I wanted that look again so badly it hurt.

  “I don’t know how I can be that for you.”

  “Don’t worry, princess. All you have to do is let me worship you. I can give you the pleasure you crave and take my own in the process. All you have to do is give yourself to me.”

  “I can do that,” she whispered, half moaning, as my hand moved up from her breast and wrapped around her throat.

  “All you have to do is feel my pleasure, Fiona.” I squeezed slightly, pressing down on her pulse. “All you have to do is die for me.”

  She was my reason. For all my life, I thought only Evgeni and the Morozov family could give me meaning, could make my life worth something.

  But not anymore. Now I could see something else, something better.

  And all she had to do was give herself to me.

  I leaned forward, my lips against her throat. “I’ll stop if you ask me to,” I whispered. “Only say the word ‘tomorrow’ and I’ll let you go.”

  Her eyes went wide, and there was that spike of pure fear as my fist in her hair finally tightened and pulled, and my hand around her throat squeezed.

  * * *

  Fiona

  He was going to kill me.

  I could see it in his eyes. Death and destruction and a void, a deep black void in his heart.

  He was a killer.

  I knew it that night when his fingers slid inside my pussy. I knew it when I came for him and felt so ashamed, so wrong—and more aroused than I ever had before.

  He was the darkness I’d craved for so long.

  I couldn’t breathe. My skull burned where he pulled my hair. I thought he was going to strangle me and there was nothing I could do. I pushed back against him, shoved with both my hands, and he instantly released my neck. I sucked in a breath and stared at him with fear and desire warring through my body.

  I understood what he meant. One simple word would end this and he’d walk away.

  He stopped before. Even though he said he wouldn’t stop again—I knew that wasn’t true.

  He wanted to worship me. But he wanted me to die first.

  Wasn’t that what happened to all the Greek goddesses? I could be like Persephone in the Underworld. He was my ferryman, taking me to a place where I didn’t have a mind anymore.

  Where I didn’t have to think.

  If that was what he needed, then I’d give it to him. I’d die for him, again and again.

  The little death. No tomorrow.

  I dropped to my knees and fumbled with his belt. He let out a soft grunt as I finally got it off. He helped unbutton his jeans, and I unzipped him, pulled them down, and finally slipped his cock from his boxer briefs.

  He was thick and stiff, so hard that it felt like granite in my palm. I stroked him slowly, not sure what I was doing—I didn’t have much experience.

  I went by feel, by instinct. I listened to his breathing.

  He reached down and teased my nipple as I licked him, tasted his skin, his precum on the tip leaving a long trail to my lips. I looked up at him as he ran a thumb down my mouth then grabbed my hair again.

  “Open your lips.”

  I obeyed. He wanted me to die? I’d die for him then.

  He pressed his cock into my mouth and deep into my throat.

  I gagged, but he didn’t stop. I couldn’t breathe and tears came to my eyes—and only then did he pull back. Spit and drool clung to his shaft and he let out the most gorgeous moan I’d ever heard.

  He did it again, cock in my mouth, then released me. I pulled back, gasping, then sucked him. I could barely fit half his shaft, but I tried anyway, wanting to feel him hit the back of my throat, wanting to choke, wanting that stab of fear.

  The fear made the pleasure so much better.

  I realized in that moment, down on my knees, just why that orgasm that night had been so incredible.

  I was terrified of him that night.

  And I had to be terrified of him again if I wanted to feel that way.

  Which wasn’t hard. He pressed me down deep and I gagged, moaned, pulled back. I stroked him fast with both hands.

  He pulled me to my feet by my hair and dragged me over to the wall. He shoved me hard against it and I gasped when my head hit. He smirked as he took off his shirt.

  His body was muscular and lean, covered in snaking tattoos along his flesh. His cock glistened with my spit, massive and gorgeous.

