His hands eventually find my ass, and my breath hitches as I feel his tongue spearing me, fucking into my folds. My mouth opens, a silent moan escaping as he flicks over my sensitive flesh, stirring the orgasm that I fear he’ll deny me.
“Don’t fucking move, Hope. Not until I’ve finished.”
He slaps my ass, and I bite down as the sting flashes over me, but it washes away with a flick of his tongue. On and on it goes. Teeth biting, hands slapping and his nails clawing at me. I groan, barely able to breathe through the intensity, until he rewards my efforts and drives in to the hilt. It hurts at first, just like it always does, sending me further into the seat I'm holding onto for support.
I draw breath and dig my fingers into the leather as he pistons his hips, slapping them against my flesh. The fabric of his suit trousers brushes up against my skin, as he grinds deeper into me. It grates, heightening the sensations and bringing me too close to control my orgasm.
I bite down on my own lip, focusing on the stitching in front of my eyes in the hope I can hold off. He’s always the same like this, seeking his pleasure from me, seeking comfort inside me. A solace from the enormity of his life.
He asked for two things when I moved in—obedience and fucking. There was never any promise of more. But over time, his idea of fucking has become what I need just as much as he does. The pain. The harsh treatment. They're what my body craves. And this, his command and dominance over me?
It sets my body on fire.
He fucks into me repeatedly, his fingers finding a spot on my hip to add to the bruising, while the other hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to him. He whispers words. Dirty words. They pierce my soul, filling me with memories and visions I don't want but can't forget, because everything about Benjamin during sex is about possession. I’m his possession. He’s exerting his power over me, and as always, I’ll do as I’m told.
Somewhere along the line, those simple things have morphed together to form a connection that only exists when he’s fucking me. It's like a part of him recognizes me, and he lets his guard drop for a moment, however brief. He’s at his most dangerous to me in that single point in time. His most exquisite. I crave that moment because that’s when I can believe that he’s mine—my possession, too.
And those times are growing in frequency.
My body is yanked back against his, over and over until I’m ready to scream out. “Give it to me, Hope.”
“Yes, fuck… more!” I cry, desperate for the final stroke that will send me flying. He grunts, a satisfied moan echoing as he stills inside me, leaving me on the edge of coming around him.
Every molecule of my being aches to push back against him just a little bit more to find my own release, but I know that will do me no favours.
“Benjamin… I”
“You move and I'll walk away.” His hands run over the expanse of my back, running down the ridges of my spine as he breathes on my skin. I stand, motionless, and let him take his fill, a slight smile on my face that he can't see.
“Please, I need. . .”
He pulls out of me and slaps my ass another few times, the pain blistering across my skin as he chuckles. It's a fucking game for him now. How long will I go? How much further can he push? So he slaps again and again, until my backside feels like it’s on fire. It’s done nothing to dampen the flames of my orgasm, though—more increased it. Merely touching my clit will send me over, and he knows it. He runs his finger through my wet tissue, skimming around what he knows needs pressure. Asshole. I bite my lip and mewl, the slightest quiver of my ass begging him to finish me off or carry me on further into his sin.
He does eventually. It's a perfected move, one that he knows intimately. He squeezes my clit, sparking my climax in a second and bringing those stars he always manages to find for me.
My mind lingers in them, reveling in his hand still there on me, the possession that keeps me waiting for more.
“My come dripping from your cunt,” he voices, as his hand smacks across my ass. I shunt forward and gasp, not expecting him to continue. “And you shaking from coming so hard.” He plants a kiss on my back and leaves, his voice echoing back at me from wherever he's going. “Perfect, Hope. My perfect Hope.”
* * *
I never know how it’s going to be with Benjamin. His ferocity and bite are ingrained in everything he does. It’s perhaps the first thing I learned about him. That, and the circles he mixes in.
After this afternoon and the tensions of the last few days, I needed to run, and more than my regular morning exercise, despite any protests from sore muscles.
