Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (46 page)

“Did those hurt?” she whispered, tracing my hip. Her touch thrilled me, my eyes shutting briefly so I could enjoy the sensation.

“They hurt, yeah. But I like a bit of pain.” My hands went lower, clutching the top button of my jeans. “I don't think you want to hear about my tattoos. I can tell you'd rather my cock was buried inside you right now.”

She hadn't blinked in far too long. When I pulled my zipper down, I watched goosebumps creep over her pale skin. Kicking my pants away, I sat back on her. The way she gawked, I had a feeling she'd just realized how big my cock actually was. It was pushing against my briefs, the material stretching to try and hold it back.

“It'll go in easier if I eat you out,” I whispered.

Her stare flicked up to my face. “You're not the only one who can handle a bit of pain.”

“You've got some attitude, huh? Bit of fire on that tongue?” Laughing softly, I reached down and lifted her hand. Before she reacted, I pressed it against the shape of my erection. Both of us shuddered, her touch making my cock flex under my briefs.

I pulled away, but her hand remained. Gingerly, she stroked me, one finger gliding up under the head of my cock. My eyes closed, rolling in my head.
Fuck, that feels amazing.

Gripping the elastic band, she pulled my underwear down. My prick bounced into the air, the tip shiny, reddish and engorged. Like I said, it had been far too long since my last fuck—I was eager.

Squeezing around the base of my cock, I guided it towards her. Her hand came up, pressing against my chest. I was expecting her face to be flush with passion, but even through the alcohol, she was nervous. I said, “It'll be fine, I'll fit, trust me.”

Her eyebrows crunched together. “It's not that. Do you have a condom?”

Leaning across her body, I yanked one from my nightstand. The whole sheet of them spilled out, lying on my floor like discarded police tape. Nix blinked at them, but she wasn't distracted for long.

Rolling the latex down my thick length, I winked at her. “Better?”

She licked her lips, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Ready to go for a ride?”

Her lashes covered her eyes like a sultry canopy. The edge of her smile went higher. “Yeah.”

Rubbing my chest over her bra, I reached under her; the hooks snapped free. With nothing between us now, I caressed her firm nipples with my inked chest. We were smothered together, friction that begged to become real fire.

Her arms circled me, thighs forcing the tip of my cock against her pussy. The sensation blinded me, showing me colors that shouldn't exist.
Too much whiskey,
I reminded myself.

The hunger in my belly burned. My prick couldn't have been harder, it was ready to shred the condom into useless bits. She puffed out a heavy breath, the noise vibrating over her tongue.

“Excited?” I teased, rubbing the fat cock-head against her wetness.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Is that all you can say?” Smirking like a half-moon, I pushed harder—spreading her a mere inch. Her warmth was intense, it took everything I had not to ram balls-deep. “Tell me you want it. I want to hear you screaming my name.”

Nix went pinker than ever, avoiding my stare. “I... forgot your name.”

I started to laugh, but the motion forced my cock deeper. Groaning, I bit my tongue and grinned. Sweat slid between my shoulder blades from my willpower.

“Naughty girl, I wait until the next day at least to forget someone's name.” What was the point in storing that information? “It's
Abell.
” Thrusting fiercely, I listened to her cry out—and I joined her. “Say it, say my name or I'll stop right here.”

It was a lie.

There was no way I'd stop fucking that perfect pussy.

Nix whined, her muscles convulsing under me as the sensation of my cock stuffing her finally reached her brain. “Abell!” she hissed, eyes wide, seeing nothing. “Abell, it's Abell! Now just fuck me, please, just...”

Kissing her throat, I moved up, nipping her earlobe. Then I offered her the darkest, most private of whispers. “I love how you sound when you beg for it.”

Arching my spine, I slid out so only the tip was inside her hugging warmth. Without missing a beat, I slammed forward, the wet sound of our contact echoing through my apartment.

She squealed, crushing my cock with the most greedy pussy I'd ever met. Her pace was faster than I expected; her body reaching for me, closing the distance again and again.

Nix thrust along my shaft with so much desperation, I had to adjust to her speed. “When was the last time you got laid?” I asked breathlessly. “A hundred damn years ago?”

