Paying the Debt

  So I turned my attentions to her. And that’s when I learned the ugly truth.

  Through watching her, I saw the way Tommy treated his daughter. I saw the way he demanded she cook and clean for him like some sort of servant. I saw the way he spoke to her like she was trash, and the way he bullied her like the week man he is.

  I saw the way he hit her when he felt like it, and that was when my blood had turned to burning gasoline.

  At first, I simply thought about killing him. After all, a man treating an absolute angel of a creature like that barely deserved to even be alive. But then, I decided I needed him — to get what I really wanted.

  Want became need, and need became obsession. I don’t know how Tommy even got into that game the other day, but rather than toss him out, I let him play. I saw my move five steps before I took it, like everything in my life. I watched him bury himself in his losing streak, until he had nothing left.

  Well, almost nothing.

  “Surely there's something else you could put on the table.”

  He’d started for his watch, but I shook my head. I had literally zero interest in his shitty Omega knock-off. The keys to his Toyota Camry came next, and I could have laughed. My fucking suit at that table cost more than his car.

  “No, Tommy,” I’d said evenly, my eyes fixed on him.

  He’d thought another moment or two, pounding two more big pours of whiskey.

  “I’ve got this side chick, Mr. Kovac,” he’d slurred out, grinning sloppily at me. “She dances over at the Pole-Cat Club. Real hot little number, and let me tell you, she’ll suck the chrome off a—”

  “I’m not remotely interested in your fucking sloppy seconds, Tommy,” I’d spit heatedly, my eyes narrowing and my jaw clenching tight.

  His face had paled, and I’d ginned. Here was the set.

  “Maybe you should just call it a night, Tommy.”

  I nodded at my guys, and they started to move when Tommy’s voice cut through.

  “No, wait.”

  I’d grinned.

  “There’s something else.”

  I’d looked up to see him chewing on his lip, that gambler’s junky fix all over his face.

  “I got something else.”

  “I’m listening,” I’d growled.

  Tommy had shrugged. “I, uh, I got this daughter.”

  Again, I could have killed him right there. A man offering his daughter as a bet, to a man like me? What a waste of oxygen on this planet. What a piece of human trash. And I should have cut him in two right there, except…

  …Excepted he was about to give me what I wanted.

  “She’s a pretty decent cook, and cleans real good.”

  I nodded impassively.

  “She just turned eighteen.”

  God help me, my cock turned to stone in my pants. I knew it was wrong, and fucked up. But I’d been staring at her pictures and obsessing over her, and now, she was going to be mine.

  All mine.

  So I let Tommy place the bet. I watched him lose, and I watched the horror wash over his face before I’d had my guys toss him out.

  That was two days ago, and now she’s here. She’s finally mine. I always get what I want, and I want everything about Skye Jensen.

  I smell her before I even turn the corner into the living room. She smells like temptation. She smells soft, and untouched — like flowers, or fucking candy. She’s so damn young. So barely appropriate. Fuck, I bet her pussy tastes like heaven.

  I know from her file that she doesn’t have a boyfriend. I know she doesn’t date, or go out, which is a good thing, because the thought of another man putting his hands on her, or even looking at her the way I’ve been staring at her pictures makes me want to fucking break something.

  But none have.

  I’m almost one-hundred percent sure she is, based on my file, but I pray she’s a virgin.

  …Because I want to be her first.

  I want to be the one who drives his cock into her exquisitely soft, tiny little cunt for the first time. I want to be the one to stretch her wide, push through her virginity, and claim her. I want to watch her face as she comes with a real man’s cock deep inside of her for the first time. I want to fill her with every fucking drop of my cum, over and over and over again, until it leaks out of her and trickles down her sweet young thighs.

  My hands tighten at my sides, my jaw clenching as I finally step into the living room and gaze upon my prize from behind.

  She senses my presence and starts to stand, but my voice stops her.

  “No.”

