Tony

I send a messenger to Pepper’s room the next morning with a note.

Pepper,

I’m cancelling your shows for a week. No talking!

You must remain here at the Bellissimo during your hiatus.

An acupuncturist and herbalist will come to your suite to treat you at 11 a.m. this morning.

Other than that, your time is yours. Book any appointment at the spa for yourself. If you want me to show you around the casino or Vegas, text me at 872-394-4424.

-Tony

It took me ten tries to write it and as soon as I send it, I wish I hadn’t. I should just leave her alone. I’m already too involved. If I get in any deeper, I’m gonna make bad decisions. I won’t be able to do the job.

Funny how it’s hard to give a shit about the job any time I’m thinking of her, though.

I want to know her more. Want to find out what makes her happy. What slows her down. I get the sense she sees herself as a failure right now, and I’d give anything to be able to turn that around for her.

But what do I know about the music business? Or pop stars? Or Pepper’s untainted millennial heart?

I definitely have nothing to offer this girl.

I don’t hear anything about her other than that the acupuncturist saw her and left her with Chinese herbs until late afternoon, when my security team alerts me to a situation.

“Mr. Brando, we have a large crowd gathering on the pool deck near the west waterfalls. Pepper Heart has been signing autographs for the past forty minutes and the crowd has grown.”

Another agent adds, “We may want to pull the plug on this before it gets out of control, boss. It’s been posted on social media and people are coming in off the street now.”

“I’m on my way.” I stride through the casino, trying to ignore the pressure under my ribs. Pepper is fine. My guys are there. Her bodyguard is there. Nothing’s going to happen. Still, I don’t breathe until I’m on the pool deck, pushing through the crowd. That’s the good thing about being a big, mean-looking guy—no throng is too thick for me to get through.

I force myself to slow down and unclench my fists when I get to her side. The urge to start barking orders and immediately disperse the crowd is strong, but I have to take into account Pepper’s enjoyment. She’s all smiles. She’s using the notepad I gave her, holding up signs to answer their questions. She’s posing for selfies with them. She’s signing autographs and bumping fists.

She likes her fans.

She’s happy doing this.

I hold up my finger to the young people holding up their phones to take photos and lean over to speak in Pepper’s ear. “Same drill as yesterday. Squeeze my arm when you’re ready for a break.”

She doesn’t look at me, but she nods and keeps up her fan interactions. Waiters appear carrying pizzas, which they pass out to the people. “Compliments of Ms. Heart,” they say. The kids cheer and dive for the food like ravenous beasts.

My guys are right; the crowd keeps growing. The more of a spectacle the Pepper Heart fans cause, the more people join.

I don’t like it.

I fucking hate it.

Still, I make it my job to facilitate. “Ms. Heart’s resting her voice right now, so she can’t speak. If you’d like a selfie with her, please form a line here to my left.” I point to the ground beside me. “Right here.” My voice booms out over the crowd and bodies shuffle into formation.

“Autograph or a selfie, not both.” That’s my next executive decision in the effort to move people through the line and away. “When you’re finished, please clear this area to my right. Thank you.”

Ten minutes goes by. Twenty.

The crowd is only getting larger. Every person who bought tickets to the show tonight is apparently here, trying to make up for the loss.

Finally Pepper turns to me, but she doesn’t squeeze my arm. She writes on her pad, What can we do? I feel bad about letting them all down.

“Yeah, so do I, songbird. It’s life. You ready for a break?”

She worries the inside of her cheek. I’m pretty sure she’s wiped but feels guilty leaving them unsatisfied.

“Okay, everyone. That’s it for now. Ms. Heart needs a break.”

The fans groan and shout their protests. “I bought tickets for tonight. I should get a chance!” one girl yells.

“She’s staying here in the casino all week, even though she won’t be singing. Stick around and there may be other pop-up meet and greet opportunities. Remember, tickets are all refundable if you can’t come to a rescheduled show. Go and see the booking office for more information. Thanks, folks!”