Ignoring me, she cut into my back with her nails. Her panting scorched my ear. Nix clutched me, demanding my cock—making it clear she was used to getting her way.

Heat bloomed in my chest, then slid down into my belly. Tension flooded my muscles, the tingles taking hold. I knew I was going to finish soon, but I wanted her to cum first. I
always
made my partner cum before me.

It was one of my few generosities.

Wrapping my lips on hers, I cut off her erotic moaning. I slid over her teeth, explored her roof. All the while I kept thrusting, my thick cock pushing the limit of her body.

I could feel how tight she was, stretching near the breaking point. Nix was soaked, more excited than I remembered anyone else being—without more work, that is. And fuck, she felt amazing.

My skin was going numb, my mouth buttery, almost too sensitive. The telltale flutter of her pussy warned me she was near orgasm. Hugging her against me, I broke the kiss. The dazed centers of her eyes met mine, saw my grin.

Lowering my face, I circled the tip of her left nipple, suckling gently. “Oh!” she cried, jerking without control. I held her close, tongue making patterns on her pink flesh. Around my expanding cock, her walls rippled.

“Cum for me,” I growled in her ear. “You're right there, babe. Go for it... I need to feel you milking my cock.”

Sobbing, her thighs choked my waist as she shook. The pressure of her release put me into overdrive. I bent her hips up, my arms hooking under her legs. While she was still shaking from orgasm, I pounded into her vigorously.

Nix bent in two, her knees by her ears. She was flexible, and that turned me on in a way I could never describe. It toyed at me with future promises, told me the things she could do... the things
I
could do to
her
.

Grunting, I grit my teeth until my skull throbbed. Warmth attacked my core, my balls tightening as I started to cum. The condom worked, but I swear, I filled it so violently the latex was ready to split.

“Fuck,” I said, sweat dripping down my neck. Below me, Nix had shut her eyes. Her cunt embraced me, making it tempting to stay inside of her.
Just enjoy it. Ride that pleasure out.

I waited longer than usual, studying her eyelashes, the mild curve of her nose. She was beautiful. How had I not noticed just
how
beautiful until now?

Her head lolled to one side. “Right,” she mumbled. “I will, I know.”

Startled, I waited for her to explain what she was talking about. Nix was lying there, her eyelids twitching.
She's dreaming.
I'd fucked her so good that, combined with the alcohol, she was out cold.

Shifting, she said softly, “I'll do it. Trust me. I do everything you ask, I always have.”

I hated the idea of waking her. Gently, I slid backwards, my shaft dragging inch by inch along her slickness. The sensation was delicious, I had to squeeze my eyes shut and bite my tongue to stay quiet.
Dammit, she feels too good.

Finally I was free. Sighing, I tossed the condom into the trashcan near the bed. As carefully as I could, I peeled my blankets back.
Guess she's staying the night,
I thought, bemused.

Naked as she was, my room—weak to the December temperatures—proved to be too much. Her shivers were subtle, but I felt them through the mattress. Frowning, I tugged the blankets back, amazed she didn't wake up.

I'm getting all of my good deeds for the year out of the way.
That was what I told myself as I covered her up, tucking the blankets firmly around her chin. Lying under them beside her, I kept watching the side of her face.

This bold woman... brave enough to stand up against a muscled brute, to protect an unknown person, and to insist the right thing be done in the aftermath.

A woman who had proved to be just as eager, as hungry, as I was.

The buzzing at the stem of my brain kept trying to tell me this was special. That
she
, this stranger, was special.

No.

She's like every other woman I've hooked up with.

That didn't sound true. But it was.

It had to be.

No one in this world was special. Everyone was out for themselves. People were selfish to their core, they always proved it in the end.

She's nobody.

With that on my mind, I drifted off to sleep.