  I barely croak it out, my pulse racing. She stays where she is, hands on her lap, her shoulders tight. Her long, blonde hair tangles down her back and over one of her temptingly bare shoulders — crisscrossed with the pure white straps of a tiny little sundress.

  Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like throwing meat to the lions. My eyes lock onto those bare shoulders, at that sweet exposed skin. I want to lick every inch of that sweet, soft body. Fuck, I want to push that dress up over her ass, bend her over, and let her feel every inch of my thick cock right here.

  I manage to restrain myself and I move behind her, but I’m powerless to stop my hands from moving to those bare shoulders. My cock lurches at the first contact of my large hands on her soft, warm, supple skin. My fingers trace the straps of her dress, and my cock strains at the suit pants binding it down.

  She trembles at my touch, like she’s scared. I force myself not to grab her so hard, and take a breath as I feel the heat pulsing through that supple skin. I take a breath, feeling my blood roar like a lion as I calm the need to pull her around, crush my mouth to hers and claim her as my own immediately.

  But first, I’m going to show her that she needn’t be scared. Not of me, and not of anything while I’m around.

  “You’re here now.”

  She nods. “Yes,” she says quietly, her voice like a sultry, tempting angel.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  She nods again.

  “Good,” I purr into her ear, my cock twitching at the way her breath catches.

  “Because you’re mine now.”

  …And I swear to God, she whimpers.

  My jaw tightens and my hand slides over that soft, warm skin.

  “Tell me why you’re here,” I growl.

  “To clean, and cook, and—”

  “No,” I say softly, shaking my head as I step around to stand in front of her. I let my hand trail over her bare arm, relishing in the goosebumps they leave. “No, why you’re here.”

  Fuck, looking at her now almost makes my resolve not to just take her crack. She looks so fucking innocent in that little white sundress with the little pink flowers, her long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, and those long, slim legs pressed so tight together.

  I can promise, they’re not tight enough that I couldn’t pry them apart right the fuck now if I wanted to. They wouldn’t be so clenched if I were to run my tongue up those smooth calves, push her knees apart, and lick my way up between her legs until her sweet little pussy was leaking through her panties.

  “A bet,” she says, looking at her hands in her lap.

  When I don’t say anything, she continues anyways.

  “My father, he…” She trails off, and when she finally drags her eyes up to mine, I see in her eyes what I already knew, before she looks away again.

  There’s no love there. No familiar bond, or feeling of loss for leaving him like this. Hell, I can empathize — my own dad took off when I was six, after giving my mom a black eye and me a kick to the stomach.

  Maybe that’s an extra reason why seeing the way Tommy’s been treating her makes my blood boil. Why it makes me want to take her away from him and keep her for myself.

  “Angel,” I purr quietly.

  She looks up at me again quickly at the softness in my voice. I know what she thinks of me. I know what she’s heard, and the effect the power and fear that I wield has on her.
But I’m going to show her that past that, there’s more.

  And it’s all for her.

  I lower myself onto the balls of my heels, crouching down in front of her. I don’t hesitate when I put my hands on her bare knees. She gasps quietly, and my cock throbs painfully hard between my legs at the sound of it.

  I want to push her knees apart right there. I want to lick my way up those supple young thighs. I want to pull her panties to the side, or fucking tear them off and run my tongue over her sweet, untouched, teenage cunt.

  I want to taste her honey until I’m drunk off of it, and then bury my tongue in her asshole until she’s squealing for more.

  “You’re not here to be my servant, angel,” I say quietly. One hand strokes her knee while the other reaches up and cups her chin. I let my thumb run along her jaw as my eyes burn right into hers.

  “You’re here to be my queen.”

  3

  Skye

  His hands on my knees make my stomach do all sort of flip-floppy things. My pulse races, the blood pumping to places I’m ashamed to admit.

  I tremble.

  “You’re scared.”

