Chapter Seven

Layla

The thing I loved most about my job was flex days. I had until eleven o’clock to get to work, which allowed me to do hot yoga at eight before I had to be in the office.

I needed hot yoga this morning, more than anyone in the history of the world has ever needed any kind of yoga, hot or otherwise. Eamon Connelly would expect an answer from me and I had to tell him yes. Yeah sure, I’m gonna let you fuck me for four days straight so you’ll cancel my dad’s debt. What the fuck am I getting myself into?

I’d pondered it all night long when I should have been sleeping to rest up for the full day of work I had ahead of me. What if Dad owed three or four grand? Seriously, I could pay that much to get him out of debt, but it was still a lot of money. Not that my dad’s life wasn’t important, but I didn’t even get to have fun gambling all that money away.

I wondered, would I whore myself out for a measly two thousand bucks? What if he only owed five hundred or a thousand? Oh, God. I’d be a cheap whore without even knowing it.

Then again, what if it was more than that and it got Eamon to thinking that maybe he’d be overpaying for the fuck and he’d extend it to a week? A month? No, four days was doable. Tolerable. Anything more than that, I just couldn’t stand.

I could get through four days of this. Mostly because I was a pretty tough chick, at least I liked to think I was. I’d had enough casual sex to know good sex didn’t equal love. But there was something in those swirling, colorful eyes of Eamon’s that told me he wouldn’t fight fair. He seemed like the kind of guy who played for keeps, played dirty to make sure every woman wanted him, even though he didn’t want to give them more than necessary.

He was a player in every sense of the word.

And that made me horny as fuck.

But I should know how much I was doing the deed for? Would I regret knowing my going rate?

“Ugh, stop!” I stared at myself in the mirror, smiling at the new burgundy blouse I picked out of my closet this morning. I finally ripped the price tag—there goes that word again—off and I promised myself that I’d kick my own ass if I thought about him one more time.

Work. I had to get to work. Today my team would start working on the official proposal for our new client and I was eager to get started. If he wanted to know my answer, he would find a way to get it, otherwise I was washing my hands of it.

Right now.

As of this moment.

Dammit.

Satisfied with my reflection and doubly satisfied that my attempt at cigarette pants didn’t make my ass look big, I vowed that I wouldn’t let anything ruin my day.

“You hear that, Universe? Nothing!”

I grabbed my bag, my purse and my phone, thinking of nothing but what my playlist would be. “Dammit, I should’ve kept that last part to myself.” Standing on my doorstep looking as fuckable as ever in a blue three-piece suit with a light blue shirt that made him look like a model, fresh from some steamy island destination instead of the dungeon he’d probably come from.

“Good morning to you too, princess.”

I wanted to smack him. “Layla. My name is Layla.”

“I know your name.”

Damn, this guy was what girls meant when they called someone sex on a stick. His voice pitched all low and gravelly, the tone meant to dampen panties and clench thighs. Mission accomplished, dammit.

“Then use it. Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here.”

He did it again and I nodded like some mute dummy. “You want an answer.” It wasn’t a question because that was the only possible reason he would show up.

“I do.”

Of course he did. I stepped forward at the same time Eamon did but of course he was at least a foot taller than me, maybe more, and his steps were bigger than mine, pushing me back into the house. “You don’t need to come in for the answer. I have to get to work.”

“You have time.” His tone was confident and that sent a shiver or maybe it was a thrill through me at the notion that he somehow knew about my flex days. “So, what’ll it be, Layla?”

Sweet baby Jesus. The man said my name better than Eric Clapton ever could and the way his rolled his tongue around each syllable had my mind thinking about that tongue curling around other things. But then I remembered. This wasn’t about desire, this was about possession, and it was technically commerce. I needed to remember that now more than ever. “I think you know I have to say yes.”

His eyes looked like pure gold against the blue suit with tiny lightning bolts of brown to complete his hot mob boss look. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“It must be nice to live such a black and white life. What I want, Eamon, is for my father to never have borrowed that damn money in the first place. That’s what I want so don’t give me that shit. You want it clear? Yes. Yes to the four days to clear the debt.” I didn’t miss the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that quickly turned to desire or the twisted smirk on his still kissable mouth.

“Good. I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.” The way he licked his lips guaranteed at least a partial good time for me. I just hoped it would be enough.

“Does it matter if I do?”

