Wild Card Read online

  “What’s the fantasy, little thief?”

  I wriggle my ass around on the bed. “Some more of that,” I purr. It’s meant to goad him.

  Not because I’m dripping for this. Not because I’m fuck-nut crazy.

  Not because the worse things get for me, the more I look to pain and sex as a frame I can deal with.

  Shockingly, my hitman takes the bait. He holds my hips still with one hand and claps the other one down on my ass a couple times. Hard. He’s not screwing around. “That right?”

  I roll to my belly, reaching my bound wrists above my head to get there. Twerk my ass for more.

  Major qualms peak, though, when he unbuckles his belt and pulls it from the loops.

  This guy is for real. This isn’t one of the doms I’ve scened with to get my fix. He came here to hurt me—probably kill me. So I should be terrified. And I am. But... it also makes this one hundred times hotter than some consensual, pre-negotiated scene. Because the danger is real. The risk is considerably higher.

  A therapist could have a field day with this.

  He winds the buckle end of the belt around his hand in a quick, efficient manner. And then it’s on. The first strike lands right across the middle of my ass. Pain lights up my pleasure centers.

  Yes!

  I lift my butt for more. He leathers the hell out of my ass, striking the lower half of my buttocks over and over again until I’m breathless and hot and heady with endorphin release.

  “Like that?” he says after more than two dozen stripes.

  I roll onto my back and bring my hands between my legs again.

  “Did I say you could fucking touch yourself?” He grabs my bound wrists and pries them away.

  Holy shit. Either this guy is just a total natural at playing dominant asshole or he’s part of the kink scene, same as me.

  “Please,” I whimper, because why not try? One more orgasm is my dying request.

  The kink gods smile on me, because he holds my wrists prisoner with one hand and brings the thumb of his other hand to my clit and rubs, firm and quick.

  Surprise flares in his eyes when he discovers my piercing but he quickly learns to work it like a pro.

  My eyes roll back in my head. I gasp and hold my breath. I go off almost immediately, bending and straightening my bound legs like a frog, my internal muscles squeezing and clenching around nothing.

  Tacone mutters something in Italian—it sounds like a curse, and then he unzips his slacks and pulls out his cock. I experience a moment of cold fear at being raped before the crazy takes back over, and I own the scene again.

  When he fists his erection and strokes from base to tip, I scooch around on the bed to bring my face toward his crotch. He stops me before my mouth reaches his cock, catching the bun on the top of my head and pulling my hair taut. “Not sure I trust you to put your mouth on my cock, doll,” he tells me.

  I open my lips, offering a clear invitation.

  He shakes his head but brings his cock to my mouth. “I feel even one tooth and this will be the last fucking cock you ever see. Capiche?”

  Crazy Caitlin jots a tally mark in my column. There’s always power in giving head, even bound and at his mercy.

  “Yes, sir,” I say automatically, BDSM protocol drilled into me.

  Still gripping my hair, he plunges his cock into my mouth and down my throat. “Yes, Mr. Tacone,” he corrects.

  “Yes, Mr. Tacone,” I agree when he pulls my mouth back off his cock.

  He shoves back in. “Make it good, little hacker. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars good.”

  A spike of fear shoots through me at the reminder of how much I stole from them, but crazy Caitlin steps forward again. Might as well enjoy the last cock I’m going to see. It’s no hardship, either, because my body’s still glorying in the rush of endorphins. My ass still smarts and throbs from a delicious whipping and I just orgasmed hard.

  “Good girl,” he praises and I lose myself, eyes closed, head bobbing, tongue swirling with enthusiasm.

  I make it as good as I know how. I’ve been told I give good head. This could be the blowjob that saves my life.

  Paolo

  This can’t be for real.

  Thirty minutes into my visit and she’s sucking my cock like her life depends on it.

  Okay, she probably does believe her life depends on it. A better man would feel bad about shoving his cock in the mouth of a girl he has tied up on her bed, but I don’t.