There are many times when I wish I could leave on my own, that Torino wouldn’t be the constant shadow beside me. Just once I want to look for my shadow and see the inky shape following me rather than a person sent to do Benjamin’s bidding. Now is one of those times when I need to go to a quiet place and scream at the sky to clear my mind and gather myself in private.
It’s a good thirty minutes before my feet can eat up the miles in central park with Tornio on my heels, pushing and pushing until my lungs burn inside my chest and I feel faint from exhaustion. It’s a relief I’m starting to take refuge in. The multiple parts of my carefully constructed and planned world are careering together, and after so long living such a regimented life, it’s shaking me.
The fortress I live in is of my own making. My choices led me to where I am today, but that doesn’t mean that on occasions, like today, I don’t want to tear it all apart. The enemy is finally at the gates, but it’s more painful than I ever imagined it would be—more painful to my heart. My heart wasn’t involved at the start, but I can’t help the tightness in my chest when I think of a future where Benjamin isn’t in my world. He’s slipped past my defences and occupies a place I thought couldn’t feel anymore.
The air is cool, and there’s a darkness closing in. I pull up out of the run, and Torino almost crashes into me. “Watch it,” I snap.
He doesn’t offer an apology or engage in conversation. It’s his only saving grace. If he wanted to talk all the time, I might have to kill him.
My hands hug my hips, still tender from Benjamin’s handling, as I pace around, trying to clear my thoughts. Since the mention of Cane, my mother has been at the forefront of my mind. How could she not be? She’s the reason I’m here—the reason I had to start turning tricks at sixteen to pay for her medical bills and keep a roof over our heads—her and Cane.
Flashes of memories invade—memories I’ve been able to move past thanks to Benjamin. This is the only part of me he doesn’t know about, my heritage. He knows that I was a whore and that I chose to pull myself up from the gutter I started in, but that's it. None of the plan festering in my mind since before my mother died would have come to light if I hadn’t done that, if I hadn't endured it. And I certainly wouldn’t have met Benjamin or had a shot at Cane.
My eyes scan around the area and I decide to head back. I’ll need to look at another form of relief because ever since my dear old brothers showed up, running hasn't done the trick. I don’t just run to stay fit and healthy. It’s my only escape, and now even my mind is poison.
“Do you know what he used to say to me? He’d say that I was his girl. That I was the one he loved. Not his wife. Me. I was so happy when I fell pregnant. But he didn’t want you. He sent you away, and so I had to leave him as well. I had to leave because of you.”
“I know, Mother. Try to rest.” She lies back on the bed, and I place the cold washcloth to her forehead, hoping her temperature will break and she’ll find some rest. These episodes are happening more and more frequently, and the drugs from the store don’t seem to be working.
“I would have been a Cane if not for you. And now look at me. Look!” The crackle of her chest turns into a coughing fit as she fights to breathe. “Have you got me a new bottle?” she murmurs, looking for more whiskey.
“Not tonight, Mother. Go to sleep.”
“I want a drink. Can’t I
even have that anymore? Why aren’t you working? I told you what you have to do. If I could do it, so can you. Hope?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“You know what to do.”
“I know.”
“Hope?”
“Sorry, what?” I frown at Torino who’s standing in front of me expectantly.
“Finished? Time’s getting on. Probably should head back. Vico doesn’t like you out after dark.”
“Fuck Vico. I can do what I want.”
I sprint off, pumping my arms and legs and head deeper into the park. Torino is right. Benjamin will hate that I'm out when it’s getting dark. He’s more protective of me than I ever thought possible. When he first approached me, I expected sex—nothing more than that, although I hoped. But what I’ve developed with him, the relationship I have is more than I ever imagined.
I’d been sleeping with men for money for over eight years before I met Benjamin. Within a week of being with him, he knew everything about my past—my mother, how she died, how I spent my youth and that I learned how to turn my life around. I still sell my body, but not to the scum on the corner who pay twenty bucks for a blowjob.
