Vegas Underground Collection: Books 5-8

Chapter 6-1

Chapter 6

Desiree

I get Gio settled with more pain meds.

Maybe I’m being a chicken, but I don’t want to go back downstairs yet. Talking to Junior—really talking tonight makes him all too likeable.

And I already can’t handle my over-the-top attraction to the guy. I sure as hell don’t need to fall in love here.

Junior Tacone’s not the kind of guy I want to be in a relationship with. Even though he’s nothing like my ex, I’ve had my fill of men who run on the illegal side of things. If I ever get into another relationship it’s going to be with a nice, normal guy. An accountant or salesman. Someone who’s respectable and friendly. The kind of guy you could bring to any party.

Not a scary-a*s mafioso.

A sexy-as-hell warrior who carries the weight of his entire family on his shoulders. Who takes very sweet care of his mother. And seems capable of getting things—any sort of thing—done. A smart, ruthless man who does what he believes he needs to do without apology.

Crap, I’m totally falling for Junior Tacone.

And that’s just plain stupid.

I switch on the television in Gio’s room and very gingerly climb onto the bed. I don’t want to jostle Gio—he’s in enough discomfort as it is.

Junior doesn’t come upstairs. Maybe he feels the need to pull back, too.

Or maybe there’s nothing to pull back from.

No, that’s bullshit. He’s into me. He’s been into me since we first met. And we’ve already had s*x.

Holy s**t—what was I thinking? I can’t believe I had s*x with Junior Tacone. This morning seems so long ago. But when I remember how blistering hot it was, my body flushes with the desire for more.

I want Tacone’s authoritative hands controlling my body again. Want him talking dirty, making all my fantasies come true as he pretends to take me against my will. I think of the way he pulled me against him when his brothers were here, the soft growl of his warning voice right against my ear.

I make it through a couple TV shows, but my mind is on s*x. It’s on Junior’s threat to punish me again.

Did he forget? Is he waiting for something?

Maybe I need to go downstairs to get his attention.

I’m tempted to leave the TV on so Gio can’t hear if I make noise but then I wouldn’t be able to hear him if he needs anything. He’s too out of it to hear anything, anyway.

I brush my teeth and pad down the stairs.

I hear Junior on the phone. He’s not in the living room or the kitchen. I peek around behind the staircase and see a light on in what must be his office. He’s sitting behind a desk, a glass of scotch in his hand as he speaks into the phone.

He catches sight of me and stops, gesturing with his tumbler, eyes boring a hole right through me.

Oh lordy. He hasn’t forgotten. I definitely see dark promise brimming in the depths of those chocolate browns.

I spin on my heel, like a scared rabbit and beeline it for the kitchen. Turns out Junior’s offer to clean up wasn’t legit. He put our dishes in the dishwasher but the pots and pans are still on the stove and nothing’s been wiped down.

I’d be annoyed except it’s not my kitchen and not my job, so I don’t have to clean it.

But I’m totally going to because it gives me something to do. I wash the pots and spray and wipe the table, then the countertops.

Junior’s voice goes silent and I hear his soft tread as he comes down the hall and into the kitchen. My heart rate picks up. I don’t turn around even though I know he’s standing in the doorway.

Probably looking at my a*s.

He comes closer.

I still don’t acknowledge his presence.

“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for forty seconds now.” His baritone rolls through my body like dark sunshine.

“You’re counting?” My voice sounds husky and foreign. I stop and toss the balled up paper towel into the garbage, still not turning around. “I thought you were supposed to clean up.”

“There you go again, running that mouth.” He cages me against the counter, my back to him. His teeth sink into my shoulder.

My knees nearly buckle. He grasps both my wrists and pins them to the counter, moving at a leisurely pace. My breath catches. Anticipation buzzes. He reaches past me and pulls a wooden spoon out of the canister.

When he smacks me with it, I yelp. It’s way sexier as a thought than a reality. It freaking hurts.

