Pepper

I wake up feeling humiliated as hell about what happened between me and Tony Brando.

If he had actually gotten me off, that would’ve been one thing. But he left me hot and bothered. As it turns out, sexual frustration is an excellent energy source. I should remember that next time I’m dragging my ass before a performance. I couldn’t fall asleep for hours because my tingling ass kept my lady parts needy. I finally resorted to masturbation, but even still, I didn’t get the relief I craved.

Hugh texted me last night asking what Tony Brando wanted.

As if he didn’t know.

As if he wasn’t hiding from the enforcer last night, leaving me to take the fall.

I didn’t answer his texts because I figured he deserved to sweat. He knows I survived the encounter. The rest I’ll let him guess at.

A knock comes on my door at 10 a.m. Room service has already come, so I don’t know who it is. Anton’s room is next door, though, and I hear his door open to check on the visitor.

“What is it?” he grinds out in his deep voice.

“I have a message for Ms. Pepper from Mr. Brando.”

I open the door to face the concierge in the hall. “Yes?”

“Mr. Brando asked that you be ready in thirty minutes to fly to Los Angeles. He booked you an appointment with the top laryngologist there this afternoon.”

It’s probably my smarting ego that makes me stubborn. Or maybe because, after last night, I’m not as afraid of Brando as I probably should be. But I’ve been on the road for months. I just rolled into town yesterday afternoon and performed last night. I’m sick, my body is exhausted and the last thing I want to do is get on an airplane—even if it is to see a specialist.

I fold my arms across my chest. I have to clear my throat twice before any sound comes out. “Tell Mr. Brando I’m not up for traveling today. I’m going to rest so I can give a good show tonight.”

The concierge inclines his head. “I will let him know, Ms. Heart.”

Anton flicks his brows and shrugs at me. I'm guessing he already knows the score because he, too, was conspicuously absent yesterday when Brando showed up.

Ten minutes later, my door opens without a knock.

I was sitting on the patio with my earbuds in my ears, but I shoot up the minute I see the large figure enter.

My pussy instantly clenches, like it recognizes that this man—and apparently only this man—is the one who can satisfy the ache still there. My stomach is also aflutter because, I realize now, I purposely goaded him into showing up.

I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a hand. “Not a word. Not a goddamn word.” He shoves a notebook and pen in my hands. “If you have something to say, you’re gonna write it. If I hear you trying to talk, I’m going to turn your ass red again.”

I glare at him as heat rushes to pool between my legs.

“Put your shoes on and get your I.D. You’re going to L.A. to see that doctor. Now you find out what happens when you tell me no.”

I stand there, staring at him. Tragically, my body wants very much to find out. My nipples burn as they tighten up.

He raises his eyebrows, as if to say what are you looking at?

I flip open the notebook and scribble, What happens?

He picks up my Doc Martens and hands them to me. “You get me for a chaperone. Move it.”

Disappointment. Was I hoping for another spanking? I am more fucked up than I ever imagined. Still, the prospect of flying to L.A. with this man, has my body celebrating, little trills of enthusiasm zipping through my veins.

It’s odd, considering how dead I’ve felt for the last months. Years. This is the first time I’ve felt anything but utter fatigue in ages.

And about more travel, no less.

I pull on the boots and pick up my courier’s bag which is my purse/carry-all. I stow the notebook Tony gave me in it and give him a well, what are you waiting for? look. I have to say—it’s a relief not to have to talk.

I should’ve lost my voice long ago.

You did, whispers a long-absent voice. My inner muse—the poet. She’s been gone so long, I thought she’d died. I thought she only showed up for angsty teens ready to catapult into superstardom with their first alternative album.

But I don’t have time for her melancholy right now. Not with the mob enforcer filling up my suite with his broad shoulders and devil’s jaw.

Tony gives me an up and down sweep of his eyes. I’m wearing one of my usual babydoll dresses—a halter this time—with the boots for a sort of punk Lolita look. I don’t dare look down, but I sense my nips chafing against the inside of the dress. It seems to be their default response to Brando’s presence.

“Put on a bra,” he grunts. “I can’t be held responsible for what I’d do to all the fuckers in the airport looking at your breasts.”

I shouldn’t be turned on by his threat of violence to my would-be admirers. I drop my bag. I can’t very well put on a bra with a halter top. Okay, big guy. I’ll have to change.

And yeah, I’m definitely testing Tony when I hold his gaze and pull the dress off over the top of my head. I stand there in nothing but my panties and Doc Martens.