I wrap a loose arm around Pepper’s waist and hustle her away before more people make demands. Her bodyguard stays on the other side of her, sticking close. It’s exactly what he should be doing, but I still want to punch his teeth in. I’m beginning to hate her whole fucking team, except maybe that blue-haired roadie who stuck by her last night. Shouldn’t she at the very least have a personal assistant helping her manage situations like this?

Or hell, arranging them? I don’t know.

I don’t like feeling like Pepper Heart is hanging out in the wind for everyone to take advantage of.

I especially hate knowing I’m a part of that shit.

Pepper

I shouldn’t be so happy to be in Tony’s keeping again, but I am. The guy should’ve been a band manager. He’s ten times better than Hugh. He just seems to get it. He knows the fans are important. He understands sometimes it’s about giving back to them, and not just selling albums or tickets to a concert. That it’s about loving on them.

He sees that but he also takes care of “the talent.” Of me. He knew when I was done, even when I wouldn’t admit it.

And I am totally and completely exhausted.

And famished.

I elbow Tony and he looks down, a wrinkle of concern on his forehead. “What is it, songbird?”

Songbird.

I love his pet name for me. So much better than when he throws out sweetheart, which always sounds a little scornful.

I put my fingers to my lips and attempt the sign language sign for eat or food or something like that.

“You’re hungry? Let’s get you some food. You want fancy or casual?” He holds two palms out, talking with his hands, as always. I slap the palm he put out for casual.

He chuckles. “Casual? Okay. You like burgers? There’s a great joint up the strip. I’ll take you there.”

I nod.

He directs his attention to Anton, who we’ve both been ignoring. “You take a hike. I got it from here.”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Brando. My job is to stay with Ms. Heart at all times.”

“I respect that, I do. But I don’t want you tagging along. Your boss can take it up with me if he wants.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“For a burger.” Tony’s already leading me away, and he doesn’t bother to turn around to answer Anton. “Trust me, nobody’s gonna fuck with her when I’m around.” He sounds every inch what he is: a dangerous mobster and I have zero doubts it’s true.

Nobody screws with a guy like Tony Brando unless they want to end up with cement shoes.

And that should scare me, like it did yesterday, instead of making me feel all glowy and safe.

Tony leads me through the casino and into an elevator to the parking garage below. He opens the passenger door to a black BMW. I’m not sure if I should be impressed with his manners or not. Is chivalry normal for mobsters? I try to think of the mafia movies I’ve seen. Yeah, I think they might be chivalrous. There’s an old world code these men live by, and it involves protecting women. Tony, especially.

I get in the car and we take a short drive to a hipster diner—one of those retro kind of places with the 50’s decor and a classic menu with upgrades. Like BLTs with avocado on gluten-free bread. And ten different kinds of burgers.

“Whad’llya have?” Tony asks before the waitress gets there. I point to the bacon burger and sweet potato fries. “To drink?” I shake my head. “Does that mean water?” I nod.

Tony grins. “Never imagined I’d be playing twenty questions with America’s darling of alternative pop.”

I flip him off.

“Watch it, songbird. Don’t forget I own you.” His smile is fond, like this is a game we play and he enjoys his role.

Well, hell, I’m starting to as well. More than that, I’m starting to enjoy myself. It’s like I’m thawing out from the ice cube I was frozen in. Coming back to life, minute by minute.

“How was acupuncture?” Tony asks.

Not as scary as I feared, I write and his lips curve. I actually do feel better now. She gave me some herbs to make a tea with.

The waitress comes and Tony places the order while I write on my notepad, How’d you get involved with the Tacone family? I slide the pad across to him after she leaves.

His eyebrows shoot up. “You really asking this of me?”

I nod.

He mutters something that sounds like a curse word in Italian. I want to ask if he speaks it, but I wait for the answer to the more important question. He rubs his jaw. “Known them since I was a kid. Grew up with Nico—same grade in school.”

