His shoulders block out the light, and his torso is solid muscle.
Tattoos, too. Stark black that makes me all quivery inside. Taking a bite out of one of the lines on his shoulder there’s a circular scar, and once I see that, I notice others that are half beneath the dark ink.
He’s beautiful, and savage.
My heart is pounding, unable to distinguish between the adrenaline of the chase, the surge of hope that perhaps this man can help me, and the sheer relief of hearing my sisters’ names.
The thought that I haven’t been forgotten, even though I’ve long since given up on myself.
I fruitlessly push at his chest. He grabs my hair and holds my head down, and oh my god, the tiny pinpricks of pain set alight the pleasure sensors all over my skin.
He’s powerful.
“Now, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, and be a good girl, and I won’t hurt you.” With his free hand I feel more than see him push his boxers down, the soft, expensive fabric gliding on the tops of my thighs.
“Oh you’re trembling,” he sneers. “Poor little ballerina, are you cold?” With one hand, he drags the bed covers over us, shielding our chests downwards from any cameras.
“I won’t do it,” I say more loudly.
“You will do exactly as I tell you, or suffer the consequences.” He snatches up my hands and pins them above my head.
Something deep in my belly flips, and my clit flickers, like a lightbulb being switched on and off fast.
I don’t like being pinned by him.
Do I?
I think I might. A lot.
“This has to be realistic,” he mutters. “If you need me to stop, say ‘mercy’. But don’t expect me to be kind about it. This isn’t a game, Taylor.”
My mind spins.
The man who was my enemy is actually my friend? Can I trust him? Is it true?
He’s naked on top of me.
“How do I know my sisters sent you?” I hiss.
I hate it here, but there are plenty of worse fates within mafias than being the entertainment and cover for drug trafficking. We perform all over the world, taking with us suitcases of costumes, sets, and illegal substances.
We’re the lucky ones.
And Kon, although my every instinct is to trust him, is a mafia boss. Harlesden, I heard the Volk men say. Wherever that is.
“Scream,” he instructs in a whisper, then repositions himself.
And as I yell, Kon thrusts against my belly, and grunts. “That’s it. Bleed for me. Your virgin pussy is so tight. Feels so good.”
Oh. My. God.
He’s…
He pumps his hips and rumbles a warning deep in his chest. “Play along.”
“Ahh!” I make pained noises, as he dry humps me, and my brain cannot comprehend what’s going on here.
He’s really… This is…
