Sordid
Authors: Nikki Sloane
Tags: #sexy adult erotica, #love story, #hot, #Mafia, #kinky bdsm, #mob, #banned erotica, #alpha male, #mob mafia romance, #mob erotica
SORDID
Nikki Sloane
Smashwords Edition.
Text copyright © 2016 by Nikki Sloane
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Author’s Note:
I
love
to read and write books that are sex positive and even a little feminist. However, this book is a departure from not only that, but the light and sweet I typically write.
But I had to get this book out. It wouldn't shut up in my brain, and I put it down on the page so I could move on and get to writing the next book I wanted.
Please be aware this novel contains situations of non-consensual sex which may be triggers, and scenes which may make some readers uncomfortable. I understand this story is not for everyone.
This book is dedicated to anyone with a black or twisted soul, or those who get turned on by something when they feel like they really shouldn't.
Chapter
ONE
You look like a slut.
This was the thought repeating in my head.
I tugged at the knee-high white stockings and smoothed down my plaid skirt. It was much too short. The blouse of the sexed-up schoolgirl costume didn’t have buttons to close above my bra. The white shirt gapped and showed cleavage. I felt . . . uncomfortable. Yes, I looked like a slut, but it was also the look I was going for.
Avery, my roommate, smeared on blood red lipstick, and although her gaze was on the mirror, I sensed she was watching me out of the sides of her eyes. She was waiting for me to chicken out.
“You’re going out in that?” Her tone did nothing to disguise her disbelief.
“Yeah.”
Perhaps I looked ridiculous, and perhaps my stomach had done a flip-flop when I looked at myself in the mirror, but I wasn’t bluffing. Avery had been forced into inviting me to the party at her boyfriend’s frat, but I was going. I hadn’t been out to a party in ages, and Halloween was the one night I could reinvent myself.
A reinvention was needed.
I’d spent my whole life driving toward a medical degree, and everything else had been neglected, including a social life. It was my senior year at Randhurst University, and I’d never gotten close enough with another girl to find a roommate. Avery and I had been paired together randomly by a student housing computer.
She wasn’t happy with the result. The spoiled sophomore was my opposite—she didn’t study. She didn’t care about her grades, her major, or have to worry about scholarship money. The International Bank of Mom and Dad was funding her pointless attempt at a college education, and it was likely she’d wash out by the end of the year. Perhaps even by the end of the semester. She wasn’t focused, and I couldn’t relate at all.
“You look different,” Avery said. “Nice.”
Her compliment threw me off-kilter. “Thanks. And thanks for letting me tag along.”
“It shocked the hell out of me when you said yes. I thought you were a Mormon.”
I blinked, confused. “Mormon?”
“Yeah.” She fluffed her long brown hair. “They don’t celebrate holidays and shit.”
My brain played loud static, my defense mechanism against stupidity. “I think you mean Jehovah’s Witness.” Not once had I mentioned church to her. I wasn’t even religious—unless you considered science a religion.
She continued to preen in the mirror and I was ignored, which was Avery’s typical response. It could be worse, I told myself. She’d never outright been a bitch.
Her phone rang, singing an obnoxious song, but it cut off as she answered it. “Hi, are you downstairs?” Her gaze flicked my direction. “Yeah, Addison’s ready, too. You remember she’s coming.” It wasn’t said like it was a question.
I held down the hem of my skirt as I ducked into the back seat of Brent’s car. He was my age, and hadn’t been dating Avery all that long. The two-door Mustang’s back seat was a joke. I had to position my knees to the side so I could sit, but the car was warm and clean, so I knew not to complain.
It was a short drive to the frat house. It’d be a hike back, but I could walk if needed. Although the campus was small, the city was a college town and relatively safe. Yet nerves fluttered in the pit of my stomach as the car parked behind the huge Tudor-style house adorned with the three Greek letters out front.
I’d never been to a frat party.
Would it be as wild as everyone made them out to be? I followed behind Avery and Brent, realizing now that their costumes matched. Batman and Catwoman. I tried not to stumble over the uneven walkway leading around the house and up to the front door.
Music thumped steadily, and loud conversation could be heard through the open door. I shivered in the October air. On Avery’s suggestion, I’d left my coat back at the dorm. There’d be nowhere to put it, and she’d warned the place would get hot with that many bodies packed inside.
On the front porch, a guy stood and checked IDs. I dug mine out, but Brent shook his head. “You’re good.”
“It’s fine, I’m twenty-one—” I started.
“Nah, Addison, you’re with me, that’s all my boy needs to know.”
I jammed the plastic card back in the tiny pocket of my skirt as a shimmer of disappointment flowed through me. I’d only turned twenty-one in August and hadn’t had many opportunities to use my new license. My birthday had been a sad affair. I’d spent the summer interning at the hospital, and a few of the other orderlies took me out. The evening had been over before ten p.m.
The entryway was dark and packed with people trying to hold conversations over the loud music. Most were in costume and gripped a plastic cup. There were large rooms to the left and the right, a staircase ahead, and a hallway leading to the back of the house, lined with picture frames of past pledge classes.
“Let’s get drinks,” Avery yelled in my ear.
Relief washed through me. I’d expected her to ditch me the second we were inside. I wouldn’t cling to her, but I was grateful not to be abandoned immediately. Brent led the way as we threaded through the crowd, down the hallway and into a kitchen where lines had formed at the two kegs.
I took my place, standing behind a guy dressed as an astronaut. He turned, gave me a glance, then his head swiveled forward with disinterest. It was a reaction I was used to. I wasn’t homely, but I was incredibly average. Nothing . . .
special
. Normally, my dull brown hair hung listlessly to brush my shoulders, although tonight I had the front section pulled up into two high ponytails to complete my naughty schoolgirl look. My skin was pale. I’d forgone sports in high school because I wasn’t coordinated, or fast, and that way I could focus on my advanced placement classes. My days were spent at a desk, rather than outside in the sun.
The line crept forward. The astronaut stepped up to the keg, but abruptly shifted to the side, slipping a hand behind my back. “Ladies first.”
I went rigid under this stranger’s hand. He gave me a friendly smile, but I got the feeling he expected me to be impressed. Like this was a grand, chivalrous gesture. A sacrifice, and not just polite courtesy. My gaze went from the astronaut to the empty red Solo cup extended out to me.
“Thanks,” I said to both the astronaut and the guy handing me the—
It was
him
.
My breath stalled in my lungs. He wore dark navy pants, a matching dress shirt, and a gold badge clipped to his chest. At his waist was a supply belt with a holster. The gun looked terrifyingly real, but it was also covered with the holster, and could just be part of the costume.
Or maybe Luka was a cop now. I hadn’t seen him in two years. Although he had the perfect serious demeanor to match the uniform, I doubted my TA from Calculus 220 had gone into law enforcement. My gut said no, and a closer look at the badge proved it was fake.
