Dirty Chase: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Brooklyn Brotherhood Book 2) (16 page)

E
lle stares at me
, dumbstruck.

For a second I think I've gone too far, but then her cheeks and chest flush a beautiful pink, and I know my gut instinct was right.

"Fuck you," Elle whispers.

I smile. "That's the idea, darlin'. Glad we're on the same page."

She's still kneeling by the edge of the bed. She's warm and still covered with a light sheen of sweat. I can only imagine how her tits and ass bounced while she ran…

Out in the fucking street, alone
.

Some of my anger, my rage—my fucking obsession—comes back at the thought. It makes role-playing easier. That, and I just know I'm giving her what she wants.

"You worried me, Princess. And now you're gonna make it up to me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Elle snaps, but she can't hide how fast she's breathing. If I touched her again between her legs, she'd be even more soaked.

"You've been a bad girl," I whisper. "Running away. Then running your mouth at me. Now I'm gonna put it to good use."

Elle's beautiful lips open in surprise. Perfect. I fist my left hand in her hair, tilt her face up, and slowly press my cock into her waiting mouth.

I watch her chest, heaving as she slowly accepts me. I'm big, and don't actually expect her to take much of me in. Then she surprises me, holding my eyes while she presses her tongue against the underside of my cock, sucking, sucking…

"Fuck," I groan, lost in the sensation. "For a Princess, you've got a real dirty mouth."

Elle closes her eyes, trying to take more of me. Watching her beautiful face, her eyes closed, submitting, taking my cock—it's such a fucking gorgeous sight I could come right here. I grit my teeth and pull back, put both hands on her head, and take control.

"Pull your tits out and pinch your nipples," I order.

Elle's eyes fly open, confused for a moment. I pause, with my dick resting against her lower lip.

"Be a good girl and do as I say, or I'm gonna spank you."

She hesitates—for one second. Two. Interesting. So she wants to be spanked. I’m more than happy to oblige. But later. Right now, I've got other plans.

Elle lifts her breasts out of her sports bra, the fabric below them pushing them up and out. Perfect.

"Pull on those sweet little nipples," I say as I slowly thrust inside her. She opens wider, taking half of me in, sucking hard. "Goddamn," I groan. "You're good, Elle. So fucking good."

She moans around me, and I almost lose my shit.

"Twist those nipples until they're bright pink," I order. She does, and moans again as I move in and out of her greedy little mouth. The sight of my cock, hard and wet from my Princess' sweet mouth, is driving me insane. I realize I'm moving faster, harder—but she's keeping up with me.

"Put your hands down those fucking little running shorts," I groan. "I want to see how wet you are."

I don't let go of her face, or let up. And she takes it—fuck, she takes me. I fuck her beautiful face and watch as her right hand dips into her shorts, and a second later sneaks out.

"Hold your hand up. I want to see how wet you are."

She raises her hand up, and I can see her sweet juices glistening on her fingers.

"What a dirty little girl. You like getting your face fucked?" I growl.

She moans, swallowing instinctively as I go deeper. I stop and hold myself inside of her, just halfway in, but she can't take much more.

"Suck it," I order. "Pinch your nipples while you suck me off. I want your tits coated in your own come. A little treat for me to taste later."

Elle moans again, her mouth full of my cock, but she does what I say. I close my eyes, because her hot, wicked tongue is magic. Then I pull out, because if I don't, I'll fill her little throat with my load, and I don't want that…I want inside of her.

Right fucking now.

I pull out with a loud popping sound, and Elle looks up at me.

"Did you learn your lesson, Princess?" I say.

She licks her lips, then gets a defiant little look in her eye.

Before she can sass me, I reach down and rip her bra up and off, then push her onto her back and pull her shorts and panties down her legs.

"What are you doing!" she shrieks as I manhandle her.

"Teaching you," I say. I grab her wrists, raise them over her head, and knot her sports bra around them. It's a loose knot—she could easily get free. But she doesn't try to.

She doesn't try to break free from me.