  She fucking offered. Her freak flag is flying high.

  And yeah, I definitely think it’s still possible she’ll try to bite the whole thing off. Girl is a nut-job.

  But it feels so.

  Damn.

  Good.

  I choke her every time I shove it deep down her throat. I watch her eyes tear up as she struggles to breathe, but she keeps going right back to her enthusiastic sucking.

  I want it to last forever. I wonder how long she can go? Twenty minutes? Half hour? She definitely has mad skills. But then she moans around my cock, like she’s turned on giving me head, and my balls tighten up. Fuck it. I’ll let her off easy this time since she’s being so good.

  I burrow my fingers in her hair, flicking off the scrunchy that holds it in a bun and letting the dark mess fall free. Her hair is long and thick.

  Wild, like her.

  I wrap my fist around it and hold her head immobile as I fuck her face faster, disrespecting the hell out of her without even an ounce of regret.

  “I’m coming, doll. You gonna swallow like a good girl?”

  Her blue eyes meet mine and she nods and makes a sound.

  I come, pulling her hair even tighter.

  She swallows and swallows. Works her tongue around my dick to clean me off.

  And then intimidation goes out the window. I stroke her cheek. Her skin is soft and smooth. She’s pale-complexioned, with a dusting of the cutest freckles across her nose. The glasses sit askew on her face.

  I massage her scalp, trying to rub away the sting from all the hair-pulling, still dipping my cock in and out of her mouth.

  I pull out and run my thumb over her generous mouth. I have the urge to kiss those glossy lips, but I resist it.

  Post-blowjob gratitude comes on hard—heh—and I study Caitlin, fascinated by everything I see.

  This woman is a fucking unicorn. The kind who shouldn’t exist.

  What kind of genius hacker also has a hot-as-fuck body and goads a guy into freaky sex when she should be shaking in her boots?

  This one, apparently.

  And I might be in love.

  If I believed in love, that is.

  But seriously. She’s everything I got from her photo and more, and I want to know every last thing about her. I want to turn her inside out, break her. Build her up. Break her again.

  Worship her.

  Because right now, I’m feeling grateful and I want to taste that pussy of hers.

  I yank her leggings all the way down to the zip ties at her ankles, then lift her ankles high in the air to get a look at the damage I did on her ass. Not too bad. Red and puffy welts. I’d feel bad but it seemed like she enjoyed every second of it.

  I rub my palm over the welts I left, squeezing her muscular buns, slapping them. Now that I’ve gotten aggressive with her, I fucking love how it feels. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman before, but I could spank this girl all night.

  “How’s your ass?” I ask, just to be completely sure I’m reading her right.

  She blinks up at me. The crazed glassy look is gone from those blue eyes now. I see intelligence and a trace of uncertainty in her gaze. “I could’ve taken more.” It doesn’t come out as a challenge. Not like she’s bragging or daring me to give her more. Instead it sounds like an admission she’s not sure she should make. She’s being honest. Like I’m her sex partner and we’re going to do this again.

  Fuck. I adjust my cock. I just came, but I’m already getting hard again.

  I flic
k my brows. “Noted.” I spank her several more times, much harder than before.

  She yelps, her ass jerking in the air. I spank over her pussy and my palm comes away wet.

  I lower her ass to the bed and spread her knees wide.

  She gasps, her lips forming a pretty “O”, her glazed eyes wide and startled.

  Her pussy’s waxed bare, which both pleases and infuriates me at the same time. Like, who in the fuck is she keeping it bare for?

  I suddenly want to kill every motherfucker who’s been here before me.

  And everyone who will be here after me.

  Don’t let there be any after you, the possessive voice in my head growls.

  Which is stupid, because I’m not keeping her. I came to get my money back, that’s all. Relationships are for pussies.

  I shove her top and sports bra up over her tits and take a moment to drink in the sight. Her perky breasts are forced down by the tight band of the sports bra, which makes them jut out, straining for freedom. Her nipples are peach-tipped, skin is pale. She’s like Snow White with almost black hair and pale white skin. The blue eyes bring a shock of color to the palette.