“It damn well does. When I slide my tongue deep inside that sweet wet cunt of yours and hear you scream my name, my cock will be so hard, so ready to burst.” I wasn’t ashamed to admit I swallowed. Hard. At the imagery. “And just to make sure you know when it happens, I’ll come all over those pretty tits of yours.”

Yes, please. I mean, maybe. I wasn’t really a girl who went for the porn shit. I could give a good blowjob but dude juice on my tits wasn’t really my thing. But to know he’d come that hard because of me? I might hate it a little less. “You have a dirty mouth.” Damn, why couldn’t my voice ever sound that husky when I wanted it to?

“You’ll like it. Don’t worry Layla, I promise to talk real dirty while I show you what I want to do to that smart mouth.”

I shivered. I fucking shivered. At least I’d get some guaranteed orgasms. I liked guaranteed orgasms. A lot.

“My place, tonight at seven. I’ll send a car.”

And now we’d officially moved into Pretty Woman territory. There was no need to respond because he wasn’t asking any damn questions. Only issuing orders. I was determined to be pissed about that even though it turned me on way more than it should have.

I cursed Eamon’s name on my fifteen-minute-drive to work. I squeezed my knees together in the elevator just thinking about that leather and pine scent I knew was somehow all him. I cursed his name even as I made a last-minute lunchtime appointment for a full wax and buff. And a quick stop at a lingerie shop before I headed home at the end of the day.

If I was going to do this, then I’d have the armor I needed.

***

I expected that a mob boss—or whatever the other guys in the mob who aren’t bosses—would live in some swanky condo in downtown Rocket or one of those flashy monstrosities inside the gated communities that now dotted the city. But when we drove up to the modern cement and glass structure that practically blended into the mountain behind it, I thought the driver had made a mistake. This was where Eamon called home? I stood inside a paved circular driveway beside the young female driver, but I couldn’t see inside because of the lack of windows.

“Wait here,” she instructed before turning around, getting behind the wheel and driving off.

Leaving me standing there like a creeper. More like creepy with the whole lack of windows thing, especially now that we were on the wrong side of the sunset thanks to his man cave of a house. Though it was modern, the house had a distinctly gothic vibe or maybe that was just the trick of the light. Or my nerves.

“Come closer, Layla. I won’t bite until later.”

I scanned the wall until I spotted Eamon, looking fuckable as hell in a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Fuck me, the man looked good in a suit, like extra Good with a capital ‘G’ kind of good but in jeans, he was downright devastating. “I didn’t want to guess where the door might be on your booby trap house.”

His deep laugh sounded amused and well used, like he laughed a lot. I didn’t imagine mob workers smiled all that much, but maybe Eamon really liked his job. “Come on in princess.”

Once inside the house I was surprised by how well-lit it was. Maybe I’d been expecting a dark den of sin with gas lanterns and a creepy butler with a sloping hump in his back. But everything about the house was bright, cheerful even, which took a minute to adjust to when I was expecting red and black leather, whips, chains, sexual torture devices and guns. Couldn’t forget the guns since he was a mobster, after all. “Layla.” I reiterated.

“Right. Princess just seems so fitting.”

“Yeah, know a lot of princesses like me, do ya?” Not that I wanted to know a damn thing about the kind of women he dated, fucked and forgot, but he was so sure of himself, so sure of who he thought I was.

“Can’t say I do.”

“It creeps me out. My dad calls me that.”

His eyes raked over my body, slow and lazy, like a lover’s caress. And we weren’t lovers.

When he put his hand on his hip, the light caught on his arm and that was when I saw it. Or rather, them. Tattoos. Lots of them, in fact. Two partial sleeves of color and vibrant imagery. “You like the art?”

I blinked and looked at his handsome smirking face. “It’s nice. Colorful and unexpected.”

“Glad you approve. This way.” I didn’t miss his mocking tone but I chose to keep quiet. This wasn’t a date. It was a debt.

I followed behind Eamon, mostly staring at his ass because it was a fine ass. Just round enough to know that he was physically fit. If I squeezed it or nibbled it, I knew both cheeks would be firm. Judging by the way the jeans hugged his thighs, he was strong enough to lift me up and fuck me against the wall. Any wall. The wall right here. Now.

“Cool design. Did you buy it like this?”

Eamon stopped inside a large room with two sectional sofas and plenty of art on the walls and even a few sculptures. The room was decorated in warm colors, and everything about it screamed high class. Quality. Luxury. “We don’t have to do this, Layla. The small talk.”

