WickedTakeover

by Tina Donahue

  Lauren sagged in her chair and whimpered as her thoughts went wild.

  It was late, everyone gone except for Dante. He caught her alone in the backroom where she’d snatched one of Jasmina’s Dove bars, gobbling it fast because she was so hungry, too poor now to buy groceries.

  Holding the treat’s wooden stick behind her, Lauren lifted her chin, pretending that she hadn’t taken someone else’s stuff.

  Dante’s expression said he knew better. He focused on her mouth, the chocolate smears she figured were in the corners. Proof that she’d been bad. With heat and danger in his eyes, he growled, “Come here.”

  She didn’t move, not because she was particularly defiant. Her legs had turned to jelly. It was an effort to remain standing. His chest was broader than she recalled, his biceps bulging, tats dancing, the thick ridge behind his fly the best present a woman could get. God, how she wanted to taste his mouth, balls and cock then get really down and dirty. Indulging in wicked acts she’d never shared with another man.

  Dante seemed to know how depraved she was. He crossed the room before she could blink and curled his fingers around her wrist. Bringing her to the table, he used his forearm to push magazines, plates, empty soda cans off it. The stuff clattered and slapped against the floor. Before the din had died down, he pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Bend over.”

  His demand was husky, his breath sinfully hot and sweetly scented.

  The ice cream stick fell from her hand, hitting the tile with a brief tapping sound. She sank to the table, grateful for its support.

  Behind her, Dante ran his large hands over her ass, cupping her cheeks, pouring his incredible heat into her. She moaned in surrender. He made sounds that were aroused and pissed. “What did I tell you about losing the suit?”

  It was all the clothes she had. She’d sold everything else to meet her car, condo and student loan payments. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

  “You should have thought of that before now. When I tell you to do something, you’ll fucking obey.”

  Her mouth fell open, her breath caught as he yanked her skirt down. The polyester fabric rustled and came to a stop at her ankles.

  Dante stroked her garter belt tat that Van Gogh had done for free because she hadn’t fired him. Lauren had gotten inked because she didn’t have enough money to wash her underwear anymore, which meant she no longer wore stockings or panties. Naked from the waist down, she was fully accessible to Dante. Deliciously vulnerable to whatever the hell he wanted to do with her.

  Lauren prayed he wanted to do it all.

  Tingling sensations rippled from her chest to her belly, settling in her cunt. The cool breath of the air-conditioning licked her pussy, slick with desire.

  Dante ran his fingers down the furrow between her cheeks. “Tell me you’ve been bad.”

  She shivered then moaned as his forefinger circled her anus, sending bursts of desire through her. The thought of his cock in her tightest channel made her whimper in expectation.

  Mount me, her mind begged.

  He didn’t. No doubt because he was waiting for her to confess that she’d been bad.

  “I didn’t mean to take the ice cream,” she blurted. “I was hungry.”

  His deep voice rumbled, “You’ll eat before this night’s over.” He leaned close and whispered again, “We both will.”

  He wasn’t talking about food. She pictured his large body stretched over hers, his head bent to her cleft, his thick cock and pendulous balls dangling above her mouth, her tongue worshiping his weighty sac, his musky, masculine scent filling her as he licked her pussy and tongued her clit. The room spun.

  She cried out as he brought his palm down hard on her ass, disciplining her. The first sting faded into breathtaking warmth. He followed it with another crack of his palm and another.

  Rough voices came from the hall. Lauren stared as several bikers strolled in, former clients of Dante’s. They lifted their chins in greeting.

  He paddled her again.

  Some of the men sank into chairs. Others leaned against Van Gogh’s murals. Dante pulled Lauren to a standing position and tore off the rest of her clothes, leaving her nude, defenseless, panting.

  The bikers whistled.

  She gasped as Dante lifted her to the table then positioned her spread-eagle on top of it, her breasts and pussy shamelessly exposed.