He’s going fast, whacking my a*s right and left and I immediately fight him, trying to scoot out of the way.

“Ow—whoa!” My brain spins around how to stop it. “Peanut butter.”

The spoon immediately clatters on the counter in front of me. “Okay, no spoon. But you don’t get to safe word out of taking my cock.”

My brain stutters on that for just a moment—because, yeah—I do. But I decide he’s just dirty talking and I definitely don’t want him to stop. Not when I’m already soaking my panties.

He cups my a*s and squeezes roughly. It diminishes the sting of the s******g he just gave me. I push back into his touch. He pops my a*s with the flat of his hand. It feels delicious. So much better than the damn spoon.

“Okay, doll. I know you’re terrible at following orders, but I’m giving you one now. You have three seconds for those panties to hit the floor or I pick that wooden spoon back up.”

“You can’t—”

“One.”

Crazy f*****g Italian. I yank my scrubs and panties down, kicking out of my shoes at the same time.

“Two.”

“I said peanut butter to the spoon,” I complain as I hop on one foot to get out of the leg of my scrubs.

Junior’s rolling up his sleeves with a stern daddy look as he watches me. “Three.”

I kick off the other leg and the panties go flying with the scrubs. I point. “Panties are on the floor. See?”

I love the ghost of a smile dancing over his lips. “Brava ragazza.” He steps in and pulls my scrub top over my head.

I get a deep whiff of his masculine scent—soap and a trace of cologne. “What’s that mean?”

“Good girl.” He reaches behind me to unsnap my b*a. I’m totally n***d now and he’s fully dressed. It’s hot as hell.

“You training me?” Ms. Bluster has to keep pushing.

He wraps my b*a around my neck and turns me around, holding it snug against my throat like he’s going to choke me with it. My hand flies to the fabric and my body registers the threat with a rush of endorphins. My p***y registers it all as miraculous foreplay. “You think you’re tamable, doll?” He tugs on the b*a, just enough to make me nervous. “I’m not sure you are.”

He releases it, just as abruptly as he used it as a weapon. It falls to the floor, a harmless undergarment once more. “Hands on the counter, baby. Stick your a*s out for me.” Once more he reaches past me. I think he’s going for another implement in the bin, but instead he grabs the bottle of olive oil. When he drips some down my c***k, I shake my head. “Nuh uh. No way.”

He covers my mouth so I can’t say my safe word. “No, baby. You disrespect me in front of my brothers, you’re going to take it in the a*s. Even if it’s just my finger.”

Just his finger.

Shit!

Okay, I can handle this. Right?

Lord, I’m all fluttery and hot. My arousal drips onto my inner thighs. Junior rubs a digit over my anus, circling and massaging it.

It shouldn’t feel so good, but it does. Erotic, pleasurable. Wrong.

But so right.

He works his finger—or maybe thumb—into my a*s. I breathe deep and force myself to relax the tight ring of muscles, to let him in. It’s not painful, but it’s horribly embarrassing. It’s humiliating pleasure. Each time he pumps his finger, my p***y grows wetter.

I start moaning. My legs tremble. He keeps at it, thoroughly finger-f*****g my a*s. Showing me he owns me. He holds his finger in deep and slaps the lower part of my a*s where it meets the thigh. He s****s me again and again, all the while twisting his finger around in my a*s.

“Ung,” I groan.

“Reach down between your legs and feel how wet that made you.”

I was dying to touch myself, actually. I comply immediately and find my s*x swollen and dripping wet. My fingers sink into my p***y without me even meaning to dip them in. He eases his finger out of my anus and shifts to the right of me to wash his hands in the sink.

I work my fingers between my legs because my p***y’s dying for some attention. The tissues are swollen and slick, flooded with my arousal.

Junior returns seconds later, his fingers pushing over mine, rubbing my throbbing clit. “You love having your a*s f****d, don’t you, doll?”

