by Mia Madison
“I’m at In the Frame,” I tell him, and it comes out all throaty because my whole body has ripened, priming itself for his touch. If he were here right now I’d drag him into the nearest dark corner.
“In the Frame?” He’s amused, as if I told him I were going on the kiddie rides at the park. I’m torn between embarrassment and annoyance.
“I was invited,” I say, and leave it at that.
“I asked you to call me.” Soft, but the words of a man who’s used to being obeyed. A quiver runs through me, and I understand even more why Cait gets off on Tonio’s bossiness.
Not that I’m going to make it easy for him. “You didn’t specify a time,” I retort.
“I see how it is. Okay, we’re having this conversation in person.”
“Oh, are we?” I say, more than ready to argue, because fighting is an outlet for all the impulses surging through my body.
“If you’re gonna give me sass, I want you where I can get my hands on you.”
My mind flashes back to our conversation at the café, and I do a full-body shudder. “Kosta,” I whisper, and even over the phone I can feel the electricity building.
“Right,” he says. “You good to drive, babe?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m at the club. Get here.”
Then he’s gone, and I don’t even think about trying to fight it. Need overwhelms everything else, even thoughts of my dad’s reaction if he finds out. Hopping down from my stool, I tell Gina, “I gotta go.”
She wasn’t hiding the day they passed out the brains. “Kosta?” she says, and I nod. “Be safe, chica. But not too safe.”
It’s as if she read my mind. Flashing her a grin, I head for the door. I’m not sure exactly what’s waiting for me at Kosta’s. But whatever it is, I’m ready for it.
The Edge of His Control
A text comes in while I’m driving there, but responsible me doesn’t check it until I’ve parked. Go to the back entrance. One of the guys will let you in.
There’s a huge line waiting out front, so I’m glad I don’t have to deal with the bouncers. I move the car so it’s right next to the alley that runs behind the club, and then I pick my way along the rutted pavement, past the garbage bins, stepping carefully in my high heels.
When I tap on the door marked Kosta’s, it opens immediately. I don’t know the man standing there; he doesn’t look like an Adamo to me, but who knows? Maybe some of them skip the genetic imprinting. He doesn’t wait for me to explain myself, just jerks his head for me to come in.
We go along a dim hallway, then up the same stairs I climbed when I was here before, ending at the same door. The man knocks, and again the door opens at once.
Kosta’s in his usual attire: black pants, black jacket, white shirt open at the collar. Expensive fabrics, tailored cut. Simple, classic, devastatingly effective.
His eyes take me in at a glance, and the heat that flares in them ignites a matching fire in my core. He steps back, I go in, and the door closes behind us. We’re in Kosta’s private lair, a sleek, stylish hideaway with a bird’s-eye view of everything in the club. The windows are tinted glass; we can see out, but nobody can see in.
I turn to him. Before I can get a word out, he yanks me against him, one hand at the back of my head, the other clamped over my ass, and his mouth comes down on mine. The kiss is raw and wild and leaves my panties soaked.
“I like your outfit, Blondie,” he says when he lifts his head. “More than I like you wearing it for other men, which is not at all.”
No point explaining that I dressed this way for myself, not anyone at In the Frame. “The club was full of teenagers,” I tell him. “A bunch of skinny boys. Not a man in the place.”
His hand flexes on my ass, and I press closer to him. “Skinny boys still got eyes,” he says.
My eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to dress like a nun when I’m not with you?”
“That’d be good, yeah.”
He’s not smiling, but I snort anyway. “Well, I’m here now.” My hands wind around his neck. “What did you want to talk about?”
Instead of answering, he kisses me again, this time slowly and thoroughly. My blood thickens and heats, swimming through my veins like ambrosia. “Kosta,” I moan when he breaks off.
He touches his forehead to mine for a moment, then reluctantly sets me away from him. “I don’t want to talk at all when I’m touching you,” he says. “But we gotta have words before we take this any further.”