Want the rest of The Bad Boy Arrangement?
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Blackbird

By Abigail Graham

Chapter One

Victor

I live in a studio apartment over a massage parlor in the Old City. It’s a six block walk to the liberty bell. It’s two flights of wrought iron stairs down to the parlor on the first floor. The scents of Korean cooking waft up to my apartment, a two hundred square foot studio with one tall narrow window that looks out over the alleyway. If I stand there I can watch a steady stream of men walk in and out of the parlor. Young and old, plump and thin, chubby boys and stooped graybeards, they all have one thing in common. Slumped shoulders and a faraway look. They know what they’re about to do and when they come out they know what they’ve done. I drink whiskey from a chipped coffee mug and watch.  I don’t know how  the mug came to be in my box of personal effects, the one they gave back when I was paroled. It was my father’s, though. It’s all that I have of him. For now.

I have a business meeting this afternoon in New York. I’ll be catching a private jet in a few hours. I’m not sure if I’ll be violating my parole or not. I’m allowed to travel for business.

First, I need to steal my car back.

This ‘apartment’ is about the size of my closet in the suite of rooms where I grew up.

Suits hanging on a rack, a cart like the use at a dry cleaner’s, socks and underwear in a rubber tub, and a mattress covered in a plain white sheet. A refrigerator rattling away as it cools a block of Velveeta, a pack of imported ham, eight beers and a jar of peanut butter.

I don’t even know why I keep the peanut butter in the fridge.

This is my life.

For now.

As I descend the rickety cast iron staircase I check my watch. It’s a Timex I picked up at K-Mart after I stepped off the bus. I have to be on the flight in eight hours. It’s now two thirty-three in the morning. The parlor closes at three, I think. That’s when the in-and-out stream stops, or maybe the patrons are too scared to brave the mean streets at four in the morning. I don’t know or care.

A stoop-shouldered man emerges and doesn’t look at me and I don’t look at him. I check my watch again and walk in the rain. It’s a light drizzle that covers everything, makes the world glow. Water slides down my face and clings to my eyebrows. I glance at a shop window. The lights are shut off inside, and I see myself in a glass darkly. For a startling moment I’m walking side by side with my father’s ghost, but I see the tattoos running down both arms to stop just above the wrist and it’s just me. Dad never wore his hair this long and he never visited a tattoo parlor.

He had one tattoo, a crudely incised PETER in blue ink on his right shoulder. When he was a kid he and some boys he knew gave themselves tattoos with pins and a ballpoint pen. His was buried so deep in the flesh that all his attempts to remove it failed, and so he had his own name tattooed on his meaty shoulder until he died.

I should probably be wearing a jacket. November, and rain, but it’s unseasonably warm, almost fifty. I’ve had enough of being confined. I want to swing my arms.

The car is parked in a lot. I stop to pay a bleary-eyed attendant and walk over. It’s an unremarkable Toyota. I’ve been ordered to keep a low profile.

I hate driving this thing. The old city is dead at night. Last call was over an hour ago and the tourists get scared of the dark. It’s one of the safer areas but all cities are the same. I fucking hate cities. Too much chain link and concrete and neon, not enough trees. I don’t belong here.

Turn on 3
^rd
onto Market, catch I-95. It’s a straight run now. I obey all posted limits and traffic signals.

Have to. I’m on parole, after all. I wouldn’t want to get pulled over on my way to steal a car.

Driving gives me a lot of time to think. My knuckles go white. The wheel creaks in protest.

I’ve had plenty of time to think.

That’s what prison is. The punishment isn’t confinement. They put a roof over your head. It’s not isolation, either, unless you get sent to solitary. I never did. It’s not following orders, it’s not the shitty therapy groups, either. (Evidently, I have an anger management problem.) No, the punishment is
time
. Time to think, time to brood, time to plan. When you’re out in the world all you want is time. People say “there aren’t enough hours in the day” and try to stretch them out.

In prison, the bars just keep you in. It’s the time that punishes you.

Time has come today.

The drive takes almost an hour, out to Lancaster County, the very eastern edge. This is an old place. Everything around here is old. Old for the United States, anyway. I went to Europe once, went on a tour. Saw lots of history. Thousand year old buildings that just go about their business like buildings do. They’re just
there
. Around here anything older than a century or two always goes behind velvet ropes. We think it’s so special.