Falling for the Killer: A Dark Possessive Mafia Romance by B.B Hamel (books to read for beginners .txt) 📗

it,” she said, and slid herself down my length with a low moan. “God, I hated ballet, and piano, and calligraphy. I did calligraphy at ten.”

I gripped her hips and let her ride me nice and slow. “That’s not you anymore, princess.”

“No, it’s not,” she moaned, moving faster, the truck shaking with each roll of her hips. “It’s not me anymore. I don’t want it.”

“I know what you want,” I growled as she went faster, body working, taut and gorgeous and lithe. “You want freedom, princess. You want to get mad, and stay mad. I want to see you pissed off. I want to see you stripped, riding my thick cock, getting all that pleasure you need.”

“Yes,” she gasped, “fuck, yes.”

“I want to treat you like the gorgeous piece of sex you are. I want to give you the world, but most of all, I want to make you free again.” I slapped her ass hard as she moved faster, faster, eyes squeezed shut before she leaned back, slamming into the steering wheel.

The horn blared as she came. I felt her clench down as she gasped, eyes rolling back, and I held her hips and fucked her, making her orgasm double down, intensify, rip through her skin like a tidal wave. As she slowly finished, I felt myself peak and fill her, coming deep between her legs, my princess, my Ash.

She collapsed forward and I held her there in the dim streetlight with the full moon peering out above the buildings. God, the girl was gorgeous, and dangerous, and I wanted to take that collar off the little kitty and let her roam wild once more.

“Come on, princess,” I whispered and kissed her cheek. “Let’s go inside. I’m not done with you.”

“Promise?” she asked, smiling up at me.

I kissed her again. “Promise.”

15

Ash

I think I might be losing my mind, but the feeling of smashing Stuart’s office was one of the best things I’ve ever done.

I was born and bred to be deferential to the men around me. That was supposed to be my lot in life: marry rich, have some children, and try to eke out some meaning in housework, charity events, or any number of socially acceptable hobbies. But now, with Gian, I felt like I suddenly had an entirely new world ahead of me.

I had agency. I could choose where to go and what to do, and if I wanted to break something, then I could break it. Gian didn’t care if I was a woman and what a woman was supposed to do—there wasn’t that same expectation when I was with him.

Gian wanted me to be myself, while everyone else in my old life wanted me to be whatever they wanted.

My mother, my father, my brother, Stuart, all my friends, everyone I knew, they all had expectations, and if I went against those expectations then I was somehow committing a horrible crime.

But smashing Stuart’s monitor on the carpet, breaking his glass, ripping up his papers, trashing his life, that felt good, it felt so good. For a while, I forgot about the baby growing in me, and could focus on the pure pleasure of destruction.

Of course, the baby was still there and always would be, but I felt like I was finally finding the right place for me.

It was crazy. I knew it was totally insane. I woke up the next morning alone in my bed with a big, stupid smile on myself and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Gian wasn’t up yet and I had the house to myself. I stepped out into the back yard and looked at the small, scrubby plants, at the Tree of Heaven that draped down toward me, at the teardrop-shaped leaves shimmering in the morning wind, and I wondered how I ever cared about massive houses, about nice cars, about mansion and status and power.

This felt good. Right here, this felt good.

My phone rang. I went inside and grabbed it from the counter. My brother’s name flashed on the screen and I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to do this right now, but figured, what the hell, he couldn’t do anything to me anymore.

“Hello, brother,” I said.

“Ashleigh.” I grimaced slightly. Jack was four years older than me, and he already sounded like my father. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I wandered out into the back yard again and kept my voice low.

“Stuart called me just now. He says you trashed his office.” Jack’s tone was patronizing and annoyed. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with that?”

My fist clenched hard. Stuart, that little worm. He went running to my big brother the second I did something to push back—despite the fact that he tried to murder us. It was almost absurd, and yet it was typical Stuart. The spoiled little piece of shit thought he could do anything he pleased anytime he wanted, but when someone fought back, suddenly he was all shocked and appalled and angry.

Going to my brother was low, even for him. I took a breath and forced myself to smile so that he wouldn’t hear the rage in my voice.

“Yes, Jack, I helped,” I said. “Along with my baby’s father and a few other men.”

Jack let out a long, weary sigh. “What are you doing, Ashleigh?” he asked. “Are you having fun slumming it? Those men are beneath you. Come home and do the right thing. Mother and Father will forgive you.”

“I don’t want their forgiveness,” I said. “And I sure as hell don’t want to marry Stuart.”

“I know, but—”

I interrupted him. “You don’t get it Jack,” I said as my smile faded away. “You don’t have the same expectations I do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He spoke quietly, and for the first time I thought he might be opening up to me. “Father holds me to the highest standards imaginable. I don’t think I’ve ever done something right in my life.”

“But you still have freedom,” I