  He dropped to his knees in front of me and tugged down my jeans, unpeeling me slowly, stripping me naked. He kissed me from my navel down to the top of my stubble-slick pussy. He slipped a finger down along my folds and I knew it came back wet.

  He sucked the juice and smirked as he spread me wide.

  “You’re not scared enough yet, princess,” he whispered as he slid two fingers inside of me. “Do I need to make it hurt more?”

  “God no,” I said, moaning. I tilted my head back and looked up at the ceiling.

  He plunged his fingers deeper then swapped out for his tongue. He lapped me up, licking me and sucking me hard, using his teeth to tease my swollen clit. I tried to grab his hair, but he pinned my wrists against my sides.

  I tried to get away but he shoved me back hard. I sucked in a breath in surprise—

  Then he plunged his fingers in me, fucking me with them fast and he licked my clit, and I felt a shiver on my spine. My back arched, moans wrenched themselves from my lips, and I came in a sudden, wild spray of intense pleasure. He kept going, lapping me up, enjoying his feast, and I stared down at his shining lips and eyes when he finished, licking me off his fingers.

  “Fuck,” I whispered. “Oh my god. I didn’t know I could come that fast.”

  He laughed and stood then grabbed my hair. I gasped as he pulled me from the wall. He wasn’t gentle and I tried to push him away—it hurt like hell. He slapped my wrists and threw me down onto the couch.

  “Spread your legs,” he said, stroking himself like a monster.

  I shook my head.

  I didn’t want to obey. I wanted him to make me.

  He grinned, like he understood.

  “I’ll ask one more time. Spread your legs, let me see your dripping cunt.”

  “No,” I said.

  “So you’re going to get yours, but I can’t have mine? That’s very selfish. You’ve been a very bad girl, haven’t you?”

  “Fuck you. I thought you wanted to kill me?”

  His eyes brightened even more. “I still do, princess. But first I want to use your body. I want to fuck your pussy until you’re spread wide and bleeding, and only then will I let you come. I want to fill your ass and leave you limping for weeks. I want to suck your nipples, bite your tongue, make you ride me until I’ve had my fill. I want to take you, little princess.”

  “God, you’re so full of shit. All you do is talk.”

  He grinned huge and stopped stroking himself. He knelt down in front of me and I crawled on my back away from him. He grabbed my ankle and yanked hard and I gasped. I tried to kick him, but he knocked my other foot away and wrenched my knees open.

  I sat up, slapping at him, but he grabbed my wrist and shoved me back down on the couch. I felt his cock, his thick, massive tip against my soaked opening, teasing my folds.

  I struggled but he held me down with one massive hand. With the other, he reached down between my legs and roughly plunged two fingers inside.

  “Go ahead and struggle,” he whispered. “I think we both like it.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He pressed his cock against me and shoved my legs wider. He moved his other hand up and shoved two fingers into my mouth—forcing me to taste my own arousal.

  I moaned, my pussy juice on my tongue, as he shoved his cock inside of me.

  I gasped, back arching. It hurt, god, it hurt. He wasn’t gentle about it, wasn’t kind or slow, wasn’t trying to let me get used to his size first.

  He took me, like he said I would.

  I moaned with his fingers still in my mouth. I bit him hard and he grunted, pulled them back, then grabbed my hair. He pulled it roughly and fucked me, slow, rough strokes, making my body, my breasts shake with each movement.

  Pain, so much pain, as he ripped me open—but that pain was laced with a strange, wild pleasure.

  The joy of being controlled and dominated.

  There was no escape for me. Unless I said that word, he’d take me, no matter how hard I fought.

  And I decided to fight. I slapped at him, clawed at him, and he roared with joy as he shoved me down hard then ripped his cock from me. I gasped in shock as he turned me around, putting me on my belly, and pinned my arms behind my back.

  He fucked me roughly from behind, wrists locked on the small of my back.

