Oath of seduction a dark.., p.3
Oath of Seduction: A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Doms), page 3
A branch cracks behind us.
Fuck.
Her whole body tenses, but she doesn’t move. Wordlessly, I unfasten the cuffs and drag her arms back down. If we need to move, I need her mobile.
“We weren’t followed here,” she whispers. Her first thought goes to being followed?
“We weren’t.” No one follows me without my knowledge, no matter how distracted I am by a beautiful woman. No one.
It’s not an animal, no. It sounded too purposeful, like a human’s steps.
We lay still. I hear the murmur of voices. My gun’s in my hand and my body’s over hers. On instinct, I’ve got her beneath me to protect her, but her hand’s on my chest.
“Get off,” she hisses. “Get off.”
“No, and shut it,” I hiss back.
Jesus. Now is not the time for her to play the goddamn feminist card.
I listen for the sound of a tussle, for more than one person, for heavy breathing to indicate if they’re nearby. Hell, I’m half expecting to hear a gunshot.
There’s nothing. No screams. No reactions. No feet running. It wouldn’t be kids sneaking behind their parents’ backs. They’d be laughing and yelling and swearing and smoking weed or drinking. Why here, when there are a million other places to go?
A year ago I came here with my brothers to witness an execution. This is a place suitable for a crime, and it isn’t my fault my mind immediately goes there. It’s who I am.
I’ve been the one to pull that trigger. You push them to their knees and gag them so they can’t scream, or they’re drugged before you pull the trigger, especially out here with the way sound carries over water. Although anyone out here to execute someone would use a silencer. If they were smart, anyway.
When she shoves me again, I shake my head.
“Stay down,” I order. I ain’t flirting anymore. My words are deadly calm, and she feels the command. I can tell by the way she goes perfectly still.
I pull the safety off my gun with one hand while I reach for my keys and the cuffs with the other. “Get down as low as you can go.”
She flattens herself beside me and reaches for her bag.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” she whispers. She’s wriggling like a scared puppy. I look down to see a gun in the palm of her hand. Inanely, I quickly glance at my own gun, as if she took it from me with a trick of sorcery, but no, this is a different one. Hers. Who the fuck is she?
There’s a splash of water and the sound of oars. Someone’s in a boat, paddling away. They didn’t want to leave evidence behind.
They didn’t know we were here. We’re safe.
For now.
I push her into her seat and fasten her in. I reach for her hand and she lets me.
We’ll have a talk about that gun and what she’ll do when she’s with me.
Jesus. Who is this woman? Why does she have a gun?
She’s probably wondering the same about me.
“Put the fucking gun away,” I whisper in a low voice. I normally have a good sense of humor, but not when it comes to a fuckin’ loaded pistol.
“Aww, no I show you, you show me?” She tips her head to the side. This woman’s gonna find herself ass up over my knee while I teach her not to be so laissez-faire about holding a goddamn firearm.
“Let’s go, handsome,” she says with a sultry smile. “They’re gone, and I want to finish what we started.”
CHAPTER THREE
Emma
“Not sure about you, doll,” he says in that smooth, sexy way of his. “But I like the idea of not going home tonight. You?”
I smile softly to myself and nod. “I like that idea, too.”
No apartments, no houses, no roommates or whatever it is he’s got, and no one wondering about the details of my personal life. “You’ve got an idea of where to go?”
He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Of course. Let’s go for a little ride.” As he’s talking, the car’s been gradually accelerating. The wind whips through my hair as small rocks and gravel fly underneath the wheels of the speeding car. I know we’re breaking the speed limit, but I don’t care. For once in my life.
We’re the only ones on the road, and this car was built for speed.
I will my rapidly-beating heart to still and take a deep breath. We don’t talk much on the way into town, but there’s no need to. He places a big, calloused palm on my leg and massages in a way that erases my mind, until I’m unable to focus on anything but the pulsing between my legs.
He effortlessly glides his beautiful car through the city. It rides so smoothly, I feel like we’re practically flying in on a hoverboard or something. The engine purrs softly, and I wonder for a moment before I come to my senses if I’m the one making the purring noises.
We come to a stop outside a hotel with uniformed valet attendants out front. Is it my imagination, or are there murmurs when we pull up? At first, I think it’s the car, but a closer glance shows the eyes of every single person within a few yards focused on my escort.
Escort. Yes, I like the sound of that. It sounds... risqué, and a little mysterious.
Hell, everything about this night’s mysterious.
I don’t look at the name of the hotel when we pull up. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss, and this is absolutely one of those nights where I welcome no details. Probably one of the only times I ever have.
This place is posh, though. Seriously bougie.
The silver accents by the entryway door are lit by tiny round globes of light, stunning amidst bustling city streets, and for one brief moment in time, I’m not who I am and he’s not whoever the hell he is. We’re two people who came for a night of luxury and bliss, and nothing, not a random draw or an almost-caught jaunt in the park, will stop us.
That did not happen. No one saw us. No one knows we’re here. Nothing could convince me to reveal why I was here and who I was with. Tonight, I am not myself.
