base of my spine, seeping desire into my bloodstream. An ache grows slow and needy in my core, building faster with every second and spreading along my every inch like wildfire. It’s a blinding spotlight within the darkness, calling me closer.
I’m chasing it, but it’s not enough.
More.
I need more.
My body moves, searching for release while debauched noises escape past my lips. I’m too delirious to figure out what sound I made or to be embarrassed.
I know it’s cold—the type of cold that makes my nipples hurt. But it’s confusing. I don’t know how or why, but the bottom half of my body is warm, and my blood is on fire. I can’t stop moving. It feels too good to stop. The light is right there. It’s so close. Just a little more and I can reach it. I have to reach it.
My body takes over, attempting to move my hands to my center and take what I need. Yet, I… I don’t move. I try again, but my hands, they’re… stuck?
Pleasure curls through me, forcing me to shiver, even though my hands are still fixed together.
Frowning, I twist my wrist to try to get free. But the more I twist my wrists, the more they burn. Not the pleasant kind of burn. It’s more like the pain that came from the ropes Mickey tied around my—
My eyes snap open. I try to sit forward, but I’m yanked back in place by my wrists. With labored breaths, I blink back the lust-filled haze over my vision, focusing on the shapes hidden within the darkness. Out of pure reflex, I start tugging at the ropes, pulling this way and that, but my hands are still fastened to the wooden headboard.
“Don’t bother,” a gravelly voice rumbles from the shadows. It’s the type of sound I’d imagine coming from the monster hidden in the corner of the room. “You’re not getting away from me now, Bella. You’re mine to do with as I please.”
I gasp, whipping my head toward the sound, blinking once, twice, three times. It doesn’t matter how long I stare; the sight in front of me doesn’t change, but my body does. The rose-tinted film falls back into place and my veins thrum with desire because it isn’t just any monster waiting to devour me whole. It’s my monster.
I’m completely bare from the neck down, covered only by the arms curled around my thighs and the head nestled between them. His tongue circles my clit, and I can’t help the guttural moan that leaves me as euphoria edges closer. “Mickey, what are you doing?” I pant into the darkness.
“I couldn’t wait anymore. I’m starving.” The sound of Roman’s strained voice sends a jolt of electricity to each atom of my being.
Light streams through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over his deadly features, highlighting his strong nose and glistening eyes. Light catches on his stubble and the wet glaze covering his chin and mouth.
Ares, Roman, Mickey, whatever he wants to be called, is absolutely stunning.
“You’re my pretty little toy, aren’t you?”
“What?” I gasp. The degradation should be upsetting, not making me wetter with each word that comes out of his mouth.
A shiver rolls through me when his tongue descends upon my entrance. I arch into his touch, my body set on chasing the high.
“I could do whatever I want to you, and you’ll be soaking wet, begging for it. Do you know why?”
Shadows fall across his face, accentuating the lethal edge of his sharp cheekbones. My hips chase after him when he tugs my soft flesh between his teeth. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, a whisper of pain, followed by a flicker of pleasure. His tongue plunges into my entrance with so much brutality that I feel the splinters of his sadistic movements all the way to the back of my throat. Then on the cusps of his torment, when I think I can’t take anymore, he kisses me like I am the most delicate thing on earth. As if I’m something to be cherished, but broken. Loved, but hate fucked. Pretty, but ruined.
“Because you’re mine, Bella. Perfectly made for me. My personal little princess to fill, to fuck, and to… eat.” He drags his tongue along my center, forcing me to shudder. “This pretty pussy of yours belongs to me.”
If he keeps going, I won’t have control over the sounds I make. My inner thighs are begging me to close them for a reprieve from Roman’s relentless attack. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to wiggle my hips away or move my legs to lessen the pain. He has me in an iron grip. Even if he didn’t, I’d still be stuck, legs spread wide and at his mercy. A pair of silken ropes wind around my ankles and the bedposts, baring my pussy to him and the cold air at all times.
The scene before me is concerning on so many different levels. The first is how he managed not to wake me while arranging me like a rag doll. The second is how hot my blood runs at the thought of him tying me up like an object designed to fulfill his desires, then eating me like I’m a delicacy to be savored. The third concern? The fact that I want none of this to stop, even though every part of my rational brain is telling me to say the word that will end this.
Even more messed up is that I might start getting excited for bed because of what might happen while I sleep. I’m his for the taking. He knows it, my body knows it, and it’s just my mind that hasn’t gotten with the program.
