BOUND: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Leah Wilde

  I could tell when he was on the edge, because his thrusts became more erratic as he struggled to maintain his pace.

  So I let my hands wander away from his chest, slipping lower over his abs before falling between our two bodies. He watched with hungry eyes as my finger moved to that tense bundle of nerves between my legs, right above where his length was buried within me.

  He groaned when I began to touch myself. “That’s it. I love it when you touch yourself.”

  I bit my lower lip as I began to move my finger faster and faster against that bundle. His thrusts were fast, but his movements were jerky. His hard body glistened with sweat and I saw that tick in his jaw telling me that he was close, that he was straining.

  When he came, he let out a low groaning sound, pushing himself as deep into me as he could. For the first time, he released inside of me and it was wonderful.

  I was still touching myself as he panted above me, his length slowly softening inside of me. I was close, but not close enough for Mason’s liking.

  He pushed my hand aside and replaced it with his own, his thumb rubbing hard and fast against my flesh. I gasped and then let myself tumble over the edge of pleasure, falling into it. I cried out his name, “Mason!” Then I went limp.

  He slid out of me then and rolled off of me so that we could both lay bonelessly together on my little bed. “I should have found myself a single mother a while ago,” he murmured beside me.

  “Why?” I asked, feeling loopy and breathless.

  “Because momma knows best.” He paused, then looked over at me, his eyes gleaming. “Plus, you’ve got the best goddamned tits.”

  I laughed a little and he watched as the sound made my chest move.

  “Yep. Best tits.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was on my knees in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess I’d made at Mason’s loud knocking. The towel was soaking and there were glass pieces everywhere, but I gathered everything up so at least wasn’t worried about stabbing my bare feet with shards of glass.

  While I cleaned up, Mason was on the phone. He’d put his pants back on, though they hung low around his waist and his shirt remained notably missing. Which was fine with me. I stared at him now as he paced, talking to Clay. His body was ripped, the muscles hard across his body. His abs were carved into his stomach and his broad shoulders were thick with pectoral muscles that slipped down into large biceps. Those small scars—and not so small ones—across his skin made him seem real to me, giving him a hard edge that sent shivers down my spine.

  It was weird having him in my home, even after christening our new relationship in it.

  Is it a relationship? I wondered silently. And what about Nick?

  After crumpling together in a passionate heap, Mason had thought to ask about my six-year-old. It was amusing for a second to see how panicked he was that Nick might be home. I was pretty sure that was the only time I’d really seen Mason nervous about anything. Of course, I’d explained that Nick wasn’t here and that had smoothed things over immediately.

  But would it always be like that? Out of sight, out of mind when it came to my son? Or would he be willing to accept Nick into his life?

  He’d told me that he loved me, or at least felt a very strong, intense emotion that was bundled up in affection and sexual attraction. Which I admittedly also felt. But was that enough to base a relationship on?

  Clearly, there were some details to be worked out here.

  I wasn’t sure, but I knew that right now I felt better having Mason here with me. If someone came for me while he was here, Mason would take care of them. He was tough and could be a real bastard, which meant he was exactly the kind of man I wanted on my side. And maybe in my life.

  “I want you to keep it quiet,” Mason was telling Clay. He’d called his guard dog after we’d recovered from our orgasms. They were discussing moving his stash of drugs from The Beehive tonight. “I know there’s a lot there, but I don’t want to risk word getting out.” There was a pause, then, “Jimmy knew. Which means he had to find out somehow. We were careful and that tells me that maybe there’s someone slinking around that I shouldn’t be trusting.”

  I frowned. A spy? I thought. Or maybe spy wasn’t the right word. Traitor? I stood and deposited the glass-filled towel in the kitchen trash.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll come down to help you,” Mason said, then he glanced over at me. “Give me thirty. I’ll meet you there.”

  “You’re going to help Clay move the crates?” I guessed as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

  He nodded. “Yes. There’s a lot there and we want it moved as fast as possible.”

  “And you don’t trust anyone else to help Clay?”

  He smirked at me, walking over to me with a swagger that was pure Mason. He came to me and put his hands on my hips, pulling me against him. I had put my shirt back on, but my panties remained lost somewhere in the apartment, probably to be found at a really awkward moment later. “Not unless you’re offering to help.”

  He said it like he knew I wouldn’t want to, which made me straighten up and lift my chin so that I met his gaze. “If you need it.”

  His eyebrows shot up high on his forehead. “Oh?”

  Swallowing, I smiled at him sweetly and nodded. “Yeah. I’m not afraid.” Which was an outright lie, but I felt like he was teasing me and I didn’t want him to think I was a pushover. And maybe I wanted to prove that whatever had just started between us—a partnership, a relationship—I was serious about it.

