12. Lucie
TWELVE
lucie
“I wasn’t hungry,” I say, desperately trying to keep the drool from spilling out of my mouth.
Because… holy fuck.
“You sure look hungry to me.”
I’m holding his towel.
His cock is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
Of course, I’ve seen them, I’ve seen snippets of porn that Viv made me watch and we giggled over, I saw my boyfriend’s, whose name I suddenly couldn’t conjure up if my life depended on it.
His cock was small, nothing like what’s staring back at me now.
Callahan’s is long and thick, a monster, if you ask me.
And I can’t stop looking, no matter how much embarrassment floods and flares in my cheeks.
“Is that a tattoo?”
I point at his dick, because that thick, perfect-looking member is definitely tattooed.
And pierced. Like, a lot .
“Yeah, it’s a tattoo, and yeah, Lucie Joy, my junk’s pierced. Maybe, one day soon, I’ll initiate you on the delights of piercings. ”
“I’ve already been initiated.” The words…
I can’t take back the words.
A hot shiver ripples over me as I remember the drag of his stud on my tongue, the way it added something extra to his kisses when he went out of his way to make it known.
And how it pulled and played with my nipples when he tugged and sucked them with his mouth.
And oh my God, when he went down on me earlier, when he penetrated me with that tongue, pushed the stud against the most delicate, intimate parts of me, and added that pressure and extra something to the push and slide and thrust. Against my clit?—
A jagged breath slips from my lips.
“Who did that? I’ll dismember him. I thought you were a—” He starts laughing.
“Aww. That’s fucking sweet as American apple pie. You mean me. My tongue stud. Oh, Lucie Joy, you have no idea…”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet,” he repeats softly.
And I don’t know if his words stem from exasperation or the fulfillment of one of his promises.
I drag my gaze up, over his tattooed abs, over his tattooed chest, his pierced nipples.
His arms are tattooed, too, to just above the wrists.
And then I drop my gaze down again, pressing my thighs together.
Desire lances the center of me, spreading out into every cell.
The man’s a work of art.
Is it wrong to want to touch, to see what he feels like, to see if that hardness pressing into me when we kiss is all from his cock?
Because that hardness always felt bigger than what I can see here.
Then again, he’s not exactly hard right now .
Oh. Lord.
I swallow.
I might melt or faint thinking of his cock.
Wondering what it looks like when completely erect.
Because that, right there, is big and swollen, but still soft.
And it’s perfectly shaped from the head to the base.
He just stands there, like he’s allowing me to look.
I guess he is, and I still have his towel in one hand, which I’m only realizing right now.
We both know curiosity drew me in here.
I wasn’t planning on a big seduction scene.
He’d laugh at my na?veté.
Not that I’m going to try and seduce him.
I don’t want to do anything more than we need to make this marriage real.
I’ve gone from one monster’s cage to another.
I never really thought of home as a cage and Dad as a monster in quite those terms, but the fact that I can witness heinous acts of violence in stride, like Callahan said, makes me believe it’s the case.
I’m twenty-one, an adult.
So getting trapped into this arranged, contractual marriage is laughable.
I should have been able to walk away.
Yet I didn’t.
Because that would have been impossible.
Viviana knew she couldn’t talk her way out of a marriage or flat-out refuse, so she disappeared.
And a part of me subconsciously knew I couldn’t defy my father, either.
And now, here I am, curious about my prison master.
The tattoos look tribal, Celtic, reminding me of ancient warriors.
They’re beautiful, some depicting a language I can’t read.
I point now at his left arm, the tattoo a stream of writing.
“That?”
His smile’s soft and it causes a small quake in my heart.
“Some words of Brendan Behan, in Gaelic. He was an activist, went to prison for refusing to turn on his IRA brothers, and was also a renowned writer—a poet and playwright. ”
“What does it say?”
“This and that.”
“A lot of words for this and that.”
“Christ, Joy. It’s the poem, The Laughing Boy . And some other shit. I was young. They’re just tattoos.”
But they’re not.
I can tell from the glint in his eye.
And while he has a charm and an air of flippancy about him when he wants, I don’t think he does anything without meaning to.
I don’t move. I should, but I can’t.
He’s tall, muscular, and glorious.
All of him. The dark curling hair’s now blacker and slicked back by his hand.
Those indigo blue eyes are mesmerizing, and his mouth…
A frisson of excitement rushes through me as I note he’s starting to get a shadow on his jaw, which means, though he shaved for our ridiculous wedding, he’s growing back his scruff.
I don’t know why it delights me, but it does.
“Joy, either get on your fucking knees and suck my cock, or get the fuck out of the bathroom,” he says, tone low, full of inky-black promises.
I don’t think he threatens.
He means it all. “Because things are starting to rise.”
I drop my gaze again.
