The Kingpin's Weakness

“I won’t, Easton.” She leans in and kisses the center of my chest. “You have my word.”

Still, I hesitate. We are safe inside my estate, but as soon as we set foot outside, there are variables I can’t always control. Enemies lying in wait. Traps. Violence. If a fucking hair on her head was harmed, I would tear the sun down out of the sky.

“Easton,” she murmurs, laying her cheek against my rapidly thudding heart. “Just a quick meeting. You decide when and where. It’ll be okay.”

I make a hoarse, skeptical sound. “This is important to you?”

“Yes.”

My eyes close, my very soul rebelling over the idea of denying Scout anything she wants. Anything in the world. “Then I will arrange it.”

Her smile makes me short of breath.

“Until then…” I reach behind her back and untie her bikini top, removing and draping it over the railing, leaving her ripe little tits bared to the sun. “You won’t be needing this.” I take her hand and guide it to my cock, watching her eyes glaze over as she grips me, tests the heavy weight of me in her palm. “This is all you’ll be needing.”

6

Scout

The ocean water is warm, the sun decadent.

I wade into the surf hand in hand with Easton, marveling over this adventurous person I’ve become. Topless at the beach with a renowned criminal! The most exciting thing I’ve done up until this point is mix Coke and Mentos. How times have changed.

And truthfully, I can’t look at Easton and see a criminal anymore.

I see a complicated man with a painful past who created his own trap. The one he is stuck in now. The one preventing us from being together beyond tomorrow morning. He is not satisfied with his world, no matter how much money he has. Or nice things he can afford.

There is an ache in the center of my chest that has a lot to do with sympathy.

But more with love.

I love Easton Brawn.

And I think that means I have to convince him not to push me away. Even if he thinks it’s for my own good. It’s not. I can’t just go back to my regularly scheduled program now, knowing that he’s sitting here lonely in his mansion by the sea. Broken and tortured.

I’ll have to be subtle about it.

I might not have to do too much convincing at all. Didn’t he already extend our association by a second day? Maybe all I have to do is love him. Show him how much. Until the idea of putting distance between us is unfathomable.

Easton’s hand is in mine and I slow him to a stop where the surf hits me mid-calf. Taking a deep breath for courage, I kneel down in front of him and start to untie his shorts. I’ve never even dreamed of doing this to a man, but ever since I walked into the kitchen this morning and saw the thick trunk of his sex outlined by his sweatpants, I’ve been fantasizing about taking Easton into my mouth, experiencing the taste of him. The texture, the weight.

His head tips back when he discovers my intention, releasing a groan up at the sky.

“Fuck yes, baby,” he rasps. “You know what I need, don’t you?”

Easton is a powerful man. A man well used to taking his due from his subjects. Being served. And I’m reminded by that when he takes over the task of untying his shorts and presents his long, rigid shaft in a confident hand. Feeding it toward my mouth.

“Good girl, Scout.” He tugs down my chin and slides his thickness between my lips, panting, holding his breath, releasing a guttural sound. “Suck Daddy off.”

I do.

Eagerly.

I’m immediately frantic to please him. The warm surf gurgles up around my inner thighs, arousing me, stroking my senses and I do the same to Easton, pumping my hands up and down his lush inches, trying to get him as close to my throat as possible without choking. I accidentally graze him with my teeth and I start to apologize, but he hisses and grabs two fists of my hair. “Again,” he begs thickly. “Clamp your lips. Fist fuck me hard. Rough. Give me a little teeth. I’m big and stiff—I can take it.”

My eyelids flutter and I scoot closer, my knees dragging through the wet sand. I love this position. Him towering above me, watching from above as I service him. I love being a servant, sent to gratify my master. My Daddy.

“Fuck, little girl. You’ve got me so hard.” His hips roll forward and back in a sensual pattern, but I can tell he’s holding back. Trying not to make me choke. I want to make him wild, though. Want him to lie awake in the middle of the night thinking of me doing this to him. Thinking about how good I am at it. Needing my mouth like he needs his next breath. So I command my throat muscles to go slack, then cram as much of his shaft as possible into my mouth, my eyes tearing when his smooth tip nudges a place that has never been touched. “Scout,” he growls, his abdomen knitting up in front of my eyes, veins standing out, his drum-tight skin vibrating. “Oh Jesus. Don’t move yet. Stay still.”