For years, he lived another life while I was fast asleep and oblivious. Whether it’s his intention or not, it feels like he’s telling me that he’ll always keep my bed warm. He’s shared the other side of him with me, and it’s as if he’s promising that we’ll do everything together. Maybe it’s all wishful thinking, but I truly believe that promise is our new reality.
Mickey’s hot breath fans my center as he groans, “Fuck, you taste so good.” I yelp when he bites the inside of my thigh. “I told you I’d make you scream again.”
“I’m sore,” I whimper as he continues lapping at me. It’s nothing more than a dull ache, but if he fucks me, the pain will outweigh pleasure.
“I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he mumbles against my wet heat, peppering soft kisses that are so unlike the vicious way his tongue moves. “Tell me what you like.”
I don’t need to say a thing because he figures it out himself, throwing me into a world of bliss. He doesn’t just lick me. It isn’t just foreplay. This is a ritual. He’s a god demanding servitude from his loyal subjects. He’s a puppeteer, pulling all the right strings to make me dance beneath him. And I am a willing victim caught in his net.
It’s not rough or gentle, but it’s consuming. My breathing labors, hiccupping and moaning in time to each flick of his tongue. He works his tongue in and against my pussy like I’m his death row meal; like he’s been starved his whole life. Mickey’s hands leave my hips, groping and searching my tender flesh until he finds purchase on the oversensitive tips of my nipples. I moan at the slightest touch to them, feeling the pleasure zip down to every corner of my body.
Then he perfects his rhythm.
And I’m a goner.
If I was in heaven before, the plane I’m descending to is a place no god or man could survive. There isn’t a higher being that could save me from falling from grace and into Mickey’s grasp. I scream while pressure blooms at the pit of my stomach until colors explode in the backs of my eyes. The sensations keep blossoming and erupting until it’s too much for me to handle. “Mickey, please!” I cry, pulling at the ropes.
“Again,” he grunts. “You’re going to come on my mouth again. And this time, when you scream, you’ll scream my name. If you don’t, we’ll start all over again. Do you understand?”
A muffled sound leaves my throat in answer, unable to form a coherent thought because his thumb takes over from his devilish tongue.
My entire body seizes when he slides a finger inside me. “Good little fuck toys answer questions.”
“Yes,” I sob as his fingers slide in and out of me. It isn’t as painful as I thought it would be, but it aches unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s the hungry type of need that could never be sated.
“Has my girl been good?” He drags his teeth along the inside of my thigh.
“I’ve been good, I swear, Mickey.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s like he’s dragging the answers out of me with his fingers.
“Oh.” Delight wraps around the single word. “I know you have. That’s why you get to come again.”
I nod my head and wiggle in the bindings holding me in place.
His tongue resumes its tortuous rhythm, circling the part of me that begs for friction. Only this time, he’s giving me what I was missing from before: being filled.
The single finger is enough to have me panting and moaning like I have never been touched before, and I never want it to stop. I scream his name and dig my nails into the ropes like it might keep me from crashing into a blubbering mess of moans and curses.
“Again.”
“What?” I say on an inhale.
“Say my name again.”
He isn’t asking me. He’s telling me. He’s making me with the curve of his fingers. The light comes closer with each push of his fingers on my G-spot. I cry out his name over and over when I reach my peak, legs spasming and back arched. He keeps pumping into me, dragging out my orgasm for longer than I thought was humanly possible. Even though I’m completely spent, and my entire body is overstimulated from his greedy touches, my attention fixates on each of his miniscule movements as he rises to his feet. The light casts dark shadows across his abdomen, highlighting every inch of hard muscle and deadly grace. I’m drunk at the sight of him.
He climbs up my body with slow, predatory movements, trailing a path of mind-numbing bliss with the kisses he leaves behind. My body arches against his lips and he doesn’t hesitate to pounce onto my waiting flesh to leave his mark on me. And just like he did when he was on his knees before me, he latches onto my skin ruthlessly before planting a tender kiss in its place. Then finally, his lips meet mine and our tongues move against each other as if we were long-lost lovers reuniting under a starless night.
Suddenly, he pulls away and I stare at his retreating frame. The glow from the window catches the rough skin on his chest where the scar sits. He looks every bit the danger that he is. Perfect muscle formed in the darkest pits of hell, with eyes that could rival a siren’s luring stare. I can still picture how hypnotically he moved in the arena and how the sweat dripped from his body.
“It’s my turn now.”
My trance fractures. “What do you mean?”
