Dirty Things Read online

  Enzo looks at me with so much malice, I shiver.

  “Out!” he shouts, cutting his eyes to Tito standing behind us. I’m sure he’s watching, which is fine with me. I love an audience.

  He doesn’t move, but looks at me. He knows who runs this show. Enzo Black may be a powerful man, but Tito works for me, and he’ll die for me. He moves on my word and my word only.

  I know I shouldn’t, and I know I’ll regret it, but with a slight nod of my head, he turns and walks away, pulling the door closed behind him. As soon as he does, Enzo rips the gun from my hand and tosses it onto his desk. Turning me around, he bends me over and drops to his haunches behind me.

  “Come into my fucking office and put a gun to my goddamn head,” he growls to himself, jerking my skirt up and over my ass roughly, pushing it up around my waist. The cool air feels good against my overheated skin. “Should beat the shit out of you.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t put a bullet in your brain,” I moan when he puts a hand on my lower back, shoving me down onto my stomach across the desk.

  “Stupid bitch.” Running a finger down the crack of my ass, he hooks a finger under my panties and jerks them to the side. “No one’s fucking killing me, least of all you.”

  I laugh, manically. He thinks I can’t or won’t kill him. That’s hysterical.

  We’ll fucking see.

  “Shut up,” Enzo snaps, spreading my ass cheeks apart. I can feel his soulless eyes on me, devouring my pussy and ass.

  “How about you just eat my ass and worry about me killing you after.”

  Enzo rewards my smart mouth with a palm to my ass. Sharp and quick, I gasp. It’s not a playful spank or a love tap. He hits me hard to hurt me, to punish me.

  He hits me again.

  And again.

  My skin is on fire.

  Enzo wastes no time. Putting his face in my pussy, he drags his tongue through my wet cunt, lapping up my juices like a starving man, and I’m the last morsel on the planet. He groans, twirling his tongue inside of me before replacing it with three large fingers, stretching me to the point of pain. His mouth latches onto my clit and sucks, making my toes curl inside of my two thousand dollar heels.

  “Jesus, your mouth is at least good at something other than talking shit,” I moan, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out. It’s good. So good.

  But I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

  Enzo doesn’t like that. He hits my ass again, hard.

  Pulling away from my body, he stands up behind me. Grabbing one of my arms braced on his desk, Enzo pulls it, twisting me around until I’m on my back, looking up at him.

  “I know what your smartass mouth could do, but I’m not so sure it would be as good as the bitch that was just in here.”

  If he thinks his little jab hurts my nonexistent feelings, he’s wrong, because I remember him two years ago, always begging me to suck his cock, telling me it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever felt. Telling me he’d die without it. The man is a career liar.

  I shrug my shoulder, and he doesn’t appreciate it. In fact, he hates that shit.

  Grabbing my panties, he tears at them, ripping them clean in half at the seam. “Fucking pointless piece of garbage. How the fuck are these even underwear? They barely cover your pussy.”

  “Why do you even care what I cover my pussy with anyway?”

  He frowns, a crease worn into his forehead as he stares at my panties in his hand. “I don’t. They’re just in my goddamn way,” he tells me, tucking the expensive lacy fabric into the pocket of his trousers.

  Frenzied, my heart hammers in my chest.

  He doesn’t wait for an invitation, or to be welcomed in. He fists his cock and shoves it inside, filling me to the hilt with every hard inch. His hips meet the inside of my thighs with force, shoving my body up his desk and my legs farther apart, my head hitting my gun above it.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re still so fucking tight,” he groans, his face losing a little of its dark edge. This is the only time Lorenzo Black lets a little bit of that guard slip, when he’s deep inside of me. I see little glimpses of the man I used to love.

  It doesn’t last long, though—it never did.

  “Exactly how you like me,” I smirk, feeling smug.

  My pussy is gold.

  I fucking know it.

  He fucking knows it.