  He laughed at me, then shook his head. “I do love your bravado, Sasha Norton. My kinda woman.”

  He leaned down and kissed me then before I could say anything else. His tongue delved into my mouth and for a second, I thought we were going to have sex all over again. But despite the way his hands moved up under my shirt, grabbing my naked rear, we didn’t fall into bed again. He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with lust. “Fine. Put some damn clothes on then before I decide I’d rather have a payment than your help.”

  I swatted at him for the payment comment, but didn’t take offense like maybe I should have. “Then keep your hands off my ass,” I retorted.

  He squeezed my cheeks in response, smirking. It took everything I had to pull away from him, but it we were going to do this, we had to get moving, not play grab ass. I headed to my room to find panties and pants. And maybe a bra. I found myself pausing at the doorway to the hall. I hadn’t meant to, but I glanced back at him. He was staring at me with dark, smoldering eyes that told me he’d rather repeat our earlier activities than start these new ones.

  I swallowed thickly. Maybe not a bra.

  # # #

  We drove to The Beehive in Mason’s car. He asked me a couple of quick questions about the business—his end of it and mine—while he drove.

  “Are you asking me as a business partner or a peon?” I asked.

  Though we’d talked about some things tonight, including Mason’s feelings for me, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure where we stood. Did this mean we were a couple now? Or partners? Partners with benefits? Or was this more of a romantic relationship and I was supposed to keep my nose out of the business?

  He took his eyes off the road to glance over at me, but didn’t linger. “You were never a peon.”

  I snorted in amusement. “No?”

  “No,” he said firmly, his tone allowing no room for arguing.

  “Okay. But you didn’t always have feelings for me,” I pointed out. “So I must have been something different than I am now.”

  He turned left on Montgomery, heading the back way to the shop instead of the more obvious route. I wondered briefly if he thought maybe Jimmy or his men might know where I lived and were even watching my apartment building. I told myself that was the paranoia talking, but it was hard to brush that aside when it was a very real possibility.

  “Sure, things are different,” he admitted. “That doesn’t mean I ever thought of you as a peon. You had spunk from the
get-go and it would have been stupid to just throw away that business knowhow.”

  I lifted an eyebrow, though he was back to looking at the road not me, so he likely didn’t see it. “Business knowhow,” I repeated. “Fine, I was running The Beehive before you came along, but the fact is that you made it successful, not me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course I did. That’s what I do.”

  I laughed a little. Still cocky.

  “But even I can’t make gold out of nothing.”

  I fell silent, taking in the compliment hidden in his words. He thought The Beehive was something, even if he obviously felt pretty proud of himself for making it what it was now. And all he had to do was burn down half my store, I thought wryly. But the knowledge that he’d sabotaged half my revenue and blackmailed me didn’t leave me with the same angry feelings it once did. Instead, I felt pride at having survived despite the roadblocks.

  After a bit, I said, “You didn’t answer me. Am I a partner or not?”

  He thought a moment, then asked, “Do you want to be?”

  Did I want to be? Hell of a question. A couple of months ago the answer would have been a resolute no. Who wanted to get dragged into an illicit business of buying and selling—or at the very least storing—illegal drugs? Not good, law-abiding citizens like myself. But I’d come to the conclusion that being a decent person and following the rules didn’t really get me anything other than bills I couldn’t stay on top of and other people taking advantage of me.

  “Better answer with conviction, because I won’t ask again,” Mason warned me.

  I straightened up in my seat, lifting my chin defiantly. “Yes. I want to be a partner. If I’m going to be your…whatever, and store your drugs, then I want to be involved. Completely.”

  He smirked a little at the “whatever” comment, but nodded his head. “Alright. But understand the risks involved. If we go down, it won’t be to juvie.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He belted out a laugh that was dark and smooth, the sound filling up the car. Shaking his head a little he said, “Of course you are, but that’s what I like about you. You’ll do what needs to be done even if you’re terrified. Mark of a strong person.”

  I blushed a little at the compliment, but also because I really wanted to argue with him about being scared. He was right, of course. I was scared. Prison was not somewhere I ever wanted to be. But I was already in this mess. I might as well go in all the way.

  Clearing my throat, I asked, “And the other stuff?”

  “What other stuff?”

  Taking a breath, I asked, “Payments? Am I still your call girl?”

  Grinning, he glanced over at me and let his eyes drag over my form long enough to make me uncomfortable that he wasn’t watching the road. But my body certainly didn’t mind the attention. “No, now you’re just my girl. And if I catch you with anyone else, I’ll kill him.”

  If that promise was supposed to worry me, it didn’t. Instead, I felt a warmth blossom in my chest at the fact that I was his.