  She shivers under my gaze, which produces a feral smile on my lips. Locking eyes with her, I slowly lower my head between her legs. I lick into her, my tongue parting her labia and tracing around the inside.

  Her knees jerk and slam closed around my ears. I push them back open, holding her inner thighs with a bruising grip and flick my tongue over her clit. She has a pierced hood, which is hot as hell. This girl is as kinky as they come.

  “Oh...oh! Ohmygod. So good,” she moans.

  I enjoy her enthusiastic appreciation and take it up a notch. I lap her juices, working faster, then rim her anus and make her squeal. Her inner thighs tremble against my shoulders. Her belly flutters as she gasps and lets out shuddering exhales.

  “My God. Mr. Tacone... big man, big bossman.”

  I chuckle against her soft flesh at the stream of words coming from her lips.

  She’s adorable.

  She writhes beneath me and I lash her clit and piercing in quick flicks as I screw one finger inside her.

  I bring my thumb to her anus and massage a circle around it. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to suck your little clitty and count to four. And you’re gonna come all over my face by the time I’m done counting. Capiche?”

  She likes it. She nods quickly, her pupils so big in her eyes, they look black.

  “Good girl. Here we go.” I lower my head and flick her clit a few more times, then suction my lips over it. The piercing helps keep the hood back and makes it easier to suck.

  She comes on the count of two.

  Obedient, responsive, crazy little thing.

  I am in love.

  I want to keep her.

  Should I keep her?

  Nah. It would get old quickly. And she’s clearly a nutjob. Plus, she has a life. Graduate studies. A career.

  She may have fucked the Tacones, but I’m not willing to take all that from her.

  She just needs to make things right and then I’ll let her go.

  No harm, no foul.

  When her orgasm abates, I lick her some more, nipping one of her lips. Then I pull her pants up, unable to resist a few more swipes over her clit after I do.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she croaks.

  Back to business.

  “We’ll see,” I tell her, because I’m a dick. I’m a dick and I don’t mind her scared. Especially now that I know it turns her on as much as it does me.

  Chapter 2

  Caitlin

  Mr. Tacone saunters into my kitchen and picks up the water bottle I left on the counter. When he brings it back to me to sip, my confusion is complete.

  As much as I want to, I can’t believe I just softened this guy up by sucking his dick. I mean, maybe a little, but he’s still here to kill me.

  Maybe he’s like the cat who likes to play with his victims first. Well, that’s good. More time for me to work out how to get myself out of this pickle. Plus, I love the way he plays. He’s better than any of the wanna-be doms at the local dungeon. Better-looking. Bossier. Handy with a belt.

  He leaves me with the water bottle and walks around my apartment, picking things up and examining them. He opens my satchel—the one I always carry with me and pulls everything out. My laptop, my wallet, the workout clothes I changed out of after my shower at the rec center. He looks at the wet, sweaty clothes, then over at me, his eyes running over my outfit.

  “I live in yoga pants,” I explain. “These are clean, or they were, before you made me leak all over them.”

  His lips twitch. He continues his perusal of my things, scrolling through all the messages on my phone, opening the laptop and clicking buttons.

  Finally, he pulls the armchair around to face me on the bed and sits down.

  “So, Caitlin.”

  “Yes, sir.” I’m lying on my side, ankles and wrists bound, my ass still pulsing with heat from his whipping and the taste of his cum still in my mouth. I definitely feel submissive, even as I look for some kind of escape.

  He crosses his long legs and loosens his tie. I wonder if he dressed up for me or if this is what he always wears when he shows up to kill someone. Like it’s the mafia work uniform or something.

  “Of all the casinos in Vegas, you picked ours. It feels a little personal, doll. Was it?”

  I should’ve expected this question and had an answer, but for some reason, it takes me by surprise. I can’t hide the truth from my expression or make an answer come quickly enough to sound legit.