A muscle tics in Tony’s jaw. I turn on my heel and pull open the dresser drawer to grab a bra. It’s the first time in ages that I’ve even had time to unpack. I guess that’s one silver lining to this crazy fucked up ending to my tour.

I pick a hot pink one and put it on as I stand in front of the closet to pick a new dress. I already have the boots on, so it has to be something feminine. I find another mini dress and pull it on.

Tony mutters something in Italian that sounds like a curse while staring at my bare legs.

“Better?” I mouth.

“No.”

I smirk and walk past him to the door, but he catches me around the waist and pulls me back against him. The guy is twice my size and built like a linebacker. I stare down at the corded muscles of his forearm and attempt to quiet my breath.

“You keep up the cock tease, you’re going to find yourself in a world of trouble, songbird.”

I twist my face back to see him, which has the unfortunate effect of bringing my lips right up to his, centimeters away. Too late, I mouth.

His eyes darken and he eases his hold on me so I can turn around and face him. “Too late? Yeah, I guess it is.”

He loosens his tie.

Good, I have him hot around his collar again.

When he opens my door, we find Anton standing there. Tony shakes his head at my bodyguard. “Nope. You had your chance to accompany her. It could’ve been so easy. Now she’s going with me.”

“It’s my job to go where she goes,” Anton intones respectfully. He’s definitely been warned not to tangle with Brando.

“Too bad.” Brando places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the elevators.

Anton takes a few steps after us, then stops.

Great. It’s good to know if things go south with the enforcer, I’ll be totally on my own. But I was a fool to ever believe differently. I think on some level I knew all along that Hugh and maybe even my parents didn’t have my best interests in mind. Or maybe they did at one time and then dollar signs led them to the dark side.

I steal a glance at my captor-slash-chaperone, the dark side’s gladiator. I can hardly reconcile the effect he has on my body. If I knew how to dial down the attraction between us, I would take it to a quick zero, because I know getting kinky with the enemy is a dangerous game.

Tony

I lead Pepper out the front door where I have a hired limo waiting to take us to the airport. I lift my chin at the driver, who scrambles to open the passenger door for Pepper while I walk around to the other side.

Once we’re seated, Pepper pulls out the notebook I brought her. What time will we be back? she writes in neat, boxy letters.

“We’re booked back on the 4 p.m. flight, which will have us back to the hotel by 5:30.”

She nibbles her lip, then writes. Does Hugh know?

I scowl at the mention of her manager. “I don’t babysit Hugh.” The testa di cazzo could’ve called me last night to discuss the problem I had with the show, but he chose not to. Today he’s gonna find out what happens when you fuck over the Tacones.

She nods and pulls out her phone, thumbing over the screen to text Hugh.

I shoot off a few texts of my own and answer a call from one of the security guys at the casino. I’m still talking when we get to the airport, but I hang up as soon as we enter. Pepper is my charge, which means I have to act as her bodyguard when we’re in public places. I stay alert, watching for threats from every direction.

We get checked in—I bought us first class tickets, of course—and queue up to go through security. The TSA guy looks at her license and ticket, and a broad grin spreads across his face. Her last name isn’t Heart, it’s Hartman, but apparently he figures it out.

“Heeyy, Pepper.”

I hold my hand out for the documents. “She can’t talk; she’s saving her voice for the show tonight.”

“Oh, yeah,” the guy says. “The Bellissimo, right? I’ll have to get tickets.” He reluctantly hands our I.D.s and plane tickets back.

“You do that.”

Pepper gives him a smile he definitely doesn’t deserve, but I resist the urge to take her elbow and tug her along the way her manager does.

“Do you want anything from Starbucks, songbird?” I ask when we pass the coffee shop. “Hot tea with honey for your throat?”

She shrugs, then nods.

I get in line. “What kind?”

She cranes her neck to look at their tea offerings, then mouths the word mint.

I try to tear my eyes away from her mouth. Any more lipreading and I’m going to sprout a chub. I can’t help picturing those lips stretched around my cock, sliding up and down while I fist her platinum hair. I clear my throat. “Anything else?”

She points to a chocolate croissant.

I order a triple espresso for me and the tea and croissant for Pepper. The satisfaction I get from her allowing me to take care of her is laughable. Buying a girl tea doesn’t make me a big man. At least she won’t see it that way. All she’s gonna see is that I’m strong-arming her into doing what I need her to do to perform her end of the deal.

Still, when she takes them, it satisfies the part of me that’s always on—that underlying need to to protect those in my dominion.

