by M. Robinson
And I’d irrevocably, undeniably fallen for him in the darkest way possible, both of my arms open as I begged for more.
It had been six months since he’d taken me to Vegas to put to rest the last chapter of my life, to kill the men who were after me and wanted to use my body for monetary gain and recreational activity.
Twenty-six weeks since I had a hand in killing my father and no longer had to look over my shoulder and worry someone was chasing me with a gun in their hand and a smile on their face.
I didn’t ever have to worry about that again, because I had a monster of my own, one who the very devil himself feared.
And it had been one hundred and two days since I committed my life to the monster in my own story, the man I fell in love with, who’d die for me, kill for me… who made me so happy I hadn’t realized how miserable I was before him.
So no, Arlo wasn’t the hero in my story. He was the villain, and I’d run into his open arms and let his blood-covered hands smear along every inch of exposed skin.
He didn’t need to have a heart, because I’d give him mine.
I stared out at the city lights that overlooked the penthouse apartment I shared with Arlo. We’d made this place our home, with the wealth and glamor I’d never been accustomed to, which seemed so out of place in my life. But I realized it didn’t matter where I was, because as long as Arlo was with me, everything was in its rightful place.
After we came back to Desolation, New York, from Vegas, so much had changed in a rapid period of time. I’d called Desolation my home for the last few months before meeting Arlo, but it had never been a place that evoked happy or fond memories. In fact, Vegas, where I’d lived my entire life, hadn’t been a home either.
No, I only found that once I met Arlo. Then everything changed.
So here I was, knowing Arlo wasn’t a good man from day one, but never understanding how deep that went.
The man I’d fallen for was a “fixer” for the crime syndicate known as The Ruin, a collective organization where illegal trades, kill-for-hires, and any other underground activity could be done in relative “safety” and ambiguity.
He was a mercenary, a killer… a coldhearted bastard I was undeniably in love with.
I turned from the windows and the life of the city to walk over to the long stretch of granite that made up the breakfast counter in the kitchen. I picked up the elegant invitation Arlo brought home last night, stared down at the embossed words, how they were raised on the thick cardstock, how the wealth and power poured from that small slip of paper I held in my hand.
You’re cordially invited
to the Christmas Gala
hosted at the Morelli mansion
in Bishop’s Landing.
When Arlo set the invite down, I hadn’t missed the hard, distant look on his face, his brows pulled low, his lips set in a firm line. It was an expression I knew not to ask about or question. I could only assume this gala, or something connected to the Morellis hosting it, had made Arlo react in that way.
We just got the invitation yesterday, but already my gown and his tux had been delivered to the apartment this morning, both hanging up in our bedroom closet in the protective black garment bags.
His clear tension made me apprehensive. And when I told him we could stay in, he’d given me a firm shake of his head, a light kiss on my lips, and told me sometimes we had to do things that pushed bad blood away and where masks of civility had to be put in place.
I set the invitation back on the counter and headed toward our bathroom. I didn’t know when Arlo would come home. His job wasn’t one that was nine to five. He didn’t return home in his pressed boardroom suit and a briefcase in hand.
He killed for a living, disposed of bodies, maimed, and tortured. And every time he came home, he showered the violence and gore off his body, slipped into bed beside me, and touched me with hands that had taken lives. But his touch was gentle, his kisses soft and possessive, his passion powerful.
Arlo had fire in his veins and control in his blood. But with me, he unleashed that beast, and I embraced him fully.
Twenty minutes later, I was showered and had one of Arlo’s oversized shirts on, the material falling to my knees and smelling just like him. I slipped into bed, pulled the dark satin comforter to my chin, and stared out the window at the city just beyond.
Even if his “work” hours were erratic, and more times than not he did whatever it was he did in the middle of the night, I never felt alone. Then again, all my life, I’d never had anyone in my corner, not until he filled that hollow space in my soul.
My days were no longer scraping by, working tirelessly at dead-end, odd jobs, and trying to stay afloat. I was no longer running from the bad guys. I had no safety worries, no money problems. Arlo spoiled me, not just with physical needs but with the emotional and mental ones as well, until I was so consumed I drowned in the love he gave me.
And the truth was, I would have been happy living with him in a cardboard box if that’s where our path took us. As long as he was with me, I knew things would be okay.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have, because I felt the bed dip behind me, the shift on the mattress rousing me. I opened my eyes and blinked to focus, heavy sleep trying to pull me back under. I stared at the cityscape across from me, not having moved from my side position when I first slipped into bed.
It was his scent that had the fogginess of sleep fully fading and something hotter and darker coiling within me. His dark, spicy aroma that wrapped around me. The soap he used was plain, and unscented, but I swore it accentuated his natural aroma, one that instantly had desire licking through my body.
Arlo pressed his chest to my back, slid his muscled arm over my waist, his hand so big, his palm so wide that it nearly spanned the entire width of my belly. He jerked me toward him even more so that my ass was pressed against his huge erection. I said nothing, didn’t move. I just let him rearrange me like a doll, any way he saw fit, because that’s how I liked it.