  “No.” My voice has a warble to it.

  He tips his head to the side. “There are consequences for lying to me.” The threat rolls off his tongue easily. Silkily, even. I swear, the doms at the dungeon should take lessons from this guy.

  “So it was personal. You live in Chicago—our city. You have a beef with one of us?” He watches my expression, which I try very hard to keep blank. “Which one? My father? You’re a little young for that.”

  His father—Don Tacone—is in jail. Has been for the last ten years or so. I know that much from my research. The truth is, I don’t know which Tacone did it or gave the order. I just know they’re responsible.

  I shake my head. “No beef. I just knew of your family from living here and how you’d expanded into the casino business in Vegas.”

  He doesn’t move, just watches me, and I know he knows it’s bullshit. Interesting that he doesn’t follow through on the threat of consequences.

  It actually frightens me more. Another whipping I could take. A little torture.

  Not knowing what he’s thinking chills me to the core.

  “I have to pee.” It’s not a lie. But I also desperately need to get away from his close scrutiny.

  He remains still, studying me for a moment longer, then stands up from the chair. Without a word, he scoops me into his arms, then tosses me into the air to shift me into the ignominious sack of potatoes position over his shoulder. And of course, his hand slaps down on my ass.

  It does all kinds of exciting things to my body.

  I channel the tingles, the kick of lust at being so easily manhandled by such a large, capable, dangerous man into figuring a way out of this. I could grab a razor from the shower to use on him.

  But I know that’s stupid. A man with big ham hands like him could fight me off with his little finger, even if I did have a sharp blade. Escape would be a better option. I just need to get my ankles free to run.

  Are there scissors in the bathroom? I look around desperately when he puts me down, but I already know there’s nothing there. My apartment may be messy, but I’m the type who knows exactly where everything is in the mess.

  No scissors in the bathroom. Maybe nail clippers.

  My hitman tucks his thumbs in the waistband of my yoga pants and drags them down my thighs. After what he’s already done, it shouldn’t make me blush, bu
t it does. There’s something even more intimate about peeing on a toilet in front of someone than sucking his cock.

  He lowers me to sit on the toilet and stands right over me, arms crossed.

  Okay, getting the nail clippers out of the drawer may not be possible with this level of supervision.

  Fuck!

  I stare up at him for a moment. My nipples are hard.

  “I thought you had to pee.” His voice is a deep, authoritative rumble.

  “It’s hard when you’re staring at me! Can I have a little privacy, please?”

  “No.”

  Damn. I look away, finding a spot on the floor to concentrate on, because it wasn’t a lie. I can’t seem to break the seal. I inhale slowly. Hold my breath. Exhale.

  Mr. Tacone doesn’t move. I draw back my bound wrists and bop him on the leg. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, don’t you think?”

  I see that glimmer of a smile. “Definitely.”

  I huff, but the exchange normalized things enough for me to pee. My body relaxes and I’m able to let it out.

  I look up at him with a challenge. “Could you hand me some toilet paper? I can’t reach.” I twist and jerk my arms and feign pathetic.

  I don’t know why I’m trying to annoy him— just to take a little power back, I guess, but he seems far more amused than annoyed. He rolls up a ball of toilet paper and presses it into my bound hands.

  It’s freaking hard to wipe and takes me a few tries, but I manage and stand up.

  He pulls up my pants and I fall into him, my bound hands grabbing a fistful of his crisp shirt as he bands one strong arm around me. He smells clean and masculine. I would’ve figured him for the heavy cologne type, but all I detect is the light scent of soap and the smell of his skin.

  He heaves me easily over his shoulder again. “All right, Caitlin. Back to the bed for you. We have time to kill before I can move you. Time enough for you to spill all your secrets.” He dumps me back on the bed.

  “Where are you moving me to?” I ask quickly, both to distract him from his questions and because, yeah. I need to know where my final resting place will be, if that’s what he’s planning.