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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Nicci Harris
Read between
January 6 - February 12, 2024
“Take the pliers.”
I lean back in my chair, sucking on the cigar. “Now use the pliers.” With each syllable, his panting becomes harsher, his lax form shaking under the extreme panic thrashing through his body. “Take your cock out.” Guttural whimpers vibrate up his throat. “Remove it.” His head drops forward, tears streaming down his face, filling his mouth. “And I might let you live.”
"Are you sorry for what you have done?" I ask. "Are you sorry for hurting her? You won't be raping anyone again, will you? Tell me you're sorry, my boy. Tell me how sorry you are."
"Now show me how sorry you are. Prove you'll never do it again. Show me you deserve this, and it'll all be okay," I say smoothly. His eyes become vacant, lost in the trauma. "It's okay. You can do this, my boy. If you do it fast it won't hurt as much. We'll fix you up and send you on your way and you'll get through this."
I watch. Vinny waits. One snip. Landon drops the pliers and gargles on his pain.
Vinny drags the knife along Landon's throat. Blood sprays through the webbing of veins as his carotid arteries are severed. Then there is quiet.
"So, Jake," I say, turning to smile at him. "Are you sorry for what you have done?"
Twisting to face her as she holds the door open, I say, "But you're his wife. Don't you—" "I'm his business partner and, I like to believe, his friend. But we are not lovers, Fawn. Our relationship is based on the archaic truth that I am a woman and without Clay, I am nothing but a bargaining chip for the Cosa Nostra. With him, I am his partner. And I get a say in this empire my father loved more than me and my sisters." She sighs, shaking her head a little, seemingly exasperated by her own words. "Go to sleep. I wouldn’t wait up for him."
I crawl into his bed—his bed—fanning my fingers out to touch the smooth black material, the mattress barely moving beneath my weight. All I can think about as I curl into a ball on one side, knowing it is his side, the scent of him on the pillow giving it away, is that this means something. Being in his bed, without him, means something big.
The steam parts to reveal him under the faucet. Feeding his hands through his hair, dragging them down his face, his back to me, he is yet to notice me. The thick strands look longer and darker under the spray, deliciously so. I should make a noise. Look away, even. But I can't.
Although he is the epitome of smooth, effortless control, his eyes flash with pain and need and something that twists my stomach. Something that makes my eyes burn. What could have affected him so?
I touch his cheek, and he closes his eyes. I think I love you.
A tattoo was something I had never thought about. I might get one... maybe a butterfly, only because they live so erratically within me whenever he is around. Their presence will be a constant reminder of the weeks I spent being his...
He is so tender tonight; tears sting the backs of my eyes, wanting to announce my emotions.
He is all hard. I am all soft and pliable, and it feels so right.
"And what thoughts have you so deliciously wet that you are dripping all over my fingers?" "Your mouth on my pussy..." I moan as he rocks his finger within my clenching walls. "The ice. The..." The way you say 'mine.' The way you called me 'your belonging.' Your smell. Your lips. God, I want your lips. God, I think I love you.
I have never felt anything like it. Comfort and calm. Safety and bliss. All about me.
He holds my small trembling frame to the hard slab of his, enveloping me in the safety of his powerful arm. As his fingers twist and roll against the muscles inside me, I am so consumed by him, by his words, by the throes of my orgasm, that I start to sob. I think I love you.
Something is different. He's different. Resting my head on the thick swell of his bicep, I struggle with the emotional turmoil inside my mind. I want to dive headfirst into this blissful moment that is him and me, but lurking under the surface is utter fear and the lingering sense of my impending rejection.
The emotion hurts. What happens when my dad comes? Will he care that I've been intimate with his associate? A man twice my age? Slut. Slut.
A man like him couldn't possibly understand the weight of poverty, of having no skills to offer the world. "I can't look after him alone." He leans back, eyes like blue diamonds, flashing seriously at me. "I have already confirmed that you will be looked after. I don't make idle comments." My heart grows, but I want to take a pin to it, to deflate the hopeful naivety with which it expands. My head hasn't forgotten the past eighteen years of lackless offerings turned betrayal. "By you?" "Yes." "But what about my dad?" His eyes narrow. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm your everything. Your teacher.
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"It isn't as romantic as it sounds, little deer." I touch his cheek, the small bristles coarse under my palm but undeniably virile. "No?" "No." His large hand swallows mine before removing my palm from his face, and it feels like an icy wall is being erected between us. Is it to keep me out? Or to keep him in? "I won't be yours, but you are mine. That is already settled. You will handle this better if you forget about your father all together. The man is not worth your consideration."
"One lesson you need to learn, sweet girl, is that there is pleasure in acceptance and submission. You came to me. You trust me. So let me decide what is best for you."