“Right.” I straightened my spine and removed the black jacket I grabbed on my way out the door. Since we were doing that whole Pretty Woman thing, it revealed the short red strapless dress I wore underneath. It was short and tight and my boobs were barely stuffed into it, but the look in his eyes right now was totally worth the discomfort and acrobatics I’d needed to get into it.

“Nice dress.” His voice was dark and thick with desire and when I looked down, his cock was straining to get out of his jeans. I may have clenched a little.

“No small talk,” I reminded him as I slid one hand down the side of my dress in search of the zipper. I found the tiny gold tab and tugged it down, slowly until it stopped at my hip, leaving me to find a graceful way out of it. Luckily this wasn’t my first time performing a striptease for a guy. I let the fabric fall into a pool around my feet, stepped out of it and kicked it away. “Will here do?” There was a plush carpet in front of a freestanding fireplace and a sectional just close enough that the fire would keep two naked bodies perfectly warm, maybe even sweaty once things got going.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Okay, now I was the one who was confused. “If you don’t want small talk then clearly you want to get right to the fucking, right?” There were no other options and now that I’d finally gotten my courage up to accept this, he wanted to play games. Because, men.

“There will be fucking, don’t you worry about that. My cock is so hard right now just thinking about pounding into your tight little cunt, but don’t think you can manipulate your way out of this.” In an instant his gaze went from dark and playful to dark, dangerous and sobering. I could see the gangster within him and it thrilled me as much as it terrified me.

“Eamon, I’m confused. You don’t want to talk and you don’t want to fuck, so what am I doing here? And in brand new lingerie, I might add.”

“Eager?”

Resigned was more accurate, but I didn’t think saying so would get the evening off to the right start. So I searched for a more appropriate word and came up with one. “Prepared.”

“Likes and dislikes?”

“Chocolate and assholes.”

He glared.

I smiled and raised my eyebrows. “I’ll let you know either way.”

“Do that. If you can talk.” His words shouldn’t have made my knees go wobbly, but they did. I’d never met a man who could say so much without hardly saying a thing and have it all sound so fucking dirty.

I’d make sure I could talk because if he could make me forget myself, lose myself to him, there would be trouble. I’d engage but Eamon would be like any other one—uh, four—night stand. Memorable for the pleasure and the weird sexy things that happened between naked bodies and nothing more.

Without another word, I sucked in a deep breath and slid my hands over my hips and up the curve of my waist, cupping my boobs until my fingers wrapped around the front clasp. One flick of the wrist and the intricate black lace opened, baring my boobs for his view. His judgment. I had nice tits, a solid D cup that was a bit too big for my frame but I’d never had any complaints. Still, every quirk of his lips looked like he had assessed me and found me lacking in some way, so I stood and stared at him for a long moment.

His gaze lingered on my chest until first my left nipple hardened and then tightened into a stiff bead that was almost painful. Then he worked the same eye magic on the right one, smiling when two rosy nipples were hard enough to cut glass.

“Leave them on,” he barked out when my fingers dipped inside the waistband of the lacy black thong. “Lie down.” He moved aside to the end of the sectional sofa and motioned right where he wanted me.

I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. To tell him to say please or something else sarcastic and inane but I couldn’t because my legs, the little sluts, were carrying me right where Eamon wanted me. I sat and leaned back, feeling clinical like I was lying on a paper covered slab in the gyno’s office and I kept my gaze on the ceiling just like I did while my doctor tried to make small talk, like I wanted to talk about the weather when he was elbow deep into my lady parts.

“Spread your legs.”

I did and immediately sucked in a breath as the cool air hit the warm, wet area between my thighs. If someone would’ve asked me an hour ago how I felt about being ordered around in the bedroom, I would have got up in their face and told them that no guy was the boss of me. But that deep baritone that brooked no argument didn’t just do it for me, it made me want to obey. How fucked up was that?

Eamon smiled. “Already wet and I haven’t even touched you.”

“I was thinking about Chris Hemsworth on the way over to make sure we had all systems go.”

His laugh sounded deeper and closer and then I felt the heat of his body against my leg. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Layla. But you and I know the truth, don’t we?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just dragged two knuckles right against my wet panties until I gasped. “Wider.”

I opened my legs until I was indecent, feeling even more arousal seep out of me at his intense, wanton gaze. His eyes looked black from here, his breathing shallow and his fist clenched as his gaze washed over me. I realized that my body had a mind of its own where Eamon was concerned. His gaze had me so close to orgasm, I tried to remember why this was a bad idea, why I was mad about being here. Only I couldn’t.