And like I’m in a dream, I go closer, putting my hands on his wet flesh, stroking over his nipples, over the little dumbbells that pierce them.
They’re cool but getting warm as he starts to heat.
I touch his damp hair.
It’s also cool beneath my fingertips.
“Did you have a cold shower?”
“What the fuck are you doing, Lucie Joy?”
“Touching. We’re married.”
Never in my life have I had the courage to do this.
Or the opportunity. Except, I guess, for what’s his name, but I was younger and I didn’t want to.
Now… I want to.
He’s going to take me.
He told me that. He says he owns me, and the ring on my finger says that, too.
My father sold me.
For more power, more money.
For access to what Callahan can give him.
And maybe the protection, too.
I don’t know. I don’t know the world beyond the basics.
And I wasn’t even sold as a prize possession.
I was the lame horse, and apparently, my father had to throw in a few extra bags of gold to sweeten the deal.
Gold, sex club, the same thing.
I know this because I heard him and his higher-ups talking about it.
“Touching has consequences.”
“Everything,” I say, “has consequences.”
I drop my hand and run it against his cock.
It’s hot, and it jumps and swells, and I snatch my hand back, suddenly realizing what I’m doing, the fire I’m playing with.
“You knew it was me you were marrying, that’s why you wanted it masked, didn’t you? The party? You wanted to hide your identity from me for as long as possible.”
He takes my hand and forces me to wrap it around his cock.
It feels like silk and steel, and the metal bars that pierce it make my pussy swell—what does all this feel like?
I shiver as heat burns deep in my blood.
“Fuck no. I had no idea it was you I was marrying. That was a nice surprise. The masks…” He moves my hand on him, guiding me, and I’m captivated, turned on, blood now roaring.
The water still clinging to the skin of his cock helps my hand move.
“Ah, fuck…”
“Let me go,” I whisper.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“About?” He tightens his grip on my hand, making us both work him harder, rougher and he’s so hard I don’t even know what to do.
“The masks.” There’s a roar in my ears, and the words just come on their own.
I really don’t care about masks.
All I care about right now is the hot, silken steel under our hands.
Even if he lets me go, would I stop?
“The masks…” He lets out a hiss.
“Let’s just say I was thinking about a hot little masked number who dared to kick me, throw a drink on me—a Dubious Joy, the name for the drink, not the act of throwing it at me—and run like some fairy-tale princess after I finger banged her in a park. Maybe I wanted to relive that memory.”
“Oh.” It’s hard to swallow, and I’m trembling.
“Okay, well, I think I’ll go to bed now.”
“But I’ve got you all deliciously captured.”
“Please…”
He removes his hand.
I tug him a little more, and then horror hits me that I’m still going.
I let him go and run away.
What’s wrong with me?
I might have been forced to marry the sexiest man I’ve ever met, a man so hot he scorches the air, but I don’t have to like it.
I don’t have to give in to him.
He’s taunted me enough.
And I?—
I scream as he grabs my hair, pulling me to a stop.
Then he slams me into the wall, his hand taking the brunt.
“Oh, Lucie Joy…”
“Please…”
“Where do you think you’re fucking going?” He leans in, hand coiled in my hair, his face close.
My body wobbles, dizziness clouding my thoughts.
He smells so clean and faintly of honey and leather, and I know I’m going to sniff all his shampoos and soaps later.
“I stopped,” I whisper.
“Not soon enough. And I asked you a fucking question.”
I swallow.
Hard. “Away from you.”
“Then you should have stopped when you asked and I let you go. I told you there’d be consequences. ”
I try to drag in a breath, but the air only comes in stuttering bursts.
“I don’t want them. Or this marriage, i-it’s in name only. You said?—”
He leans right in, nose and lips brushing against my throat.
“Oh, Lucie. I’ve promised you nothing but a talk about why you were in the hardcore hellhole part of Queens, showing off A-fucking-plus legs. And tonight, when I gave you a stay of execution in the form of pizza with my brothers, what the fuck did you do? You walked into my shower. You stared, touched. You fucking wanked the lion, Lucie. Consequences are real.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not yet. On your fucking knees.”
It takes me a moment to understand his meaning and I gasp.
“No?—”
“Yes.”
“B-but…” He’s still holding me, and he turns us so I’m no longer against the wall, his hand’s tight in my hair, against my scalp.
“Now.”
My knees tremble as he exerts a little pressure.
A part of me understands it’s not enough to make me go down, but I do, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with his big, thick cock, zeroing in on the piercing at the top along with a bead of precum.
I swallow, everything hot and cold, wet and dry at once.
My mouth’s dry, pussy wet, and the shivers that assault me are ice and heat, and dammit, I can’t look away, even if he didn’t have a chunk of my hair in his grasp.
His cock’s even more magnificent, more frightening, from here.
I look up and those intense indigo eyes gaze down, boring into me.