"Now, you need something in your mouth to stop those lovely lips from asking questions you don't need to worry about anymore. Lay with your head towards the foot of the bed and suck my cock." Air locks in my throat. "What?" "Your ears work perfectly fine." His thumb comes up to my lower lip, folding down the flesh while his gaze skims the inner pink depths. "You are overthinking. Anxious about things that you don't need to be—not anymore. I need to redirect your troublesome thoughts. Suck my cock until you don't feel the need to ask so many questions. Until you stop worrying. Until you
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"I don't know how to—" "I didn't tell you to make me come, little deer. I told you to suck until you feel better about your place with me."
I play with him, focus on him, and the questions just... stop.
"You are such a good girl." His fingers nestle into the blonde strands at my crown, gently combing through them. "You belong to me. I take great care of my belongings. I know you're stressed about the baby, sweet girl. I am very proud of how seriously you are taking this responsibility. There will be things in your life that only you can control. For everything else, trust in me. I will make sure you never go without. You never just survive."
"Does it hurt when you... get hard?" His lips twitches with a grin. "What a sweet question." "You haven't... you know." I avoid his calculating gaze, forcing the word out. "Come." "It does," he groans, in a way that seems to stifle a powerful, primal urge, "hurt to be anywhere near you, sweet girl, and not be inside you." I smile a little. "But you operate best under a level of duress, right, Sir?" "What a promising addition your mere presence will be to my peak condition." A full-blown charismatic smile sweeps across his breathtaking face, and I think my heart just ballooned to the point it
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As I turn to face the other way, he pulls me back into the cave of his body. I try desperately not to let that bliss, contentment, and safety flood me. A little is okay. A whole ocean of it, though, will probably result in my head submerged and my reality saturated in everything Clay Butcher. I failed. I am already drowning in him.
I know whatever is going on between us isn't what everyone else has. It is more. It is everything. He is everything. He is walking, talking sin. He is patronising and controlling and has emotional amour so comfortable around him it has formed another layer of skin. Condescending. Dangerous. Secretive. Lethal, most definitely. He has blatantly told me he isn't mine but promises me a future with security. And I am in love with him. Irrevocably in love. Invincible.
"I won't be yours." His words lay facts down inside my mind before I can even toe the line of jealous girlfriend. I'm not. He's not. We are something else entirely.
"I will be making sure you are spoilt rotten." A little chuckle slips from my lips. He is so fucking bossy even when he's not here.
Entering his bedroom, I glance around without my awe-goggles on and find it to be equally as soulless as it is beautiful. Wandering around the room, I circle each perfectly exquisite piece of polished black-wood furniture. My heart sinks lower still. The only sign this is a permanent residence and not a hotel room is my dreamcatcher swaying under the air conditioner's gentle current. Sighing, I make a mental note to create a pillow stack with his cushions every morning.
Not like I trust Clay. I'm not sure I have ever trusted another person the way I trust him.
She trusts me.
She sobs with emotion into my grasp. A spike of something similar hits me in the chest. Goddamn it. This girl. This little addiction. The only temptation I allow myself.
She pouts her lips with intent, her eyes still closed even as her mouth eagerly begs for mine. For gentleness. Intimacy. Not something I usually offer... but fuck...I let her have what she wants.
"Good girl. Only breathe my breath, sweet girl. Nothing enters this body tonight unless it comes from me."
A young girl I should have never touched, but even God wouldn't dare take her from me now.
My sweet girl. My vulnerable girl. Mine.
still give her that precious intimacy she so desires—no, deserves—even if it is hard for me to give. I give her my kiss. She gives me herself.
Awareness of my feelings, of my fear, of losing her or failing her, sweeps into me like blood on a shirt. My pulse thrashes in my neck, heart punching my ribcage, not unlike it does when I wake from the vision of Bronson tied to that chair. Violent fear... I don't like it.
She whimpers with emotion, and I groan with something similar.
She is utterly soul commanding. I won't let her go. I'll keep her even if she hates me after what I do. After the lies. I'll keep her anyway.
I'm pissed she has made me feel like this. I can't let her go. And I can’t stop kissing her, slow and soft. Her lips are like—fuck me. They are like peace and comfort. Fucking comfort.
She can have it all. Every damn thing. This lie scorches. It'll scar. But I'll take it all for her.
"I wish he was yours," she says, and my heart aches inside my chest. Aches for her. And I bite back a wince. "He is." Fuck. I don't know what that fucking means, but I said it, and I meant it. He is mine. She is mine.
"You have been through a lot. Too much. And you have done it all by yourself. You didn't let life break you, but you also won't allow it to embrace you. You're scared. I need you to trust me, little deer. I will do the worrying for you. Let them all go now. All the questions and concerns about that night. Let them all go."
Closing my eyes, I pump my shaft while her exploratory lips do more for me than any skilled mouthfucking ever has. The sweetness of this girl... Madonna Mia.
Perfect. She's perfect.
