UNPROTECTED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Hanley Family Mafia)

by Zoey Parker

  He pulls back, then grabs my hair again.

  I look at him, lips parted, waiting for it. There’s lust in his eyes too. He’s not going to be able to keep his dick out of my mouth for long.

  “Nice try, but we’re not moving at your pace, slut.” He shoves his dick all the way into my mouth. “We’re moving at mine.”

  I respond by opening my mouth further so he can go in deeper. He does, takes the extra space gladly, rams his way into my mouth further, down my throat.

  He repeats the motion again, this time faster, harder.

  “There, that’s better now, slut, isn’t it? It’s not up to you, see.”

  And then he throws his cock into me so hard my head is thrown back into the wall. He grabs onto my hair for support and starts pumping, each time going a bit further.

  Finally, I pull back for a heaving gasp of air.

  He pats me, asks, “You good?”

  I nod and open my mouth further.

  Next thing I know his hands are grabbing both my wrists and holding them above my head, while his cock is slamming back into my mouth, picking up where it left off. Now his thrusts are merciless, insistent, carving a path further down my throat. A current of pleasure courses through us with every slam of his cock.

  As he paws at my head and his thrusts grow more frantic and urgent, I can barely hold myself together. My own desire writhes up my legs as I splutter and gag and angle myself just right to take him all the way down to the base.

  God, the feeling. The thump of the head of his swollen cock against the back of my throat. Not doing something, but having it ruthlessly and relentlessly done to me.

  On his most violent thrust yet, I grasp his buttocks and pull on them as hard as I can, forcing his shaft completely down my throat. I hold him there while he twitches with pleasure, and my whole body shudders with warmth and breathlessness. And then, finally, his hands squash my wrists into the wall then drop them, while his cock pulses spastically and his cum pours into me, filling my already-suffocating throat. By the time he pulls out of me, I’m wheezing for air. I cough and, sputtering cum down my front, collapse back against the pavement.

  After, he pulls himself out slowly, pats my head again. He zips himself up, then sits beside me. I lean into his chest, and he strokes my hair.

  “What do you think?” he whispers.

  I lean in further so my head is in his lap. I direct my answer to his crotch, “Think I may need another lesson.”

  In one swift motion, he flips around and spanks me. Then he lifts me onto the back of the bike so I’m in a sitting position, gets on the front and, turning it on, over the roar of the motor, says, “My thoughts exactly.”

  As we ride, the city lights pass in a blur, a surreal accompaniment to my hazy thoughts.

  What am I doing? Who is this guy? How is it that he knows just what to say to me, just what to do? And, more importantly, where is he taking me and should I be scared?

  After we pull in front of a motel, he turns to me and, as if hearing my thoughts, says, “Don’t think too much. We’re teaching you how to listen, remember?”

  Then, getting off the bike, he strides over to me, kisses me on the lips and, gaze boring into mine, says, “Be right back. Stay here.”

  As his footsteps fade away into the night, the quiet becomes loud. The moon is a remote sliver, as if it isn’t here at all.

  Now will be my last chance to escape. After this, there will be no saying “no” to this man, whoever he is.

  A rabbit hops along by, on the sidewalk. God, how drunk am I?

  And yet, instead of the thought of no escape frightening me, it invigorates me. This is just what I need to take my mind off the business.

  My stomach swirls.

  I can hardly bear even the thought of it – what my family does to those girls…

  Cold metal slides along my back, and I turn around into a kiss.

  His hand locks onto mine, while the other runs the room key along my back.

  “Come on, I got us a place,” he says, pulling me up the stairs then along the row of rooms, past 27, 28, stopping at 29.

  As he unlocks the door, his hand slides to my ass.

  Then he pushes me in.

  Behind us the door clicks closed, shutting out my worries with it.

  Tonight, there is only him and me, and nothing more.

  Chapter 4

  Gabriel

  I take a minute to look at her. To really savor my fuck for tonight. Those liquid chocolate eyes, that fat pillow of a lower lip, those pert tits I already know are perfect.

  She stands there and lets me lead her in the room, trying not to smile, clearly hardly able to wait much longer.

  I shove her to the wall.

  Well, I won’t make her wait any longer.

  I grab her zipper and pull down. I pull as slowly as I can, leaning into her, my forehead against hers, staring into her eyes, enjoying the tortured look there.

  Finally, she grabs the zipper herself and yanks down. Her dress flops to the floor, her tits jiggling with their newfound freedom.

  I flip her around, slap her ass, which jiggles with its punishment.

  Pressing her to the wall with my entire body, I hiss, “We’re teaching you to listen, remember?”