I swallow. “What words?” My head is fuzzy with lust, my stomach tight with nerves. On the one hand, he’s talking about us like he’s serious; but on the other, this sounds ominous, and now I can’t help but wonder about the rumors.
“How old are you?” he says out of nowhere.
I feel instantly defensive, but try to keep my tone matter-of-fact. “Twenty. Twenty-one in a few weeks.” When he doesn’t respond right away, I say, “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
My shrug is instinctive. “Just numbers,” I say. “But if you’ve got a problem—”
His hands go to my hips and pull me close again. “I’m not the one with the problem, babe.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“There it is again,” he says. “I like your sass. It makes me hard.” His lips graze the side of my neck, and I get quivers in several strategic locations. “Everything about you makes me hard.”
He brings me fully against him, and I feel the confirmation of his words against my belly. My hands grip his shoulders, trying to cling to my last shreds of sanity. “Kosta. What problem?”
He pulls back a little. “I don’t want to give you an out.” His whiskey eyes are almost glowing, warming me deep inside. “But I will.”
Releasing me, he steps back, out of my reach. “You gotta decide if you can handle being with me, and you gotta decide it now. Because once you say yes, and I claim you, I’m not letting you go.”
Shock rushes through me, widening my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
My hands go to my hips. “We’re not animals.” His mouth quirks. “Well, okay, we are. But you can’t just claim me like I’m a female in heat.”
Kosta doesn’t apologize, doesn’t explain, doesn’t try to soften the blow. “Deal with it or not, babe. I am who I am.”
“Is this why you’re still single?” His eyes go to slits, but it’s too late to take the words back.
He hauls me against him again. “I’m thinking it’s about time for that spanking, Blondie.” His hands tighten on my hips, and lust and temper combust inside me.
I put my hands on his chest and shove. It’s like pushing a brick wall. Not only does he not budge, his arms come around me, crushing me against him.
When his mouth crashes down on mine, I’m angry enough to give as good as I’m getting. Our tongues battle furiously until I bite his — not nearly hard enough, in my opinion. But it snaps the edge of his control, and I find out just how much he’s been holding back.
Shatters
He whirls me around so my back is to his front. One hand wraps lightly around my throat, his mouth going to my neck, sucking the sensitive skin where it meets my shoulder. His other hand yanks up my dress and dives inside my panties, the heat of his skin a brand against my slick folds.
I jerk against him when he cups me. A whimper escapes my throat when he parts me, exploring my slippery flesh. He plunges a finger inside my narrow channel and my body responds of its own volition, my hips tilting, trying to take him deeper.
“So wet,” he whispers against my skin. “So fuckin’ tight.” Another finger joins the first, stretching me, pumping hard and fast, while his mouth takes mine again. There’s nothing gentle about this, and all I want is more.
Brutal pleasure builds inside me, twisting and coiling, pressure swelling out from my center, and when his thumb finds my clit, circling, pressing, then rolling, I shoot over the edge with shocking speed.
My pussy clamps down hard on his fingers as the orgasm sears through me, rolling over me in waves.
When I go limp against him, he doesn’t release me. “Last chance,” he says, his voice rough, deeper than normal. I can feel him against my back, hard and heavy. “You want to walk away, tell me now.” I tighten around his fingers, and he growls. “That your answer?”
Leaving is the only sane thing to do, but it’s not going to happen. I turn my head back and up to look him in the eyes. “Take me, Kosta.”
Heat flares from him like a volcano going supernova, if such a thing were possible. I’m melting for him even before he kisses me again, hard and deep. Breaking off, he pushes me over to his desk and down, so I’m bent over, my hands braced against the sleek black surface.
His hands yank my panties down, then press against the insides of my thighs, forcing my legs apart. He’s kneeling behind me, and one hand pushes my dress up out of the way before I feel his mouth on me.
