Business.
Some poor schmuck had gone against the O’Donnellys and was being served his fate just behind this door.
“Did you have to bring it home with you?” I whispered.
“It? Like a lost puppy?” He arched a brow at me. “Go upstairs. Get changed. We need to go soon.”
“You can’t just leave—”
“Can’t I?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’ve asked you twice now, Camille. Nicely. Please, go upstairs before you piss me off.”
I should have just left. Done as he asked. He had, after all, been polite about it. But this was my home. Our home. I understood the need for medical care, that was one thing. But this? It was completely different.
“You can’t bring—”
He swooped down, his face coming so close to me that mine almost banged into the door as I jerked backward to avoid it—what stopped the collision? His hand. He grabbed me by the nape, just in time, and he hauled me into him even as he used his grip on me to tip my head back.
“You really trying to piss me off today, Camille?”
I swallowed. “N-No, of course not, Brennan.”
“Then why are you questioning me?” His nostrils flared for a second, and he rumbled, “This is business. I wouldn’t bring it here if I didn’t have to.” He clenched his jaw. “Pick up your clothes, get your ass upstairs, and wait for me.”
“I’ll go and get showered,” I tried to appease.
“No. Just wait for me.” With his hold on my nape still, he maneuvered us around so that his back was to the office door and mine was to the hall.
The air was almost incandescent with his agitation, and I had the feeling that, whatever had happened this morning, was tied to this. Tied to whoever was in his office.
Heart in my throat, I dropped down to my knees the second he released me, grabbed my clothes, and rushed over to the stairs.
My lungs were burning even though I didn’t run that far when I made it to the bedroom, and I laid out my things over the dresser in the corner.
As I twisted around, trying to figure out where to sit, I took in the large space.
The bed was massive and sat right in the center. On a raised platform, it overlooked the picture windows which opened up onto the Manhattan sky. To the left of it, there was a dresser, to the right, a vanity area that I couldn’t see him using all that much, even if he had a Louis Vuitton watch case on there.
At the foot of the bed, there was a bench, brown leather so dark it was nearly black and that matched the headboard. Beyond, there were two armchairs, a rich cream velvet with gold undertones that added a hint of warmth to the space.
I could sit on the bed, the bench or the armchairs, but I didn’t want to sit down. Nerves filled me, making my agitation worse.
Would he hit me?
I couldn’t see it.
But why didn’t he want me to get showered? To start getting ready?
Though I thought he was going to punish me, his actions and words didn’t correlate.
I’d pissed him off, but even though he’d loomed over me like Hades himself, he’d been the one to stop me from hurting my head when I’d nearly collided with the door.
My fingers twitched as I dug them into my palms, and the exquisite pain had me closing my eyes, the relief so intense it was almost pleasurable. As I released a shaky breath, I took measure of my options.
I shouldn’t have questioned him, but this was my home now. I didn’t want him bringing people to be tortured into it, and I didn’t think that was a lot to damn well ask. God, didn’t they have places for that express purpose? Did he really have to bring it home?
He’d said it was to do with this morning, but because he hadn’t clued me in on what had actually happened, I was still in the dark, and I was okay with that. I preferred the darkness. Call me a coward, but I didn’t want to know. There was no remaining in that darkness, however, when he brought it under my roof too.
The longer I thought about this, the more my fingers burrowed into my palms. It was so second nature to me that I didn’t even realize it. Not until I felt the Band-Aids sliding around now the flesh was slick with blood.
Wincing at the mess I’d made, I peered down at the carpeted floor, grateful that I hadn’t dripped any blood onto it, then I made my way to the bathroom to clean up. Only, as I did, I heard him. I had no idea how long he’d taken down there, but the sound of his thudding steps on the stairs, then the padding of his bare feet as he moved down the corridor had my heart taking residence in my throat.
With time running out, I did the only thing that was sensible. The one thing that my mind had clung to this morning when he’d said it.
I rushed to the nearest corner, one that was part wall, part window, turned my face to it, and tried not to wonder why, when my body barely reacted to direct stimuli, a ball of heat had formed in my core as I pushed my nose against the wall, hoping that would be enough to quell his anger...
Twenty-Seven
Brennan
Using my elbow to knock the door open, my focus was on not getting blood everywhere as I maneuvered into my bedroom. Upon straightening up, I caught sight of her, face to the wall, tucked in the corner directly opposite the doorway.
Rather than acknowledge her, I moved into the bathroom. The sink was still full of soapy water from when I’d been shaving, so I plunged my hands into the liquid, then focused on cleaning them up. Using a nail brush, I made sure there were no crevices in my skin where blood could gather.
Maybe I took extra care because I knew she was waiting out there.
Maybe I was both pleased and annoyed that she’d taken it upon herself to shove her face in the corner...
Funny how I’d mentioned that this morning and here she was, topping from the bottom.
Lips pursing at the thought, I pulled the plug, releasing the vat of pink-tinged water, then turned on the faucet to clean up the sink, before I gave my hands one final wash.
That done, I dried them off on a towel, then strode into my bedroom.
“Place your hands on the glass, take a step back, and bend over at a ninety-degree angle,” I ordered her.
