Filthy: A Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

“I want you inside me.”

“Yeah, I want inside you, too.”

“Then why aren’t you inside me?”

I swipe my tongue across the full length of her pussy, ending with a swirl around her clit. “Because I want to torture you first.”

“God, Cain. Why the fuck did I marry you, you sadist?” There’s laughter in her voice, but her fingers tighten in my hair and I think she pulls some of it out. Good thing I’m not balding, or that could be tragic.

“Fuck if I know,” I answer her, and start to nibble on her clit.

Her breath is coming fast and hard and a little bit squeaky. I hope she doesn’t scream; I’d really prefer we not have the cops beating down the door. They might come beat down the door anyway.

Regardless, there’s no way I’m going to stop what I’m doing. Part of me even wants her to scream, so someone
will
come by to see what’s going on, and find out I’m fucking Phil Spada’s daughter to within an inch of her life.

I roll that little nub under my tongue and watch her writhe and squirm. I know guys who refuse to do this to their women—says it makes a man weak. They’re idiots. There’s nothing like the power trip I get watching Jess completely lose her shit while I eat her out.

She’s coming then, her juices covering my tongue. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and I feel the contractions of her body under my mouth. While she’s still shaking, I slip a couple of fingers inside, just so I can feel her muscles contracting on me. She makes a strange, helpless noise, and I thrust in and out of her just to see if she’ll do it again. She does.

Looking at my fingers going deep inside her body, I realize if I don’t get inside her in the next five seconds, I’m going to cream my pants. Not an acceptable thing for a grown man. On the other hand, maybe she’d get off on knowing she makes me so goddamn horny I can’t even keep my dick from exploding.

I lean forward while she’s still shaking under me and mutter right into her ear, “I’m coming inside now. You ready?”

“God, yes.”

I let my dick out of my pants and let it tap against the inside of her thigh. The very wet inside of her thigh. She’s creamed all over herself, my hand, her sex, and her thighs. I stroke her with my cock, rubbing the head of it through the wetness. She’s so hot. It’s like there’s a fire burning inside her that’s melting her into this slick, soft cream.

And then I know I have to do it. Have to claim her in the most primal way I can. I bite her earlobe and say, “Bareback.”

Her eyes pop open and she stares at me. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea?” But she sounds doubtful. Like it won’t take much to change her mind.

“Don’t know, don’t give one single flying fuck,” I tell her, and shove inside.

She doesn’t stop me. She just clenches tight around me and holds my gaze with her own. I mouth her ear again, licking the curve of it, tongue catching on her earrings. “I want my come inside you. I want to taste it on you.”

Jess shivers. Swallows. And after a moment, she nods. It’s a little too late for her to grant approval, but not that much. After all, I haven’t come yet.

The nod gives me all the permission I need. I fuck her hard—harder, I think, than I ever have—and it’s all I can do to hold her steady on the top of the desk. She loops both arms around my neck and arches her body against me, all hot, hot need and gasping desire.

I can feel my dick banging into her, and I picture my seed shooting inside, marking her permanently as mine. More so if that seed takes root…

I break that thought off. It’s not one I want to have. I’m not ready for that, and neither is she. I might never be ready for that.

Then you should have put on the fucking condom.
That’s my sensible voice. But I’m so far past listening to it that I can barely even hear it.

I’m far past any hope of stopping either. I keep thrusting into her, again and again, deeper and harder with each powerful shove. She cries out again, muffling it with her arm, and I feel everything inside her clench down on me as she shakes through yet another orgasm.

It’s all I need. I can’t hold back anymore, and I climax deep inside her, no barriers between her body and mine. I’ve never done this before, not with any woman ever. I press my face into her shoulder, into the fall of her hair, and ride the wave until it finally drops me back onto dry land. I’m dizzy, and I can barely breathe.

She’s breathing hard, her forehead against mine, her eyes closed. Her hands open and close randomly around my shoulders, as if she’s lost motor control. She opens her mouth to speak, but all she says is, “Cain. Holy fucking God, Cain.”

I hold her for a few minutes, stroking her back, my dick slowly shrinking inside her clasping heat. Finally I draw back and kiss her gently on the mouth. I feel…strange. Smug, but there’s more to it than that. I’m kind of quiet inside, and I don’t know what to make of it. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever felt before.