  “Are you good with that?” he asked, but his expression suggested he already knew my answer.

  So he seemed a little startled when I threw him a curveball instead. “Maybe. But I have two questions first.”

  Shooting me a dubious look, he nodded.

  “First, what about Nick?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you just looking for the booty without the baggage?”

  He smirked a little at my terminology. “I told you, I like a dirty momma.”

  Flushing, I kept his words from derailing me. “Yeah, but do you want to deal with her kid, too?”

  “You’re a package deal, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m taking you both. Mine is mine. Nick could use a male figure in his life anyway.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What do you know about what a six-year-old needs?”

  He grew quiet and for a long time I thought he wasn’t going to say anything more. When he did finally speak, it was in a soft tone that was uncharacteristic of him. It radiated sadness that his eyes had only ever hinted at before. “My father was a decent man. Good, law-abiding citizen. He used to tell me that if you wanted to do things right, you did them yourself and you did them honest.”

  I raised a brow in surprise, genuinely wondering how a ‘good, law-abiding citizen’ could have raised a cunning criminal such as Mason.

  “I wanted to be just like him. Then one day, a man came by. Dressed like a seventies pimp with gaudy gold jewelry and sunglasses that took up half his face. He shot my father that day and then he knelt down and told me, ‘Only the good die young, son. Don’t forget that.’”

  “Oh my god,” I whispered. The urge to comfort him sprung up so fast that it felt like it was trying to suffocate me. I reached a hand for him, laying it on his arm, but he shook it off. He wasn’t done yet.

  “I thought he was a liar. That the police would take care of it and I’d get justice for my father.” He glanced at me quickly, then jerked his eyes back to the road. “But all they did was tell me that things happen. That I’d better learn to accept it and move on.”

  I felt horrible for him. But it didn’t quite add up for me. “If all of that really happened to you, then why would you become a…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to say gangster, because that sounded too harsh, though it was pretty close to the truth.

  He offered a lopsided smirk. “Drug dealer?”

  I shrugged. “For lack of a better term, yes.”

  He shrugged. “At first, I tried to do it my dad’s way. Work hard, save money, do the right thing. I worked as a delivery boy here in town. All through high school and the summer after. It wasn’t very glamorous, but it got me started saving money. One day, I’m delivering a package to some big shot in a high rise building. But before I even make it up the first flight of stairs, the police are there arresting me.”

  My brow furrowed in confusion. “What for?”

  “Distribution of cocaine.”

  “But I thought you said—?”

  “I did. I was one hundred percent above board, but the cops had fettered out a drug deal going down. I went to prison. I’m sure you’ve noticed the products of that.”

  When I shook my head slightly, not sure what he meant, he motioned across his chest right where the long scar was. He’d received it in prison. I closed my eyes briefly against images of how that might have come about. When he began to speak again, I opened them.

  “I spent four years there. And why? Because a cop was on that drug dealer’s payroll.”

  It was horrible to think of. The Mason I knew was a jerk, manipulative, and sometimes even cruel. But the thought that he was a product of things that had been beyond his control was new to me. “That still doesn’t explain why you would get into the business that had thrown you in jail in the first place.”

  “It was easy. Being a good kid had gotten me in trouble, but the drug dealer? He was safe. Protected. I decided then and there that I would be him, this untouchable man. Not my father who died young. Not a good kid that would always take the blame. I’d be the devil and it’s done me just fine.”

  I didn’t say anything for a long time. In some ways, his story made me reconsider a lot of things. Was this really the sort of man I wanted around me and my son? Someone who had been in prison and believed that being an upstanding citizen only caused problems? But as I thought about it, I realized none of this changed the Mason I knew and in the end, it didn’t affect my feelings for him.

  “Nick can never know about any of this.”

  Mason nodded his head in agreement and we drove the last few minutes in silence.

  Chapter Sixteen

  We arrived at The Beehive to find that Clay’s car was parked across the street in the lot outside the empty building. Other than that car, the whole street looked pretty empty. Although this wasn’t a horrible neighborhood, it wasn’t really a good one ei
ther so people tended to be elsewhere at this hour. Especially since the businesses in the area that were open hours like mine.

  Mason made a quick lap around the block to check for any other cars, maybe ones he recognized or looked out of place, then parked in the alley next to the shop. I figured he didn’t want to park right next to Clay just in case someone passed by and thought it looked odd.

  Turning off the engine, he popped his door and stepped out. I lingered in the car for a moment, thinking on all Mason had confided in me. Did I believe his story? Yes, I did. I wasn’t sure if it made me like him any more or less than I did, but it did leave me with a feeling of understanding. I had been screwed for being the “good girl” too. At least we had that much in common.