  She struggles, hisses back, “You didn’t say anything.”

  I press into her harder, so my dick is burrowing into her thick ass cheeks.

  “I didn’t, did I?”

  She sighs, then sticks out her ass further, starts grinding it against my dick, red ruffles swaying as her olive cheeks move against my jeans.

  I unzip them.

  God, I want to take this little slut now.

  I step back.

  No, just a little longer now. I’m enjoying this too much.

  I stick my finger in her, one then the other.

  Oh yes. She’s wet already.

  As I jerk my finger in her and her huge ass trembles with pleasure, she lets out little murmurs of pleasure.

  Just wait until my dick’s in you, little slut.

  She bends over and spreads her legs further, sticking her ass up.

  “Please,” she groans, “Just take me now.”

  I slap her ass, and shove her so hard she hits the wall.

  She trembles with pleasure, while my dick twitches with it.

  Shit, she’s practically dripping.

  “Oh God,” she moans.

  I shove my dick between her ass cheeks deeper, and she whimpers.

  I pet her, growl into her ear.

  “Not yet, little slut.”

  I reach around and grab her breast, her nipple taut already, just begging to be played with. I indulge gladly, tug and swat it, knead it between my fingers.

  My other hand she lifts to her lips, starts sucking my index finger, twirling her tongue around it expertly.

  “Turn around,” I command.

  She does and, my eyes on hers, I shove myself in between her legs.

  Her eyes flutter closed, while her lips part, a groan slipping out.

  I pause for a second, my cock reveling in how tight and wet her cunt is.

  Her eyes open, half-lidded, her lips part again, her breath shallow already. She’s panting for it.

  I pull out partway, throw myself back in and get to work. My hands on either side of her hips, lifting her slightly like she’s a doll, her vanilla raven hair sliding across my chest, I fuck her good and hard, just like I wanted to the first second I saw her.

  Each slam of our bodies together sends both of us trembling. Her nipples are hard nubs of bliss, her hands grasping at my face, my chest, my butt, delirious with pleasure. She’s so wet, her juice is running down my leg, her moaned words are incomprehensible, sound like they’re a different language.

  But when her whole body starts shaking, I understand.

  For my part, I’ve been ready to cum since the second I was in her tight pussy.

  I ramp up the pace until she’s howling for it, until f
inally I start pouring into her and she collapses back to the floor while I jerk myself all over her.

  I can hardly believe how much cum pours out of me, how much warm whiteness I let rain upon her pretty eager face.

  When I’m done, she flops back onto the floor, limbs spread like a snow angel, her chest rising and falling with each exhausted breath.

  I leave for the bathroom and return with two robes and a Kleenex. I kneel down, pet her head, hand her the Kleenex.

  I put on my robe and, when I turn back, she’s in the same position, except the Kleenex is stuck on her face.

  That funny little whore.

  I lie down beside her, whisper in her ear, “I don’t know if that’s where the Kleenex goes.”

  Her still red lips are visible beyond the white sheet. They smile and say, “I can only know that I know nothing.”

  I lift the Kleenex, scrutinize her closed-eyed, blissful face, ask, “War and Peace?”

  A smirk works its way onto my face before she can respond; I know the answer already. There’s no way.

  Her eyes open with momentary comprehension, then she nods solemnly. Giggles, then, eyes closing, her head flops to the side.

  And just like that, she’s asleep.

  I wipe off her face, then pick her up and tuck her into bed. I watch her for a minute, this beautiful stranger. This woman I’ve gone and had tonight, known the most intimate way you can, and yet whom, as I watch her soft contented breathing, I realize I don’t know at all.

  Chapter 5

  Gabriel

  I wake up a hundred times, and fall back asleep a hundred more. Each time, hovering in half-wakefulness, I see her. Raven hair draped over me like a blanket, crimson lips curled in a secret half-smile. My last night. The woman whose name I still don’t know.

  Each time, I drift back off.

  Until one time I extend my arm into nothingness.

  Cold. The spot on the mattress where she lay is cold. She’s gone.

  I stretch, sit up, listen. For the sound of the faucet, footsteps, anything. But the motel room is as silent as a tomb.

  The bathroom door is closed. No light is coming out the bottom.

  I get up and open it, stare into the dingy, untouched-looking box. There’s no sign of her. Not a trace. It’s as if she never existed at all.

  Back in the room, everything else is similarly untouched: the leaning hulk of the cabinet, the somber sunset painting that looks more like an ode to pollution than anything. Even the front door mat is parallel to the door, not askew in the slightest.

  No, there’s no denying it. She’s gone, and I may never see her again.

  I fling open the door and storm outside.

