Wild Card Read online Renee Rose (Vegas Underground #8)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Vegas Underground Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
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Which is precisely what I’m going to do.

“Yes, big man.”

He sinks one of his fingers into my channel. “Big man, huh? Babygirl, this is the strangest direction a shakedown has ever gone for me, you know that?”

I go still. “This is a shakedown?”

Not a murder. He would’ve said hit if it was supposed to be a hit, right?

With his hand still down my pants, he uses the tie around my neck to swivel me around and march me back toward the bedroom. “It’s whatever I want it to be. Right now, it’s me bending you over that bed and fucking you hard from behind with this tie wrapped tight around your throat. Capiche?”

I moan. I don’t even know if he means this as dirty talk, but to me it works like magic. “I capiche,” I say.

He snorts because I’m sure that’s not how you say it. Whatever. When we reach the bed, he pushes my torso down over the side of it and screws a second finger into me. I tuck my forearms under my chest and rock my hips to get him deeper. He bites my shoulder as he removes his fingers and I gasp. With quick, deft movements, he rids me of my yoga pants. I hear the tear of foil and I’m instantly grateful he’s responsible, because I hadn’t even thought about protection. At least I’m on the pill.

And the fact that he’s using a condom… does that mean he’s not killing me? Or is it just to protect him from anything I might be carrying?

Probably the latter. That thought tanks my initial elation.

The tie around my neck had gone loose but he cinches it again, sliding it up right beneath my chin so when he pulls on it, he lifts my head and bows my back.

“Aw, that’s pretty, doll. Really fucking pretty.”

I suddenly feel it. I picture how I must look to him; tied up, choked and ready to be fucked and it’s definitely hot.

He shoves into me from behind. It’s rough and forceful and just how I like it. My body was ready for him, even though he’s big. He thrusts in deep, easing out and bumping my ass when he slams back in.

I clench my pussy around his large cock and he jerks, shoving in harder. “Damn, you feel good, bella. You practice keeping that pussy so tight?”

“Yes,” I admit. Aren’t we all supposed to be doing our kegels?

He mutters something that sounds like, “Cazzo.” Must be an Italian curse.

I love the way he fucks me hard, like it’s punishment, like I’m meant to feel where he’s been for days. My ass is still sore from the whipping and each time he slams in, his loins slap against it, renewing the sensation, winding my crank tighter and tighter.

He tightens the silk tie around my neck, cutting off my air flow. The lack of oxygen, or maybe the fear and desperation that come with being choked bring me right to the precipice of orgasm, but he releases it before I get there.

I let out a frustrated moan.

When he pulls out, I flip my hair over my shoulder to turn and glare at him.

He smirks. “You don’t deserve to have me come in your pussy. You’ve been a bad girl.” He slaps my butt. “You’re going to take it in the ass.”

I shiver. I may be into pain, but anal’s not my thing. It’s too personal. Too intimate. “Lube!” I cry out defensively. “You can use anything—olive oil, coconut oil. Whatever you have. Please.”

He snorts again. “I ought to shred your ass with no lube,” he says, but he gets up and opens a dresser drawer, producing a bottle of lubricant.

Thank God.

“Climb up on the bed,” he orders, as if I have full use of my hands. I pull my knees up onto the bed and he helps situate me in the middle of it. “Ass in the air, troublemaker.” He slaps my butt to punctuate the command.

If I stopped for even a moment to consider how strange and crazy it is that I turned my shakedown into a BDSM extravaganza, I would laugh until I cried. But I’m too lost in the moment. Too turned on, too surrendered in submissive mode. The guy could probably do anything to me right now and I’d let him.

And that’s the danger of my quirks.

Risky behavior, is what the school counselor told the social worker back in high school when I filed for emancipation.

I don’t care. In this moment, it feels good.

My would-be hitman shoves my upper body down on the mattress and dribbles an ample amount of lube over my crack.

Again, thank God.

With one side of my face pressed to the bedcovers, I watch the man behind me unbutton his dress shirt and tug it off. Dayum. What I see makes my pussy clench in anticipation. He’s not what I expected. I mean, yes, he’s a big burly bear of a man with wide, muscled shoulders and ample chest hair curling above his undershirt. But there’s no flashy gold chain or rings on his fingers. The suit is obviously expensive but very tasteful.


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