“Oh god! Kosta!” He eats me like it’s his last meal, lips and tongue and teeth devouring me with single-minded focus. Need hollows me out, scrapes my nerves with the razor’s edge of craving. “Please, baby. Inside me.”
He doesn’t stop, but sucks my clit into his mouth and uses his teeth on me. Only after I come apart against him does he stand, turning me, boosting me onto the desk and tugging my panties the rest of the way off.
I lick my lips as he unzips and frees himself. It wasn’t my imagination; he’s as big as he felt against my back, thick and beautiful. Wrapping my hand around him, I start to slide off the desk so I can sink to my knees. Cait was right; I can’t wait to worship him with my mouth.
But Kosta stops me. “Later, carina.” I don’t say a word, just let him see the hunger on my face. His eyes darken. “I’m looking forward to seeing your lips wrapped around my cock, baby, but right now I want to be inside you.”
I can’t argue with that. So I don’t. When he pulls out a condom, I say, “I’m on the pill.”
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, sliding a hand into my hair. “You sure?” I nod, and he leans down to give me a kiss that’s tender and seductive at the same time. Taking himself in hand, he rubs his cock against me, coating himself in my wetness.
“Oh, god,” I moan, my head going back. “You feel so good.”
“So do you, babe.” Then he’s nudging at my entrance, his eyes hot on mine, and I wrap my legs around him as he starts to press inside me. He slides in slowly, big and hot, pausing to let me adjust to his girth. Finally he’s buried inside me, and I want to stay like this forever.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “Love your cunt, baby. The way you grip me, so tight, it’s beautiful.” His eyes roam to the place where our bodies join, then back again. “Pull your dress down, babe. I want to watch you play with your tits while I fuck you.”
At that, I spasm around him. “Greedy little snatch,” he says, his voice rough. “I love it.” He watches while I tug my dress down below my bra, then free my breasts. “Good, babe. Now lie back for me and twist those nipples. I want them nice and stiff.”
“Baby,” I moan as I obey. His dirty talk, his commands — so damn hot. This kind of bossiness totally works for me. I cup a breast in each hand, flicking my thumbs over the nipples, teasing them to taut peaks, then rolling them between thumb and forefinger.
Kosta pulls back until just the tip of his cock is inside me, then fills me again. “Oh god,” I say. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t stop.” He speeds up just a little, his gaze intent on me. “I want to fuck you hard, babe, but don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.” I want him to do whatever he wants to me. Anything and everything.
“It’s too much, you tell me. Yeah?”
“Okay, baby.” Even if he hurts me I won’t care, but I don’t tell him that.
His hips start to piston, his hands jerking me forward to meet him with each thrust. My breasts jiggle as the air fills with our scent, with the sound of our bodies meeting, of him driving in and out of me.
The friction of his cock against my sensitive inner ridges drives me mad. He’s rubbing against every slippery inch of me, each stroke making pleasure radiate out from my core. “More, Kosta,” I beg him. “Please.”
“Fuck, baby.” He gives me more, hard and fast, pounding into me. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. Can’t get enough of you.”
Pressure builds in me, sensation rushing through me to gather in my center and spiral back out again, higher and higher, pushing me toward the pinnacle. I’m hovering on the verge of release, reaching down for my clit to send myself over the top. “Fuck yeah,” Kosta grunts. “Come all over my cock, baby.”
Everything in me gathers, tightens, then bursts outward as I come harder than I ever have in my life. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, as the climax wracks me, wave after wave of ecstasy.
I’m still coming when there’s a knock at the door. My eyes go wide. Before I can say anything, Kosta leans down, still drilling into me, and puts his hand over my mouth. I can see it in his face, the knowledge that he didn’t lock the door, that whoever’s in the hall might open it and walk in on us.
Another knock. His gaze locks on mine, holding me captive while he spears into me. The command is as clear as if he’d spoken it: he’s not stopping, and neither am I. And the impossible magic of his cock, and the force of his will, is that I can feel another orgasm bearing down on me like a freight train. We might have an audience any second now and my body does. not. care.
