Page 8 of Bound to a Monster

My breath comes ragged and broken. I can’t think of anything but the sequence he just laid out for me.

Expose myself to him. Touch myself until I come. Suck his cock. Then fuck him.

Lose myself for a night.

“Take me home,” I tell him.

The car comes a few minutes later. He ushers me into the back and keeps a hand on my thigh possessively the whole ride. The driver tries small talk but quickly gives up when he realizes Step isn’t in the mood and I’m too nervous to form a coherent sentence. We leave West Philly and head into Passyunk Square. Step’s house is right off the main strip. It’s an immaculately well-kept red brick home with a brown-and-tan bay window and a black door. He unlocks it, and for a second, I think this is a terrible idea.

I don’t know this man. Not really. I don’t know what he did back at the club, if he even did anything. I don’t know what he wants from me, if he wants something other than sex tonight. Hecould kill me in there; despite my fencing, I can’t actually defend myself from a man like him. Following him would be crazy.

And yet I do it anyway, because if I can marry a man without even knowing his name first, I can sleep with a stranger after having known him for all of a half hour.

“This way,” he says, tossing his keys on a side table. His place is pristine and shockingly beautiful. Dark hardwood floors, white walls covered in tasteful photographs of landscapes and city views. I’ve been around money my whole life, and this man hasmoney. He might even be more comfortable than my father, and my father’s one of the most powerful men in the Marino Famiglia.

I want to ask him questions.What do you do for a living?What are your hobbies? You don’t like to murder girls, do you?But I keep my mouth shut as we head up the staircase.

I’m so nervous I could scream.

“I’ll give you another chance,” he says, turning to me at the top of the steps. “My room is through there. Once we cross that line, I won’t hold back. Are you sure about this, little fencer?”

“Assuming you’re not going to murder me when we’re done,” I say, trying to seem lighthearted and jokey, but I must sound like a lunatic.

“I’m not really in the mood to kill anyone tonight,” he says and brushes a thumb across my cheek. “Come take off your clothes.”

Then he steps into his room and leaves me on the threshold.

Chapter 3

Carmie

The room is surprisingly warm. Dark grays, browns, and navy blues. The bed is large with soft sheets and lots of pillows. Thick drapes cover the windows. It’s a masculine space, but a comfortable and reasonably well-decorated one.

But I have only a second to admire the room before I start watching him undress.

He’s a specimen. It’s unbelievable. His smirk is so disarming that I barely even wonder if I should be staring right now, but how can I take my eyes off him? Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, sun-kissed tan skin, and tattoos. So many freaking tattoos. Dark, dangerous tattoos. I know inked men—there are plenty of them in my life—but there’s something about his, like his body’s a mural. Snarling wolves, a gun with no trigger, roses wrapped around a knife along his ribs. He starts to take off his jeans but stops as my mouth opens and I lick my lips.

That obscene V of pure sexual charisma disappears into his black boxer briefs, and Ireallywant him to keep going.

“You’re not going to just stand there and watch me, are you? Because that’s not how this is going to work.”

That jolts me out of the moment. I clear my throat and look down at the floor. “Sorry. I was staring.”

“It’s okay, little fencer.” He takes off his pants then comes to me. He’s in only a pair of underwear, and his very impressive bulge is clearly hard. His shaft is thick and long, and I can clearly see the outline of the tip of his cock. I picture it in my mouth and my heart starts racing.

His hands touch me. He gently pushes the straps of my dress down. Then he kisses my neck and runs a hand into my hair, and my eyelids flutter as he slowly takes off my clothes. He pushes my dress down, revealing my strapless bra, and kisses my collarbone and my chest. He praises me as he does it, which sends me into a whole new dizzying level of need. I’ve never heard a man talk so openly about wanting me like this before and it’s intoxicating.

“You really are beautiful, my little fencer,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to call me that. My name is?—”

He shakes his head and kisses me before I can blurt it out. I mumble it into his mouth instead.

“I like calling you myfencerinstead.” He touches my lower lip with his thumb. “I think that’s better for tonight.”

“Okay,” I say, shivering, and I realize how much I like that.

I can beherthen. His fencer. This man’s woman for the night. Suddenly, a whole persona populates in my head, built from all the pieces of my life that I like—my athleticism, my confidence on the fencing strip—and filled in with traits I wish I had.

---