  “I like you silent and riding my dick,” he asserts, pumping his hips, his cock sliding in and out of me with ease. He used to like me in his bed and wrapped up in his arms. He used to like me in his kitchen cooking him dinner. He used to like me more than this. I used to like him more than this too. But we’re beyond that now. We’ve passed love and gone headlong into hate.

  “Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Make me ride it since you seem to like it so much.”

  TWO

  ENZO

  WHAT THE FUCK am I waiting for? What am I fucking waiting for? I’m waiting for the feelings of hate and loathing I feel for this bitch to ebb away. Waiting for these destructive emotions to subside. Waiting to not miss being inside of her anymore. It’s been two goddamn years and here I am, still hating this woman more than I hate myself.

  It doesn’t matter that I loved her once. Doesn’t matter that I would have died for her. Doesn’t matter that her happiness was more important to me than my own. None of it matters now. All that fucking matters is getting a taste again. I need it like I need to control her—desperately.

  “Waiting for you to beg me.”

  Sophia licks her lips, a coy look dancing in her dark eyes. “If you’re waiting for me to beg you, then you’ll be waiting for the rest of your life. If I want to ride a cock, yours not included, I don’t have to ask. I have men lined up who want to get inside of me.”

  She’s so damn full of herself, and she should be.

  But she won’t be hearing that garbage from me.

  Pulling out of her tight cunt damn near puts me on my knees, but I do and sit my ass in my chair, my cock slick with her juices, hard and waiting. “Ride me. Now.”

  Sophia sits up on the edge of my desk, her legs still spread wide, giving me a perfect view. It’s pink and wet, and fucking perfect. Everything inside of me is fighting to get back between her thighs and deep inside of her again.

  She laughs. “Fuck you. You want this,” she purrs, putting her fingers in her cunt, pushing them in and out of her tight hole, “then you’re gonna have to come over here and do the work, you lazy fucking asshole.”

  I chuckle, but it’s not a happy, pleasant sound. I don’t find Sophia funny or amusing. In fact, I find the bitch beyond irritating.

  “You’re testing your fucking limits, Angel.”

  A slow, sick smile slides across her swollen lips. “Are you going to kill me?” she asks sweetly, her head cocked playfully.

  “I might,” I tell her through gritted teeth.

  It’s been a long time, but I’m not above it. Violence is a part of me. It’s who I am.

  “How?” Her pink tongue eases out, teasing her lower lip. “You gonna shoot me? Slice me up? Strangle me?”

  I hate this woman. She knows goddamn well I could never really hurt her, even if I really fucking wanted to.

  “Do you want to watch me bleed out all over your desk, or would you rather toss my body outside and let me die in some dirty ass alley behind this place?” she taunts, eyes soft and thoughtful as she continues to play with herself. She does it leisurely, and it’s painful to watch. I want my hands on her. I want to be inside of her. “Or maybe you’ll sell me. I’m sure this pussy is worth a small fortune on the black market. Could you just imagine what some sick, rich asshole in the Middle East would do with a pretty little white girl like me? He’d tear me in two…”

  Someone touching her, out of love or anger, outside of me, sends me over the goddamn edge. I explode.

  I’m up and out of my chair, my hand wrapped around her delicate throat as I shove her onto her bac
k against the desk, her head hitting the wood with a soft thud. I don’t choke the life out of her like I wish I could, but I squeeze enough to make her gasp for breath. She’s not scared of me—she never was—and that was the fucking problem.

  A slow smile spreads across her pretty mouth. She likes me mean. She likes me rough. She likes me nasty. The bitch loves all the dirty things I do to her, and she’s getting exactly what she wants.

  Pushing myself back inside of her, I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her from the inside out. She’s tight, hot, and…home.

  She tightens around me, sucking me in, and I can’t control the primal urge that takes over when I’m in her.

  I fuck her hard.

  Savagely.

  Her body hits my desk with force and I don’t relent. I need to come so goddamn bad.

  I fuck her until she’s coming, her nails digging into my shoulders under my shirt, blood oozing from the little half-moon shaped slices she puts in my skin and soaking into the material of my expensive shirt.

  I fuck her until I come deep and hard inside of her.

  And then I collapse.