  “I—”

  I close my eyes, shivering. I’m not. Well, a little, but mostly I’m just so overwhelmed by him. I mean, he’s beautiful, not to mention terrifying, and dark, and enormous. I feel the throb of something heated through my core, my body tensing.

  The dark suit he wears fits him perfectly, maybe even better than the one he wore at the wedding I saw him at that once years before. And like last time, his huge, broad shoulders strain at the material and stretch his crisp white dress-shirt across a thick, muscled chest. And he’s so big all over that even when he’s crouched down like this, I know if we were standing, he’d tower over me.

  I chance a look up again, and this time, I fall in, big time. Those dark, powerful, gorgeous eyes of his pull me in. I’m sucked into his power, drawn in by the perfect symmetry of his clean-shaven jaw, his defined cheekbones, and those perfect lips.

  The dark power that seems to swirl around him.

  His hand cups my jaw, and I all but whimper out loud as his thumb traces my jawline.. His firm hand on my bare knee sends a wicked pulse of something so wrong and so forbidden chasing through my body.

  His dark eyes lock right into mine, and this time, I can’t help but shiver.

  He sees it, and his lips pull back in a smile.

  “No, I’m not, I—”

  “You don’t need to be afraid,” he says softly in that deep, resonating, powerful, accented voice.

  This is all wrong.

  Jagger Kovac is supposed to be a monster. He should be yelling at me, or hitting me, or ordering me to clean his house or cook his supper as his new lowly slave. That or telling me to do awful, filthy things.

  My face burns at the thought.

  It’s not the first time I’ve thought it either — the idea that my purpose here isn’t just to be a servant to a man who probably already has a bunch of servants. And I’m ashamed that the thought gets my body tingling.

  Horribly.

  His hand on my chin drops back to my knee along with the other, and they move up slightly. Barely, but enough to let me know he knows what he’s doing to me.

  My heart flips in my chest, my breath catches.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” he says quietly, forcefully. His scent is intoxicating, swirling through my head and sending tingly feelings through my body until I can feel my thighs clench tight together.

  I don’t say anything, but somehow, slowly, I can feel myself relaxing — the fear I felt before slowly leaving my body.

  “Do you know why I’ve brought you here?”

  I shake my head.

  “To take care of you, angel,” he growls softly, his hands tightening on my bare thighs. “You’re not going to clean, or cook, or do goddamn anything ever again unless you want to. Do you understand? No one’s going to hit you, or tell you can’t follow your dreams, or any of that shit ever again.”

  His voice raises and raises as he speaks until he’s practically spitting the words out. And all the while, my heart only beats faster and faster, my breath catching with his words.

  “You’re mine, but you’re mine to protect now. Mine to keep. To save. And you might just save me too, angel,” he finishes, his voice soft.

  It’s crazy because this man doesn’t even know me, and I don’t know him other than reputation. And yet I’m instantly connected to him. Instantly, I want him to do all those things for me. I want him to be my protector. My keeper.

  My body trembles.

  “Do you want all that?” he purrs.

  I swallow, my throat tight as the feeling and the power of his words grip me.

  “If you don’t, the bet is null. I’ll take you back to your life and your fath—”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  Staying here with him is crazy but wanting to go back to the shell of a life I had before is crazier. The first is impulsively crazy. The second is self-loathing crazy. And for once in my life, I choose spontaneity.

  “No,” I say again, my eyes locking onto his and drowning in them. “I don’t want to go back.”

  Jagger’s jaw tightens, and a shadow of something crosses his face as his eyes blaze into mine.

  “Think about what you say next very carefully,” he growls. “If you stay, you’re going to be mine. Mine and only mine. Do you understand that?”

  I swallow, pulse hammering in my chest.

  Spontaneous craziness.

  I want to be his.

  “I’m sure,” I say quietly.

  He smiles softly, his dark eyes sparking. His hands linger on my knees, kneading the skin there before slowly, he stands.