I wait, knowing from Sondra there’s more. When he doesn’t elaborate, I pull the notepad back. So what? They recruit in grade school?

He reads my words and then stares back at me. “Sweetheart, you remember what the first rule of fight club is?”

I roll my eyes. I print, I’m not asking for anything that can be used in court against you. I just want to know how you got in with them.

He rubs his face again and taps the table with his fingers. “You want something from me. Something personal.” It’s an accusation. Or maybe it just sounds that way from his tough guy inflection.

But he’s right. I’m digging for signs of humanity here. Scraping off the veneer to see what’s underneath. Is there a soul beneath the expensive suit and the aggressive personality? I nod, holding his dark gaze.

“I was in a jam. Something bad. The don pulled me out of it. Got me through. Took care of me and my ma. He was a scary, demanding bastard, but to me?” Tony shrugs. “My salvation.”

What jam? I’m sure I wouldn’t have the guts to ask with my real voice, but it’s like the pen gives me power. Makes me bold.

His eyes narrow. “I don’t talk about it.”

Is he here in Vegas? I write on the notepad.

“Who?”

The don.

Tony shakes his head. “Federal prison in Illinois. His oldest son runs the Chicago operation. That’s who you borrowed money from.” He narrows his eyes. “Or Hugh did. Tell me, how did it go down?”

Ugh. Heaviness descends on my body at the mention of the whole thing. At the end of the day, I could point my fingers all over the place, but I’m the one to blame. If I’d ever chosen to grow up sometime on this seven year rollercoaster ride, I would’ve taken responsibility for my own financial picture.

But I was sixteen when my first album went platinum. Hugh was my dad’s manager and a good family friend. He and my parents called the shots. They’d been in the business forever. They knew how things worked. I kept making music, enjoying stardom, loving life.

Until it all came crashing down around my ears.

My mom got breast cancer and my parents had to stop touring with me while she went through her surgery and treatment. She kicked it, but she and my dad never recovered. It’s like they needed to hunker down, stay in the house, stare at each other. My mom says she’s enjoying life.

Maybe she is.

Anyway, by then I was twenty-one. I didn’t need my parents tagging along. I thought I was all grown up. I was a late bloomer sexually, but I got involved with Jake, the drummer in the band. But Jake and I didn’t work out, and Hugh got rid of him the first chance he could. And my muse went quiet.

Somewhere, at some point, I got lost in the world of people who want to use me, make money off me, or suck me dry.

“Spill, songbird.” Tony raps the table with his knuckles.

I pick up the pen. We had a disagreement with the record label on Solid Rain, the album before the last one. Hugh thought we’d do better on our own, and he found a loophole in the contract. He produced my last record, which sucked.

It still pains me to think about the piece of shit album we put out. I put out. Again, I’m failing to take responsibility for my career and life.

He was so sure we’d make millions. He and my parents bought their Beverly Hills mansions. Then, when the money was slow coming in, he said he found investors.

Tony’s reading my words upside down. “Junior Tacone.”

Yeah, I guess.

So you know the rest. The album tanked. We’re nine hundred grand in the hole. I’m your bird in a cage until you set me free. I smack him with an accusing gaze.

“Why not sell the mansions?”

Something thick and heavy shifts in my belly. Why not, indeed?

“You said it’s your parents’ mansion? Or it’s yours? What did you get out of this deal?”

I’m pissed off by the tears that spring into my eyes. I blink furiously, looking away.

Tony abruptly slams back in his chair like he’s pissed. “I fucking knew it. Don’t tell me everyone around you is making themselves comfortable while you’re hanging out to dry. I already want to kill your asshole manager.”

I get up from the table, sending my chair skittering back behind me. I run for the door, covering my mouth with one hand before the sob caught in my throat comes out.

Tony’s surprisingly quick for such a big guy. He’s right out the door behind me, wrapping a strong arm around my waist and pulling me against him. “Songbird, don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His chin rests on the top of my head, his large hand splays over my belly, stroking heat in my body, despite my angst.