It's hard to ignore this beating, surging feeling in my chest. I shouldn't like this. I shouldn't be doing any of this, to keep her here, to make her stay with me. But this fucking feeling in my chest, like a balloon, getting bigger and bigger…

"You're not going anywhere without me, are you?" I find myself saying. I flip her onto her knees, and she rests there on her elbows, her bound wrists above her head. I run my hands over her ass, and she shivers. So I do it again.

And again.

She moans and buries her face in the sheets. "Just do it, already!"

"Do what, Elle?" I skim my hands over and over her gorgeous curves, dip my fingers between her legs. She's dripping come down her thighs. I can't wait to fill her with my own come, cover her in my scent.

"Fuck me," she moans.

"Are you going to leave the house alone again?" I say.

"Yes, if I want to, it's a free country—"

I slap the left side of her ass. Hard. Elle shrieks and I watch my handprint bloom pink across her perfect skin.

"You bastard," Elle moans…in pleasure.

I reach between her legs against and start rubbing her clit. My hand's covered in her cream, and I slip and slide between her folds.

"You got that right," I say. "From this moment on, you only leave this house with me or a bodyguard."

"Fuck you," says Elle.

I slap her right ass cheek, twice. "Impatient girl. You get fucked when you learn your lesson."

Elle drops her head and shakes it from side to side.

I spank her again and she jerks, crying out—and twisting her hips against my hand. I rub her skin gently, watching another handprint bloom. Then I work my way down on her thighs, never slapping the same place twice. Just enough pressure to hurt—for a moment. Her skin turns a beautiful red.

Her entire body quivers, and I can't wait any longer.

I kneel on the bed, behind her ass, and lean over her. My body cloaks hers. We're both hot and writhing. We can't keep still.

"You're mine. You're mine to touch. You're mine to fuck. You're mine to protect."

Suddenly I need to see her face. I flip her over again, so she's on her back, her bound wrists above her. I put one hand over both her wrists, pinning her, helpless, beneath me.

Her eyes are blue jewels. I lean down and nip her breasts, tasting her come on them. I groan and find her clit, rubbing her hard until she's panting.

Then I stop.

"You're mine—say it."

Elle's mouth opens, then closes.

I wrench her legs apart. I can't control myself anymore. My dick hovers over her opening, and I tease her with it, running it up and down her folds.

"
Say it
. You're mine. This pussy is
mine
. These tits are
mine
." I grab her chin. "This beautiful fucking face is mine. And I'm gonna do whatever it fucking takes to protect it, protect it all. So you listen to me, because you're my woman."

Elle's eyes fill with tears. And then she rips my world apart, because somehow, some part of me didn't really expect this piece of perfection to agree to it.

To mar herself with me.

But she looks up at me and whispers, "I'm yours."

I can't think too hard about that shit. I don't deserve her, but I have her. I have her. And I'm never fucking letting her go.

I plunge deep inside her, all at once, to the hilt. She screams out, her body jerking. I hold her bound wrists tight with one hand and her hip with my other I slam into her, over and over and over again.

She's hot and wet and moving against me, mindless and beautiful. I watch her face as she comes, her orgasm causing her sweet pussy to milk me over and over. I follow her a few seconds later, but even after I empty myself inside her, I keep fucking her, pushing inside her core. I can't get enough of her sweetness, her heat.

Despite the ecstasy, there's also the sliver of fear down my spine.
I'll never get enough of her
.

I wonder what the hell that might mean, for both of us.

"
S
o
, what are you learning at chef school?"

I weave through the crowded farmer's market, clutching Kat's arm. I can't believe the change in my best friend. She's gone from an exhausted, beaten-down waitress who worked all the time and never escaped her father's shadow, to a beaming student.

And wife.

When Gray first came back into Kat's life, I think she was in denial about how much she had loved him for years. She was forced into a shotgun wedding to save her asshole father's life, and after that, she just wanted to get away from all these controlling men. Gray included. But now she’s happy. Glowing.

It's crazy to think how much she's changed in just a few weeks.

