AllFreeNovel
Share Us
All of this plays out in my head in the space of about half a second. Deirdre is still trembling from her second orgasm, her sweet, wet body practically begging me to do it, to take her right fucking now. My cock is out of control, straining for her, my body answering hers without a goddamn care for what my brain has to say about it.
But there’s something she doesn’t understand. I’d give her anything. Anything except what she really wants.
“Here’s the thing,” I say gruffly as she tightens and rocks in tiny movements against my still hand, aftershocks of her pleasure ringing through her like an anthem that goes straight to my dick. “It doesn’t matter how much I’d pay, Songbird.”
She makes a questioning sound.
“Because,” I say through gritted teeth, “If I claim you that way, get your innocent blood on my cock like a brand, then I will absolutely never let you go.”
Not like I’m planning to let her go anyway, but still.
“Why not?” she snaps, and there’s a new anger in her voice. “It’s not like there aren’t other beautiful women lining up to sleep with you. You don’t need to keep me here.”
What the fuck is she talking about?
I mean, she’s right. I hadn’t lied when I told her I didn’t need to pay a whore. There are always women like Natalia around, women turned on by money and violence and what I represent in this world. Women who want just a little bit of that Titone power for themselves, even if it comes in the form of sucking my dick.
Then I remember Nat coming up to me at the gala. And Deirdre’s eyes burning a goddamn hole in my head from across the room. No doubt she saw us together.
And no doubt she’s relieved by the prospect of me being focused on someone else. On me wanting other women so that I don’t want her.
She doesn’t understand.
Reasonable, considering I barely understand myself. Barely understand the hold this young, defiant, brilliant, virginal little Songbird has on me.
How much would you pay for my virginity?
Cristo santo. If I thought I still had a soul I’d fucking sell it.
That has me stepping crisply away from her. I need to create some distance, cool my head, regain some semblance of control, the control I’ve built my name, our entire empire, on.
“Panties,” I say, moving back to our original bargain. Back to a place I feel like I can get a grip on. Something a little colder, more transactional, than contemplating sliding my dick into her tight, pulsing pussy and coming all over her insides.
A flush darkens her cheeks, and she nods, scooting forward and sliding off of the counter. My eyes are glued to her as she slides the wet silk down her pale legs. She bends at the waist, pulling them off of her feet, then uses one hand to stretch the hem of the T-shirt over her bare body as she straightens to hold them out to me.
I move to take them, but she withdraws her hand a little.
“One hundred thousand, right?”
I almost want to smile at that. Spine of fucking steel, I swear. Making sure she gets her due, as she well should.
I nod, because though I may be many terrible things, things she listed out for me herself, I am at least a man of my word.
She exhales, the hardness around her mouth softening, finally passing them over. I take them, folding them carefully, methodically, before sticking them into my pocket.
I turn away from her and grab the wine glass, drinking until it’s empty, staring blankly out over the kitchen island while my dick throbs. I put down the glass as Deirdre pulls up the sweatpants that had been discarded in a soft grey heap.
A small cry of pain from behind me makes every muscle in my body snap to attention. I spin around, jaw tight, finding Deirdre leaning forward over the counter, gripping it tightly. Her right foot is off the floor, curled around her left ankle, like she’s stubbed her toe, or-
I see the spilled wine and the pieces of ceramic on the floor. Sharp white shards scattered like broken teeth.
My breathing feels wrong. So does my heartbeat. It reminds me of the way I felt when I saw Sev’s guy aiming his gun at her in the snow that night. Like the entire world was hurled off its axis, everything turning black at the edges.
I propel myself forward without thought. Same way I didn’t think, didn’t stop, didn’t have a fucking care in the world for the bullet that could have gone right through my head and ended everything that night. I grab her and hoist her back up to the counter where she was sitting a moment ago.
“It’s fine,” she chokes out, wiggling and pulling away from me. I ignore her, finding her right ankle and closing my fingers around it in an iron grip. She bucks and shimmies until she’s half lying along the counter, propped on her elbows, ass up in the air, held in place by my hand on her leg.
Keeping one hand wrapped around her ankle, I smooth the other along the inside of the high, slender arch of her foot. There it is. A sharp, nasty chunk of the cup stuck in the ball of her foot. My immediate instinct is to yank it out, but then she’ll just start bleeding like crazy and I don’t have the shit to deal with that right here.
