The Kingpin's Weakness
He pulls out and smacks into me, baring his teeth. “No. I can do this.”
“No.”
“Yes, goddammit. You’ll have what you deserve.”
He drops his full weight on top of me, pinning my wrists high above my head. And then he starts to stroke his shaft into me slowly. Achingly slow. A vein stands out in the center of his forehead and his shoulders are bunched with tension, but he trails his tongue up and down the slope of my neck, raking me with the very edges of his teeth, his hips canting up, back, stoking a fire inside me with every groaning entrance into my body.
“Beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s just that my romance comes nine inches long, baby. You understand, don’t you?”
Caught in a web of lust, I can only nod. Can only lie there and accept the ridged, thick thrust of his manhood, how it occupies me in thorough ebbs and flows, his hands biting into the soft skin of my wrists, his hips chafing the insides of my thighs. “Easton…” I breathe.
“I saw you walk in tonight and I knew you’d break me.” He kisses my neck, breathes hot air into my ear. “And you’re breaking me so good, Scout. This pussy doesn’t even feel fucking legal, you’re wrecking me so good with it. With your eyes, your heart, the way you say my name.” His tempo picks up, like he can’t help it, the muscles in his neck straining. “I’m going to come so hard. You’re going to make me. That’s what you were born to do.”
The raw way he speaks to me, his honesty, the lack of barriers between us builds the flame inside me once again and I whimper, my womanhood starting to quicken around his pumping shaft. More moisture ebbs from my body to slick his way and he feels it, his eyes glazing over, his thrusts turning more insistent. More urgent.
“Ah, Christ. I’m almost there.” He leans down and teases my nipples with the tip of his tongue. “Come on, cutie. Don’t make Daddy bust alone.”
Maybe it’s a little twisted—and definitely unexpected—that Easton calling himself my Daddy opens the dam of pleasure inside me. But it does. And I launch into another shaking fit, my thighs squeezing his hips, my lower body rising to meet his final, frantic drives.
Easton is rough at the end.
Holding me down, burying my face in his shoulder and slamming into me, calling my name hoarsely. His spend is hot and sticky, rope after rope of it fills me up, sliding down my thighs and even splashing up onto my stomach. And still his hips rut me like every drop has to come out, has to be purged or he’ll die. Until finally he rolls onto his side, next to me on the bed, and pulls me into his arms, raining kisses down all over my face, my forehead.
“Are you okay, cutie? Tell me you’re okay. I lost it at the end…”
“I’m okay,” I breathe, stroking his hair. “I loved it. Loved it.”
His exhale bathes my damp neck. “What is the point of owning the night if I can’t stop morning from coming?”
I don’t have an answer for him, so I hold on tight and let him rock me to sleep, silently begging the universe to let me keep Easton Brawn. To let him keep me.
5
Easton
I stare at Scout’s curled fist on my pillow. Let my eyes travel up her arm, her shoulder kissed by morning light. Her bare tits nestled in the sheets, her rosy lips softened by sleep. Angelic. A breeze carries in off the ocean and stirs her hair, but she isn’t roused by the sound of the tide coming in below, waves pounding on the rocks. Almost like she was made for this place. My home. Made for me.
She was.
One day isn’t going to be enough.
Two. I can get away with two.
With a heavy swallow, I climb out of bed, throw on a pair of sweatpants and brush my teeth, making my way down to the kitchen. Am I crazy to take such a chance with this girl? My enemies are always looking for a weakness. A way to exploit me. And I haven’t given them one since the elimination of my brother and best friend. Since they were gunned down in the street right in front of me, their expressions eternally frozen in fear.
There would be no recovering if the same happened to Scout.
Fuck that. If a bullet grazed her, I’d spend the rest of my life deranged.
She’s dangerous to my sanity. A liability.
Then she walks into the kitchen in a borrowed T-shirt with messy hair, blinking at me innocently from behind her glasses and I almost laugh. An adorably nerdy, five-foot-three college student could put a wrench in my billion-dollar operation by shedding one tear.