Then again, she said the same thing to me:
Elle, you're glowing. You must be in love!

Lust
, I'd corrected her.
Total, carefree lust
.

If I said it often enough, I might just believe it.

Me being in love—I mean,
feeling
in love—with him is just a byproduct of the non-stop orgasms he's so fucking good at giving me. No, I'm not a scientist. But I Googled it.

Whenever women have orgasms, we get a rush of the hormone oxytocin. It makes us trust our partner, helps us bond and let our guard down. It's literally a love hormone. Men, however? They get none of that: just a pure surge of the pleasure hormone dopamine. It's a high, with none of that crappy emotional baggage.

I wonder if this is why Chase is all over me, all the time. He's addicted to the high, but he doesn't have to worry about falling.

Fucking science.

I shift my attention back to Kat, who's wearing an adorable chef outfit since she's on her lunch break from culinary school. It turns out that her big, bad mafia guy is actually a total sweetheart—when it comes to her and her alone. He even surprised her by enrolling her in culinary school. He helped her fulfill her lifelong dream.

And she's obviously loving it.

"Well, this week we're learning the proper way to dice vegetables. And quarter a chicken, which is harder than you think—wait a minute. Forget chef school! Elle,
are those hickeys all over your neck
?!"

I laugh at Kat's shocked face. "Girl, Chase is a
maniac
. I haven't had so many love bites since high school. I swear, it's like he wants to brand to me."

"And you let him."

I roll my eyes, even though I'm probably overreacting. I was never a very good liar. "It's just a fling. We're just having fun. Oh, no, don't get that worried look on your face, Kat. I think
one
of us being married to a mobster is more than enough, don't you think?"

Kat grabs my arm and steers me away from a crowded sushi line. It always cracks me up to see sushi and pizza in a "farmer's market." That's Manhattan for you.

"Keep your voice down, girl." Kat looks around suspiciously, as if people in line for the vegan ice cream are undercover cops.

"No one's paying attention to us," I say. I realize I don't like to think about Chase doing illegal activities. "Ooh, tacos! That okay for lunch??"

Tacos are good distractions. From potential heartbreak/potential grand-jury subpoenas.

Kat nods. "I've got an hour before my next class. Plenty of time."

I pull Kat over to—yes, of course—the
organic
taco stand. Dammit, that just means they'll be more expensive. Though Chase won't let me help pay for rent, or anything, really. So I guess I can afford organic tacos. With a five-dollar side of guacamole. I'm living large.

We chat as we wait in line, and it's just like old times—except that Kat is actually discussing Gray's business and how he wants to diversify into construction. Not exactly like old times. Plus, she's got a bodyguard. I recognize Dacko—hard not to, since he's like six-seven and has horrible scarring alongside both side of his face—but he's a total sweetheart. At least, he is when he has to “babysit” me.

In fact, the only reason I don’t have my own personal guard with me at the moment is because Chase dropped me off at Gray’s and Kat’s, and knew Dacko would watch us both…

I choose to ignore how an armed guard makes me feel both protected…and trapped. I choose to focus on my growling stomach.

We’re finally at the front of the line, and I order two tacos, before turning to ask Kat what she wants.

"Oh, God," Kat whimpers. She looks pale, and she's clutching her stomach, then her throat.

"What's the matter? Honey, are you okay?"

"Where's the bathroom?" Kat whispers. "I think I'm going to throw up."

I
slam
Chase's apartment door closed and lean back against it.

Then I slide all the way down to the floor and just sit there.

Holy crap
.

Kat is pregnant.

One time.
One unprotected time
and Gray's super-sperm knocked my girl up. Way up. We bought seven different tests this afternoon while Dacko waited at the front of the drug store. Big fucking positives on all of 'em.

She's freaking out. She's happy—but understandably terrified. And she made me promise not to tell Chase anything until she figures out what to do.

Holy crap
.

I get up off my ass and run into the bedroom, opening the bedside table drawer and grabbing my birth control pills. I count and confirm what I already knew: I took one this morning. Of course I did. Even though I take them religiously, I still got nervous there for a minute.

