Page 4 of Cruel Tyrant

When it’s done. I adjust my dress so I’m not sitting on the bare counter anymore and tuck my tits away as he stands back and stares at me like he’s taking a mental picture. Slowly, I spit my panties out.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he says, and I take him in, all of him. I can see the outline of a long, thick cock straining against his wet pants, and his forearms are pulsing with muscle and veins. The scars on his left hand disappear up into his shirt, and he tucks that hand behind his back when my gaze lingers on it for too long.

“That was—” I start, but what the hell am I supposed to say now? That was great, thanks for the oral, but I gotta run?

He reaches out, takes my panties, and shoves them into his back pocket. “These are mine now.”

“Uh, okay, I guess you can have a souvenir, but I should, uh?—”

“And now you need to clean me.”

My eyes widen. I stare at the massive cock straining his pants, but he leans forward and presses his fingers against my lips—the fingers that had been buried inside of me just a second earlier. I open my mouth and lick him clean, heart pounding the whole time. I stare into his eyes, brain going haywire, a delicious smirk on his lips?—

When there’s a pounding at the door. “Boss, management’s getting pissed.”

“That’s our cue,” Davide whispers. He kisses me gently one more time and I’m surprised by how tender it is. He lingers for a moment, hands on my hips, before helping me down off the counter and holds me there, eyes staring into mine like he’s trying to read my mind.

And if he could hear my thoughts, they’d go something like: holy shit, that was the best orgasm of my entire life and what the hell was I thinking letting some freaking stranger go down on me in my own brother’s club, I am going to get freaking murdered along with a whole lot of wordless screaming.

“Enjoy your keepsake,” I say and pull away from him, hurrying to the door. He doesn’t stop me this time.

I open it and step out, forcing myself not to look back, and find the two thugs standing in the hallway fending off a bunch of pissed-looking guys. I promptly turn on my heel and march the other way as a bunch of shouts and jeers follow in my wake.

There’s an emergency exit at the end of the hall and I shove through it, stumble out into the chilly night, my dress still damp, with no panties on and no clue where Giorgia is. I’m wondering what the hell I just did and who the hell I even am right now, but a grin breaks across my face as I pull out my phone to call a cab to get me the hell out of here.

Chapter 3

Stefania

The law firm of Cougar and Mellon is quiet on a Monday morning. I get in early, squeeze into my desk at the far corner of the cube farm, boot up my computer, and have two minutes to sip my coffee before Giorgia appears behind me with her hands on her hips.

“What the hell happened to you Saturday night and why have you been blowing me off ever since?” She’s smirking at me like she knows something happened and I try not to turn a very revealing shade of scarlet.

I feel bad. I ditched her that night because I couldn’t stand the idea of going back inside, and when she called in a total panic asking me to prove I didn’t get human trafficked, I made up some excuse about not feeling well. Then she offered to come over Sunday with chicken soup, which I rejected, followed by a bunch of questions about the true nature of my illness, which I evaded to the best of my ability.

“Nothing,” I say and feel extremely lame from my head to my toes. “Just didn’t feel good, that’s all.”

“Uh, yeah, right.” Giorgia sits down on the edge of my desk. She’s wearing a long pencil skirt and a silky blouse. Her blonde hair hangs in waves to her shoulders and her makeup is absolutely immaculate. I’ve known her for a couple of years now, and she’s the sort of take-no-bullshit person who will absolutely not let this go. That makes her a wonderful best friend, but really, really hard to lie to. She works in the research division of the firm like me, and basically, we’re tasked with pulling legal documents and hunting down client information for all the attorneys as needed.

I rub my temple and plaster on a smile. “Can we just pretend like Saturday never happened? Seriously, G, can we let it go?”

“Definitely not.” She pushes her lips together. “You ditched me without so much as a goodbye. You owe me an explanation.”

“I was sick. I didn’t feel good. Stomach issues, dizziness, headaches, spontaneous combustion, it was really bad.”

“Wow, for a girl who was literally on fire a day ago, you look great.”

I sigh and put my face in my hands. “It was a guy. Okay?”

“Now we’re talking,” she says, sounding far too excited as she shimmies closer and pitches her voice lower so nobody can hear. “There was a rumor that some power couple took over the men’s room for like ten minutes and wouldn’t let anyone inside. I overheard a bunch of drunk investment bankers complaining about it.”

I arch my eyebrows. “How did you know they were investment bankers? Are you sure you overheard them?”

“Yeah, definitely, while they were buying me drinks. What did you do, Stef?”

I take a deep breath and blow it out. There’s no way I can keep this from Giorgia, and honestly, a part of me doesn’t want to hide it. I mean, I’m not exactly ashamed of what I did. I believe in every woman’s right to bodily autonomy and sexual pleasure, and think slut-shaming is regressive patriarchal bullshit, but since I’m from a regressive patriarchal mob family, that sort of deep guilt is built into my very DNA.

“There was this guy?—”

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