For the love of… for one damn night, all I want is anonymity and casual sex. It’s the one time I’ve wondered if my mother didn’t have a point when she decided not to trust anyone anymore. When she thought that cutting off everyone and anyone that ever had meaning in her life was the right thing to do.
It was just some kids, or… something. Doesn’t matter. No one saw us, nothing happened… except I grabbed my gun on instinct and tried to push him down.
I am not used to a man trying to protect me, and I don’t need a man to protect me. He saw the way I held my gun. I’m going to have to explain myself.
“This way, sir,” someone in a uniform says to him. He opens a sleek steel door, and my escort puts his hand on my lower back in an instantaneously possessive move. My heart does a little somersault just being touched by him, my skin on fire as if ignited just by his touch.
I know that he’s obviously not new to the casual one-night stand, but something tells me this suave, self-confident guy’s gonna make it so fucking worth it.
So worth it.
Worth everything…
I’ll give him a night he’ll remember as well. I so will.
I watch as he casually slips his keys into the palm of the valet, then hands him a stack of bills. They know him here, step back when he approaches, nod their heads discreetly. I can’t help noting every detail.
The way one of them glances at his forearm. I glance too but only see tendrils of the end of one tat peeking from under his sleeve before he pulls it down and ushers me inside. The one-hundred-dollar bill on the outside of the stack of bills, and the way he hands it off like he’s giving someone a stick of gum.
You can never tell how rich a guy is by what he drives or the cash he carries. Some men will steal and plunder to get their asses in a sweet ride, whether they can afford it or not. Some men carry wads of smaller bills with hundreds on the outside.
I’m not impressed. Curious, though.
But when staff open the door and discreet nods head his way from the hotel lobby, I can’t help but note it. He’s… known here. Like the car and the money, that sudden knowledge can go two ways.
I watch his car drive by the window, handled by a uniformed valet. Time to probe a little. “You let someone just drive your car like that?” I murmur under my breath. He gives me a lopsided grin that makes my heart flip.
“They know what they’re doing,” he says with a low, confident tone to his voice that finishes the sentence he doesn’t. And they know who I am.
But still… I wonder. I wonder if he’s as important as I’ve made him out to be in my mind. I let my imagination wander for the first time in so long, it feels like a blessed relief to dance with fancy once more. I’ve dwelt so long in pragmatics, I’m not accustomed to flirting with imagination.
He’s a millionaire, a quiet one, with a strong sense of altruistic motives who gives to the poor. He isn’t married now but was once married to a woman who died of an illness that required him to nurse her around the clock, sitting by her bed, which he did with the patience and fortitude of a saint. He takes care of his mother, has several younger siblings at home, and this is the first time in so long he’s let himself cut loose.
I smile to myself at the altruistic hero I’ve made up in my mind.
This is dangerous. I don’t really know who he is. I don’t really know what he’s capable of, but I do know that I’m skilled enough in self-defense that if this goes sour—and I fully anticipate that it will not—I can handle myself if I have to.
It won’t come to that, but I can’t fully shut off the logical part of my brain.
Time begins to speed up, to take on a pace so rapid I’m nearly panting. His hand on the back of my neck in a possessive move that makes my heart beat faster and my mouth go dry. The warm feel of his calloused palm gently caressing with enough pressure it says mine. His low voice in my ear. The faint but heady, masculine scent that wafts through the air around us.
I don’t know who this man is, but I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will make me happy I took this trip to Nowhere Land with him.
But still, I can’t shut off my brain that will spin and spin out of control no matter how hard I try to rein it in.
He’s familiar with Boston.
He’s familiar with a gun.
Who is he?
Why do I care?
He holds up his phone, black and sleek and as slim as a credit card, to the flat black panel by the front door. With a subtle flash of white and a whir, the door clicks open.
“Was that magic?” I whisper.
He nods with that grin that makes my heart pitter-patter. “Of course it was,” he says, as he shuts the door behind him. One of his eyebrows raises as he gives me a wink. “Abracadabra.”
“You are one of the world’s biggest flirts.”
The door clicks when it shuts, and with another wave of his phone, a series of locks clicks into place. My heart beats faster, a steady rhythm of adrenaline and excitement laced with fear.
“And you, doll, haven’t seen anything yet.” He leans against the door with a casual fold of his arms. Quickly, I scan his expensive clothing, the way it fits him like it was tailored.
Was it?
His blue eyes focus on me, and he drops the smile. “You’re absolutely stunning, doll,” he says in that voice as soft as velvet. “But you won’t need those clothes anymore, now, will you?”
I swallow hard. “Something tells me by the tone of your voice that you’ve already made that decision for me, haven’t you?”
I do not give up control to a man. I do not concede control to damn near anyone, unless it’s my boss, and even then I find a way to make it on my terms. But now… something inside me craves feeling the taste of his domination. Something in me begs to know what it’s like to be taken underneath a man who knows how to wield his power, who could make me squirm before he makes me beg. And something tells me this guy is capable of all those things.
“You ask the question,” he says thoughtfully, his head gently tipping to the side, “as if you know exactly how I think and what I’ll do next.”