Pepper walks through the airport like an observer, not a rock star. She takes in everything around her. Not like me—not sizing up threats and dangers—more like an artist studying her subject, or a writer people-watching for inspiration.

We sit down at our gate and someone yells, “Pepper!”

Pepper’s head whips around as a millennial with a phone snaps a picture of her. “See, I told you it was her,” he says to the girl with him.

Pepper could’ve ignored him, or even flipped him off like she loves to do to me, but instead she smiles and waves.

Encouraged, the kids come over, and the people around us all sit up and pay attention, crowding closer.

“Can I get a selfie with you, Pepper?”

“Can I?” Now they’re all asking.

“Ms. Heart is resting her vocal cords today so she’s not speaking,” I project over the hubbub.

Pepper smiles and gets up, posing with each clamoring fan, making faces, getting goofy. It’s cute but also disturbs me on some level I don’t quite get. Something about the contrast between the smiles and melancholy of the actual girl.

I get up with her, making my full size felt. When it goes on for more than a minute, I lean down and speak into her ear, “Squeeze my arm when you want me to get rid of them.”

She flashes me a glance filled with surprised gratitude and after a few more photos, squeezes my arm.

“Okay, thank you. Let’s give Ms. Heart a break… thank you, that’s enough. Okay.” I shoo the rest of them away and lead her to the area near the podium reserved for handicapped and families with small children.

“You like your fans,” I observe as we wait to board. I’m kind of amazed at how patient she was with all that bullshit.

She pulls out her notebook and writes, I love them. They buy my albums and come to my concerts. I’m grateful for them every day.

Well, shit. I really don’t want to find out she’s an incredible human being in addition to being rich, beautiful and talented.

She glances at me and writes, You’re a way better bodyguard than Anton.

That annoys the fuck out of me, because I don’t know shit about being a bodyguard, and Anton definitely should. “How so?”

She just shrugs and looks down at her notebook. I think it’s the end of the convo until she writes, He works for Hugh.

Fucking Hugh.

“Right. Well, you work for me, songbird, so I’m just protecting what’s mine.” It’s an asshole thing to say, but I can’t very well go making friends with her, can I?

She mimes picking her nose with her middle finger and puts her ear buds in, an act I should not find so cute.

Good. Mission accomplished. Now if I can just keep my hands off her for the rest of the trip.

Pepper

Tony’s phone rings while we’re boarding the plane. “Hey, Ma. How’s it going?”

He gives me the window seat and settles beside me. I don’t know why it’s hilarious to me that a mafia enforcer is taking a call from his mom, but it is.

“Actually, I’m on a plane, about to head to L.A. Yeah, for work… uh huh…” He glances over me, looking slightly sheepish. “Ma, you know that singer you like? Pepper Heart? Yeah, the Never Again song. Well, she’s singing at the Bellissimo this month. Yeah. I’ll fly you out, you can watch her show. I’ll give you special seats, away from the crowd. Waddya say?” He listens for a moment and rubs his face. “So what? You don’t need Tad to go, Ma. I’ll go to the concert with you.”

Yeah, this is what makes it funny. Because this big and terrifying guy still answers to his mom, still turns into a pleading child. It’s downright sweet, actually.

“Ma, if you’re scared to fly, I’ll come and get you.” He throws up an impatient hand, Italian style. “Who cares if Tad has to cook his own dinners? That stronzo will get by—” Tony heaves a giant sigh. “Fine. Fine. Forget about it. I just want you to get out and do something you enjoy for a change. Get away from—” He rubs his jaw. It’s only noon, but he’s already showing signs of a five o’clock shadow. “All right, all right. Yeah, I love you, too. Bye, Ma.” He ends the call with a scowl just as the plane starts to taxi.

I borrow his phone and take a selfie of the two of us with it, then open to his recent calls and copy the number to text. I send it to his mom with the words, Hi, from Pepper Heart. Hope to see you at my show!

Tony takes the phone back, looks at the message, and stares at me. I’ve turned back to the notebook, which I’m doodling with lyrics and overheard words and phrases. I feel the heat of his gaze.

“Hey, songbird.”

I glance up without lifting my head, like I can’t be bothered.

He leans down to meet my eyes. “Thank you. That was damn sweet of you.” He keeps staring at me, like he wants to say more.

I can’t read his gaze, which unnerves me, because I usually know exactly what’s up with people. I swallow and he drops his focus to my notebook, like he’s waiting for me to write something.

We both stare at the tip of my pen, the paper expanding beneath it. I write, I touched myself last night.