  The bikers in the chairs sat up for a better view. Those against the walls moved closer. One of them handed Dante a melting Dove bar. Dante dripped its chocolate and vanilla ice cream on Lauren’s nipples, navel and the delicate curls between her legs. She shivered at the coolish liquid then moaned at Dante’s hot, wet mouth. He licked her nipples until they ached and dipped his tongue into her navel to lap it clean before moving to her slit.

  She let out a brazen moan at his hot breath skimming her folds. They were drenched from indecent lust and her need to have Dante’s cock tunneled deep within her.

  Lauren lifted her ass, delivering her body to him.

  “Do her now,” one of the bikers shouted.

  “Good and hard,” another called out.

  The others whooped.

  Lauren shivered at Dante’s mouth on her clit, his tongue rasping against it. He planted his hands on the insides of her thighs to keep her body open to him. Ruthlessly, he teased her nub. Too many sensations tore through her. Need. Hunger. Passion. Delight. She shouted her release.

  The men stamped their feet and whistled.

  Dante straightened. He lifted her legs until he’d spread her widely, the soles of her feet and her ass on the lip of the table.

  “Hold her,” he ordered three of the men. “Make sure she can’t move.”

  One of them clasped her right ankle in his meaty hand. His chest sported a tat of her naked and bound. The guy next to him gripped her left ankle. His tat showed Dante mounting her. The biker behind Lauren held her wrists. She didn’t bother to look at him.

  Dante commanded all of her attention. He’d shoved his jeans and underwear to his thighs. His cock had sprung out, rigid, thick, proud. Its alluring scent filled the room. Playfully, he ran his crown over her plump folds, bathing it in her juices. More seeped out with her passion. Fevered and wanting, she begged, “Fuck me.”

  He did. Oh damn, he did.

  But only in her stupid fantasy where their carnal play would always remain.

  Groaning softly, Lauren rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes and told herself to get back to work. For the last several hours, she’d rewritten her resume dozens of times, trying to make it perfect for today’s applications. Her email inbox was filled with “don’t call us, we’ll never call you” responses for other jobs she hadn’t snagged. Many of them weren’t even in her field. She was now courting entry-level gigs with minimum pay and still couldn’t get anything.

  She had to. No way could she take part of Dante’s salary no matter what he’d said.

  He was either the kindest or the craziest man Lauren had ever known. She wondered if he’d come from wealth, because he surely didn’t covet it. Not only was he intelligent and educated, but highly so. She’d heard him speaking to vendors and city officials, his words and phrasing not typical of the usual men who were into broads, booze and tattoos. She couldn’t imagine what had led him to Wicked Brand. Not that he seemed to mind working here.

  His deep voice drifted down the hall. A woman’s throaty laugh followed.

  Lauren rubbed her temple. Although each inking station was in a room with a door, Van Gogh and Dante never closed theirs. Lauren had discovered that earlier in the week when she’d strolled by Dante’s space—which was the last station in the building—pretending to need his advice on something.

  What she really wanted was to be near him.

  Lauren had forgotten her ruse when she’d seen what was going on inside.

  “I’ll be with you in a sec,” he’d said to one of the young women.

  There were two in there with hi
m.

  The one he’d spoken to seemed eager for him to get to her as soon as possible, because she was removing her tee. Once she’d dropped it on a chair, she started to unhook her bra. For a boob tat? Lauren hadn’t a clue. The young woman’s friend was already partially nude and bent at the waist over the convertible chair. That piece of furniture was currently as flat as a bed, her ass offered to Dante for inking.

  Why Dante hadn’t closed the door was a mystery to Lauren until Jasmina had told her how things worked here.

  “If he’s shut in there with them alone, they could accuse him of all kinds of stuff, despite the security camera. He does have to touch them in intimate places, you know. They could sue and get the business.”

  At the time, that seemed to be the least of Dante’s worries. He smiled easily, teasing both women until he caught Lauren watching. He regarded her reflection in the mirror. Busted, she finally turned away, though not before Dante had given her a surprisingly warm look. Then he winked, as though she were special.

