Wild Card Read online

I secure her wrists to the headboard of the bed and slide her glasses off her face to set them on the bedside table.

  “Most times I’m in this position my clothes are off,” she tells me.

  I know it’s a dare.

  I know I should resist.

  She’s already under my skin. I fear I’m under hers.

  But my dick thickens as my mind automatically strips her of her clothing. I stare down at her for a moment, considering.

  We lock gazes. Hers is open. Not trusting but certainly willing to receive whatever I want to give. The position probably evoked her surrender, something she’s practiced in those “scenes” she mentioned. It put her in the mood.

  Even as I tell myself to walk away, I reach out and tweak one of her nipples through her sports bra.

  She arches, asking for more.

  “If I take off those clothes, little girl, you’ll be subject to my will all night long. I’m gonna wear you out before I sleep. Wake you in the middle of the night. Fuck you hard in the morning.”

  Her pupils dilate. The nipple I didn’t tweak beads up to match the first. She says nothing. Not a word to dissuade me.

  Cazzo.

  “You got three seconds to tell me no, little hacker. Otherwise I’ll strip you naked and take you as long and hard as I please.”

  She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, drags her teeth across it.

  Still not a sound.

  “One... two... three.” I unclip the zip ties and the padding beneath them and undress her. “Beautiful girl,” I murmur, reattaching the underwraps and zip ties. I lower my mouth to one of her nipples and flick my tongue over it. Graze it with my teeth. Suck hard until she cries out and arches. All the while, I roll and pinch the other nipple between my fingers.

  I switch sides.

  Her legs grow restless, sliding up and down over the bedsheets, kicking the covers I pulled down before I strung her up.

  “Fuck me, Paolo. Put that big Italian cock in me.”

  I slap her breast. She pants, excitement flaring in her eyes. I slap it again. “What did I tell you to call me?”

  “Mr. Tacone,” she purrs it, like she’s thrilled I’m asking. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll punish her.

  That thought gets my dick even harder.

  Fanculo.

  I climb off her and strip out of my clothes. She watches with avid interest, pulling that lower lip into her mouth again.

  “Do I take orders from you, doll?” I ask when I straddle her, walking on my knees toward her head.

  Her eyes widen. “No, sir.”

  “Are you the one who tells me where to put my cock?”

  “No, Mr. Tacone,” she says immediately. Not like she’s scared. Like she can’t wait to see what happens next.

  I feed my cock into her mouth, letting it bump the back of her throat.

  When she gags, I pull back a little, then go in again before she’s ready.

  “No, little hacker. I put my cock wherever the fuck I want to put it, don’t I?”

  She makes a muffled sound of agreement. I love the vibration around my cock. I love the way she sucks like a good girl. Swirls her tongue around. Tries to please me even though I’m the one driving. I’m the one pushing in too far and making her eyes water.

  “If I want to fuck your mouth with it, I fuck it. If I want to fuck your ass, I’m gonna fuck your ass. Right, doll?”

  Another sound of agreement.

  I keep at it, and while I enjoy the hell out of it, it’s less about my pleasure than it is to torture her a bit, because I’m fairly certain that’s what she wanted. To be abused. To have control taken from her.

  And I’m gonna make sure she enjoys every second of it.

  I pull out of her mouth and scoot back to grip her jaw and claim her mouth. She kisses me back with fervor, her tongue sliding over my lips, her mouth slanting over mine, lips sipping.

  When she bites my lower lip, I grip her throat.

  “Don’t,” I say when she releases it.

  I mean it. I don’t like to be pushed, not even by her. I don’t punish her or strong-talk because she likes that. I don’t want to reward. I just let her see my frown. Don’t move until I’m sure it’s been registered.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I trace my thumb down between her breasts. “That’s a pretty apology, little girl. I like it when you surrender.”

  I stop at her belly button and circle it.

  She lifts her hips, urging me lower.