I shake my head. “I don’t,” I whisper. “I was only guessing. It’s sort of… how I do things.”
“I see,” he says as his lips draw together, sobering, though his eyes are still as focused as ever on me. “And you have no idea how Daddy does things, do you?”
My thighs clench together on instinct. How? Why is hearing him say that so damn appealing to me? My throat tightens.
“I don’t,” I say in a throaty whisper I don’t recognize as my own voice. “Maybe…” my voice trembles a little. I’m going in. “Daddy needs to… to show me,” I stammer.
“I think he does.” His slow nod of approval makes my heart squeeze a little. Why do I feel so attracted to that gentle nod? There’s something about it that grips me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“Let’s start off with a little drink, love.”
“Love?” I repeat, before I can think it through. I’m not protesting, though. I like it. I like it a lot.
Love. Doll. I wonder if he’ll pull out the honey and sweetheart.
No one, not even my mother, ever called me by a term of endearment. I’ve only been with a few men, and they weren’t the sappy name types, either. But this man…
“Bet you call everyone love.”
He shakes his head. “Actually, can’t say that I do,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself. “It feels good, somehow right, to call you that, like it belongs to you. And since you haven’t given me your real name, I’ll have fun coming up with your nickname.”
When he walks to the loaded sideboard, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushes my bare arm. I shiver at his nearness, at the outrageously masculine feel of him beside me.
“And since you clearly like to push your boundaries,” he says in an almost thoughtful tone, “we’ll have to be sure we have fun with that, too.”
Huh. Hmm. Boundaries.
“Boundaries?” I ask softly.
I want to know. My mind races with curiosity and fear-laced wonder. So we’ve got a lineup of firsts going here.
First time calling a man Daddy.
First time a man ever called me doll.
First time a man ever said I had boundaries.
I’ve read a few books and watched a few shows, but even though I’m not inexperienced, I’m still curious how that works. “So are you, like, a Dom?” I ask him.
“Not sure what the hell that is,” he responds, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that he truly doesn’t. “What is it?”
My cheeks heat. If he were to look at me now, he’d say I don’t have a clue. He wouldn’t be wrong.
“Like… I’m not totally sure, but I think it has something to do with… bossing people around, telling them what to do…”
He pulls out a square decanter with bourbon in it, and tips himself a few fingers into a stout glass. “Bourbon?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I force a smile.
“Wine?” I shake my head.
“You want a drink at all?” he asks.
I think it over. Normally, I wouldn’t drink on a blind date or… whatever this is. But something tells me I might enjoy a little liquid courage.
I swallow hard. “Surprise me.” But I’m not dumb enough to let him slip something in my drink, so I walk over beside him to watch.
“I’m not the kind of guy who’s gonna drug you, doll,” he says. “And something tells me you’re not the type who’d fall for a guy who did.”
Ah. The old buttering up technique.
It’s working.
No, I’m not. I’m the girl who busts guys who drug women’s drinks, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Here,” he says, holding his palms up. “Watch me.”
I do. I watch him use a pair of silver tongs to grab a few ice cubes and place them in the glass, and I don’t miss the detail that the ice was waiting for us before we arrived. Prepared for the evening, then, or did he somehow signal for preparations? Not sure when he would’ve had the chance.
Then he takes a decanter and tips a small dribble in, before he caps it, adds vodka from a clear bottle, and gives it a stir.
“So there’s basically like nothing but alcohol in there. I mean, not that I’m disapproving.”
He shrugs and the corner of his full, perfect lips tips upward. “Diluted with a little ice, no?”
“Ah, yes. I’m sure that counts.” I enjoy tinging my words with a made-up accent. It lets me really lean into the whole anonymous-night thing.
“It counts.”
I take a sip and murmur in approval. Smooth, with a bit of a bite, it goes down real easy.
His lips quirk in an almost-smile again, and he reaches for a bottle of wine. I watch as he effortlessly opens it.
“Wow,” I mutter. “You’re good at that.”
A little modest shrug. “I’m experienced. My family owns—”
He stops himself before he finishes the sentence and shakes his head. “Ah, ah. You almost seduced me into revealing more personal information. Not gonna happen.”
“Seduced?” I say, before I take another sip of the drink. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
My voice sounds a bit distant and husky. I’m leaning into this and loving it.
He hisses in a breath. I’m impressed with how easily he’s turned on. “You will soon, won’t you, doll.” Somehow, he makes it a statement and not a question.
I nod slowly, savoring the tension between us that heats with a gradual simmer.
“Tell me what you like,” he says. I feel as if a light veil’s been placed over my eyes, everything’s a bit hazy and muted from the effects of the alcohol.
“What I like?” I repeat. I lean against the arm of an ivory leather chair as soft as butter. “This chair’s nice. If I could fold this chair up and put it in my bag, I would.”
His low, dark chuckle promises wicked things. My heart beats faster.
“No, doll,” he says, sobering in a way that excites me. “I mean in bed. Tell me what you like.”
“So this is up to me?” I ask, curious if he’s really going to give up control. It was either the right or the wrong question to ask because, that quickly, all traces of humor leave his face. He’s suddenly very serious.