  She’d wanted to melt in his arms, which was nuts. He was far too popular with women to ever really notice her. He probably banged a new babe each night. With his killer looks, how could he miss?

  More importantly, he was smart and a genuinely nice guy, offering part of his salary to save Jasmina and Van Gogh from losing any of theirs. Lauren figured Dante had also wanted to help because she was Frank’s kid. His generosity certainly had nothing to do with any sexual or romantic feelings he had for her, which were nonexistent.

  The thought was so depressing, Lauren folded her arms on the edge of her desk and lowered her head to it.

  Dante laughed. A brief silence followed—except for a sad Spanish ranchera flowing from the sound system—then his client’s squeal.

  Good god, was he tickling her? Was she tickling him?

  They fell silent. Lauren wondered if they were kissing despite the threat of lawsuits and the security camera. The pictures fed into the computer in here. All she had to do was bring them up to see exactly what was going on.

  Gritting her teeth, Lauren forced herself not to look. She hadn’t spied on Dante when he’d been alone in his workstation and she wouldn’t snoop on him now.

  “Hey, you okay?” Jasmina suddenly said from the hall. Her shoes made slapping sounds as she rushed into the office and rubbed Lauren’s shoulder. “Working too hard?”

  She wasn’t working at all. That was the problem. Too bad Jasmina’s boyfriend hadn’t already gotten his franchise, Lauren would have hit him up for a job. She straightened and patted Jasmina’s hand. “I’m good.”

  “No way. You sound tired. Take a break. Have one of my Dove bars.”

  Lauren’s X-rated fantasy flitted back into her thoughts. She slumped in her chair.

  Dante laughed again, deeper this time. The sound a man makes when he’s seriously turned-on. Instead of a squeal, his client offered a husky chuckle. Lauren clenched her jaw.

  “The noise bothering you?” Jasmina asked.

  She lied. “Nope.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him out?”

  Lauren’s stomach twisted. “Huh? Who?”

  Jasmina wagged her finger at Lauren. She backed up to the office door, closed it then hurried back to the desk and spoke softly. “You like Dante. Why don’t you ask him out?”

  Because he’d say no? Because he wouldn’t laugh even though he should? He was too decent to make fun of her. He’d act honored by her invitation then would gently turn her down. Just like the hundreds of companies that hadn’t hired her.

  “I don’t think I can take much more rejection,” she said.

  Jasmina sank to the side of Lauren’s chair and sat on her heels. “Job search going bad?”

  Lauren figured she shouldn’t have told Jasmina about her personal problems. One afternoon when they’d been in the backroom alone, everything just kind of spilled out. Despite her youth, Jasmina had listened with the patience of a shrink or a bartender.

  Lauren sighed. “I’ve started to seriously stretch the truth on my resume. So yeah, it’s not going well.”

  “It’ll get better.” She patted Lauren’s knee. “How do you know Dante would say no? He likes you.”

  Lauren wasn’t certain whether to laugh or cry. “He likes everyone.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s true.”

  She folded her arms on the desk again and lowered her head.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Jasmina said. “You’re a beautiful woman. He’d be lucky to go out with you.”

  “In some alternate universe maybe.”

  Jasmina pushed to her feet. “Want me to ask him for you?”

  “God no.” Lauren shot up and grabbed the hem of Jasmina’s tank top before the young woman could think of going anywhere or saying anything. “We didn’t have this conversation, all right? Dante’s not into me. I’m not into him. Understand?”

  Jasmina smiled. “You’ve really got it bad.”

  Lauren dropped her hand and begged, “Please don’t say anything to him.”

  “No way.” Jasmina crossed her heart. “It’s our secret.” She went to the door then turned back. “That doesn’t mean I agree. If you don’t make a play for Dante, you might lose out. Those other women will be in there with him, enjoying themselves, while you’re in here listening, and maybe watching them on the security camera. Something to think about.”

  On that cheery note, she took off, leaving the door open once more.