A whisper of breath escaped her, but she didn’t argue. Her compliance was immediate.
Shaking my head at her character’s strange mixture of gutsy and submissive, I ignored her again, and made my way to the closet. With great care, I picked out the items I was going to wear tonight.
I wasn’t known for my fastidiousness, but she’d chosen this path, so I wasn’t going to disappoint her. I selected my jeans first, and when I’d made my choice, I moved over to her side and draped them over her back. She tensed but didn’t argue.
Then I did the same with my shirt and sweater. Even my socks and boxer briefs were carefully picked and laid over her like she was a clotheshorse.
The position, though simple, required a lot of core strength, and I witnessed a faint tremble that rushed down her spine and along her thighs as she maintained the hold.
Spying that, I moved to her side, and asked, “If I touched your cunt, would it be wet or dry?”
A shocked gasp escaped her, and she jerked up slightly, which made her hands slide against the glass. Seeing the blood trails left from her palms had anger whipping through me.
“I-I don’t know,” she said after a few seconds.
“Bullshit.”
Heading over to my nightstand, I pulled open the top drawer. There was a secret ledge built into it, so I checked that my gun was still in place, and that she hadn’t taken it, before I pulled out my knife.
Returning to her side, I repeated, “Is your pussy wet or dry?”
“How would I know?” she rasped. “I can’t touch it.”
Did she know bupkis about her body?
Jesus Christ.
I wasn’t sure what infuriated me the most in all honesty. The blood which meant she had opened her wounds again—at least, that had better be what that meant, and not that she’d self-harmed whi
le I’d been dealing with business downstairs—or the fact she was in the dark about her body.
Were there any other twenty-four-year-olds this naive in the fucking country—never mind the city—or was she just trying me?
With her ass poking out the way it was, I saw the seam that ran down the peachy curve to between her legs. The yoga pants gave her a camel toe that was almost too perfect to wreck, but I had plans, and I was pretty sure she’d own a couple dozen more pairs of yoga pants so I’d get to see that plenty more times in the future.
Pressing the tip of the knife to that seam, I sliced it open. It parted like butter against the sharp blade, and because she’d pissed me off, I continued down that seam until I reached her cunt.
Resting the knife at the base of her back, using her like a stand again, I grabbed both halves of her pants and tore them wider open.
With that done, I plucked at the gusset of her panties, pulling it away from her pussy lips which, as I’d suspected, were drenched with her arousal, and keeping it that way, I reached for my knife and slashed through that fabric too.
“You’re trying to tell me you don’t know if you’re wet or not?” I demanded.
A whimper escaped her. “I-I really don’t.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I groused under my breath. This time, I twisted around and tossed the knife on the top of the dresser.
When I turned back around, I couldn’t deny that she made a stunning picture.
Her legs were pushed together, so her pussy lips were sandwiched between them. Her golden skin was creamy against the black fabric of her pants, which made the bright red flush of her cunt, slick with translucent juices, seem all the more shocking.
In the best possible way, of course.
Licking my lips at the sight, I reached down and traced my finger over her slit. A groan escaped her as she surged onto her tiptoes, and her back bowed, dipping in at the bottom as she responded to the caress.
As she did, the clothes shifted slightly, so I told her, “Those clothes stay where they are. You let them fall, there’ll be consequences.”
In all honesty, I had no idea what those consequences would be. I wasn’t into punishing where sex was concerned, but if it got her this fucking hot, maybe I’d have to come up with some alternatives.
Punishments were for life and death situations.
Even though she’d questioned me downstairs, I’d never have shoved her in the fucking corner the way she’d elected.
I should be pissed, but how could I be when her cunt was this ready for me?
A mewl escaped her at my words, like the whisper of a consequence was enough to get her off.
Shaking my head at her, I let my fingers fondle her slit, moving them around her clit, rubbing it and taking my time with it so that she knew I was playing with her.
Every shudder, every groan, every whimper was enough consequence for me, but still, seeing how fucking ready she was had my dick close to bursting.
The trouble was, we had to shift our asses. All I wanted to do was fuck her, take my time with her, but my day had gone to shit already, and I knew Da would give me crap if I was late.
Unable to stop myself, I thrust a finger into her. The tight, clinging walls were a sweet torture of their own, and I closed my eyes as my dick throbbed in time to the way her pussy pulsed around the digit.
The moans she made weren’t helping either. They were sweet agony too.
Slipping a second, then a third into her, I gritted my teeth against the need to fuck her. She wasn’t going to lead me around by my cock, even if she thought she could...
“Don’t come,” I told her coldly, my voice hoarse as I battled my own needs.
“Huh?” she replied on a sharp intake of air.
“Don’t come,” I repeated as I started to thrust into her faster.
Just like I thought—the second I said that, her pussy clenched down on my fingers, hard enough to cut off the circulation to them. Okay, slight exaggeration but still, fucking tight.
A soft, keening sound escaped her, one that was loaded with a desperation I almost felt as she fought my retreat and invasion, trying to cling to me, to keep me in place.