There was no love, no attachment other than necessities and orders, but he never knew or asked about my father. He had no reason to. My mother was an alcoholic hooker who only attempted to keep a regular job while I was in school. I suppose Benjamin assumes Daddy was a John—just another guy on the street. He was far from that. He lived the high life, enjoying his wealth and family while we scraped in gutters and froze through winters. And then, despite us managing somehow, before I was even old enough to leave school, she gave up on herself. And on me. I'd thought it couldn't get much worse. I was wrong, so fucking wrong.
She sent me out into the streets of New York and drank away her heartache, telling me to open my legs to bring money home. Her heartache was all because of Cane.
Her death certificate might have stated pneumonia and liver disease, but her broken heart was a wound that had infected her soul from the inside out for my entire life.
She blamed me for her life.
And I blame Cane.
Seven
Danelo stands in the corner of my apartment, his mouth reeling off numbers and information I should give a damn about. I don’t. For some reason, today, I don’t. Maybe it’s to do with having these Cane boys all over me. I went back to the office after dropping Quinn off at the docs, stormed in there with my blood riled up to all hell, ready to explode, and found Nathan calmly sitting at my desk on a laptop. He looked at me and handed it over, a white box displayed on the screen and nothing more.
“Enter a password,” he said. “Then it’s all yours again.”
“No back-end access?”
“There’s always back-end access.” He stood and offered me my own damn chair. “You’ll have to trust me not to get up in your ass.” Trust. It’s a word they use a lot. “And get rid of your chief operator. He’s been siphoning through channels you couldn’t see before.” Tony took care of that. Cleanly. Harshly.
He left after that with a nod as if he was saying you’re welcome. I don’t know why. I didn’t thank him for a goddamn thing. Maybe I should have, because the system he set up, the coding involved in it and the way he inputted algorithms—astute.
Now it’s a few days later, and we’re all over talking, discussing plans like we’re the allies they need. Maybe we are. Still, I don’t trust them.
My eyes stare into the bedroom, taking in the precise lines and opulence decorating them. It’s a far cry from the streets I walked the other day. My room back then was minimal, empty of anything but necessities. Father made me that way, kept my thinking sharp and severe. Nothing emotional. No attachments to anything but Tony and Sergio. They were the only things he said I could count on—them and him.
“Where’s Hope?” I call back to Tony, cutting through whatever he’s saying.
“Out running.”
I smile and look at the walk in, my feet carrying me to her end of it so I can run my fingers through her clothes. It smells of her perfume in here, the notes overriding my aftershave—strong, sweet scents with hints of cinnamon and lemongrass. Clothes, shoes, bags. Blacks and golds everywhere. Classy. It’s ordered neatly, arranged in a pattern so she can be efficient in the morning. My hand picks up the hem of one of her dresses, feeling the material in my fingers. It’s like silk, probably is silk. Why would she dress in anything less? I can’t even remember seeing her in a pair of jeans these last few years. Once, I think, back when I first found her and went knocking on her door unexpectedly. Cute.
“I’m going out,” I say, heading back into the lounge.
“Boss?”
“I need some time to think.”
“We need to check in with downtown. They're running the last of the brown out for Vegas tonight.” I look at him and pull my suit jacket on, buttoning it. It's an easy enough count out tonight. See the packages on board, and check the product out for the road.
“You all right on your own for that?” He frowns but nods at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah. It's just you're normally on it.”
Well, I've got other things I want to be on this evening. In actually. I chuckle and walk towards the door, the echo of marble under my feet.