“Do it,” Kosta whispers, and my back bows as another climax, even more violent than the first, rips through me. He uncovers my mouth so he can grip both my hips, fucking me like a jackhammer, and I stuff a hand in there to keep from screaming so loud the whole city hears me.
I’m still trembling with the aftershocks when he finds his own release. My eyes roll back in my head as he fills me. He slows, but he’s still moving, staring into my eyes, as if he can’t bear to be done. Finally, he stops on an in stroke, buried deep inside me, and touches his forehead to mine.
The knocking comes again. “Boss?” a voice says. Kosta kisses me softly, regret stamped on his features. “Don’t move,” he whispers, and pulls free.
I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’m sprawled on his desk, sticky and spent and blissful. There’s murmured conversation at a distance, and I turn my head to see that Kosta has the door open just a crack, shielding me with his body from whoever’s in the hall.
The door clicks shut and then he’s back, looking down at me. I smile at him. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he says softly, but doesn’t move to touch me.
“Got stuff to do?” I say, my voice thick with afterglow.
“Always stuff to do, babe.” He braces his hands on the desk, leaning over me, eyes warm. “Nothing I want to be doing as much as I want to be inside you again.”
Sated as I am, his words send a new buzz of libidinal energy through me. My eyes go half-lidded; his go dark. He slides a hand up my leg and there’s another knock.
“What now,” he mutters. Giving me an apologetic squeeze, he goes back to the door. I don’t even look this time, secure in the knowledge that he’ll keep me safe.
“Marco,” he says in greeting. A man’s voice comes, indistinct, and then Kosta says, “Are you shitting me?” My happy mood shatters at the ugly timbre of his voice. Whatever he’s just been told has taken him well beyond the normal bounds of anger.
More words from Marco, and then Kosta shuts the door and comes back to me. The look in his eyes shocks me. It makes me want to cry, to take him in my arms and beg him not to carry out whatever dark deed is lurking there.
“Baby,” I breathe, sorrow rising in my chest like a flood, and he bends to give me a quick, hard kiss.
“I gotta go see to something. Wait here, all right? I won’t be long.”
“Bathroom?” I say quickly, hoping he has his own.
“Yeah, right there.” He points to a door I hadn’t noticed befo
re, set into the far wall. “Back soon, babe.” Then he’s out the door, closing it behind him.
I climb off the desk and totter on my trembling legs to the bathroom, where I clean up as quickly as possible. When I come back out I’m drawn, as if by a magnet, to the bank of windows looking out over the club.
Already Mine
Almost immediately, I spot Kosta moving across the back of the space directly below me, followed by the man — Marco, I assume — who let me in tonight and brought me up to the office. Kosta heads straight toward a shadowy area away from the bar, the dance floor, and the tables and booths.
When he’s almost there, I see a trio of men standing near one wall. The man in the middle is short and slender. He’s dressed like Kosta — black suit, white shirt, no tie — but his clothes don’t look nearly as good on him. The men to either side of him are big and beefy. Security guards, I think.
Kosta’s moving fast, and the tension in his body makes my stomach tie itself in knots. There’s a control panel under the windows, set into the wall, and I scan the buttons and then start pushing them. I get lucky on my third try. Somewhere in the walls around me, a speaker crackles to life just as Kosta reaches the men.
Then I gasp, because he doesn’t even say anything. He grabs the center guy by the throat and slams him up against the wall. My hand goes to my mouth; the guards just watch.
“I warned you,” Kosta says, “not to bring your shit into my place.” His voice is low and deadly and it chills my blood. The man claws at his neck, and for a second I’m afraid Kosta isn’t going to let him go.
Then he does, and the guy sucks in a ragged breath and says, “Not here for that. Need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to talk about.” Kosta moves a step closer, and the guy shrinks back against the wall. “I see you here again, I will end you. Capisce?”