Seconds before I knew she was about to get off, I pulled out of her, and damning the fucking time, I threw my towel to the floor, pushed the tip of my cock to her slit, and thrust home.
Her cunt fought me for every inch I claimed, making a liar out of her—no way in fuck had she serviced a whole chapter of the Sinners—but when I was all the way in, it treated me to a little Mexican wave as she exploded around me.
“What did I tell you?” I snarled at her, even though it felt like bliss.
That soft, keening sound became a wail. A long constant sound of agonized bliss as I fucked her through her orgasm. Reaching between her legs, I bent over slightly and began to rub her clit again as I fucked her from behind. The wail made my ears ring but though my thrusts were hard and fast, furious, she took it like a trooper.
With each thud of my thighs to her ass, of skin bouncing against skin, her fingers squeaked against the glass, and when her cunt clutched at my cock with more ferocity than before, I closed my eyes, reveling in the tight squeeze as she came again.
When she crumpled, falling forward, the clothes tumbling with her, tangling around her, I stopped rubbing her clit and instead, grabbed her hips. Continuing to fuck her as she tried to gain some balance, her hands flailing to straighten up, I stopped thrusting and, instead, rocked her back and forth, pivoting her off my dick and letting her fuck me back.
Like a rag doll, she let me, and when she came again, without any help from me, she sucked my cum right out of my fucking balls.
Head thrown back, throat straining as I roared out my release, I let the day’s stresses, and the upcoming ones the evening ahead promised, float away, because at that moment, she was the only thing that grounded me. And fuck, I needed to be grounded.
A series of low grunts escaped me as I screwed her until she milked me of every drop. My legs felt like they were made out of Jell-O as I came back down to earth.
It took an ungodly amount of time, but when I was done, I stared down at the mess she’d made, at the clothes which were everywhere, and I leaned over her, rumbling, “I should make you meet the folks with cum dripping out of your cunt.” No surprise, that dirty little pussy of hers squeezed my softening dick hard. Though I maintained my grip on her, supporting her, I pushed her forward and said, “Use your hands to walk your way back into a standing position.”
Limp like spaghetti, it took her way too fucking long to do as I asked, but I wasn’t about to complain. My grip on her kept my cock inside that tight heat, and when she was back upright, I moved one arm, banding it about her hips, then used the other to angle her so her back was to my chest.
I rested my head on her shoulder, and whispered, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“N-No,” she moaned, her head dragging from side to side.
“Your cunt tells me otherwise. You want to eat at the dining room table, with my folks there, my cum all over you, making those pretty little thighs sticky with my seed. You want to be thinking about tonight, when I fuck you again—” I paused. “Did you like your first time with me, Camille? Your first time as my woman. My wife. Mine.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Her cunt was more communicative than she was.
But I forced her to reply, demanding, “Camille! Did you like your first time as my woman?”
“Y-Yes,” she breathed, and as the sun drifted a little lower in the sky, at that second, I saw her reflection in the glass. Her eyes were dazed, her face relaxed, everything about her looked like she was coming down from a high.
Good.
I’d keep her like that for a lifetime if I could.
Fuck, if she’d been beautiful before, that was nothing to now when she was hungover from my cock.
“What about at dinner? You want to be sticky with my seed
?”
She gulped. “I-I s-shouldn’t.”
“No, you shouldn’t want that, you dirty little slut,” I whispered, but I pressed a kiss to her cheek, letting my tongue trail out to lessen the sting behind the insult. “But, do you?”
“Y-Yes,” she hiccupped, confirming what I suspected. “I do want that. I don’t know why, but I do.” The latter half came out on a confused sob as she twisted her head to the side, shoving her face against mine, hiding from herself rather than me.
Humming under my breath, I told her, “You let the clothes drop. You didn’t obey me when I told you to come up here, you made us late leaving, and you opened the cuts on your hands again... so, instead, you’re going to get cleaned up.”
I wasn’t sure how bad a consequence that’d be. Most women I’d fucked would be happy to shower away a load of cum—saying that, I had to figure they would. I’d never fucked a woman without a rubber before—but she pushed her forehead against me.
“No, please, Brennan. Please.”
Inwardly, I’d admit to being stunned, but who the fuck was I to question what got her hot?
Every time I’d fingered her up to now, she always started off as dry as a bone. I wasn’t concerned about her being frigid, but I couldn’t help but think she might be.
Maybe she’d just never found her kink.
To be a cum slut.
Well... my cum slut.
Her pussy wasn’t the only thing doing the twitching. My cock did as well as that thought whispered through my mind.
“You disobeyed, Camille,” I rumbled. “I told you there’d be consequences.”
A shaky sigh escaped her, but I heard the pout in her words as she whispered, “No fair.”
I smirked. “Who said life was fair?” She clucked her tongue at me, but I shut her up by asking, “You ready for me to pull out?” Pressing another kiss to her cheek, where I could reach thanks to the way she was hiding against me, I felt and tasted her pout.
“No,” she admitted, which had me sighing and reaching down to cup us both where she still held me in place.
Another shaky sigh whispered from her lips, and it had me promising, “Later, Camille. Later.”
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 28