“Better.” Then he sat one knee between my legs and leaned over until our bodies were aligned from lips to hips. Too bad he was fully dressed because my pussy throbbed for more than a simple look. But the way Eamon kissed was damn near better than sex.

He held my face like guys do to women who were precious to them, tight and possessive, while his mouth plundered my own. His tongue swiped across my lips, darting inside at my first intake of breath and then he set my whole body on fire with just his mouth. Even his hands, strong capable hands, did little more than hold me in place for his mouth to fuck mine, because that’s what it turned into. Fucking. His tongue slicked and flicked, tasted and taunted my mouth, playful and intense. Then he pulled back. “These tits. Perfect.”

I was raised with manners and wanted to thank him for the compliment but when that mouth, with the thicker bottom lip, wrapped around my still hard nipple, my brain functioning ceased.

Totally fucking stopped.

All I could do was feel the glide of his tongue over the hard bead, the press of his teeth into the soft flesh of my breast, the combination when he sucked, hard until I arched into him. “Fuck,” I moaned when he blew on my nipple before giving the other breast the same exact treatment. While he teased me, his fingers found my other sensitive, slick nipple and pinched until it hurt.

I wanted to tell him to stop, that it was too much, but then I felt it, the stream of moisture gathering between my thighs. It was more than too much but in the best possible way.

“Fucking perfect.”

I didn’t know why he’d left my breasts but they felt cold without him and my own hands replaced his while Eamon kissed his way down my torso, licking the warm strip of flesh under my breast and down my ribcage, dipping his tongue inside my belly button before he plucked the waistband of my panties with his teeth.

Then he buried his face between my legs. And inhaled. I wanted to be grossed out, but the vibrations shook my entire body, making my clit stand up and take notice. “Oh, shit.”

He looked up at me, a totally sensual but smug look in his face as his tongue snaked out, the tip teasing me mercilessly in quick, barely there figure eights.

“Oh shit is close, but not quite what I was going for,” he said.

Then he opened his mouth and began to French kiss my pussy through my panties. It was dirty and it was erotic and I fucking loved it.

His tongue, hell his whole mouth was a thing of beauty. A wizard who could, with a flick of his tongue, render intelligent women stupid. Who could perform exorcisms with nothing more than simple suck? Who could make me wetter than I’d ever been in my entire life, even during my weekend long spank sessions?

“Oh fuck, yeah! Yes, Eamon!”

Those words snapped something inside him because he grabbed the side of my panties and pulled them from my body, and then he was pleasing me again, only this time it was the soft feel of his lips on me, the slight scratch from his stubble on my thighs, my pussy. He pushed my legs so far apart it was uncomfortable but what he was doing to me, the sounds he pulled from me were the result of so much fucking pleasure that he could have dislocated my hips for all it mattered.

“God, yes!” My hips began to move as he slid is tongue inside of me, fucking me hard with his tongue while his nose bumped against my clit over and over and over again.

“Eamon, oh Eamon, yes!” My whole body drew up tight for several long seconds before a powerful and intense orgasm worked its way up my limbs and out of every pore of my body. I shook. My body trembled. My mouth let out an embarrassing wailing keen that I couldn’t stop.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be a screamer,” he growled and got up beside me, whipping out his cock, his long thick cock, pumped it a few times and then came all over my tits and stomach. “And a squirter,” he said darkly and licked his lips.

Yeah, I shivered at that because apparently, I was a dirty slut. “Wow. That’s never happened to me before.” Because if it had, my brain would have been working properly and I wouldn’t have shared that bit of intel that would only pump up his ego even more.

Eamon stood at the side of the sofa and slowly removed his t-shirt to reveal a chest covered with lickable, indescribable muscles.

With his cock back in his hand making my mouth water, Eamon stroked himself and smiled. “Then let’s see if we can make you do it again.”

I had a feeling that all the thoughts I had about Eamon were true. Fucking was sport for him and I needed to remember that when his fucking felt a lot like something else.

Something deeper.

Something real.

It probably should have scared the shit out of me. None of this was real. My flesh, my body was nothing more than a means of debt collection. He wanted to fuck me, to debase me and he had no problem using whatever means he could to make it happen.

And my dad, the man who was supposed to protect me, had given him just that.