  “Come with me.”

  He takes my hand in his much bigger, powerful one and pulls me gently to my feet. He leads me from the room, hand-in-hand, and as we walk through the insanely gorgeous house, he places his other hand on the small of my back, right above my butt. The feel of him there sends a heated thrill through me, and yet also makes me feel so held, and so protected.

  We step through the lavish house, and my lips barely close once as I gawp at the incredible place.

  “Your house is beautiful,” I whisper.

  “Thank you.”

  He turns, his eyes landing on mine, his hand tightening on mine, and his palm pressing heatedly into the small of my back.

  “It’s your house now too, you know.”

  I blush. I’ve never had someone treat me like this — like I’m a princess or something.

  “This is your room now.”

  My breath catches.

  God.

  The room he leads me into is insane — a huge, glass bedroom overhanging the beach with views on three sides of the Pacific Ocean. A gorgeous, sumptuous-looking California king bed takes up the middle of the room, away from any wall just standing by itself like a throne or something. Everything about the room is so clean, and pristine — softness everywhere.

  I’ve never even seen a bed or a room like this.

  “This is beautiful,” I barely whisper, my jaw dropped as I take in the incredible space and the amazing views.

  Jagger smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners in this way that I suddenly find so sexy.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Where’s your room?”

  My mouth snaps shut the second I say it, feeling like an idiot — feeling ashamed at letting the forbidden desires peek to the surface like that.

  But Jagger just smiles.

  “My room?” His eyes narrow on me, and he steps closer. I whimper as his huge arms circle me, his powerful hands drawing me close to him until I’m flush against his body. Heat spikes through me, the feel of his rock-hard muscles and warm skin tight against me, sends wicked, heated thoughts through me.

  “You’re standing in it, angel.”

  He leans down, and before I know it, his lips are searing to mine.

/>   And I’m lost.

  The kiss is soft at first — slow, until he pulls me tighter, his lips devouring mine. It becomes more and more demanding, until he’s forcing my lips open with his tongue. He growls into my mouth, his tongue finding mine and teasing it, swallowing the whimper that tumbles from my throat

  I’ve never kissed like this.

  My mouth opens as his tongue slips into it. He kisses me deeply, tasting me until I’m panting for breath and longing for more. He moves into me, half carrying me, half pushing me back towards the glass until my back is against it. I gasp, and he only groans deeper as he kisses me harder, his hands on my hips pinning me to the glass as he covers me with his body.

  Slowly, he pulls away from my bruised, swollen lips and lets those dark eyes of his captivate my baby blues.

  “Turn around, angel,” he whispers roughly. “Turn around, put your hands on the glass.”

  “Why,” I whisper.

  “Because,” he growls. “Because I’m not waiting another second to taste the sweet, sticky honey I know you’ve got between your thighs.”

  4

  Skye

  Before, I’d do things out of fear. I’d clean, or run errands, or do laundry even when I didn’t want to because I was scared. When Jagger tells me to turn around and put my hands on the glass, I do what he says because I want to. Because somehow, this man has stirred something in me — and it’s something fierce, and something hungry.

  My body trembles, the filthy thoughts of letting the dark, tortured, wicked man — the man who runs a criminal empire that stretches across half of the country and the man who won me in a bet do what he wants with me.

  Except, it's not fantasy right now, and I’ve never been more excited.

  I feel his huge hands on my waist, sliding down over my hips. He trails a single finger over the curve of my ass, making me arch my back into him as I bite my bottom lip. My fingers claw at the cool glass as his body presses hotly behind me.

  His hands move lower down my thighs, bunching the fabric of my sundress and pulling it up. Part of me knows I should stop him — tell him no, that I’m too young, too inexperienced. But I’m eighteen after all. An adult. And something about Jagger makes me think he’s fully aware of how inexperienced I am. And the fact that he wants me even with that knowledge is like a high I’ve never had before.