Tony inhales sharply. His hand slides across the back of my neck and up into my hair. Then his fingers curl slowly and he tugs, pulling my head back against the seat. “You’re just dying to feel my authority, aren’t you, baby?” His lips hover over my ear, the deep notes of his voice reverberating through my body.

I close my eyes, part my lips. Melt into the scene.

“Tell me, songbird, did you come?”

My eyes flutter open and I grip the pen. Yes, but it didn’t satisfy me. My heart pounds in anticipation. I know what I’m inviting. I definitely know I’m playing with fire here. But it’s the first time I’ve been interested in anything in so long. How can I let this moment pass? This opportunity to actually live for once?

“You need me to finish what I started?”

I nod unsteadily.

His grip tightens in my hair, little pinpricks of pain heightening my excitement. “Put your hand between your legs.”

My gaze shoots to his. Is he serious? Here? Now?

He drops my tray table to obscure the view and arches a stern brow.

I pick up my courier bag and plop it on my lap, then slide my hand under the canvas to cup my mons.

Tony’s hand still controls my head, scrunching up my hair in the back. He catches sight of the tiny heart I have tattooed at the base of my skull and groans. Leaning over, he flicks it with his tongue. “That’s so pretty, songbird.” He uses his thumb to lightly stroke the shell of my ear. “Inside your panties now,” he murmurs.

I stop breathing for a moment, but a whisper in my head says, do it. Live a little.

I slide my fingers under the gusset of my panties. I’m wet, and touching myself nearly makes me moan. It’s suddenly way too hot in the airplane cabin.

“Now rub that little clitty. Rub it like it’s Aladdin’s lamp.”

My face goes slack and I slouch in my seat, the pad of my index finger moving over my little button.

“Tap it now. Give it a little spank. That’s what I’m going to do as soon as we get off this plane.”

My chest lifts and falls like the heaving bosom of every heroine in a Regency romance as I obey him, tapping my clit with as much force as I can get without lifting my whole hand.

“Now dip a finger inside that pussy and give me a taste.”

Oh lordy. My face heats and I don’t move for a moment. I’m not sure I can do this.

Tony tugs my hair. “Now, songbird.”

Screw it. I dip a finger in. Lord, I’m wet. The moment my finger enters, my pussy lubricates, making everything slippery and smooth. Delicious. I don’t consider myself a sexual person. My one foray into a sexual relationship was awkward, at best. But right now I’ve never felt like such a sexual being. Like a hedonist, wanting to explore every pleasure possible for my body. I love having a witness, a coach. No, a boss.

Tony’s hand closes around my wrist. “Let me taste.” His gravelly voice almost sounds pained. I remove my finger and let him pull it to his mouth. He gives it a long suck, causing my pussy to squeeze and lift with each sweep of his tongue.

If my voice were capable of sound, I would’ve let out a mewl—the air definitely comes out that way.

He holds my gaze. “Even more delicious than I expected.”

A shiver of pleasure runs through me.

He takes another suck and gives my hand back. “No more touching. Not until I’ve had my mouth on that pussy and hear you scream.”

A mini-orgasm rolls through me. I’m all trembly and horny and ready to go off, and we still have forty minutes until we land.

Tony leans his head toward me. “I take that back. No screaming for you, songbird. That would be a bad idea.”

I can’t help but laugh, lifting my face to his. He’s smiling, his eyes warm and crinkled.

“You’ll just have to”—he waves his hands in the air as if to help him think—“clap for me.”

I giggle and he chuckles, too.

I look away. It’s one thing to have crazy hate sex with this guy, but I definitely don’t want to start liking him. Not when he’s the asshole putting a choke-hold on me and my family.

We’re the first ones off the plane and Tony moves through the airport with long strides. I decide he wasn’t serious about spanking my pussy. It was part of his torture of getting me excited and then telling me no. Another punishment.

But then he makes a sharp turn and tugs me toward a restroom. A stand-alone family restroom.

Thank the lord.

The second we’re inside and the door is locked, he pins me to the wall, my wrists pinioned under his meaty palm, his other hand stroking between my legs. His lips crash down with a kiss.

It’s a hard, demanding kiss, the kind that leaves you breathless. The kind that I thought only happened in those movies where the characters are tearing each other’s clothes off. And yeah, that’s what I want to do. I run my hands over Tony’s hard body, exploring the hard lines of his washboard abs, his thick cock straining under his pants.

He drops to his knees, apparently not caring about his nice trousers getting dirty, and tears my panties off. With one hand pressing my middle against the wall, and one holding my knee up, he dives in, shocking me with his tongue.