  “God, I love this tight little cunt. Have you ever been fucked like this before? You’re in heaven right now, I can see it in your eyes. You fight like that because you love how it feels to struggle, but every stroke brings you close. You want to come again, don’t you?”

  “Fuck you,” I moaned, because yes, god, yes, he was right, I wanted to come.

  I had that word on the tip of my tongue.

  I wouldn’t use it. There was no tomorrow for me.

  He fucked me faster, massive cock spreading me wide, pummeling me, making me his. He pinned me there and growled as sweat dripped down his body, down my back. He licked it up, tasting the skin between my shoulder blades, and I gasped as my back arched.

  He hit something deep in my core, his thick tip brushing up against some spot of pleasure I didn’t know I even had—

  And pain finally relented and the pure ecstasy was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  I came in a blinding flash. My mouth opened to scream, but he shoved his fingers inside of it again. I gasped and the sudden shock of it only made my orgasm that much more intense. I shook with it, ravished and wild beyond belief, and he didn’t slow down. He was an animal taking his kill.

  I died a little death. I came in a massive wave. I begged his name, almost pleading, almost crying, and the orgasm wouldn’t relent until finally, finally, it slowly ebbed and left me a drooling mess on the couch, breathing hard.

  He purred like a lion over a carcass and pulled himself back out.

  “Not done yet,” he whispered, standing next to the couch. He pulled my head up and I opened my mouth—

  He filled me with his cock. I licked myself off him, let him fuck my mouth, moaning until he came down my throat. I sucked him then, taking over as his orgasm washed him away. I licked him clean, every single inch of him, and swallowed his cum greedily.

  When I finished, I collapsed back onto the couch in his black house, breathing hard, sweat beading between my breasts.

  He knelt down beside me and licked the sweat away then held me. He stayed there on his knees, holding my body in his arms, and cradled me close.

  He looked up and there was pure longing and worship in his eyes.

  I didn’t know I could make someone feel like that.

  The realization broke something in me then and I began to sob.

  “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” I said as I cried. “This isn’t because of the sex. I’m so sorry.”

  He held me and said nothing, his arms strong and comforting. I sobbed against him, feeling like I could finally breathe after years and years of living under water.

  I hadn’t known I could make someone feel good. That was a power I thought was lost to me.

  But Mack looked at me like I was the only thing in this entire world, and that emotion suffused me with an incredible glow.

  Like waking up to a cool morning after a long, perfect sleep.

  My crying broke off after a little bit. He didn’t question me about it, only stood and took me by the hand. His cock was still half hard—I wondered if he wanted more, and based on the way he looked at me, I thought yes, probably—and took me into his bedroom.

  He put me under the covers and climbed in next to me.

  “You’re safe now,” he whispered and pulled me close. “You’re my goddess. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  I felt him stiffen against my ass, and I smiled.

  That was a power I’d never give up.

  A power only he could give to me.

  I felt warm, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

  15

  Fiona

  There were a lot of Doyle family hangouts in West Philly. The old-timer uncles liked a place called Erin O’Malley’s, a real classic Irish pub. The top-level lieutenants hung around a strip club on the edges of the city called Sparkles.

  And the younger cousins like to drink at this open air beer garden called Compact. It was one of those cool places with a weird name, all industrial metal and exposed wood with a staff that looked like they got a weekly tattoo together. Lots of loud club music, lots of rowdy people getting drunk. There was an inside section with lounge seats and ping pong tables and an outdoor courtyard with a gravel floor and long communal benches.

  I found my cousins sitting outside surrounded by college kids from Drexel and Penn. They almost fit in—almost, except they didn’t have that air of privilege and money, didn’t have that fun-loving attitude. My cousins had an edge, even when they tried to look like they were normal guys, mostly because they never knew what it meant to have stability.

  It was etched into the way they hunched over their drinks protectively and constantly looked around assessing the place for threats.

  They lived in a world of danger, totally different from the rich Drexel and Penn kids. It didn’t matter if we were all the same age. We might as well come from different universes.

