with plants. Well, almost great. The job was nice, the farm was close to her house just outside of Denver, so the commute was fine. No, the problem was Maurice.
Maurice was her boss and the owner of the farm. Things had been fantastic the first few months but then he’d started coming down from the small house adjacent to the farm that served as the office more and more, and always when she was on shift. Carla didn’t really pay attention at first, she had just been so grateful to have a job, if the boss was a little on the weird side, at least she was getting a paycheck.
But he had started following her around, leering at her while she was working, and most of the time, it was just the two of them. Sometimes Eric, their regular driver, was there to pick up a new shipment but it was getting harder and harder for her to deal with. Sometimes he would just stare, sometimes he would make comments as she walked by and it made her cringe every time.
Maurice was in his late fifties, but indulging in alcohol and smoking had aged him by at least another ten years. His skin was haggard and yellow and hung off his portly frame in unflattering rolls. His beady eyes seemed to track her every movement, and when he was there it made her job almost unbearable.
The worst had been one day over a week ago. Carla had felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck, that feeling that someone was watching her. An itch between her shoulder blades that she tried to ignore, but finally couldn’t. She’d been alone, working outside to gather the bags that had already been dried and processed, ready to be shipped to the dispensary in Denver and the sensation refused to go away. She’d looked around her, knowing that she was alone on the farm that day except for Maurice.
On a hunch, she’d glanced back over her shoulder towards the office and there he’d been, standing at the window, just staring at her. She’d only caught a glimpse from his shoulders up but with the way his arm had been moving, she’d been pretty sure she knew what he was doing in there and the thought had made her want to throw up. But she didn’t know how to approach him about it. It was obvious he would just deny whatever allegations she raised against him because there was never anyone else around when he pulled that shit. Just her word against his.
As if the thought alone had conjured him, Maurice strode though the greenhouse door, his stance all cocky arrogance as his leering gaze swept over her. Nausea followed that look and she kept her head down and pretended not to notice as best as she could, but it became almost as impossible as he circled closer.
“What is it, Maurice?” she finally asked, having to say something to break the tension that was filling the greenhouse like noxious gas. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at her in a way that was meant to be coy but just looked greasy smeared across his ruddy face.
“Nothing. Nothing. This is my business after all and I need to make sure I take care of every single aspect.” The way he clipped every word, all the while looking at her with his beady eyes filled with sick lust had her quickly moving to the next row, and as far away from him as she could get while finishing up. Carla hastened her movements, trying to rush to get done so she could leave. It was starting to feel claustrophobic even though the greenhouse spanned eighty feet long and over twenty feet tall. It didn’t matter. She could be in the middle of the freaking Sahara Desert and, if he were there, it would still feel too small.
“Hey, what’s the hurry? You have a hot date tonight? You want one?” his voice slid like an oil slick as she tried to shrug off his question, deciding not to answer because she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would quit then and there, and she still desperately needed this job. But he wouldn’t let her ignore him. Suddenly he was there beside her, moving quickly despite his bulk and his hard grasp on her upper arm had her hissing out in disgust and surprise.
“What the–”
“I asked you a question, Carla. You don’t want to be rude, do you? Now, tell me you’ll be a good girl.” He was so close she could read the intent in his dark eyes, partially hidden by the folds of his eyelid, and the sweat that marred his brow. She jerked her arm away, taking several stumbling steps away as she fought against the sudden trembling in her legs.
“No. No, I um, I should go. Everything is done here. I have to go,” Carla mumbled hastily while she ducked down another row, ignoring Maurice’s next words. She knew whatever they were, she didn’t want to hear them.
She was practically running by the time she got to her truck and she didn’t spare a single glance backwards as she threw it into gear and tore down the long drive out onto the main highway. The road was nearly empty and she was glad because she could barely concentrate on the pavement as the miles went by, the sky moving from dusky blue to deep indigo as stars started to wink to life.
But she didn’t see any of it. All she could feel was Maurice’s sweaty hand grasping her arm, his meaty fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. By the time she pulled down her own driveway, she almost had her nerves under control but, after she turned the engine off, she still she sat there, her mind replaying it over and over in her mind. Maybe she should just quit and deal with finding another job. But the only other thing she was qualified to do was waitress and that didn’t make nearly enough. She was barely keeping her head above water as it was.
If she just kept her head down and keep focused, maybe she could save enough so that she could quit. Carla gave a mental shake of her head, knowing it would take far longer than she could stand to work there to make what she needed. No, what she needed was a big cash boost. Despite herself, her mind went to the shipments they sent out every week. Shipments that went to local dispensaries and she knew exactly how much was in even just one of those. Enough to last her a year. Five years.
But who would she sell it to? The logical part of her brain tried to interject, but the desperation she felt outweighed it. She knew there was a shipment due to leave in two days, and she knew if she stayed at the farm Maurice would try something again, maybe worse next time.
A sharp tap at her window jolted her out of her seat and made he
r swear as she rolled down the window.
“Fuck, Elle, are you trying to kill me?” Carla said, and tried to slow her heart rate back to normal. Elle gave her a look over her cat-eye glasses.
“You know I hate when you say that,” her friend said archly, but there was a glint of good natured humor in her warm brown eyes. The same humor that had finally won Carla over after she had moved into the rental house after graduation.
“What, that you’re trying to kill me?” Carla asked sarcastically and Elle just snorted.
“You know what I mean.” Her neighbor was a little bit of a straight edge, a piano teacher that always frowned at curse words and tattoos. She’d been horrified when Carla had shown her the ink sprawled across her ribs, but even she was sold by the undeniable artistry of the forest that grew up and around her shoulder blades and ended with its branches spanning like wispy fingers across half of her back. The scientific name of each tree and every plant was tattooed in beautiful script next to each one. Eventually, Carla had broken through to the real Elle, and when she finally learned how to relax, they had become great friends. Tequila had helped.