My eyes fluttered closed on their own when he slipped his hands between my legs, a low groan leaving him when he realized I wasn’t wearing any panties, his bare fingers coming up against my slick, hot pussy. He slid those calloused, thick digits through my folds, and I gasped, the first noise I allowed myself to make.
“Ty takoy mokryy.” You are so wet. Those Russian words were growled low against the side of my neck, pulling another moan from me as he rubbed my pussy lips, circled my entrance, then slid up to tease my clit. “You’re so wet, moy svet.” My light.
The endearment he always called me speared through my core, and I arched my back, my ass popping out more, rubbing along his hard cock. He was nude behind me, his skin warm and damp from his recent shower.
In a series of jerky, hurried, and impatient movements, Arlo all but ripped my—his—T-shirt up and over my head and pulled me back against his chest with a growl of pleasure when our bare skin touched.
“Beg for it,” he all but snarled against my neck, then licked the spot right beneath my ear, causing my entire body to shudder in ecstasy.
My inner muscles clenched, gripping, seeking something substantial… something only Arlo could give me. I couldn’t think, let alone speak, to obey his command, to plead for him to fuck me.
And God, that’s what I wanted. I wanted him to slam into me, take me brutally, without mercy. I didn’t want slow and sweet. I didn’t want him to make love to me. I wanted hardcore fucking from the monster I loved.
“Fucking beg for it, Galina.” His words vibrated low and menacingly, his voice strong enough to nearly have me orgasming right then and there without any penetration.
“Please.” That word was a tiny murmur from me, barely audible. But the harsh sound he made, the rough exhale that bathed my skin, told me he heard… it told me he approved and was barely holding on to his control.
He removed his hand from between my legs, but before I could protest, he grabbed my thigh and li
fted it, placing it over his waist so I was spread even wider.
“Yes,” I moaned and tipped my head back, my eyes closed.
His fingers were right back between my legs, stroking me, teasing me until I was on fire, a fever moving through every part of me. He stroked me between my thighs, showing me he was in control, and he’d fuck me when he damn well pleased, when he was ready.
I turned my head, needing to see him, to feel every part of my skin pressed against him. The angle was awkward, my neck protesting, but I didn’t care as he slipped his other arm around my body, gripped my chin between his fingers, and kept me in place as he slammed his mouth down on mine and shoved his tongue between my lips.
The kiss was angry, as if he was pissed he wanted me as much as he did.
But I knew Arlo, understood the way his mind worked, that this powerful possessiveness he had toward me made him feel unhinged and emotional in a way he’d never experienced before. It was because of these emotions I’d awoken in a man who’d never experienced them that told me the pain he caused me leading to the most exquisite pleasure was now my life.
And I never wanted it to end.
He didn’t give me any warning, just shoved two fingers into me so hard and fast that my inner muscles clamped down immediately, and I cried out from the agony and ecstasy. He kissed me harder and swallowed the sounds leaving me, taking it into himself until we were one. He finger-fucked me for long seconds, stretching my tight pussy, and scissored the digits within me until I was writhing against him, begging and murmuring incomprehensibly for him to fuck me already.
One minute, his fingers were lodged in my body, and in the next he bent me forward slightly and I felt the thick, bulbous head of his cock notched at my pussy hole. There was no waiting, no preamble. Arlo shoved deep inside me until no sound could escape me because I couldn’t breathe. The pain and pleasure mixed into one sensation that had me soaring.
Even all these months later, even though Arlo fucked me all the time as if he couldn’t bear to be separated from me, as if he needed to be connected in the most primal way, having his huge cock in me felt like that first time he took my virginity. He was a heavy, powerful presence in my body.
He had one hand on my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh so tightly I knew there would be bruises in the morning, black and purple marks along my pale flesh that were physical reminders of what he’d done to me. His mark, and a warning to anyone who thought they could take me from him.
The wet, sloppy sound of his cock tunneling in and out of my pussy filled the room, the scent of us fucking making me feel drunk, high. I should have been humiliated that I was so drenched, my juices covering my inner thighs, the slickness obscene and dirty.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” He slammed hard into me, and my body shook. He moved his hand that was on my hip up my belly and to my breasts, curling his big fingers and wide, warm palm around one of the mounds. He massaged the globe as he kept slamming into me. “Fucking tell me who this cunt belongs to, who owns you, Galina.”
His words were so degrading, yet they turned me on, had me crying out for more. “You! I belong to you. Everything I am is yours.” It all rushed out of me in one long stream of syllables that had him growling in approval.
“That’s right,” he said as if to himself. “You fucking belong to me.” His cock pushed deep, lodging against something wicked and dark that had my toes curling. “I’ll kill anyone who thinks to even look at you.” I knew his words were true, because he’d already killed so many men who thought to hurt me.
“Yes, Arlo,” I breathed and closed my eyes, our lips separating as he really started taking me then. I could only hold on, one of my hands over his, which still held my hip in a bruising hold, and my other went up to twine my fingers around his that were cupped against my face.
“Come for me, baby.”