All I can do is moan. I’m all hot and needy now. My p***y aches to be filled by him.

“Don’t you?” He slaps my a*s.

I want to say no. I really do. I’m still totally scared of butt s*x. But damn if I don’t whisper the truth. “Yes.”

“Disrespect me in front of others again and you’re gonna get my c**k in your ass.” He bites my ear. “Capiche?” He whispers the word, his hot breath feathering over my ear.

My p***y clenches and he feels it, rubs my clit harder. “Capito,” I murmur.

“Good girl.” He holds my hips and crouches down, lifting one of my knees up toward the counter top and l*****g into me.

“Oh f**k, Junior.”

I didn’t even know it was possible to be eaten out from behind.

Oh, but it is. And Junior Tacone definitely knows what he’s doing. He licks and sucks and nips. Penetrates me with his stiffened tongue. Penetrates with his fingers while he licks and sucks and nips.

The room fills with the sound of my cries—quiet s*x is still not part of my repertoire.

He smacks his lips. “You taste so good, baby.”

“Junior.” My voice is a whine because I really want to come.

He stands up. I turn around, needing to be f****d. Needing to offer myself up. But he shakes his head. “Face the counter.” His lips are glossy with my juices, his voice sounds three octaves lower than usual. He pulls a c****m out of his pocket and rips it out. “Now, baby.”

I drag my lower lip through my teeth as I turn around and brace my hands on the counter.

He lifts my knee up like he had it when he ate me out and pushes into me. One hard thrust and he’s buried deep.

I cry out, close my eyes in pleasure. He commands my body—one hand firmly holding up my thigh, the other braced on the counter so I’m caged between his arms and pounds into me.

My eyes roll back in my head and a stream of gibberish flows out of my mouth—some English, some Spanish. Hell, I don’t know, I probably even try to speak Italian for him.

His breath grows rough. His grip tightens on my leg.

“Yes, Junior, please,” I plead, because I’m close—so close—and I can tell he is too. His thrusts grow erratic and then he slams so hard I’m unable to hold myself away from the edge of the counter. I hit it and give a little squeal of pain.

“Sorry!” Junior pants, pulling out and spinning me around. He cups my chin and peers down in my face. “You all right?”

“Don’t stop,” I beg, even though he already has.

He picks me up by the waist and sits my bare a*s on the counter, then spreads my knees wide and licks into me again. I clutch at his head as he licks with fervor. I tear at his hair, screaming loud enough to wake every neighbor.

He pauses, lifting his eyes to me. “You don’t come,” he warns, employing his stern don voice. He flicks his tongue over my clit. “You don’t ever come until I give you permission. Got it?”

I nod quickly, eager to do whatever it takes to c****x.

He scoops me off the counter and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me into the living room where he drops me and bends me over the stuffed arm of his couch.

“I need you where I can pound you hard like you deserve,” he explains.

The position is actually perfect—the padded arm of the sofa cushions my hips and the height and angle are perfect. The moment he enters me, I’m ready to come. Every thrust sets me on fire. My inner thighs tremble and quake, my voice warbles in my throat.

And then he shoves his thumb back up my a*s.

The sensation of having both holes filled at once sets off fireworks behind my eyes. Junior pounds into me, holding me captive with his thumb, owning me again. “You gonna be a good girl now? Huh, doll? Gonna keep sassing me every chance you can get?”

“Yes...no!” I can’t figure out the right words to say to get my reward. I’m so desperate to come, I’d say anything. “Junior, God, please.”

He curses and slams in hard, slapping my a*s with his loins four more times before he shouts.

I don’t come. Maybe because the thumb in my a*s keeps me open—like my body won’t contract around it. I don’t know how he knows it, but he pulls his thumb out, reaches around the front of my hips and rubs my clit. “Come, Desiree.”

That’s all it takes. I go off like a rocket ship, my whole body convulsing as I squeeze the c*m out of his c**k.

The room spins.