“I’m not crying,” I croak through my tears.

“Shh.” His lips are at my ear. “Of course you’re not.” He turns me around and produces a handkerchief. Who in the hell uses a handkerchief anymore? I dry my eyes with it and we both look back through the plate glass window to see the waitress delivering our burgers. “Come on, baby. I know you’re hungry,” he coaxes.

I hand the handkerchief back and push back through the door.

I sit down, but I’ve lost my appetite now. I tear off the sheets from my notepad and crumple them up, wanting to destroy the evidence, kill that story.

“When this is over, songbird, I hope you’ll do something.”

I drag my eyes up to his face.

“Buy yourself a mansion. Or a sweet ride. Or whatever lights you up. Treat yourself to everything that floats your boat.”

I pick up a sweet potato fry and dip it in the fancy sauce with a dismissive shrug.

“Nothing turns you on? Or you already have everything you want?”

I shrug again. It’s pretty fun playing mute. Lets me off the hook in many ways.

“Then…” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Then, I hope you’ll fire that testa di cazzo manager of yours.”

The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that’s sort of always there with any thought concerning Hugh returns.

“Nevermind. It’s none of my business.”

No, I write. You’re right. Hugh has to go.

I don’t know why it was so hard for me to arrive at that. I guess because my dad hired him and I figured he knew best. But borrowing money from the mob and putting all of our lives at risk is grounds for dismissal. I’m not sure anyone would argue against that.

Tony looks at me steadily. “I have your back. Whenever you want to do it. No pressure.” He holds his hands up. “But I don’t think you need him here.”

I tap the notepad with my pen as the thoughts tumble around my head. Finally, I write, I need to square up with your outfit first.

Tony eats his last fry. “You worried I’ll off him?” My shock must show on my face because he quickly shakes his head. “Oh, you want to keep his feet to the fire. That makes sense. Not that he’s much of a buffer, the coglione.” He pulls out a small notebook and checks it. “I got fifteen grand for his furnishings, by the way.”

My stomach knots. The casual way Tony discusses things like offing people or cleaning out their houses of furniture sends warning bells going off in my head.

To make matters worse, I think he guesses my thoughts, because he grows sober, almost regretful, but with a streak of tight resolve. It’s the same quiet he gave me after we stopped at Hugh’s and I freaked out yesterday.

And it’s that little piece that possibly gets under my skin more than anything. Tony knows what he is. And he knows it’s wrong.

And I’m pretty sure he regrets it on some level.

But his loyalty is to the Tacones.

He may have my back with Hugh, but he’s the full-on enemy when it comes to my situation with the mob. I need to remember that.

I need to stop spending time with this man. Because I’m in danger of falling for him, and that would be the worst possible thing.

Tony

Pepper’s edgy on the way back to the Bellissimo and I know why. She remembered I’m the guy holding her tits to the fire right now. I’m the guy she’s supposed to be afraid of.

I would do well to remember that, too.

Because I was just about on the verge of promising I’d never let anyone hurt her. Which isn’t an oath I can make.

Even knowing I need to get space from this girl, she rides my senses the whole drive home. Her crisp apple and cucumber scent fills my car, her perfect little body keeps drawing my eyes and I long to do or say anything to see that unguarded smile she tosses out far too infrequently.

The glances she steals tell me the attraction’s still there for her, too. Hell, the sex we had yesterday in that airport bathroom was off the charts hot. I’d be lying if I said I’m not dying for a repeat.

I also realize how unlikely and unwise that would be.

Do I want to teach her thirty more lessons about what it’s like to take my cock in every orifice? Yes. Yes, I do. And I’m one-hundred percent certain she would enjoy every minute of those lessons. The girl is kinked, and I know exactly how to give it to her.

But she’s scared of me and pissed off about what I represent, and who can blame her? I’m definitely the enemy here.

And if I’m going to deliver on this job, I need to get a little distance.

Otherwise, I’m going to be the one owing the Tacones 900 grand.