“You’re going to learn to suck me, sweet Lucie. I’m a man of rabid appetites. An obsessive, fucking murderous cunt with a voracious hunger for you. And I’m going to devour you alive, inch by inch. But first, you’ll learn how to give pleasure. I’ll show you how to outstrip any girl when it comes to head. When it comes to giving up her pussy and her ass.”
“Callahan, I don’t…”
“Don’t know how? Don’t want to? I’ll teach you the first, and I don’t give a fuck about the other. You walked in. You didn’t leave. You didn’t listen, Lucie.”
“I’m a person.”
“Mine. And I’ll do with you what I want. After all, I paid for you. Got the papers and everything.”
Even though I know this, that in a manner of speaking, he did exactly that, my eyes sting like I’m going to cry.
“I’ll teach you hand jobs.” He drags me closer to his cock.
“And if you don’t watch out, if you don’t fucking behave, I’ll teach you to like being shared.”
“By you and your brothers?” I can’t breathe.
Horror and fascination attack me at once.
He tightens his hold a moment.
“No. But I have allies, enemies, people I need to make deals with?—”
“But they wouldn’t want me.”
“Jesus, Lucie Joy…” He half smiles.
“You don’t think they’d bust a nut over you? Fuck, they’d probably offer me their bank accounts.”
I start laughing.
It’s ludicrous. No one would ever want me.
Not to that extent. He’s lost his mind.
Or he’s taunting me.
But his eyes are deadly serious and something in me pulsates, sending a thrill tumbling through my insides.
“However, you’re lucky, Lucie, very lucky, that on top of being a bastard, I’m excessively possessive. No one touches you but me. Are you going to start…” He trails off.
He pulls me back a little by my hair so I’m forced to arch back, on my knees.
“Now… ”
He forces me back to his cock.
“Open your mouth, Lucia.”
I tremble and do as I’m told, and he aims his cock, shoving it at me, stopping just before he plunges it in.
I stick out my tongue and lick him.
Salty. Clean like water, the faintest taste of his soap.
“Oh, fuck me.” He pulls me back, and I panic.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Wrong?” We stare at each other and finally he swallows.
“Get up. I’m not in the fucking mood tonight to teach you lessons. Up.”
And he releases me.
I don’t move.
“Lucie,” he says in dangerous tones.
“Get the fuck up.”
Before he can step away, I grab his legs, those powerful muscles turn hard like steel.
“No.”
“Lucie.”
I ignore him and I move closer, licking along the length of him, waiting for him to shove me away, to laugh or tell me how wrong I am.
But there’s only a hiss of breath, so I continue, licking him all over, wanting to learn.
The silver bars and the piercings that run the length of his cock fascinate me, and I suck at them, licking and kissing.
His hand plunges into my hair again.
“Fuck.”
“Do these have a name?” Now I touch, running a finger over each, all the way up until I touch that top one.
“That’s a Jacob’s Ladder,” he says, voice gravelly, “and that’s a Prince Albert. You really should fucking stop.”
I almost ask him if he wants a blow job, but I’m afraid he’ll say no.
I shouldn’t want this either, but he shoved me down here, so just one time, I’m going to do it .
If he lets me.
And I’m not giving him the chance to turn me down.
I open my mouth, and I suck the tip of his cock, taking in the head.
It’s soft, nice, and the hardness of the piercing is an unexpected and delightful contrast.
“More.”
I go down farther.
I take as much of him as I can and run my tongue over him, sucking hard, and then I come back up.
I repeat that a few times, getting farther and farther until his cock hits the back of my throat.
Callahan’s hands tighten in my hair again, and he starts to guide me, use me, show me what he likes.
“Suck harder, yes…”
I do.
And he forces me down so I swear his cock’s entering my throat.
I’m gagging, coughing, drool plastering my stupid baby doll negligee to my breasts, and he makes me go harder.
“Shit.”
I dig my fingers into his thighs as he hammers into my mouth, making my head bob on his cock.
“Fuck, fuck, Lucie. Ah, Jesus…”
With shock, I realize I’m so damn wet and aching.
And I like this. I like his cock hammering and thrusting into my mouth and throat.
I love the feel of the bars in my mouth as they move with his cock, in and out.
And I realize something else.
He’s not pushing me.
I am.
Like a fire’s been lit, I go deeper, harder, and then he grabs my head again and starts to really move me, pushing me down so my mouth is as far down his cock as it’ll go, and then it twitches.
Spurts of liquid hit the back of my throat and I swallow and swallow.
It twitches again, and then he pulls out .
“Fuck, Lucie,” he mutters.
And as I slump on the floor, I’m vaguely aware of him dressing and the door opening and closing.
When he’s gone, when he’s left me without a word, I curl up with my arms wrapped around my knees and start to cry.
I don’t know who I hate more right now. Him… or myself.