  The one thing they had in common was they all drank like there was no tomorrow.

  For my cousins, there really might not be.

  Donal spotted me first. “Well, look at this,” he said, standing up and hoisting his liter glass of beer into the air. “The prodigal cousin has returned.”

  “Shove it up your ass, Donal.” I grinned at him and waved.

  “What’s up, Fiona?” Ferris said, waving.

  Tully wouldn’t look at me. Only stared at his drink.

  A couple other girls were there. Shannon, with her big blonde hair and loud laugh; Imogen with her heart-shaped face; and Cath with her slim figure and mousy looks. The boys were rowdy, clearly already a few drinks in, but Cath gave me a welcoming smile at least and I sat down next to her.

  I didn’t have a lot of friends in the family. That was mostly my fault though—I pushed everyone away and did my best to interact as little as possible. They reminded me too much of my brother and my father, and I hated the way the family twisted everyone into this little mold, made them into perfect soldiers for Cormac and the other Doyle uncles.

  But Cath was different. She was the nearest thing to a best friend I had, which was kind of sad, actually, because we weren’t that close.

  “Where have you been hiding out lately?” she asked, giving me a big smile. She had dark brown eyes and long brown hair, and didn’t look at all like the other Doyles. I didn’t think she was actually related to me, but sometimes it was hard to say. The lines were always blurred, except for when the uncles wanted to marry one of the younger folks off, then suddenly they could remember who was blood with who.

  “Oh, you know. Working at the bar then hiding out in my apartment.”

  “What an exciting life.”

  “Better than hanging around here with these morons.”

  “Ey, I take exception to that,” Donal said, slurring a bit.

  Ferris laughed loudly. “We’re a bunch of fun, Fiona. You’re just a big old stick in the mud.”

  “Oh, got me,” I said, grinning. “At least I’ve got my own place. You still living with your ma?”

  Imogen cackled at that. “You totally do still live at home. What’s wrong with you, Fin?”

  “Aw, shut it,” he said, still smiling bashfully, and ruffled Tully’s hair. “At least I’m not a little runt like this one.”

  “I’m not a runt.” Tully glared at him and pushed his hand away. “I think you guys give Fiona too much shit. No wonder she never hangs out.”

  “Touchy,” Donal said. “Then again, yer always a bit touchy, Tull. What’s with that, anyway?”

  “Leave him be,” Shannon said with an exaggerated sigh. “How about you go buy me another drink, Donal?”

  Donal waggled his eyebrows at her and the group laughed. Fiona felt a sudden jab of homesickness—she missed hanging around with these guys sometimes.

  But whenever she started to let her guard down, she always remembered what was waiting back in the neighborhoods.

  Her father, his belt. The Doyle family and their violence.

  There was a reason she got out and never looked back, even if it meant she’d never fit in anywhere—because as much as she hated the Doyles, she couldn’t shake them off. That family was a part of her, lodged deep into her core like the definition of her self.

  She was different from all the college kids. She could lie to herself, pretend like she was better than her cousins—or at least not a violent bastard that sold drugs for a living—but it wouldn’t make a difference.

  She was trash like them. Always would be.

  “You look good, you know,” Cath said, leaning on her elbows and smiling up at Fiona. “Like, healthy or something. You been working out?”

  “Hardly. My only workout’s the walk between my bed and the couch.”

  “Sounds like mine.” Cath grinned but it quickly faded. “Seriously though, you look happy. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

  I patted her hand and looked away. I didn’t know how to tell her that whatever she saw in me was just the leftover glow from sleeping with Mack the night before.

  She’d never understand. None of them would. Being anywhere near a Morozov was the same as betraying the family—let alone sleeping with one.

  Or working with one.

  “You watching anything good lately? You’re always watching good stuff. Like documentaries and shit.” Cath giggled a little and took a long swig of her beer. “Like that one about those whales, what was it called?”

 

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