  My head on her chest, I feel cold metal press into my temple.

  Well, she wastes no time.

  Sophia isn’t careful or cautious when she shoves the barrel against my head. With her lips at my ear, she whispers, “Threaten my life again, you better damn well follow through with it or you’ll find yourself on your knees begging for your own.”

  I don’t believe a word she says, but I appreciate the effort.

  Wrapping my hand around her jaw, I kiss her, hard.

  But she’s done with me.

  She struggles, pushing against my chest and shoulders. The only thing that stops me is her teeth sinking into my lip.

  Chuckling, I pull myself out of her cunt and miss it immediately, but enjoy watching my cum leak out of her, until the sight of her on my desk, half-dressed, sickens me. “Get the fuck out of my office,” I huff, fixing my pants.

  “Gladly.”

  She slides off my desk gracefully, landing on her six-inch heels. She fixes her skirt slowly, pulling the tight black material down over her hips and round ass. Pulling a compact out of her purse, she twists a tube of blood red lipstick and applies it to her perfect dick-sucking lips. Stuffing them back into her bag, she fluffs her hair, running her fingers through the long dark strands as she walks toward the door. Opening it, she turns and looks at me before walking out, pulling it closed behind her. As soon as she’s gone, I walk over to the cabinet and pull out a bottle of scotch. Pouring myself a drink, I sit down to collect what little is left of my sanity after that scary shit.

  The woman fucks with my mind, tormenting my thoughts.

  And apparently, I’m only allowed two minutes to my fucking self.

  “Mr. Black?”

  “What?” I bark, holding down the call button on my phone to answer it.

  “Don’t bark at me,” Ferguson, my secretary, and the only other woman in my life that talks to me the way Sophia does, chides me through the speaker.

  “Spit it out then.”

  “Look out your window.”

  Lifting my finger off the call button, I push out of my chair, taking my drink to the window with me. Looking out, I shake my head when I see Sophia standing on the hood of my very expensive, very new car. She’s got a fucking tire iron in her hand and she’s smiling, looking up at my window.

  Our eyes meet and she goes to work.

  Swinging, she puts the tire iron through the windshield of my five hundred thousand dollar car. The glass shatters and she tosses her arms into the air like she scored a touchdown, proud of herself.

  I’m not going to lie, that shit hurt. But not as bad as it’s going to hurt when I get my hands on her again. I may have kicked her ass out of my office, but she will be seeing me again, and soon.

  Sophia waves at me before taking the hand of her driver and hopping off my car.

  The bitch is fucking insane.

  Certifiable.

  Batshit crazy.

  And I only have myself to blame because I made her that way.

  I created that monster.

  SOPHIA

  I wasn’t always this way. Heartless. Calculated. Cold. Crazy.

  I was born and raised to be tough, brutally honest, and loyal. Life before my dad taught me that, but I was also treated like the fucking princess that I am. I was normal once, and then I met Enzo Black and fell in love with him, and he ruined me. He destroyed me and I let him. I let him break me and turn me into this coldhearted bitch. He’s the reason I’m crazy.

  Breathing hard and shaking, I slide into the back seat of my black SUV, tossing one more look over my shoulder at Enzo’s car as I drag air into my deprived lungs. The windshield is destroyed, the hood dimpled with heel marks.

  I sigh. I’m exhausted, but satisfied.

  “Ms. Taylor, your father called,” Tito informs me, passing me my phone from the front seat when he pulls into traffic.

  Sitting back in my seat, I look out the window, watching the city go by. It’s beautiful, the palm trees dancing in the breeze, but that dark cloud that is Enzo Black follows me everywhere, ruining even the nicest of days.

  Motherfucker.

  Dialing my father, I put it on speaker and set it on the seat next to me, fixing my make-up in the small mirror I keep in my purse.

  “Sophia, love,” my father answers, his raspy voice sounding like home, warming my icy veins.

  “Dad, you called?”

  “I did. I just spoke with Lorenzo Black,” he tells me, and any warmth I had from hearing my dad’s voice gets flushed out and replaced with a syringe full of ice water. “He said he ran into you just a few minutes ago.”