  Dante’s client was giggling like a preteen now. His rumbling voice glided down the hall.

  She pictured him dribbling a melted Dove bar over the woman’s body and licking her clean.

  Lauren shot out of her chair, closed the door and leaned against it. The air-conditioning took just that moment to shut off, allowing other sounds to seep in. These were so low that she had to strain to hear.

  Crud. Lauren couldn’t take much more of this. She had to do something other than hiding in here or watching the security feed and upsetting herself further.

  Dante stopped in the hall and turned. Jasmina’s smartphone was to her ear as she approached, listening to whatever the person on the other end said.

  He’d expected to see Lauren. All afternoon and evening, Dante had repeatedly caught her watching him. She’d looked both aroused and uncomfortable, as though she had something to say and didn’t know how to begin.

  He would have helped her along, sensing this was more personal than business, but she kept giving him a panicked smile and rushing off. Dante had seen more of the back of her today than he had in the last two weeks, including her ass.

  What an ass it was.

  A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. She’d finally taken his advice and relaxed, wearing snug jeans that hugged her succulent figure, pairing the denim with an embellished blue tee. The sparkles across its neckline and her boobs glittered nearly as bright as her eyes. The heat in her expression had been more than amazing, it smoldered.

  She was losing control. Good. He’d been sporting a hard-on for days and was tired of waiting. He might have made a move before now, suggesting dinner to get things started, but she hadn’t stayed still long enough for him to do so.

  Jasmina reached his side. “Baby, hold on,” she murmured into the phone then pressed it to her chest. “I’m taking off,” she said to Dante. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Wait.” He leaned close and was about to speak when Van Gogh shouldered past them.

  “Night,” the young man mumbled.

  “Have a good one,” Dante called out.

  Van Gogh muttered something else and left.

  “He have a bad shift?” Dante asked Jasmina.

  “Kinda sorta.” She turned her hand back and forth. “One of the bikers tipped him ten bucks. He was hoping for twenty.”

  Dante lowered his voice. “You see Lauren around?”

  Jasmina studied him for a moment then brought her phone to her ear. “Hey, you still there?” She listened for a moment a
nd smiled. “I’m taking off in a few secs, okay? Hang tight. I’ll be there.” She ended the call. “Why?” she asked Dante.

  Not expecting her response, he shrugged. “Just wondering where she might be.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Knowing women talked, he leaned close again and spoke quietly. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?”

  “Nope.” Jasmina crossed her heart. “Haven’t a clue.” She grinned. “Lauren’s in the office. Have a very nice night.”

  Dante made a face Jasmina didn’t see. She’d already jogged down the hall to the front door and was slipping out of the building. He turned to Frank’s office, or rather Lauren’s. She’d closed the door. Bypassing it, Dante went to the front of the parlor and locked it down but left on the music. A romantic instrumental with Spanish guitars. Edgy with anticipation and desire, he strode to her office, reached for the knob then stopped. If Lauren was in one of her corporate moods, she might not appreciate his intrusion. Suppressing a sigh, Dante knocked.

  She didn’t respond.

  He knocked again. Harder this time.

  Nothing.

  He wondered if she was asleep in there because she’d lost her home, wherever it was, and was camping out here. He backed away until worry got the better of him. If she got pissed because he’d barged in, too fucking bad. He was a big boy and could take it.

  He opened the door on an empty room. Even the scent of her perfume had faded.

  She’d left before the others had? Damn. His anticipation fizzled even as his rod got harder, wanting its due. A warm, snug home within her.

  Not tonight, buddy.

  Maybe not any time in the future either.

  What in the hell was the matter with Lauren, taking off without saying good night? It was the team’s fucking routine. Even Van Gogh managed a grunt or two, no matter his crappy mood or day. She’d been here long enough to know that. Frowning, Dante closed the door, turned and flinched.

  Lauren blinked but didn’t say anything.

  “Christ, you surprised me,” he choked out, trying to slow his galloping heart. “I thought you were in the office.”