  I scoot lower and drag my thumbs up the insides of her legs. She shivers beneath my touch, her pussy glistening in anticipation of my fingers arriving there.

  I tease her, rubbing circles at the apex of her inner thighs, but not touching her pussy.

  “I’ll be good,” she whisper-promises. Like there’s anything she could say that would keep me from doing whatever the fuck I want anyway.

  I nip her inner thigh, flick my tongue on a path toward her pussy, but stop before I reach it.

  “Mr. Tacone. Mr. Paolo. Sir. Big guy. Please.”

  “I like the begging.” I reward her with a single flick of my tongue over her core.

  She sucks in her breath. “Oh please. Oh please, oh please, oh please oh please. I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good girl.”

  I meant it when I said I liked the begging. I’m harder than marble.

  Maybe I’ve always been on a power trip.

  Maybe it’s always been wrong—

  Until I met this girl.

  I flatten my tongue and lick a long line right up the middle of her slit.

  She shivers, legs scissoring to wrap around my back. I push them back off, hold them apart as I lower my head again. Then I get to work. I use my tongue in every way possible to tease her into a frenzy, keep her on the edge of an orgasm.

  When she’s a babbling, writhing mess, I rise up on my knees and roll her hips so she’s on her belly.

  Well, she doesn’t quite make it to her belly because her wrists are fastened to the headboard, so she’s in a contorted, twisted position that I’m a sick fuck for loving. I slap her ass, which is still red from her whipping earlier, then burrow my thumb between her ass cheeks. “Think I should fuck your ass again tonight? Hmm?”

  She’s wide-eyed, alert, her gaze trained on my face, but she doesn’t protest. She doesn’t want it, though, I can tell.

  I massage her anus as I rise up behind her and grip my cock, but after I sheath it, I plunge into her pussy, not her ass.

  She moans with pleasure.

  I reach up and brace my palm against the headboard and start banging her with punctuated thrusts. She makes these cute little ung sounds every time, bracing her own hands to keep from hitting her head each time I drive her up on the bed.

  “You made a big mistake showing me this side of you, Wylde West,” I growl, watching her breasts bob every time I slam in.

  “Why?”

  I don’t pause in my rhythm, each thrust so satisfying I want to bellow my success. “When your debt is paid, I might not let you go.”

  She twists to look at me over her shoulder and I catch a question in her gaze. A flash of something I can’t read. Vulnerability? First time she’s shown me any weakness. Because I’m not dumb enough to believe the crazy act for a minute. That’s a card she plays for effect, I know that. Something to push people away or make them underestimate her.

  I need to stay on my toes with this one, because there’s an excellent chance that despite her sexual surrender, she’s preparing a countermove that will bury me.

  She comes.

  When her muscles tighten and squeeze my cock, I shorten my strokes, pumping hard and fast until I come, too.

  As I slow my pumping, I nestle up behind her, kiss her pale shoulder. I reach around and rub the barbell of her piercing down on her clit and she comes again, with another delicious round of dick-squeezing with her inner walls.

  I kiss her neck, nip the shell of her ear.

  “I like fucking you, Cai
tlin.” Stating the obvious. But it feels like a huge admission. I’m not one to talk about feelings.

  Ever.

  I don’t even do feelings.

  But there’s no denying how satisfying I find it to screw the brains out of my prisoner. And that’s all about how much she enjoys it, too.

  Caitlin

  Paolo pulls out and cleans up. He cuts the zip tie that fastened my wrists to the headboard, but leaves the one holding my wrists together intact, as well as the one on my ankles. And like last night, he’s careful not to let me see where he puts the scissors.

  We settle into the same position as last night, with his arm firmly around my waist—another form of bondage. A very pleasurable form.

  “What if I wanted to face you while I sleep?” I ask with mock innocence.

  He doesn’t take the bait. No answer.

  I listen to the sound of his breath in the darkness. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  He gives a light scoff. “No.”

  “Wife?”

  “No.” Now he sounds annoyed.