What the hell would I do if I got knocked up?

We aren't using condoms. I know Chase is clean; he actually showed me his tests. It was so sweet.

"You really take safety seriously, don't you?" I'd said. No guy had ever shown me his actual STI tests before. Chase's normally joking demeanor had been absent, though. He'd nodded. "Got to. It's business." And I knew he was talking about more than just sex.

He was talking about life and death.

I pause while putting the tiny pills back in the drawer. For a moment, I have a vision of a tiny baby girl, with Chase's dark hair and blue eyes. I shouldn't like that idea so much. My mom had had me when she was nineteen, and all growing up, she'd lectured me to never settle down, not until I was older.

But none of that matters. I'm dating—
am I dating him?
—a man who definitely doesn't come as part of a "white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a dog" lifetime package.

I have no business thinking about babies with him.

"What are you doing in here?"

I whirl around. Chase is standing in the doorway.

"That's just what I was thinking," I say. "What
am
I doing here?"

Chase walks up to me and cups my cheek. Too frickin' gently for my mood. It makes my heart ache and shiver in my chest. It reminds me I
have
a heart.

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

"Nothing," I say. “How’s…work going?”

Chase frowns and then surprises me by actually answering. “We've put the word out on the street that we’re looking for whoever broke into your place. Haven't heard a got damn thing. And that's unusual, especially with a reward attached."

"Reward? What reward?"

Chase leans forward and kisses me. He tastes like whiskey, and that sweet taste that is, unbelievably, just
him
. "Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it."

I brush my palm over his hardening cock, still trapped in his jeans. Jesus, it's huge. "
This
pretty little head isn't getting any action until you tell me what the hell you're talking about, Chase."

Chase sighs and sits down on the bed. He runs his hands through his hair and over his beard. He looks exhausted, and I know it's because he works himself so hard that his body—and his mind—can't rest. I literally feel pain, like something tugging on my heart, and I just want to help him.

Oxytocin
, I remind myself. It's just sex-induced empathy.

Chase is sitting on the edge of the bed, and I'm standing in front of him. He reaches for me, grabs me by the belt loops on my jeans, and tugs me forward. He leans his forehead against my stomach, and I can't help but reach up and run my fingers through his thick hair.

I think of a baby in my belly, with him leaning his face next to where a tiny heartbeat would be.

What the fuck is wrong with me
? I'm Elle, the carefree, happy-go-lucky, would-be-a-hippie-if-I-didn't-hate-body-odor-so-much girl.

"Chase," I say. "You're exhausted. Why don't you try and get some sleep?"

Chase pulls me down onto his lap, then tumbles backward onto the bed, bringing me with him. Instead of kissing me, he just wraps me in his arms, spooning me. God, he feels so good and big and warm. I rest my cheek against his arm.

"Sleep with me, Elle," Chase says, his voice drunk with exhaustion. "I sleep better when you're with me."

I don't say anything to that. I can't. My throat gets choked up, and my eyes fill with tears. If he sleeps
better
with me here, I can't imagine how awful his sleep is when I'm not around.

“Okay,” I say. “Oh, I have a gift for you.” I open the bedside table and hand him a small bottle of pills.

“What are these?”

“Melatonin. They’re like a safe, natural way to help you fall asleep.”

Chase gives me a dubious look.

“They’re
all natural
,” I say. “I know a lot of parents who give them to their kids.”

He shrugs and opens the bottle, takes one pill. Then he grabs me and pulls me back to him.

"Tomorrow you'll wake up with my head between your legs, and then we'll fuck all day," Chase growls.

“Um. Okay,” I giggle.

“We’ll spend all day together. I’m taking the day off." And then he pulls me closer, tucks me inside his folded arms, and falls asleep.

And he doesn't wake up once. I wish I could say the same. His words from yesterday still play in my head:
You're mine, you're mine, you're mine, Elle
.

And I agreed.

But what the hell did I agree to?