The VIOLENT Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Linnea May

  I don't like the way she looks at me. As if she's the one in command, the one who's holding the reigns. I decide to rectify the situation and guide her entrance to the tip of my cock, teasing her only for a second before I push her down on my hardness, stretching her with my length until I'm buried to the hilt, her wet pussy pressed against my pelvis to accommodate my size.

  She makes a move to jump up, ready to ride me like a good girl, but I have other plans. I hold her in place, pushing her down by placing my hands on her shoulders. A look of confusion meets me.

  "You move when I tell you to," I say. "Not just yet."

  Her eyes flicker with understanding, but complying appears to be harder this time. She's grinding on me, subtly moving her hips to pleasure herself.

  I push her down even more. "Stop. Moving."

  She mewls. "I'm horny. Let me come first and then-"

  "No!" I bark at her. "You're not coming. You're not moving. And you're not touching yourself. You'll just feel me inside of you. Remember whose cock you belong on. Do you understand?"

  She glares at me. "Is this a punishment?"

  "Not a punishment, just something I want to do," I say, giving her a condescending smile. "And as you should know, we always do things the way I want. Right?"

  She sighs and leans forward to surprise me with a kiss. She takes my face between both of her hands, owning that kiss from beginning to end, still grinding on my length, even though I forbid her to.

  "Stop it." I command without breaking our kiss, still feeling her lips against mine. "Now."

  She listens and stops moving her hips.

  "You're mean," she whispers, breaking our kiss to look at me. "So mean."

  "And you're a witch, little Button."

  I didn't mean to say that. The words slipped out before I could stop myself.

  Button huffs, smiling for a second before her face darkens. "You're not the first to say that about me."

  I furrow my eyebrows and cast her a quizzical look. "Who?"

  She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter."

  "The wayward brute you mentioned last night?"

  Her eyes widen and she looks at me with surprised confusion, as if she has trouble believing that I actually remembered that, or even heard it at all.

  "It is, isn't it?"

  A soft nod proves me right. "Yeah."

  "An old boyfriend?"

  "No," she says. "Someone else. Someone I don't want to talk about, especially while your cock is buried inside of me."

  I nod. If anyone understands her wish, it would be me. I never even thought about it, but of course I'm not the only one who's hiding skeletons in his closet. She obviously has some of her own, and I sure as hell won't force her to face them, if she doesn't want to.

  I grab her hips and beckon her to move, stimulating my softened cock.

  "Maybe you really are a witch," I tell her, locking my eyes onto hers. "But you know what people have said about me?"

  She tilts her head to the side, waiting for an elaboration.

  "That they see the devil in my eyes," I tell her. "That I'm mean, dark, and soulless, just like the devil himself."

  She chuckles and shrugs, leaning over to move her face so close to mine that our noses touch.

  "I'm nothing compared to you then," she whispers. "Harmless. Weak, even. No one can beat the devil."

  Her lips connect with mine while she grinds on my cock, supported by my hands digging into the flesh of her perky ass as I edge her on.

  "You're still evil," I accuse her in a whisper.

  Our eyes meet in between our kiss, and the corners of her mouth raise into a malicious smile.

  Chapter 29

  Ann

  It's one of those days when he's out all day, working, while I'm home by myself. I went for a quick run after he left for the day, but other than that, there's nothing on my agenda. After my little fire disaster a few weeks ago, I've actually managed to cook and serve him a few proper meals when he gets home in the evenings, but those remain an exception. I've never been much of a cook, and I always blamed it on my stressful life and financial limitations, neither of which holds true for my everyday life now. As it turns out, I'm just unskilled and not very creative in the kitchen. I'm very low maintenance, having lived off ramen noodles for most of my adult life, but even when I experiment, I can't come up with much besides pizza or pasta.

  He doesn't care. The first time I had a meal prepared for him when he got home from work, he cast me a suspicious look as if I was about to poison him, reassuring me that this was in no way what he expected of me. He compliments me on even the most simple dishes, but I know he only does it to be polite. He enjoys taking me out to fancy restaurants a lot more, and to be honest, so do I.

  Despite the vast size of the penthouse, there's also not much cleaning for me to do, because he hires staff for that. I always try to be out of the house when they show up because I feel terribly awkward when there's someone scurrying around the place, doing things that I could be doing just as easily, and I'm simply lounging on the couch like some kind of Beverly Hills housewife.

  I know things will change eventually. We're spending more time at his campaign headquarters already, and while his public or semi-public appearances are still few at this point, they will increase in number in just a few more weeks. I will also have to prepare for more than just standing at his side, enduring superficial small talk. I've already been briefed on his main political stances and the potential areas of his campaign in which I could play a more prominent role. Jared was sitting next to me when his campaign manager first mentioned the possibility of me campaigning by myself at the League of Women Voters. I turned around to try to read the look on his face. It was obvious that he was hoping I would agree to do it, but he wanted to leave the decision up to me.

  I still don't know what to do about it. This is big. I thought this would just be about me being his plaything at home and something pretty to have on his arm when he had to appear in public. I never imagined that I would be asked to speak on his behalf. He must trust me a lot if he's willing to put this much responsibility in my hands.