Gently I draw her hands away from my neck. “We should go,” I tell her.

“Where?” Her eyes are still closed as she tries to drag herself back under control. I can feel her trembling in my arms.

“The airport.”

She jerks back, her eyes suddenly clear, staring at me. “What? Why?”

“Don’t you want a honeymoon?”

At that, she laughs abruptly. “Oh, Cain. Really? Seriously?”

“Yes.” I straighten her skirt and help her hop down from the desk. “You’re my wife. You deserve a honeymoon. Besides, if we head out somewhere for a while, it’ll give everybody here a chance to get used to the idea that we’re married.”

Jess nods slowly, taking that in. “Not a bad idea.”

“Nope. Not at all.” I zip and button my trousers, re-buckle my belt. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She gives me a smile that’s halfway between wry and her own version of smug. “More or less.”

“Then let’s go.”

I don’t know if anybody heard us, but there’s no way anybody who sees us on the way out won’t know what we were just doing in that locked office. Jess’s pupils are still blown, her hair a mess, and she’s digging her nails into my arm like she’ll fall right down without the support. I have to grin a little to myself. Nothing like fucking a woman until she can’t walk. Her wobbly legs make me proud.

As we head down the steps toward the car, though, my mood takes an immediate about-face. Frank Mangioni is standing on the sidewalk, chatting with a pretty woman I don’t recognize.

Shit. There’s no way to avoid him. I take a step backward, thinking maybe we can go back inside the building until Frank goes on his way, but it’s too late. He’s glanced up, and he sees us.

I can tell by the shift in his expression that he’s put the pieces together. Still, he calmly tells the woman goodbye with a neutral kiss brushed across her cheek before he turns to face Jess and me.

I square my shoulders. Jess has tensed next to me, and she starts to move away. I pat her hand, holding it firmly in the crook of my elbow. She must recognize this guy, too. No surprise—most of Spada’s underlings spend time in and out of that house for business meetings and whatever the fuck else they get up to. Jess has to have seen every one of them at least once.

“I’ll do the talking,” I tell Jess. She looks like she might want to argue, but in the end she just nods. Good. She’s learning. For a split second I’m hit with a twinge of guilt—am I really any better than her father? But I’m trying to protect her.

Frank drops his hands in his pockets and gives us both a narrow look but doesn’t bother to move toward us at all. Instead he just stands there, waiting for us to come to him.

If that’s the way he wants to play it, that’s fine with me. I straighten my tie and saunter on down the stairs, Jess’s arm securely in mine. “Frank,” I say. No point being rude. Not yet, anyway.

“Cain.” He pauses a moment before tilting his gaze toward Jess. “Ms. Spada.”

She tenses almost imperceptibly. I squeeze her hand where it lies against my arm and look Frank right in the eye. “That’s Mrs. McAllister to you,” I say.

Frank’s eyes widen. I’ve genuinely caught him off guard. I have to wonder what Spada has told his men about me, about Jess. About us. Frank opens and closes his mouth a few times. He looks like a grouper.

Finally he says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I smirk. “Want to see the marriage license?”

He looks down, and I realize he’s looking for our rings. Of course we don’t have any. I’ll take care of that soon enough. When his gaze lifts back to mine, he’s got his teeth clenched.

“Spada’s not going to let you get away with this.”

I continue down the stairs. He’s not going to stop me. He doesn’t have the balls. “Think I give a shit what Spada thinks? We’re married. He’ll just have to deal. And you…” I stop, looking him up and down. He flinches, just a little. “You can just fuck right the hell off.”

And I continue to my car with Jess—my
wife
—on my arm.

CHAPTER SIX

Jessica

I lean back in my seat on the plane and take a sip of the fruity, umbrella-garnished drink the flight attendant brought me a few minutes ago. I didn’t even know you could get umbrella drinks on a plane. Apparently you can if you fly first class.

It surprised me that Cain was so insistent on a honeymoon. I figured our crazy fuck in the county clerk’s office was going to be the best I’d get. But he’s insisting on doing it up right. So we’re on our way to Cancún.

