Violent Beginnings (The Moretti Crime Family 2)

As if I’m a child, he grabs me under my arms and picks me up, laying me on my stomach on the edge of the bed. Squeezing my eyes closed, I’m not sure what is going to happen next. I’m ashamed that I wanted to please him, and even more ashamed that a part of me liked it.

With my ass now exposed to him, I’m pretty sure he is going to fuck me, but instead, I feel his fingers slip between my legs and over my wet folds.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be wet. You like being my fuck toy, don’t you?”

I shake my head, burying my face into the mattress, wanting to deny him as long as I can. He merely chuckles at my reaction and slips two fingers inside my tight channel again.

Warmth fills low in my belly at the intrusion. Before, I winced when he entered me, but this time, I’m soaked, my core tightening, basically begging to be fucked.

Like a musician playing his favorite song, his fingers work dutifully, moving in and out of me at a relentless pace. They’re slippery as they enter me, and the glide of his thumb over my clit draws me closer to the inevitable.

In that singular moment, I forget about everything.

My body becomes soft, melting on his hand as if I’m butter. I can hear how wet I am, and I both love and hate it. I don’t even know this man. He could be a serial killer for all I know, but caution gets thrown to the wind because all I care about is reaching the finish line.

“Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel it, feel your tiny pussy trying to push me out.” The deep, robust baritone in his voice makes my toes curl, and my entire body tightens. Like a firework, my fuse is lit, and I’m headed toward the sky.

Exploding around his finger, I clench down, letting the warmth and pleasure consume me. I allow myself to let go. However, as fast as the pleasure came, it also leaves, taking with it the fog that clouded my mind.

Markus must feel the change in me because he gently removes his fingers. My folds are slick with my release, and I hate the feeling. Hate knowing he was the one who did this. Part of me wants to cry, and the other part of me wants to lash out.

Why would he touch me like that? Why not just use me? It would be so much easier for me to hate him if he didn’t touch me, if he didn’t give back to me.

There is a tug against the rope binding my wrists, and then I’m free. My arms fall uselessly beside me on the bed, and I let out a heavy breath.

My heart aches in my chest, and my cheeks burn.

“Go clean yourself up,” he says, dismissing me.

It takes me a moment to gather my wits and get my arms to work, but when I do, I scurry to the bathroom like the floor is on fire while holding back tears I know will surely come.6MarkusGuilt. An emotion I don’t often experience. I’ve done things in my life, bad things. I’ve killed people, hurt, and tortured them. I’ve stolen, lied, and cheated. I’ve ruined people’s lives, and I’ve rarely felt guilt over any of that, but here I stand, feeling guilty over using the woman I spent one million dollars on.

As if she didn’t know what was coming. As if I didn’t realize I’d react the way I did.

It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman, so long since I touched one or allowed one to touch me. As soon as I felt her fiery mouth around my cock, and the wetness between her thighs, I lost it. The carnal want and need overtook me.

The pleasure was all-consuming, and being the gentleman I am, I thought returning the favor was the right thing to do. Now, I think that was a mistake. She can’t think I care about her or her feelings. Because I don’t, I can’t, I won’t.

I need to keep the line drawn. To make sure she knows her place and purpose with me. I’ve never gone soft on anyone or anything in my life, and she will not be an exception.

Pulling some random clothes out of the closet, I hold them and wait for her to finish in the bathroom. As soon as she steps back out, I shove the pile of fabric into her hands.

“I have some shit to do. Come with me,” I tell her, but before she can move on her own, I grab her upper arm and pull her along with me. My patience is running thin, and I don’t have it in me to wait around.