Mickey’s fingers move to undo the ropes around my ankles. “I can do whatever I want to you, Princess. If I want to fuck your face, I will.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. I don’t know how to do what he’s asking.
Mickey climbs on top of me in all his naked glory, and my gaze hooks on his hard length that’s grazing against the hard pane of his stomach. “I’ve wanted your pretty pink lips around my cock for years.” He brings my face to his. “You came on my tongue, so it’s my turn to coat yours.”
I try to squeeze my legs together. I don’t know how my body thinks it could handle another orgasm, and I’m pretty sure I would die if I tried to find out. The muscles in my arms sigh when I’m freed from the headboard, but my wrists are still being held hostage by the silk ropes.
“I don’t…” I start, unsure how to say the words, as he leads me off the bed, using the ropes like a leash.
Roman lowers me onto my knees, holding onto the length of the rope as if I might try to run. “You don’t what, baby? Know how to suck cock? If you did, we would have a big fucking problem because someone else would need to die.”
My breath hitches. “What if I’m not good at it?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m meant to be over my self-doubt.
“Open your mouth,” he orders.
My eyes widen at the monster in front of my face, standing big and proud, pointing right at me. There’s no way that’s going to fit in my mouth. I know from experience he barely fits between my legs.
Still, I comply hesitantly. He fists himself a couple of times before a shiver runs through him the instant his pre-come slick head brushes against my parted lips. He curses. “Wider.”
I swallow, then open my mouth as wide as I can, gaze glued on his to take my mind off the sheer size of him. He slides into me before I can take another breath, completely filling my mouth. There isn’t enough room to move my tongue or breathe.
My throat contracts with a gag as he hits the back, and it takes every bit of my focus not to move my jaw as I push against his thighs. His sharp hiss reaches my ear just as his hand clamps into my hair to keep me in place. Heat spreads from my chest as my burning lungs beg for a whisper of air.
“Fuck,” he groans and withdraws suddenly so I can breathe. “There’s nothing you could do that wouldn’t feel good.”
The power in his stance as he towers over me could end a lesser woman. Shadows flicker across his abs while the image of pure bliss takes over his face. Heavy lids and parted lips. The rapid rise and fall of his taut chest.
I did that.
I made Roman look like he was about to crumble to his knees.
I shouldn’t be as wet as I am by seeing him like this, but I want to commit it to memory.
He rams his hips forward with his fist still in my hair, not letting me escape. My hands move each time to try to push him away when he breaches the back of my throat.
“That’s my girl,” he moans.
There’s no stopping the tears streaming down my face, or the soft moans that fall from my mouth as I lick him tentatively when he pulls away long enough for me to do anything.
Letting go of my hair, he says, “Hold it.”
He grunts when my bound hands wrap around his girth. Carefully, I move my hands up and down his length like I saw him do moments ago. I flick my tongue out to lick his head before wrapping my lips around it, and he snarls like he’s holding back a beast. Somehow, Mickey keeps his hands to himself as I explore him; licking the contours beneath his head, and using my tongue to follow the veins on his cock. The sharp breaths he takes only fuel my exploration. When I scrape my teeth along the underside, he cracks.
His fists descend into my hair, and he moves his hips like a maniac. I can barely keep up. There’s spit everywhere, and my lungs are close to giving out. I can’t even see him through the tears blurring my eyes.
“Look at you taking me like a good girl.” He forcefully stops my attempts at a moan with another savage thrust down the back of my throat. “Are you my good girl?” The way he delicately cups my cheek is at odds with the vicious way he moves. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” I choke, even though I can’t make out the word.
“Say, yes, Mickey, I’m your good girl.” He doesn’t let up. His grip on my hair keeps me from pulling away to say the words he wants to hear. All of my attempts come out as a jumbled mess of mumbling and gagging that makes him grunt up at the ceiling. “You feel so fucking good.”
He keeps going until he hisses out a curse. The muscles beneath my hands stiffen before he pulls out of my mouth. The cords in his neck strain as the room fills with the sound of his guttural groan. White hot ropes of come hit my cheek and blanket my tongue.
He came.
He came because of me.
He’s marked me because of what I’ve done to him.
Roman pants as he lets go of his cock and grips my face between his thumb and forefinger. “Show me. Stick your tongue out.”
I do as he says, feeling the creamy texture roll around my tongue and drip down the sides of my lips.
He hums in approval. “You look so beautiful with me all over you, Princess.” He caresses my cheek.
My skin reddens at his approval.
“Swallow. You’re not allowed to miss a single drop.”