I pull into the Bellissimo, but Pepper doesn’t move to get out. “What’s up, songbird? You wanna go somewhere else?”

She turns her beautiful face to me, her skin almost as pale as the platinum hair, her dark-lined eyes big and warm. She’s like a fairy or a sprite. A quirky feminine spirit in a halter top, skinny jeans and a different pair of Doc Martens. Ones with skulls on them. I don’t even know what she was doing at the pool. I don’t think she’s wearing a swimsuit under that top.

She nods and writes on her notepad. I’m so sick of being with the same people, holed up in another hotel.

“I get it. Okay. There’s a million things to do in Vegas. I could take you to a show. Magic or dance or music. There’s carnival type stuff; the largest Ferris wheel and shit like that.”

She writes, music.

“Music? Yeah? I thought you’d be sick of that, too.” I pull out my phone and search for who’s playing where. I show her the list. Her face lights up and she taps on a gig The Sores are playing. They’re a British rock band from the late seventies, a key player in the British punk movement.

I chuckle. Of course she loves punk. I hadn’t noticed before, but I hear the echoes of it in some of her early music. The music that broke her into the mainstream with a bang. “You got it. We have a little time. Want to change your clothes or go like that?”

She opens the car door as her answer.

I don’t know why I find every thing she does so damn cute.

Pepper

There’s a downright spring in my step as Tony accompanies me up to my suite. I can’t remember the last time I was excited to do anything. Even perform, which I truly love.

I expect Tony to drop me off, but he comes in. I guess it makes sense, considering last time I made a point of changing in front of him. I throw open my closet and pick out a strapless black lace sheath. I kick off my boots.

Tony doesn’t turn his back like a gentleman, he watches my every move, his eyes glued to my body, lids heavy as I pull off my top and shimmy out of my jeans. The room is charged with sexual tension, air crackling and snapping between us.

A riff starts to play in my head. Words twist in my ear. It’s the first time my muse has shown up in ages.

My nipples tighten up. I’m standing there in nothing but my cotton panties when I straighten and face him. I can’t quite bring myself to make a move. That feels wrong. Because he’s not my boyfriend, or even my date.

He’s my keeper.

And I want him to take from me.

Without me having to give.

Somehow, like every time, he seems to know exactly what I want. He takes his jacket off and tosses it on a chair, then unbuttons his sleeve cuffs and rolls them up. “I believe I promised you a spanking yesterday if you spoke.”

He loosens his tie. “And you did speak, didn’t you, songbird?”

My panties dampen, lips part.

He stalks forward, pulling his tie out of his collar and grabs one of my wrists. I’m too fascinated to even play at resisting as he binds it together with the other one and wraps them up tight with his tie.

Oh God, yes.

This. Please.

He slides his hands down my waist and cups my ass. When he squeezes my cheeks roughly, I press my body against his, rub my bare breasts against his ribs.

He mutters something that sounds like fanculo, and slides his hands inside my panties, down my bare hips, forcing the fabric to lower to my thighs.

My belly flutters as I suddenly remember that his last spanking hurt as much as it turned me on. I consider begging him to be gentle, but forget it when he cups my mons, sliding a finger along my juicy slit.

“Mmm,” he rumbles. “Excited, songbird?”

I jerk and tremble under his touch, my entire being vibrating with excitement, my body tuned perfectly to his particular brand of sex.

“Yeah.” I speak without thinking, but it works perfectly to get more of what I need.

Tony tsks and whirls me around, propping my bound hands on the dresser/TV stand. “What did I tell you about talking?” His voice is rough masculine sex. Dirty, growly, gravelly. It makes me think of bull riders and mafia dons. His hand crashes down on my ass and I yelp.

“Shh.” He immediately rubs my offended cheek, soothing away the sting. “No whimpering either, songbird. Do I need to find you a gag?”

I shake my head.

“Good girl. Push your ass back for your spanking. If it’s too much, kick me with your foot. Otherwise I’m gonna give you what I think you need. Capiche?”