  He more than ran into me, he rammed into me, over and over.

  “Hmm…” I hum, trying not to give away any emotion. Getting emotionally belligerent over the phone would be out of the question where my father is concerned. I hold it together, because falling apart isn’t who I am anymore.

  “He had a few business ideas he’d like to run by me—by us—to see if we could work out a partnership. He wanted to meet for drinks. I invited him to dinner instead.”

  My father may seem kind and friendly, but Alfonzo Taylor is anything but. He’s calculated and smart. He’ll play nice to get what he wants until you cross him, and then it’ll be the last thing you ever do. If you think I’m nuts, then you haven’t met my father.

  “Great,” I coo, faking enthusiasm.

  “Dinner is at eight.” I look at my phone, seeing it’s damn near six already. I’ve got a few hours to kill.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  He hangs up and I chuck my cell phone out the car window and onto the freeway. “Tito, take me to the nearest bar.” I need a fucking drink, and something to keep me from going back to that office and putting a bullet between a set of emotionless blue eyes.

  _______________

  I came late for a reason. I came late and drunk. I knew Enzo would be early to dinner, and if he was going to be prompt, I was going to be rudely tardy. Fashionably late. Drunkenly absent.

  As soon as I pull up, I see Enzo’s car already in my driveway. All four hundred thousand dollars of expensive metal, shiny and clean, and new. The motherfucker already got a new car. He probably had it delivered just a few minutes after I left. Or, more than likely, had it at home in his garage. The asshole is filthy rich, and likes everyone to know it. His car is just part of the way he flaunts his wealth. His clothes, jewelry, houses, boats, businesses—his lifestyle—are just some of the other ways.

  Bastard.

  Sliding out of my car, my lip curls.

  Nice fucking car.

  Pulling my lipstick out of my purse, I unscrew the lid and drag it along the side as I walk toward the front door.

  It was too pretty and shiny anyway.

  I would key it if Tito hadn’t disappeared inside with them.

  Walking through the front door of
my father’s house, I drop my designer purse onto the large, round oak table at the entrance, damn near knocking over a three-foot vase full of roses in the middle. I leave my heels at the base and head for the back door.

  “I’m home!” I shout, loud enough that everyone in the fucking house can hear me.

  I want Enzo out of my head and I want it now. But I want to be in his, deep and parasitic. I want to crawl inside his mind and fuck it. Hard. And I know exactly how to do it.

  Pulling open the back door, I walk through the wet lawn and around the sprinklers. I walk past my stepmother’s pristine gardens and fancy shrubs, the smell of fresh cut grass overwhelming. Walking around the side of the house, I find exactly what I’m looking for in the garden shed.

  “Filipe,” I purr, crooking my finger, beckoning him with a single movement.

  It’s all the invitation he needs.

  He follows me without question when he sees me. The guy worships me, and I need that right now. I need control. I need to hurt Enzo.

  _______________

  My bare ass is on the cold marble bathroom counter and Filipe is on his knees, his head between my thighs, his tongue buried between my pussy lips. My black skirt is shoved up around my waist for the second time today, and my two thousand dollar Dior blazer hangs haphazardly from my shoulders. My lacy sheer tank top exposes my hard as rock nipples to anyone that happens to walk by, and I hope they fucking do.

  Filipe is good at eating pussy, and he loves to eat mine.

  “Miss Sophia,” he groans against my cunt, my legs tossed over his muscular shoulders and crossed at the ankles at the back of his head. “This pussy is perfect,” he tells me, sounding privileged to be tongue deep inside of me. Eating like he’s praying, he fucks me with his mouth, hungry for me. “Pure perfection.”

  He should feel privileged. He’s eating billion-dollar pussy right now.

  Filipe is focused solely on me, as he should be. But my mind is on the man a few doors down, knowing it’s only a matter of time before he comes looking for me. The idea sends a ripple of pleasure up my spine. I want him to catch me, and I want him to hate it. I want it to fucking hurt him.