It’s so salty, but I’m committed to pleasing him. Despite its strong taste, I would do it again in a heartbeat. It’s intimate in a way I didn’t expect. Mickey seeing a part of him on me is like laying claim to me without any words or more action on his part. For me, it’s like owning a part of him.
With my bound hands, I make a show of using my fingers to wipe the come from my face and into my mouth, licking each drop clean.
Mickey curses and helps me to my feet. “You make me crazy, Bella.”
I stagger forward, but his hands are there to catch me. He carries me into the bathroom, wipes my face and the inside of my legs clean with a wet cloth, and brushes my hair before braiding it, all while humming an unknown tune, slowly lulling me back to sleep. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, but I force my eyes to stay open to track Mickey and the upward slant of his lips as he takes care of me.
“I think the neighbors know my name now.” Mickey winks.
My only energy left has me shaking my head with a soft smile. I’m weightless in his arms as he takes us back to bed. Mickey refused to get a room with two single beds, and right now, I’m grateful that he did. The last thing I want is to feel cold in the same spot where he set me aflame.
He arranges us so our legs are tangled, and the blanket reaches up to my chin. Even though I’m fighting sleep, he kisses me senseless: my forehead, cheeks, lips, shoulder, the top of my head, anywhere he can reach without moving me.
There’s one question weighing on my mind, and I know once I ask, the post-orgasm delirium wrapping around us will end. But it needs to be asked.
“Damien told me you lost some bad people a lot of money.”
He grunts, and as I expected, the warmth in the air evaporates. “I’ve lost a lot of people a lot of money. He needs to be more specific.”
I shift my head to look up at him as unease rolls through my stomach. “There was a man with a scar on his face.”
“The Vargas Gang—or cartel, depending on who you ask.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about them. Everyone thinks they’re a joke. No one will lay a hand on you. I’ll keep you safe.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.” He’s the one who steps foot in the ring and becomes an animal under the spotlight.
He smiles smugly. “I like it when you’re thinking about me.”
“This is serious, Mickey. You’ll be front and center, taunting them each time you take a breath. You have to be careful.”
He holds me tighter. “I am. They won’t get to me, Princess. We’ll get out of here before they get the chance.”
“I still don’t like it. You’re a target in the middle of the arena.” I shake my head slowly.
He turns us so he’s on top and our gazes tangle. “They won’t take me away from you. I promise.”
The boulder in my throat doesn’t get any smaller. Roman is just one person against an army. Despite his fighting name, Ares, he’s not the god he thinks he is, and he sure as hell can’t take on a whole cartel by himself.
“What did you do to piss them off?”
He sighs like it’s a distant memory. “A car came into the prison garage. I was the first one there that morning—and the rule is, first in, first serve. The form said there was something wrong with the suspension. I started working and noticed a tire was a bit fucked and needed to be replaced. I found a kilo of coke glued to the wheel.”
I brows pinch. “Did you tell the guards?”
“Shit, no. I’m no snitch.” He laughs. “Rico saw and claimed it as an Alvarez import. Guess it belonged to the Vargas.” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “It wasn’t even the first time someone else claimed their shipment.”
“Then shouldn’t they be mad at Rico, not you?”
He kisses my forehead and pulls me back on top of him, with my head on his chest. “It isn’t Rico’s name on the form.”
“Is there anything you can do to fix it?”
He scoffs. “Hand myself over to them and let them beat the shit out of me so they feel better. Or give them the half a mil they lost.”
“But isn’t it their fault for not getting to it first?
He winks. “My thoughts exactly, baby girl.”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful, Mickey,” I sigh.
“For you, anything.”
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
“And you better mean it. Don’t be stupid tomorrow, okay? We go in, you do the match, and we get out. Which means no getting into fights with anyone else.”
“Okay, I can’t promise that.”
“Mickey!” The definition of staying out of trouble is not starting beef.
“I get a free pass to punch Rico.”
I’m on board with that, actually. “Just a punch?”
“Good point. Punches, plural. I can kick him as many times as I want as well.” He holds his hand out, and we shake on it. “You, Miss Garcia, have yourself a deal.”
I smile and settle back on his chest, feeling the way his chest rumbles as he talks. Mickey tells me about the Cadillac he got to work on in prison, as well as all the other types of cars that came through the garage. He also tells me about his English classes and how boring he thinks Shakespeare is. Yet, I don’t have it in me to mumble any response.
“What’s wrong?” The heaviness in his voice wraps around me like a blanket.
“I’m too tired to talk.”
“That’s fine. The silence is alright if you’re there.”