  His trust means a lot to me, but it also makes me feel worse about the notes I’ve been writing about our relationship. I've been writing almost every day since I've moved in with him. At first, my writing was mostly an outlet, a way for me to cope with this situation. But day by day, I saw the journalist coming through as I wrote. My notes are no longer just reflections about what happened between us and how I feel about it. More and more, they've progressed into their own narrative and evolved into what resembles an article or editorial story. I'm distancing myself from the writing and slowly turning it into something else.

  I'm turning it into something that I could sell.

  It's not like I'm actively planning to sell him out like that, but I know that I could. With what I know about him, and the more I learn about his personality, his darkness, his weird obsessions by the day - I could destroy him.

  And he has no idea.

  I'm in the middle of another writing spree, recording the events of last night, when I receive an unexpected e-mail.

  It's from Brandon.

  "Can't reach you by phone. Your contract ran out. You need to come and clean out your desk asap!"

  Fuck! I completely forgot about my desk at the co-working office. I was so occupied with everything that went on between me and Jared that this part of my previous life totally slipped my mind. Just like I forgot that I had to switch off my old phone after Jared gave me a new one. I never informed anyone about my new number because I hadn’t thought it was necessary. I had pretty much no social life and the few acquaintances I'd made since moving to the city probably didn't even notice that I seemed to have disappeared into thin air a couple of months ago. It's kind of sad to admit, but true.

  I check the time. It's not even two in the afternoon, so there's still plenty of time for me to get to the co-working space today. It's not like I have any
thing else to do and Jared won't be home before six or seven, if then. It's probably best to get this over with.

  My reply to Brandon is just as short and to the point as his e-mail was.

  "Sorry about that! Will come over later today!"

  Right after I'm done writing.

  Chapter 30

  Ann

  It's already late afternoon by the time I make it to my old workplace. I delayed my visit as late as possible because I was hoping it would mean fewer people would still be there when I arrived. I'm not particularly excited about going there and seeing anyone, and wish I could just avoid it altogether, but that would be cowardly - and a waste of money. Extending my contract to keep my desk for whatever results after my arrangement with Jared ends wouldn't cost so much that it would pose a financial problem, but it feels wrong. My main motivation for keeping it would be because I’m too much of a coward to show up and pack up my things. I have no plans of returning, even after Jared is done with me.

  Thinking about the finality of Jared’s and my contract makes me feel sick to my stomach. He may ask me to prolong the contract because a year is a very short period of time to establish a political career. But he only needs me around long enough to get elected to Congress. He claims that’s as far as he's trying to go right now.

  "After that, any further aspirations will be based on my achievements in Congress and not on my character credentials." That is what he said, and that is why his campaign managers suggested he only introduce a girlfriend and not a wife. A divorce could hurt his political career a lot more than a simple break-up.

  It's all spelled out in the contract.

  Soon enough, I will no longer be needed.

  But not yet. I cast the sorrowful thoughts aside and gather myself, remembering who I am. I'm pretty good at keeping my heart safe from harm. I'm strong, I'm smart, I'm independent. Growing up with a man like my father and an older brother who inherited all of his bad traits can do that to a woman. Sometimes I feel like I should almost be grateful that they were such assholes. Otherwise, I wouldn't be the person I am today - and I kind of like that person.

  I took the bus to my old office, even though I know that Jared would hate it if he knew I had taken public transportation. He told me to always use one of his drivers when I needed to go anywhere, but I just can't get used to that. It feels excessive and unnecessary. Besides, showing up in a fancy limousine with a personal driver would definitely attract the kind of attention that I'm trying to avoid at all costs. I just want to sneak in, clear out my desk, leave the key, and sneak out as quickly as possible.

  Of course, that's not at all what life has planned for me today.

  I take a deep breath before I use my IC card to get access to the building that had been my second home for so long. I used to love coming here, in the beginning. That was before I started that damn adventure with Brandon and doubting my decision to be a freelance reporter. I should have known that money and living the dream don't come hand in hand; they almost never do. Still, I guess in a way one could say that working as a journalist brought me closer to my goal of not having to work by the time I'm thirty - just not how I suspected it would.

  I'm smiling as this thought bounces around inside my head. It may only be born out of a desire to legitimize a decision I still don't feel entirely comfortable with, but it makes me happy nonetheless.

  My smile fades when I enter the loft space that serves as the main working area for most of the people who work at fixed desks here. The place is pretty crowded today, and I'm greeted with a lot more familiar faces than I was hoping to see.

  I reciprocate the smiles left and right, only greeting everybody in passing as I make my way over to my old desk at the far end of the space. My face sinks when I see the person I was hoping to avoid.

  Brandon doesn't smile at me, but he does get up from his seat when I reach my desk. He walks around the table, obnoxiously leaning against my former work space and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He looks at me with a smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He looks as if he's getting ready to interrogate me.

  "Long time no see," he says. "You pretty much disappeared into thin air. Care to tell me what happened?"