I’m smiling down at the dresser. Capiche, I answer in my head. No, that’s probably not how it’s conjugat—ouch!

He slaps me again, on the other cheek this time, then rubs again. It’s delicious. My pussy’s so wet, I leak moisture onto my inner thighs. He picks up his pace, slapping many times, alternating right and left cheeks.

I shift from foot to foot, holding my breath, trying not to cry out.

“Spread ‘em,” he commands.

I open my legs, knowing what it means. Yep. A nicely placed slap, right between my legs. My clit screams. Sings. Hums. He slaps my pussy again. Twice more.

I stamp my feet, not from the pain, but from the urgency to come. The need for much more than a slap between my legs. I’ve never experienced the sensation of emptiness with a man before. Of craving penetration. With a cock. It’s like nothing else will do.

But Tony’s got his own plan. He returns to spanking my ass until it’s hot and stingy. Then he spins me around and picks me up by the waist, plopping my bare ass on top of the dresser.

He pulls my panties off my legs where they were tangled, still. “Open wide, baby. I need to taste your sweet little cunt again.”

I’m pretty sure my face gets hot, but I do as he says, spreading my knees wide. He slides his hands under my thighs and pulls my ass right to the edge of the dresser. The moment his tongue licks into me, I shriek.

He lifts his head and sends me a stern look. “No. Noises. Squeal again and I’ll give it to you hard in the ass, understand?”

My pelvic floor lifts and squeezes, thrills of excitement fluttering through me.

He spreads my labia with his thumbs and takes his time—way too much time—tracing the insides. I shiver and pant, bite back my moans.

He sucks my clit. I bring my bound hands to his head, wrap my fingers in his hair and pull.

He chuckles against me and lifts his head, his lips glossy with my juices. Holding my gaze, he slides two fingers inside me.

My hips pop and I take him deeper. He pinches my nipple with his free hand as his fingers stroke my inner wall, making me crazy. My legs shoot out straight, shake, kick. My belly flutters and trembles. He pumps harder, his knuckles bumping my entrance, his fingers driving me wild inside.

“Please!” I babble. “P-please.”

He releases my nipple and catches my nape, pulling my face to his. “Quiet,” he growls and mashes his lips over mine. I come, screaming into his mouth, shoving myself over his fingers, my inner thighs squeezing his wrist like I want to break it.

He keeps his knuckles buried in me, still stroking slowly as my muscles clench and release around him.

So that’s what an orgasm is like. I know he’s made me come before, but it suddenly no longer seems like just a fluke. In fact, it seems much clearer how it works. How easy and wonderful it can be.

Why did I ever think it was complicated and hard?

Tony keeps kissing me, and as my orgasm passes, I melt into it, slipping my tongue between his lips, receiving his. He kisses and kisses, like he’s trying to devour me, and I’m engulfed by the sensation of belonging. Of being. Like I’m my true essence, which he completely accepts. Totally receives. And he returns to me his true essence. Not a mafia enforcer. Not a broken, soulless man. But someone capable of meeting me here. In this place. Where we just are.

It doesn’t make sense, and yet I don’t need it to. I’m going to write songs about it, and explore it for many albums to come. I’ve discovered something here. Something essentially human. Something about intimacy and life.

Something about joy.

Tony slips his fingers out and picks me up, straddling his waist. He carries me to the bed and drops me down on my back.

I’m still boneless and limp from the finger-fucking. I’m no longer desperate for his touch, but I’m primed for more. I want him to take me hard and rough. To remind me how a man like him fucks.

I spread my knees, watching as he unbuttons his shirt and shucks the undershirt. He’s as I imagined—brawny, hairy-chested. Tattooed on both shoulders and down one forearm.

He gets rid of his shoes, pants and boxers and climbs over me, a condom already out of its packet. I watch as he rolls it on his large, veiny cock, lift my pelvis up to receive him.

