Mara was always too good for this place. That was the problem. Too soft. Too golden. Too fucking blind. I used to watch her flit around her father’s estate like none of the blood ever seeped through the cracks in the marble. Like she didn’t notice the men that came in and never left. Maybe she didn’t want to. But I saw her watching me. Always me. At dinners, parties, in passing when she thought I wasn’t looking. I was looking. Every time.
And now? Now she knows. About her father being the head of the organized crime family. About what I am. I knew the second she overheard them talking, everything would change. Mara stood in the hallway like she’d been gut-shot—eyes wide, lips parted, skin too pale against the dark marble. She'd heard her father mention bodies. Weapons. Shipment routes. The moment she realized her daddy wasn’t just a rich businessman—he was ruthless. She looked at me then. Like I was the final piece of a puzzle she didn’t want to solve. I didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.
The next morning, I was reassigned. From enforcement to babysitting duty. Guard the girl. Don’t let her leave. Don’t let her think. They locked her in her room on the top floor of the estate and put me outside her bedroom like I was a fucking doorman. Even though her whole world came crashing down, that didn’t stop me from seeing her little games. The way she walked around in silk shorts and the matching top that came just above her midriff. It was painfully obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The way she glanced at me like she knew. She’d deliberately change in front of me after coming out of the shower, dropping her silky robe to the floor with her back turned to me.
Yeah, she knew. Knew I watched her when I shouldn’t. Knew I thought about how she’d sound—whimpering, begging, choking on my cock. I told myself she wasn’t mine. Until tonight. The door creaked open behind me. Bare feet padded onto the marble. “You’re really going to stand there all night?” Her voice was soft. Curious. Stupid. I turned. Slowly. “Go back inside, Mara. Now,” I said sternly. “No, Jett. You don't get to control me now that I know what you do.” I stepped forward. She stepped back. We played the game she so clearly wanted me to indulge in.
She backed herself into the wall. I caged her there. I could see her nipples through the silk, hard and needing my mouth. “You think this is fun?” I asked, voice low. “Flirting with the man your father pays to kill people?” Her breath hitched. “I think you want me to.” I gripped her chin. “You have no idea what I want.” “I think I do.” I should’ve walked away. Instead, I dragged her inside and kicked the door shut. I slammed her against it, my hand on her throat, not squeezing—just letting her feel it. The danger. The me of it all. “You shouldn’t want me,” I growled. “But I do.”
I kissed her. Hard. Violent. Teeth and tongue and heat. She whimpered when I grabbed her thighs and lifted her, pinning her against the wood. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her hands tangled in my hair. She kissed me like she was starving. I normally don’t pay any attention to the girls that throw themselves at me. But Mara didn’t. Over the last few years, our shared glances and eye-fucking has turned into a yearn for her. I tore the silk from her body like it offended me. I dropped my belt. Undid my pants. No time. No teasing. I lined up and thrust inside her in one brutal stroke. She cried out. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. She felt too good—tight, warm, slick with need. She clawed at me like she wanted to crawl inside my skin.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I said with a possessive need. She whimpered but wouldn’t budge. “Say it,” I snarled, fucking her against the door. “Yours,” she gasped. I grinned. Dark. Mean. Possessive. “Damn right.” She’s panting under me, back against the door, legs tight around my hips. I’m already inside her, buried deep and holding her there like I’m afraid she’ll vanish. Her pussy clenches around me like it knows me. Like it’s been waiting. She’s soaked, dripping down my cock, her head thrown back as I grind into her slow and deep, dragging every inch just to feel her twitch. “You don’t even get it, do you?” I growl against her neck, dragging my teeth along her skin. “How the hell didn’t you know? Your father bathes in blood.”
She gasps when I slam into her again, harder this time. She likes it. “I didn’t— I didn’t want to believe it.” I laugh—low, mean. “You believed in fairytales. And now you’re getting fucked by the villain.” She moans, clenching tighter, nails raking down my back. “Tell me you want it,” I snarl, grabbing her ass and lifting her off the door, carrying her to the bed like she weighs nothing. I throw her down—face-first into the mattress. She scrambles to her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder. Her lip is swollen. Eyes wild. Hair a tangled halo of sin. “Say it, Mara.”
“I want it,” she breathes. “I want you.” I grab her hips, yank her back against me, and slide inside again. This time rougher. Faster. Her body jerks with every thrust. She gasps. Whines. Screams into the sheets when I reach under her and rub her clit in tight, punishing circles. “That’s it,” I whispered, breath ragged. “Take it. Take all of me. Every inch.” She falls apart the first time with a cry, her pussy spasming around my cock so tight I nearly lose it. I don’t stop. I flip her onto her back and fuck her through it, holding her legs wide, making her look at me. “You’ve always wanted this,” I say, fucking her harder. “You just didn’t know how fucking filthy you were.”
She moans, eyes glassy. “Please—Jett—more—”