I’ve never been to Cancún before, and it’s never occurred to me until just now to wonder why. I guess I just never got around to it. I went to Puerto Vallarta once, but now that I think about it, the last time I talked about going on vacation, Pop went cold and quiet, and I knew he didn’t want me to go.

Well, fuck him, anyway. That part of my life—the part where I’m constantly under Pop’s thumb—is over now. I have bigger and better things to focus on now.

Like my husband. Who’s next to me, drinking wine out of a can with a big gorilla face on it. Apparently it’s good wine even though it comes out of a can. He grins toothily as I look toward him, and I smile back. Then he leans toward me and says something so filthy I feel my cheeks go red.

“I keep thinking about how it felt to come inside your tight pussy.”

“
Cain
…”

“Who’s going to hear?”

“I don’t know. The people behind us, maybe?” Probably not. They’re talking, after all, and I can’t understand anything they’re saying. The background noise on the plane is too loud.

Cain leans in and murmurs again. “I’m going to make you my wife twenty-seven times once we land. In the first six hours. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk. You’re going to be so worn out from sex that you won’t even be able to check out the sights.”

I laugh a little. “If you’re going to keep me flat on my back in bed, we could have gone somewhere a little less expensive.”

“Who said anything about flat on your back? Or even in bed, for that matter? I’ve got us a suite. I can fuck you on the bed, over the table, on the chair, on the couch, on the sink, in the shower…” He pauses. “I’m sure there’ll be a few other options, too.”

It’s not exactly romantic talk, but it’s got me so wet and puffy between the legs I can feel it, like my panties are a size or two too tight. Apparently I like that kind of filthy talk. But if I haven’t figured that out by now, I haven’t been paying attention.

“I was hoping to at least see the beach,” I tell him, trying to sound aloof, as if his vivid descriptions of what he’s going to do to me have no effect on me at all. “And maybe brush up on some of my Spanish.”

He bites my earlobe. “You speak Spanish?”

“A little.”

“You need to talk dirty to me in Spanish next time we have sex.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure I know the right vocabulary for that.”

“Look it up. I bet it’s on the Internet.”

“I bet it is.”

I go quiet for a while, and he contents himself with kissing my cheek and leaning back, at the same time looping his arm over my shoulders. I feel… I don’t even know how to describe how I feel. Free? Maybe not. I’m a little buzzed from whatever’s in my umbrella drink—umbrella drinks are the worst, because they throw in everything short of the alcoholic kitchen sink. I’m even more buzzed from Cain’s nearness, though, the heat coming off his body and the smell of him, musky and dark and thoroughly Cain. He never wears cologne, but the soap he uses has its own sort of sandalwood undertones, and his hair always smells like almonds when it’s not sweaty from a fight.

I can’t wait until we get to our hotel room. I’ll sacrifice a day at the beach to have Cain on me, in me, over me, under me—anything and everything we can think of. I just want him. Cancún will always be there. Cain…

Well, he might not, and I shove that thought back just as soon as I have it. Because that’s not where I want my brain to be right now. I just want to be happy. Happily honeymooning.

Happily married.

I lean my head against Cain’s shoulder—my husband’s shoulder—and breathe him in.

#

The next thing I know, I’m waking up to the sound of the captain’s voice telling us we’re descending into the Cancún airport. I get myself together, straightening my hair, and notice that Cain is looking at me with a dumb grin on his face.

“What?” I demand.

“You’re funny. You snored. And I think you drooled on me a little.”

“Ha ha,” I say without humor. It’s a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t seem too put off, so I let it go. If he can put up with being drooled on, then I can put up with him teasing me about it a little.

The hotel is fancier than I expected. I suppose that’s another way he’s trying to make this honeymoon as special as he can. We make our way up to the fourth floor, to a room at the end of the hallway with a spectacular view of the ocean. I step out onto the balcony for a few minutes just to take it in. The breeze is just cool enough, coming off the water, and the sun is heading down, casting orange over the clouds, reflecting off the rippling ocean. It’s so beautiful. So peaceful.

When I turn around and head back into the room, Cain’s frowning at his phone. I wonder what the problem is, but then I remember I turned mine off before the plane took off and I never turned it back on. I fish it out of my purse and hit the power button.