  I already noticed he doesn’t wear a ring and there's no signs of a female presence in his house, but you never know. I didn’t find out enough stalking him today on the internet.

  “Were you ever married?” I keep pressing. I want to know more about this man. He doesn’t talk enough and even though I think I have him nailed during our sexual interactions, I’m still missing so much information about him.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not my thing. Family. Kids. I never wanted that shit. Never been a woman I could stand long-term, either.”

  “What’s your longest?”

  “There’s no longest. I don’t do girlfriends.”

  That seems strange to me, considering how considerate he can actually be. In bed and out. I don’t get it.

  Some silly-girl part of me wants to believe the consideration is all for me. Like I’m something new for him.

  The silly-girl has to ask, “Have you whipped a woman before?”

  “You’re my first.”

  Do I detect amusement in his tone?

  He’s answering my questions, that alone tells me he’s receptive to me, even if I’m playing the crazy card.

  “Really? Because you’re, um, pretty good at it.”

  “Pretty good?”

  “Very good. I liked it—the way you whipped me. Both times.”

  Damn. I sound... breathless. And eager. Why do I sound so eager? I don’t care what he thinks about me. I’m not cultivating a real relationship here. I’m just digging for information on my captor.

  Yeah.

  I’ll keep telling myself that.

  His cock twitches at my ass. He shifts to cup my breast. “You’d better stop running that pretty mouth or that middle of the night fucking is going to happen sooner rather than later.”

  My pussy clenches on air. I wouldn’t mind. This man seems to own my body. He just looks at it and I’m wet.

  “Do you like it?”

  “What?”

  “Hurting me.” I shouldn’t put it that way. He might take it wrong. Like I’m accusing him.

  He bites my shoulder. “Yeah, I like it.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Makes me wonder if…”

  “If what?”

  He strums my nipple with his thumb. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I haven’t done relationships. I had to keep myself on a leash.”

  I close my lips around a little gasp. I am something new for him. My heart picks up speed.

  Don’t get excited about this, I warn myself severely. He’s the enemy.

  And then I have to know.

  Even a crazy girl has to get real at some point.

  I draw a deep breath. “Did you kill my father?” If I’m honest, this is what I was trying to figure out when I hacked into his police records.

  “Definitely not,” he says. The reply is so immediate that I believe him.

  “Do you know who did?”

  He’s quiet a moment. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, West. Go to sleep.”

  Now he’s calling me West. Is that because he’s thinking about my father?

  “But you knew him? You did business with him?”

  “I remember him, that’s all. Stop talking.”

  I try to turn to face him but he tightens his hold so I can’t move. “You know, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I could probably find out. But that doesn’t mean I’d tell you the answer.”

  “Because it was someone in your family who did it.”

  “I don’t think so, Caitlin—I probably woulda known. But it’s possible. I can’t rule it out.”

  The answer both disturbs and relieves me at once. It definitely wasn’t Paolo. I’m not having sex with the man who pulled the trigger. And he’s been thinking about it. Which doesn’t make it all better, especially if it were someone in his family who did it, but he’s not as dismissive about it as he was when I first accused him.

  But the swirl of unease he first stirred when he asked if my dad had stolen from them returns. The more I stew on that, the more it rings true. I remember fragments of phone conversations he had around that time. Conversations that had made me certain he was killed by the mafia when I reviewed them later. When I saw myself as the victim and my dad as the hero wrested from our family. But now I’m not so sure. Now I suddenly see everything through a different lens. My dad was a shyster. He was always trying to swindle people out of their money, looking for where he could benefit. Maybe he did bring his death on himself.

  “I can’t help you with your father’s death,” Paolo says behind me, like he’s been thinking about it for a while and has finally come to a decision.

  For a moment, I feel nothing. Like time stands still. And then a giant ball of emotion surges up from my chest. Grief, I guess. Not for my father’s death, but for what I’d made him out to be after—some kind of good guy, not the selfish, absentee, bad example of a dad he really was. Or maybe just something that belonged to me, when I had nothing.

