Jack of Spades (Vegas Underground 2)

“No, I don’t,” I insist but he’s inching into me. My mouth opens wide again, like a porn star. He retreats, inches in again—taking his sweet time. “Jesus, Stefano, are you ever going to start?”

He chuckles as he pushes in, but then he doesn’t move, just reaches around and diddles my clit. His other hand still loosely holds my forearms together at my back.

I arch back against him, desperate to take him deeper, to get satisfaction.

“You know why a woman like you wants to be tied up?”

“Fuck you, Stefano.”

“You mean fuck me, don’t you? Do you need another lesson in begging?”

“No,” I pant, need burning into anger, the fever licking between my thighs, up my neck, across my breasts.

He doesn’t move.

“Oh God,” I moan, already conceding defeat. “Please fuck me. Hard.”

“Of course, bella. Who would refuse you that?” He palms my breast and pinches my nipple. “Especially when you look so beautiful taking my cock.” He draws back and drills into me, hard.

I sigh in relief.

Using my elbows for leverage, he withdraws and slams in, again and again.

“You haven’t answered me.” Another brutal thrust. My inner thighs quiver. I go up on my tiptoes, thrust my ass back at him. “Do you know why you like to be restrained? And don’t say you don’t, because I’m inside your sopping pussy right now, baby. I know you’re three strokes from an orgasm.”

“Ugn.” I make an unintelligible sound and then whimper, closing my lids.

“Open your eyes, Corey. I want to see those baby blues in the mirror when I make you come. When I own you so completely you forget your name.”

God, it’s true. I’m already there.

“Why, Stefano?” I pant because I need to know the answer now. Whatever it is he thinks he knows about me.

“Because letting go of control would be wrong. And you like to get things right, don’t you, amore?”

I squeeze my eyes shut as pain spears my chest. He got it so right it burns. All my childhood I was made to feel wrong, never good enough. Always a fuck up.

My dad was an exacting bastard who liked to lecture, like to tell me what to do. Liked to slap us around if he was drinking.

The pain of that reality comes slamming through me at the same time as the pleasure of being rode hard by Stefano. I suddenly want to fight him, but it’s too late, my body’s already capitulated, cunt squeezing around his thick member, pulsing double-time with my heartbeat.

“Fuck,” Stefano grunts.

He drags me down to my knees on the sloped treadmill and pushes my torso down. He takes me from this angle until my teeth chatter and my G-spot’s numb and then he flips me to my back and finishes, pinning my forearms down to the frame of the treadmill.

I climax with him, hips lifting and bucking against his, my scream loud enough to echo off the mirrors.

I can’t move afterward. I’m limp and boneless with the two releases. He’d have to scrape me off the treadmill if he wanted me up.

He gets up and throws his condom away in the trash by the door, which makes me cringe thinking about whoever might see it there.

Then he comes back and leans on the treadmill rail, staring down at me. “I want to keep you naked like this forever. Putting those clothes back on you—as hot as you looked in them—would be a goddamn travesty.”

“You got a thing for pasty white skin and birthmarks?” I make fun of myself because I’m feeling too raw, like he stripped me emotionally when he named why I like his form of sex. And I’m starting to enjoy his praise way too much. Believe it, even, which is a huge mistake.

He frowns and shakes his head. “I fucking love that birthmark. I told you that before. I’m going to buy you a whole wardrobe of midriff shirts so you can show it off.”

I turn my face away from him, which gets me nowhere since we’re surrounded by mirrors.

“Stefano?” I ask the man in the mirror.

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do with me? For real?”

He walks around to the other side of the treadmill, the side I’ve turned to and crouches in front of me. His pursed lips are soft and kissable, tangled fingers strong and calloused. “I’m keeping you close. You’re going to be my shadow until I’m sure of you.”

Relief cascades through me. It must show on my face, because Stefano frowns. “Were you worried I was going to kill you?”

“No,” I snap, sitting up, letting my hair curtain my face. For some reason, tears catch in my throat.

Of course he must hear it because he surges around the treadmill and lifts me to my feet, pulling me up against his chest. His free hand brushes lightly over my cheek.