He clearly knows exactly what he’s doing. The guy licks me from anus to clit without hesitation. I squirm against the wall, silent squeaks coming from my throat. He slides two fingers in me, stretching my pussy as he flicks his tongue over my clit.

“Jesus, you’re tight, baby.”

“Yeah,” I pant.

He shoves his fingers in and out, hard. “No talking.” His tone is deep and hard.

I throw my head back, my standing leg buckling.

It doesn’t matter; he holds me up, fucking me with two fingers, sucking my clit. When he changes position to put his thumb in my pussy and a finger on my anus, I shriek.

“Uh uh. No sounds. Hold your breath and I’ll make you come.” His wicked fingers keep working every erogenous zone, massaging my anus, pumping in and out of my pussy.

I do as he says and hold my breath.

He’s right. The deprivation of oxygen brings me right to the brink and then hurtling over the edge. I keep holding my breath through the orgasm that makes my entire body convulse with pleasure, not dragging in a long, desperate breath until I’m on the other end of it.

And then I nearly pass out.

When the room stops spinning, I find myself pinned against the tile by Tony’s large body. I cling to his shirt, panting.

“Fuck, Pepper. You have the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

I scoff and shove him away enough to drop down to my knees. I definitely owe him one.

He unbuckles his belt and opens his pants. His cock springs out, already erect. I open my mouth and lick around the head, then take him deeper.

He grabs my hair. “Wait, wait, wait.” He pulls his cock out of my mouth. “I don’t want to fuck with your throat, songbird.”

I’m actually… shocked.

What man cares more about a girl’s throat than getting head? Even if that girl is supposed to make him nine hundred grand with her voice.

He grasps my upper arms and pulls me up to stand, then spins me around and bends me over the sink counter. Smack. His palm greets ass before he shoves my dress up to my waist. I turn around to make sure he has a condom, and he does; he’s ripping it open with his teeth.

For a moment, I have that queasy panic I get before sex, like I need to fight but can’t, and it scares me, but then he wraps his huge hand around my throat, caging it loosely and meets my gaze in the mirror. Instantly, I’m captivated by the moment, turned to putty in his hands.

“You like to pretend this is payment due, right, beautiful?” His lips are at my temple.

My brain stutters on his assertion, but my ass pushes back, heat pouring through my pelvis.

His grin is feral as he rubs the head of his cock against my entrance. “I’ll play that game.” He pushes into me and I gasp at the stretch. “But we both know you’re the beggar here.” He eases in. “Madonna, you’re tight.” He goes still, seeking my gaze in the mirror again. “Please tell me you’re not a virgin.”

I laugh and shake my head.

“Thank fuck.” He draws back and pushes in again, filling, filling, filling me. It’s delicious. There’s no ickiness, no fear. Only pleasure, and the desire for more.

And he gives me more.

Because Tony Brando doesn’t hold back. And he’s a dirty mofo, too. As soon as he’s plowed me open, he’s working his thumb into my ass, using saliva to screw it in.

The sensation shocks me. It’s naughty and wrong and feels so good. He holds me captive with the thumb in my ass—ensures I’ll brace myself against the counter and hold still as he delivers thrust after punishing thrust.

“Is this how you pictured it, baby? You wanted me to give it you in the ass?”

I shake my head, then nod, then whimper.

He reaches around and pinches my nipple, shoving his hand down the front of my dress and into my bra. “Let go, baby.”

I don’t know what he means, except to turn off my brain, to stop trying to figure out what all this means about me.

“Take it,” he growls. “Take it, little songbird.”

I moan, a real sound, and he fucks me harder, faster. My hips bump painfully against the counter, but he must notice, because he shifts to wrap his arm around my waist, protecting me.

“I’m coming,” he announces, and my body must take it as a cause for celebration, because I come, too. The moment he shoves in deep and stays, my muscles squeeze and milk his cock, ripples of release flowing down my inner thighs and the backs of my legs.

Tony curses softly in Italian and eases out, disposing of the condom and washing his hands. I don’t move—mostly because I don’t think my legs will hold me. Brando moistens a paper towel and cleans me, which is both embarrassing and sweet. He retrieves my soaked panties from the floor and helps me step into them, sliding them up and arriving with his hands on my ass.

He steals a kiss, like he’s sampling my taste, then rubs his lips together. “Mmm. You okay?”

I nod.

“Can you walk?”

I laugh and nod. Is it normal to not be able to walk after sex? Apparently with Tony Brando it is.