  I roll my eyes at him. "No. Not really."

  My eyes scan the desk, trying to figure out how much stuff I have to take with me and how much of the piles of notes and magazines I collected from my research can be thrown away. A treacherous grin appears on my face when I see the agency's small booklet on top of one of the piles. It makes sense, since this was the last project I worked on before...

  "Are you sure?" Brandon probes, running his fingers through his blond hair. It has gotten significantly longer since I last saw him, making him look even more like a pretty surfer boy, minus the tan.

  "Because there are rumors," he adds. "Not sure, but wouldn’t you rather clear those up?"

  I sit down on my desk chair and am just about to open one of the drawers when his words make me stop mid-motion. I tried to ignore him and evade eye contact, hoping he'd just leave me alone.

  The obnoxious grin tells me enough to know that he couldn't be happier about earning back my attention just now.

  "Rumors are always more exciting than the truth," I tell him. "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I was you."

  He snorts disparagingly. "So, you don't even want to know what's being said about you?"

  He's just trying to intimidate me, I know that. I've been to a few public outings with Jared, so it's unlikely that no one here has seen a picture of me hanging on to Jared's arm as his girlfriend. Our story even included the truth about my career background, so there's no big secret about me working previously as a journalist.

  But all anyone could derive from these pictures or the very few words that have been written about me is the fact that I'm Jared's girlfriend. A girlfriend who put a hold on her own career to support her boyfriend. Nothing wrong with that.

  I shake my head. "No, I don't. You must be bored out of your mind if rumors about me excite you."

  "You're fucking Jared King," he says, spitting the words out of his mouth with disgust. "That handsome business mogul. A sales prodigy, they call him. Getting ready for his next big step. He's trying to run for Congress, isn't he?"

  So he has seen the pictures and the reports.

  "So that's your juicy rumor? That I'm dating Jared? Everyone with access to the internet or a local newspaper knows that," I say, shrugging as I try to appear unimpressed. "Big deal. And since when is it any of your business who I'm dating?"

  My heart is racing, but I sure as hell hope that it's not apparent to him. I don't want him to know how much this conversation unsettles me. I don't want to talk about Jared or being with him, not here, and especially not with him.

  Brandon glares at me, pressing his lips together and scanning our surroundings. I noticed there were some eyes on us, people turning their heads, probably trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. Some of the faces are new to me, people who weren’t working here a few months ago.

  "Dating, huh?" Brandon hisses, his face grimacing with disgust. "How stupid do you think I am?"

  I cast him a quizzical look. What the hell is he trying to insinuate?

  "Tell me one thing, Ann. Whatever happened to that last story you were working on before you left all of a sudden?"

  My heart almost stops. I feel the color being drained from my face as I turn pale.

  Why is he asking about that story? There is nothing to ask about. I finished the article, I sold the interview I conducted with Belinda Barry - and that was it.

  "What do you mean 'what happened to it?’ I wrote it, I sold it. It got published in the Daily Liberty a few weeks ago. End of story," I reply, trying to mask the fact that I'm horrified and confused by his question.

  Brandon shakes his head.

  "Fucking liar," he hisses at me.

  "I'm not ly-"

  "You're his whore, aren't you?" he barks at me. "Because that'
s the rumor that's been going around! I heard that you did a little more than just interview that madam at the escort agency. You signed up to sell yourself to him and become his private whore. And that's why you no longer work here. True, or false?!"

  He raises his voice to a level that makes it impossible for bystanders to ignore us. The entire room is now looking at us, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

  I stare up at Brandon in horrified disgust.

  "You're ridiculous!" I yell back at him. "How fucking petty can you be? Are you seriously spreading disgusting rumors like that about me because of your damn hurt ego?"

  "True or false, Ann?!"

  Fuck. I can't take this. Tears are threatening to run down my face. Again. Since when have I become such a crybaby? How can I allow him to hold such power over me?

  Everybody is staring at me, most of all, Brandon, who's fixating on me with an evil grin, feeling superior as he humiliates me in front of the entire office.

  I need to get out of here.

  "You're a pathetic asshole, you know that?" I hiss at him, before jumping up from my seat and darting away, before I can give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  "You still need to clean out your desk, whore!"

  I don't stop. I don't even look back for one second, but I do have a reply for him before heading out the door.

  "Fuck you, Brandon!"

  Chapter 31

  Jared

  Things are going great in every aspect. Of course, I can't trust the current ease with which everything seems to be developing in my favor.

  Button looks perfectly chic and smart in her new outfit, a pencil-shaped dress in a vibrant purple that hugs her frame without showing too much skin, looking perfectly tame and conservative, but so fucking hot at the same time.

  I wanted to yank it up and bend her over to have my way with her when she came down the stairs, casting me a coy smile and winking seductively. She knows how to carry herself in a way that drives me insane, and she seeks to gain my attention in any way possible lately. She's been deliberately misbehaving, literally asking for punishments. I know there's one thing she seeks the most: my hand clutched around her throat. I've never had a submissive who got off on being choked as much as she does.