  A woman further down the balcony takes another drag of her cigarette, while her open robe trembles in the breeze.

  Shit, I love my life, but sometimes….

  I get out my phone and remember. I can’t text Hannah.

  She’s not going to be answering me anytime soon.

  Still, my fingers dial her number before my brain can think better of it.

  The hopeless rings echo down the balcony hallway.

  It’s just been a week. A week since that horrible omen of a text and no sign of her.

  I jam my phone to silent, shove it in my back pocket. I can’t take any more of it, any more of those mocking rings.

  Leaning on the balcony railing, I stare out into the highway wasteland before me, everything in a gray, molasses-like motion. A waft of smoke from the woman further down the balcony throws a tempting finger in my face.

  I shake my head to get rid of the smell.

  No. No way. I quit smoking a year ago for Hannah, and I’m not about to start up again now.

  I go back inside.

  On the bed, staring at the wall, I inhale, then exhale. There.

  I’m fine now. I won’t go back there, to my twenties, all of it a haze of girls, money and drugs. After Mom died, I almost went over the edge.

  No, there’s no going back.

  I get out my phone, then put it away again.

  Hannah was the one who got me out of those dark days, the only reason I’m still here today.

  I see her at the edge of the bed now, her eyes wide with the solemnity of her words, “You can’t keep doing this, Gabe. You’ll die and I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  “I don’t know what to do without you, Hannah,” I murmur to myself.

  I get out my phone again, call Pip.

  “Hey Boss,” he says in that strange high-pitched shrill I can never believe belongs to the bulky beast of a man.

  Most people look at me like I’m on crack when I tell them he’s the tech guy and Jaws is the hit guy.

  “Hey Pip. Can you run another scan on Hannah’s phone?”

  “Sure thing,” he says, “Just a sec.”

  His “sec” is actually a few minutes of heart-pounding waiting before he says, “Sorry.”

  While the last of my hope works its way out of me, burrowing out my toes into the orange shag I’m standing on, Pip continues, “Same as before, Boss. Her phone’s still off. I can’t get any sort of trace on it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” I say, my hand lifting the phone away from my ear, my thumb reaching to the screen, ready to hang up.

  But I don’t and neither does he.

  For some reason, I can’t bear the thought of hanging up and facing this dismal room and this Hannah-less world alone.

  “Hey Boss?” Pip says after a minute.

  “Yeah?”

  “What about her friends, her boyfriend, her neighbors?”

  I stare into the gloom. I don’t want to admit it. That I’ve avoided asking around, checking in. Because then it means the crisis is real.

  “I can help,” Pip continues, “But today you have a meeting with Jaws.”

  “Right, thanks Pip. I almost forgot. Tell him I’ll be at the usual place in thirty minutes.”

  “Ok,” he says, and I hang up.

  It doesn’t take long for me to pack up my things. Coming in last night, I barely had time to put my bag down, let alone put my stuff anywhere.

  I brush my teeth, sweeping the vibrating bristles over my top teeth for 100 seconds, then my bottom for 100 more. Just like Momma taught me.

  Momma.

  My reflection in the mirror sags.

  It’s been almost four years and still, most times it returns to me as a hit to the gut.

  Now it’s even worse.

  “Always take care of your sister, Gabe my boy. Protect her.” Those were her last words to me. Not “I love you,” because I knew that already, not even “Be careful” because she knew me too well. No, my mom used her last words for what was most important: family.

  What would she say now that Hannah is all but confirmed missing?

  When I lean over the bedside table to pick up my wallet I see it. Tucked behind my wallet. A note. A phone number.

  416-747-1111.

  My hand grasps it, and a smile slinks onto my face.

  No fucking way.

  But there’s no other explanation. It has to be hers.

  I tuck both in my back pocket. Maybe it’s just me, but the room looks a little lighter now.

  ###

  As soon as I walk in, I see him. Jaws, waiting in our usual spot with his usual mountain of Rainbow Sherbet.

  While I head for the end of the long cash line, Jaws gives me a glinting grin.

  In the line ahead of me, two ponytailed girls’ stares slide from my incongruous friend to equally incongruous me.

  I smirk.

  Being an albino, I got used to people’s stares around the age of five. But as far as Jaws is concerned, I always forget how striking a figure the crazy bastard is. Especially in a pinky family-friendly establishment like Baskin Robbins of all places.

  Toothpick-skinny with glued-on looking muscles, Jaws is basically a cross between an action figure and a crack addict.

  The forest of gelled spike
s on his head probably doesn’t help. All this, with sea green eyes, virtually no lips and a mouthful of braces, makes for an interesting time with any potential clients.