My orgasm tore through me until spots exploded in front of my eyelids, flashes of light that were blinding, even though my eyes were closed. I was vaguely aware of sounds filling the room, my cries and Arlo’s roar as he buried all his thick inches in me and came. I felt the thick, hot jets of his cum bathe me inside, no inch of me unmarked by him.
“Ya lyublyu tebya.” I love you. That sentiment was breathless and deep against the side of my face.
“I love you,” I was able to finally say when consciousness came back fully, when my brain kicked on and I could breathe. My pussy clenched rhythmically around his cock, little aftershocks from my powerful orgasm.
And when we were both satiated and breathing hard, Arlo wrapped his arms around my body and just held me, our skin sweaty, my heart racing so hard it was almost painful in my chest.
For long minutes, we just lay there, not speaking, just letting our rapid identical breathing calm to a more normal pace. Arlo didn’t pull out. He never did. He liked being buried in me—keeping his cum inside my pussy as his cock softened and my tremors subsided.
“You don’t want to attend the gala?” I finally asked when the silence got too thick. He didn’t respond, just smoothed his fingers along my ribs as if he was counting them, as if the small act calmed him somehow.
“It’s not that I don’t want to go,” he finally murmured before kissing my pulse point. “There will just be a lot of powerful people, dangerous men in attendance, and I don’t like having you there. I don’t want to risk you in any way.”
I smiled in the darkness at my protective monster, the man who killed without remorse but grew frantic when I sprained my ankle. I knew he had to have control at all times, and even something as small as me getting a papercut drew the protective beast he held, making him feel untamed, as if he didn’t have a handle on things in his world.
And he told me plenty of times—daily—I was his world, the only thing that mattered to him.
“You’ll be there, right by my side, so I know nothing will happen.”
His arms tightened on me as if he needed that physical reassurance to go with the words. “I’d die to keep you safe.”
I shifted, his now soft cock slipping from my body, our combined fluids making a slow trek from my pussy and coating my inner thighs. I loved the messy feel of it, because it was yet another reminder that I shared a special part of myself with Arlo.
“And besides, there isn’t anyone more dangerous than you, so what do I have to be afraid of?” I smiled and cupped his freshly shaved cheek. “What do you have to worry about?” I tipped my head and kissed him on the lips, nothing deep that would ignite round two of lovemaking—which I knew would happen before the night was over—but just something soft and sweet to show him that everything would be okay.
“The Morellis are powerful and influential, and the people they associate with are dangerous and corrupt. Having you around all of that darkness puts me on edge.”
I smiled lightly, not about to point out Arlo was one and the same but that I loved him without fault.
“We don’t have to go if you’re that afraid?”
He grunted and kissed the center of my forehead. “I’m not afraid about anything but losing you or the idea of you getting hurt.” He rested back on the mattress, and I followed him, my head on his chest and right over his heart, my arm slung over his abdomen, my thigh over his. “But not going isn’t an option. It would be disrespectful. And not bringing you when everyone who runs in my demented circle knows about our relationship would be in bad taste and would be a slap in the face of the Morellis, as if I didn’t think they were worthy to see the woman I killed for.”
I said nothing, just let Arlo work through his thoughts and worries. I wasn’t afraid, hated that he was, but I understood where he came from, because the thought of losing him, watching him get hurt, tore at something soft and vulnerable in my body.
“I love you so much,” I whispered and kissed his chest.
“My heart,” he whispered and pulled me over him so I straddled his waist. “I love you more than those three words could ever imply. It’s dark an
d brutal inside me, this dangerous coil that doesn’t need much to ignite and explode outward, destroying everything in its path.” He smoothed his hands over my waist and cupped my breasts. “You’ve really unleashed the beast, moy svet.”
I didn’t say anything, just reached between us, gripped his already once again hard cock, and slid it deep inside me, showing him with my body as I rocked back and forth, rode him slowly, that I wasn’t going anywhere. I was his.
Chapter Two
Galina
I felt out of place as soon as Arlo pulled his Mercedes onto the paved driveway of the Morelli mansion. I leaned forward, feeling my eyes widen at the clear wealth and luxury that poured from the house and surrounding property.
Perfectly manicured gardens, professionally decorated holiday lights littering just about every inch of the property. It looked like twinkling diamonds scattered along the darkness, like jewels glittering and dripping with their unmistakable opulence.
Arlo pulled the car to a stop in front of the open double doors that led to the grand estate. Staff dressed in black-and-white attire were scattered about, each one having their own task and focused only on that.
The passenger side door was suddenly opened, and the brisk wintery air moved into the warm interior of the car. The scent of the leather seats and the combination of my perfume and Arlo’s cologne were woken up by the shift in the air.
I inhaled deeply as I slipped my hand into Arlo’s outstretched one and allowed him to pull me out of the car. The door shut softly behind me, and instantly there was a man slipping behind the wheel and pulling the car away. I stared at the receding red taillights as the car disappeared.
“Come on, moy svet.” My light. His voice was deceptively soft and low, and I didn’t miss the ever-present danger that boiled just below the surface of my anti-hero. And as I looked up at Arlo, knowing he wasn’t the good guy in any story told, I also knew he was my hero in his own dark and twisted way.