“I’ll call Luca to drive you—”
I check my watch. “No. I’ll walk. You wait here ‘til you need to go,” I cut in, spinning back to look at him. No one fucks with me these days, certainly not on the pristine streets where I live. A walk will do me good, clear my head. “Tell Hope to meet me at the library at five when she gets back.” That should give her enough time to change and get there and give me enough time to think. “And tell her it’s a date, Tony.” Both his brows rise. I’m not surprised. It’s not a word I use, nor particularly care for, but something about the goddamn Canes has got in my head. Messing with it. Their pretty wives and the harmony between them seems to be bringing shit home to me that I haven’t thought about before now. Or perhaps it’s those streets I was on the other day, memories.
He nods at me as I leave, efficient as always. There’s not a thing we’ve disagreed on over the years. Whether that’s by choice or not, I don’t know; he’s just always been there, right since we were kids. He’s good next to me. He has a killer’s instincts and a politician’s head, but both without the need to posture himself around others like I do. The world considers him nothing more than my second. He’s far more than that now I’m thinking about it. Always has been. He’s a friend. A confidante. Someone I've considered family in some ways.
I step out into the street and watch the light fading over the park. It’s getting nice in New York now, the lack of sunlight bringing my world a shade darker each day. I like it. It lets me sit in corners when I’m not on show, gazing at the inconsistencies that encroach on rationality each day. Fucking people and their endless woes, all of them wondering what the next day will bring. Carnage is what it will bring. Different levels of it maybe, but life isn’t a fair game for anyone. It’s all about risks and calculation, learning to use yourself effectively, slaughtering mass opinion as you do. People whine on about how their lives are ruled by the masses, how they haven’t got a choice. They’re right. They haven’t. Not unless they’re prepared to do the shit I’ve done to get above the masses they hate.
“Mr. Vico?” I look sideways at the doorman standing by the gold posts, his feet resting on red carpet. “Can I help you?”
I shake my head and turn, walking along Fifth to head towards Park Avenue. The library? She likes it there. Fuck knows why, but Torino sits outside that place for hours sometimes waiting for her to finish whatever she’s doing. She says reading, all kinds of shit apparently. It's true from what I know. It works, too. I’ve seen her dive into conversations with governors about law and justice, watched the way she uses that information to twist a conversation to my benefit, or deliberate some new cuisine the world’s only just heard of with their wi
ves, inciting invites for us to come over and eat. Another benefit to me when I need it. Hope Winters, for whatever reason, lives and breathes for me. Not just because I make her either—she does it because she excels at it.
Perhaps she gives a damn more than I think she does.
Not that she expresses that with anything other than fucking and obedience, which is just what I asked her for in the beginning.
I cross over Madison and wait for the lights, eyes searching the streets for something to interest me as much as yesterday's carnage. Nothing does. It’s just a run of the same meager people in their everyday lives, most of them willing some lottery jackpot win so they can live like I do. A woman looks at me, a coy smile on her face as if I might be interested in fucking her, perhaps giving her some of the wealth I’ve amassed. I shove my hands in my pockets and ignore her, bored with the sight of her and wanting nothing more than someone I can engage with at my level.
Maybe that’s why the Cane boys interest me so much. I can be real with them. Dirty. The same as the streets I came from before all this posturing and manipulating borders started to get what I want.
My smile broadens at the thought, amused at myself. I thought I enjoyed not doing that these days, thought that was what all this was about. Sure, they all know not to cross me, and what happens if they do, but it’s not me who uses the weapons anymore. Hasn’t been for some time. I can’t be seen to get my hands dirty like that, can’t risk the lawyers getting involved and taking my power from me. It’s only when they look at Hope that I lose my shit enough to remember that past of mine, but I can still feel my grip on the piece under my jacket. Still feel it resonating and reminding me where this all began.
My feet eventually wander up the library steps, eyes looking at the lions reigning over the area. Interesting that they’re there really, given my little wild cat’s love for this place. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out she stares them down as she walks past, her own eyes like stone and ice as she does. I chuckle at the image and keep moving, bypassing the main lobby to head into the back quarters. The engine room is what I want, the conductor specifically.
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