Always playing me.
“You want to come?” he asked, sucking at me gently now, leaving me utterly deprived. “Say my name.”
When you’ve been robbed of an orgasm, it leaves behind this nasty, horrid feeling behind. Incompletion and frustration swirled inside me, angering me. It knocked the walls of my pride down, made me insane with desperation.
I was so empty, it hurt.
“Please,” I whispered, begging. “Please…”
Please don’t make me say it.
He sucked me hard, and I groaned in surprise, nearing that edge again.
Oh, my God, was he going to give me this?
A victory, at last.
My hands flew to his head, and I sank my nails into his scalp, forcing him to stay. He ate me out, groaning along with me, like this was pleasurable to him.
And there it was, that blinding flash of pleasure approaching.
“Nixon,” I whimpered, unable to stop. “Nixon!”
I came hard, his hands pinning my hips down so I could ride the wave of pleasure with his mouth never leaving me, his tongue buried inside me.
I could feel his lips spread, feel his smile, and I wanted to claw his eyes out. He’d done it again. He’d won. I’d said his fucking name and he hadn’t pried it out of me.
As he moved back over me, his naked body broad and muscled, he settled over me, crashing his mouth against mine. He parted my lips and lapped his tongue against mine, forcing me to taste my juices. He loved this sort of shit.
“Kinky bastard,” I murmured into his mouth, biting gently at his bottom lip.
He chuckled, staring into my eyes as he nudged his cock between my legs, prodding my entrance. “How do you want this kinky bastard to fuck you, Vix?”
I clawed my fingernails down his back and grabbed at his ass. “Hard,” I demanded, nipping at his jaw. “Real fucking hard, Nixon.”
With a smirk, he delivered just that. He thrust into me, hard and punishing. I felt his balls slap against my ass as he delivered blow after painful blow. Between thrusts, he swatted at my breasts, watching them redden beneath him. The sting sent jolts to my belly, dizzying me with need. Sweat trickled down his face, his pants came out hard and scattered. He watched me, his eyes never straying from my face, as he fucked me until I came apart beneath him.
I cried his name out again, and he wore that look of victory.
He came straight after me, tensing over me, the veins in his neck protruding as he groaned through his pleasure.
His body dropped down beside me and he let out a long exhale. We both stared at the ceiling for several quiet moments. His hand went over me, trailing down my body, rubbing gently at my pussy. His finger nudged at my entrance, swirling my come and his lazily around my folds.
“Did you miss me, Vix?” he asked again, curiously this time.
A tear rolled down my face. “Yes,” I whispered, hating myself for admitting it.
He grunted in response, satisfied. “We got paid handsomely.”
“You got paid,” I corrected, icily. “I took no part in it.”
“I’m ensuring our future.”
More tears fell. “When will you set me free?”
His strokes never paused. My question didn’t phase him. “You’re free already. You got everything here at your disposal.”
I scoffed, shaking my head angrily. “I am a prisoner here, Nixon.”
“I make sure you’re safe.”
“Stop lying to me.”
“I’m not letting you go.” He moved his finger inside me now, pumping me slowly, building the sparks up again. “You belong with me, Vix. I caught you. I killed for you. You’re mine.”
He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t my fucking life in the palm of his hand that he was slowly squeezing the soul out of.
He distracted me with his touch, swirling that finger until I was raising my hips needily for that orgasm.
“You’re a hungry little kitten tonight,” he commented, swallowing my mouth as I came undone. He kissed me like I was the air he breathed, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
And I kissed him with the same intensity because I was attached to him in a horribly fundamental way.
He fucked me again, harder this time, trying to touch my soul in the process. But I never relented.
My soul belonged to me.
The wall I’d built since he locked me in this place never wavered. I fortified that motherfucker so he could never have it.
My soul…
Goddammit.
“Nixon,” I groaned as I came again and again.
My soul belonged to me.
2.
Tyrone…
Nixon lived in the penthouse apartment of Hotel Browning. Tyrone thought it was real fucking weird for a dude to live in a hotel, but it made sense after a while.
Hotel Browning was the most luxurious hotel in the Gulf Islands. Located on Grander Island, it was surrounded by nature reserves and frequented by hippy tourists and the super wealthy.
There was so much fucking money on the island, and Nixon had buckets of it. He could afford just about anything.
Including eyes and ears.
Hotel Browning afforded him the best security for him and his hot piece of ass. He worshipped Vixen.
No, for real.
Tyrone had never seen this kind of worship since the Helen of Troy.
He had to shake his head as he sat in Nixon’s penthouse living room, listening to the crazy motherfucking fight happening in the bedroom. There was a lot of doors being slammed, a lot of screaming, a lot of shit being broken.
Oh, and none of it was coming from Nixon.
He wondered if the fucker was dead.
He couldn’t blame the girl for trying.
Nixon had savagely annihilated his entire crew for her. She was his property, no doubt about it. She lived and breathed in Hotel Browning and had never been allowed to leave it.
So yeah, maybe she killed him, and maybe she was screaming over his dead body.
But then he heard him.
“Shh, baby,” he murmured. “Baby, baby, baby…”
As Tyrone cringed, he knew deep down this relationship was going to end in disaster. They were going to wind up killing each other.
And he knew…
He knew who would be the last one standing.
3.
Vixen…
“You’re not being yourself,” Nixon said in a soothing tone. He stood in the middle of the room, done up in his black leather jacket and jeans, his hair neatly combed back. He looked like a sex god, not ruffled in the slightest he’d fucked me until four in the morning and slept for hardly three hours before starting the day.
I glowered at him, tying the bath robe around my waist as I stormed past him and to the bed. The dress that had been put out for me to wear today was neatly arranged on the mattress, wrinkle free thanks to whatever maid had been in the apartment recently.
They were always changing.
Nixon was paranoid.
Couldn’t have the same maid for more than a week.
I was sure he’d employed half the population on the island already.
I grabbed the dress and threw it on the floor before turning to him. His eyes went from the dress on the floor and back to me again.
“I’m not going to your stupid fucking celebratory party,” I seethed at him.