He eases into me. “So fucking tight, baby. You squeeze my cock so good.” It’s great until he tips his body over mine, bracing his arms beside my head and suddenly, I get that fight or flight response.

The one I got with Jake every time we tried to have sex. The one that comes with the queasy sick feeling.

I try to swallow it down, but my hands are already pushing at Tony’s chest.

He rears immediately back, pulls out. “What happened?” He sounds alarmed.

I sit up and shake my head, tears of frustration spearing my eyes. Why do I have to get weird now? Dammit, I thought things with Tony would be different. It was going so well.

“Angel, what? Did I hurt you? You got scared? I know I’m a big guy, but you’ve taken me before.”

I cover my mouth trying to force the tears back. I’ve already cried once tonight. This is getting ridiculous. I’m not the kind of girl who cries. Ever.

He puts a knuckle under my chin to lift it. His expression is dark. “Who forced you?”

Surprise shoots through me like an electric shock. I want to deny it, yet all the nausea and heaviness immediately lifts. Like Tony’s named the problem and my body’s relieved I’m finally hearing it.

I scramble off the bed, wanting to be anywhere but in my skin. Wanting to think about anything but what he’s suggested.

I swallow.

Tony takes a careful step forward, like I’m a wild filly about to bolt. “You can tell me.” His voice is soft and dangerous. “I won’t kill him.” He cocks his head to the side. “Not unless you want me to.”

I’m suddenly shivering uncontrollably. “I don’t know,” I croak.

In a flash, I’m wrapped up in his strong arms, our naked bodies pressed together, his hard cock nudging my belly. Instantly, my body comes alive again, humming and vibrating from the touch of his skin. I toss my bound arms around his neck and jump, straddling him.

“I don’t want to think,” I whimper and bite his ear. “I don’t want to know.” I lick down his neck, bite his shoulder. “It was so easy with you. Make it hot again, Tony.”

Tony walks forward until my back hits a wall. “You want it hot, songbird? Ever been fucked against a wall?”

I shake my head and look down at our hips. He slides one arm under my leg so it rests draped over his forearm, and lines his cock up with my entrance. The condom’s still on, his erection still coated with my nectar.

He spears me, getting deeper than I would’ve guessed possible.

I thump my head back and close my eyes because my nervous system is shorting out from sensation. Tony eases back and thrusts in, filling me so full I fear I’ll come apart. My spine slides up on the wall, my toes curl where they’re wrapped around his thick torso. He plants one arm against the wall and holds my ass with the other. Every stroke is brutal and raw, like him.

I’ve already forgotten everything, flying on the rollercoaster of the moment. Drinking in the hedonistic pleasure of having my body and soul so thoroughly commanded. So used. So abused.

I don’t wonder why I like it this way. I don’t give two shits. All I care about is reaching the peak of this next crest, of falling over the edge with Tony, my partner in this beautiful crime.

Take me. Use me. Make me forget. Make me remember. Make me.

Make me yours, the muse murmurs.

Shut up, muse.

Not shutting up.

I’ve been shut up for too long.

You forgot you were alive.

It’s true. In that moment, I can see the truth. Not of everything. Not of the shadowy, sick thing that happened on my back with a man looming over me. The thing that must’ve happened before Tony. Before Jake.

No, but I see the truth of what it did to me. How I numbed myself to keep that thing in shadow.

Tony roars, his fingers digging into my ass. He shoves in deep and jerks, and I open my eyes to watch him come, like an Olympic athlete, all prowess and power.

I come, too, my body so pliant in his hands, I have no choice but to synchronize with him, my channel squeezing his cock, coaxing more cum from him.

At some point, he carries me to a chair and holds me there, straddling him. Our bodies intertwine like they belong together, my smaller frame fitting into his, my pale limbs woven through his darker ones. I breathe him in—his scent grounding me. Soothing me.

He rubs a hand up and down my spine. “You okay, baby? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head. Yeah, I’m definitely going to be sore, but I want something to remember this by.

Because I am utterly changed by this moment. Utterly torn apart and put back together.