Page 4 of Descent into Madness

I can’t take my eyes off the large black gun glistening on his hip. It’s a Desert Eagle, a huge don’t-fuck-with-me warning. Growing up, I’ve been around guns my whole life. I’ve never seen a person wear a gun in the city as if it was no big deal.

The men in the Outfit also preferred a .22 for close impact killing. A .22 is no less lethal than the typically used .9 mm. It’s even more so as the quiet pop of a .22 gets lost in the sounds of the city.

“You fantasize about a man fucking you by force?” He’s curious.

Ishejudgingme? “What the hell? I can’t believe you’re asking me that. It’s a me thing. Every time I try to have sex, I freeze and can’t do it even though I want to. It’s a common fantasy fora lotof women. We hear sex is bad, and you’re not supposed to like it, and it’s dirty and if you want it, you’re bad and dirty. So, it’s easier to pretend you’re being forced—so you’re only enjoying what’s happening to you, not… It takes choice and being in your head away. How is it any of your business asking a question like that?”

The strong hand around my arm urges me to keep moving. If I had an idea where we are—and if we’re far enough from Josh’s dead body—I’d fight him more. Except, I can’t help wondering if it’s safer to be with him in case I encounter a cop or a witness looking for me. Even with the gun on his hip, I’m safer with him than with a cop.

And there’s the fact he killed Josh because he was trying to save me. The awful things Josh said are swirling in my head—he wasn’t going to stop.

Suddenly, we’re in a well-lit parking garage.

Wait.

I stop, afraid he’s going to stuff me in a car or something. Holy crap, blue eyes burn every inch of skin they touch as they roam over me. It hits me all over again, a current of electricity is running through my entire body at his touch. This man is stunning. And holy shit, it’shim.

Manuel Rodriguez.

If it’s possible, he’s even more stunning only inches away. His reaction to me now is nothing like this afternoon. Instinct has me backing away from him, or I try, but the hand around my arm tightens.

I shake my head. Only to ruin it with the way my tongue slips out from between my lips to wet them—my mouth is suddenly so dry it aches. He sees it. He knows he’s the cause. The hand is gone from my arm, and instantly, I miss it. I’m confused by the sense of loss and then the hand slides into my hair and brings my eyes to his. I have no idea why the move makes my knees weak.

“It’s my business because I killed a man for you.” His voice drops an octave, husky now, throbbing with desire. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

The wordrewardis a silky threat. One that causes my nipples to tighten so hard they hurt. What the fuck is that?

“On your knees.” The words send a rush of wet heat to my panties, filling me with shame.

Face flaming, I drop my eyes and shake my head. No, the way this started was a dirty, wrong fantasy. Except I don’t dare even try to say it. My throat is too tight. My mouth is watering so badly the moment I opened it, drool would run like a waterfall. The shame of it won’t let me.

The hand tightens in my hair. “On your knees, pretty little slut.”

I’m a slut,andI’m going to hell. I have to be with the way my knees go weak at his words—ones that should be degrading but have me sinking to the ground for him.

His huge hand cups the back of my head. “You know what to do. Sluts like you always do. Something tells me you have spent a lot of time with a cock in your mouth. Real and fake.”

How could he know?

“Yes, you did, didn’t you? You prepared your mouth the same way you prepared your pussy for a cock.”

His chuckle runs down my tummy to where my body answers those dirty words.

“Take my cock out and say thank you for killing the boy like a good girl.”

His reminder of killing Josh has me wondering if I’m already in hell for wanting to please this man who killed my boyfriend and is a huge, terrifying figure in the underworld. I can’t bring myself to say a word. I shake my head. This is so fucking wrong.

A chuckle from the depths of his big chest floats down over me. The hand in my hair tightens, his other hand cups my chin.

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip before ever so slightly pulling it down. “Wet, the same way your pussy is. I have no doubt. Should I show you what a liar you are? Am I not being forceful enough? Your dead boyfriend left bruises on you. I don’t like bruises. They don’t belong on silky, delicate skin. Should I threaten you with a spanking to your luscious round ass?ThatI would be willing to do.”

My hands should be trembling as they reach up to his belt, they aren’t. The belt buckle is black—either enamel or obsidian—inlaid with an eagle in mother of pearl with its wings spread. I’ve never undressed a man before, yet I don’t hesitate.

He catches my hand when I try to pull his jeans and black silk boxers down. In a movement that screams he’s done it a hundred times before; his cock is out with his jeans sagging only slightly.

Holy shit. I’m not going to be able to get both hands around it, let alone suck him. I try to pull away. The hand in my hair doesn’t allow it. Opening my mouth to tell him no, the word never makes it past my throat—his hard cock is pushing into my mouth.

How can something so silky soft be so hard and hot?I wonder as his cock burns my mouth like a brand, claiming my mouth for him alone.

---