  I try to hold it in. I close my throat and choke a little, but then it erupts. My back shakes with one sob. I hold my breath, squeeze my face up to keep the rest from escaping.

  It’s impossible. It bursts out of me. Tears stream down my cheeks.

  Paolo turns me around and rolls me up against his chest. Holds me close and rubs my back.

  I’m embarrassed and mad at myself for losing control like this, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t tell me it’s okay or it’s not okay. He just holds me. He massages the back of my head.

  And when I realize he’s not going to say anything, I let go completely. I wet his skin with my tears, I let them run and run until they run out.

  And afterward, when I’m completely drained, I fall into the deepest sleep of my life.

  Chapter 6

  Paolo

  I let Caitlin sleep in—breaking my promise to use and abuse her during the night and in the morning. Not that I didn’t wake up with the most painful wood ever. Not that it didn’t kill me to untangle and pull away from her lithe naked body.

  My heart breaks for her.

  And I didn’t even believe I had a heart.

  But those tears she cried last night made me want to kill every motherfucker who’s ever hurt her. Only I can’t. I already decided I can’t avenge her father’s death, even though I’m willing to kill for her. But knowing the kind of guy her dad was, knowing the circles he ran in… well, I gotta assume he had it coming.

  And I might be on the same side as whoever did it. I don’t think it was the Tacones. But it could’ve been. Or one of our allies. I would call my brothers to ask what they know, but you don’t talk about shit like that on the phone. It will have to wait until I can get Junior or Gio in person.

  I shower and dress, then call Vlad to have him check on the account where she’s siphoning the money for us. It’s up to $114K.

  Good. I’m still watching for her
to screw me, but so far it looks like she’ll be going home relatively unscathed tonight.

  I start the coffee maker and fry up a package of bacon and pull out some eggs.

  I wait around for a while, but when she keeps on sleeping, I fry a couple eggs for myself and eat breakfast.

  Good thing I did, because she’s still sleeping at lunch time. I go in and wake her up by snipping her zip ties.

  I still want to promise to fix things. I am a fixer for the family. The guy they send in to be the heavy. To use threats, or my fists, or sometimes more permanent solutions to take care of problems. It’s why I’m the guy they sent to straighten out this situation with Caitlin.

  But fixing things for women isn’t usually my gig. I mean, I’d do it. If some guy was beating on a girl, I’d step in in a heartbeat. I live and breathe violence and I would definitely use it to keep a girl safe. But I’m sure as hell not the knight in shining armor.

  But this shit with Caitlin doesn’t sit right. I don’t mean my retribution. I haven’t hurt her in any way she didn’t want to be hurt. And I won’t. But she’s wounded. Bent in ways I don’t know can be straightened out. And that makes me want to pick through her past and punish every last fucker who hurt her.

  She bounces out of bed like nothing happened, though. “Good morning, Mr. Tacone.” She emphasizes the Mr. Tacone part like she’s making fun of me.

  I slap her ass as she limps past me on her way to the bathroom. “You can call me Paolo,” I concede.

  She looks back, her eyes widening with exaggerated surprise. “Ooh, I graduated. How did I pass to the next level? Was it the bawling all over your chest?” She beams like bawling is something adorable.

  And in her case, it suddenly is. Or rather, talking about it like it’s cute makes it so.

  “Something like that,” I tell her.

  She stops and curls her fingers between her legs, making my eyes and my dick pop. “Why am I not swollen and tender from all that pounding you promised?”

  And like every time, I respond.

  I’m on her in a flash, walking her backward until her ass hits the wall. “Now you’re in trouble.”

  “Yeah, I should’ve waited until I peed.”

  “You should’ve,” I say, but don’t let go. I’m rubbing between her legs and she gets wet by the second swipe. I thrust a couple fingers inside her and she rises up on her tiptoes, her back sliding up the wall.