Heir: A Dark Mafia Romance by Jaye Peaches – Extended Preview

I rush everything: the shower, tidying up, changing my clothes. Then I throw food down my throat without tasting it. Anita is rolling her eyes at me and giggling.

“You’re starving,” she says, watching me tuck into a sandwich.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“I didn’t mean for food.” She winks.

I slow up, realizing how stupid my haste is. I’m doing myself no favors. I finish my meal, drink a good pint of water, and check my reflection in the mirror one last time.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Anita says. “Go fuck him senseless.”

I blush. That’s unlikely to happen that easily. He’s the one who will fuck me senseless.

I cut across the open area of the plaza and make for the entrance to the tunnels. I salute the sentries on duty by the door and walk with a purpose in the direction of the deepest bunkers. I keep my head down as I pass others coming off duty from their posts. I’m on my own, which isn’t usual for people using the tunnels.

The main artery is well lit, wide and easy to navigate. It takes the soldiers deep into the heart of the island, and from there, they can disperse using other passages to reach the turrets. For those on duty, they’ll spend their allotted shift watching the enemy, passing the time in acute boredom before returning to their barracks. There are other parts of the network that aren’t used by the soldiers; these chambers are what is left of the old prison. The new recruits are wary of getting lost, and don’t venture into them. Once I hit the junction for bunker thirty-three, the lights will flash on and off, and the walls will close in on me. I check over my shoulder, wondering if somebody is following me, but there’s nobody there. Still, I can hear the faint sounds of footsteps. Or is my mind playing tricks on me?

Doubt comes in many forms, and I suppose phantom noises might be one way that my subconscious is scaring me. Is it ludicrous, even dangerous, to seek out this kind of thrill? I barely know this man, and he hardly comes with a glowing reputation—he’s part of a criminal gang, and probably has questionable morals. But then again, I’m hardly a clean slate. I’ve slept with men far older than me, allowed them to spank me, bind me, and in the case of Leondra, gave him power over me for no other purpose than pleasing his ego. What had I gained from those long hours spent alone with Leondra?

I know, of course. Denying the truth is futile. Leondra read me perfectly, and I can’t fault him for predicting my future. He said I would end up finding somebody just like Zayne—controlling, handsome, sexy, and protective. It’s what I crave, he told me. But the why remains a mystery. I can’t explain it, and because I’m ashamed of the lewdness, the way I let men handle me, I can’t fathom a logic to my needs that takes into account my upbringing. Perhaps Zayne has a better understanding than me? He’s good at reading me, too. Though some might call him arrogant and conceited, a bad influence.

Leondra warned me to avoid those types.

“They’ll break you,” he’d said. “Or abandon you when they get bored.”

I found that out to my cost, and it still hurts. I was more than abandoned—I was rejected.

My heartbeats quicken and I keep walking, picking up my pace. Zayne and I want to make the most of our time together before curfew. Leondra was quite right. I do take risks with my personal safety. The unchartered territory of sex with a near stranger thrills me, allowing me to let go of my inhibitions. It’s a dangerous combination of fear and excitement.

I blame adrenaline—it confuses the mind.

I turn a corner, the tunnel that leads off to the bunker just ahead. I hear footsteps again. But this time, they’re in front of me—and approaching fast. I halt, unsure whether I should carry on or make a run for it back to the exit.

A man emerges from the passage. I jump out of my skin.

“Zayne!” I clutch my chest and catch my breath.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t want you walking alone down this tunnel.” He saunters over into the brightness.

I straighten up and smile. “Thank you, Private Demiri. But don’t kill me with fright next time, okay?”

Apology issued, he wipes the concern from his face and takes my hand. Close up, I can see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “It’s Corporal Demiri.”

Already?

“Congratulations,” I say instead. I don’t ask how he got his promotion as I wouldn’t put Dushku above helping to arrange it.

We walk side by side, his cool hand calmly holding my trembling one.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just hate these tunnels.” The lights come on, and each time, for a split second, I think I see something up ahead but it’s only more darkness.

“Understandable. You’re not afraid of the dark, though.”

“No. I thought I was being followed, that’s all.”

Zayne stops, and we listen. There’s a dripping sound somewhere, which is due to the springs bubbling up under the hills, but otherwise it’s deadly silent.

“From now on, we’ll meet outside and go to the bunker together. I’m sorry, I should have thought about this, it’s not sensible for you to enter these tunnels alone.” He kisses my cheek. “Okay?”

“Thanks,” I say, savoring the affectionate peck. “I’m not a coward,” I add.

“Absolutely not. But you are sensible, which is good. Stay sensible.” He leads, and we continue until we reach the outer door.

The key is around his neck, and he unlocks the door. “Exclusively ours, now. Nobody gets in here but us.”

The inner door is closed, and he stops in front of it. “I’ll go in, you’ll get undressed. Leave your uniform out here and come in naked.”

I squeeze my thighs together to hide my wobbly knees.

What’s in there?

I sense he’s planned this in great detail. “Naked?”

The door handle creaks. “Totally. From now on, when we’re in the bunker, you’re bare.”

“Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. “There’s only one uniform you’re going to be wearing in there, and it’s me. My body over yours.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “You like me vulnerable.”

“In here, but not in the tunnels, not when you’re alone.”

Protection and control, so intertwined. Like pain and pleasure. I yearn for these things in abundance.

He disappears through the narrow opening and shuts the door. I’m left in the small antechamber to undress. There’s a clothes hook on the wall, and I hang the pants and tunic from it. Then, after listening again for footsteps, I remove my panties and bra and slip them over the hook, too.

Nudity isn’t easy. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Getting undressed and slipping between the sheets of a bed is one thing but walking into a room naked is an entirely different thing. I’m proud of my body, the figure and tone of my skin, and I’ve worked hard to keep fit. My reticence has nothing to do with self-esteem. What triggers the rush of adrenaline is that humbled state of… nothingness. I have no barriers to hide behind, no canopy to shelter me. I’m out in the open, giving myself up to a man who could, if he liked, do anything to me. I’m in his hands, and if I ran, I would have to run naked. And to whom would I run? It’s not like there’s a safe haven on Savra, a sanctuary to escape to when the going gets tough. I would have to explain why I was naked, and face the shame of my situation.

That’s not going to happen though. I’m not running away. I’m racing into this with my eyes wide open. As I touch the cold steel handle of the door, my skin prickles with trepidation.

I blink several times. The lights are brighter in here, focused into sharp beams, and one is illuminating a new piece of furniture. I stop in my tracks. When the door slams shut behind me, once again, I jump with shock.

Zayne is leaning against a new piece of furniture, his elbows resting on the top, his ankles crossed behind him. He’s so fucking relaxed and pleased with himself at this surprise.

“Like it?” he asks.

I can’t stop my mouth opening and shutting like a guppy fish. The man is a magician. “How the hell did you get it?” I know there’s nothing like it in the warehouse, nor are there the materials on the island needed to manufacture it.

“Secret. Shh.” He presses his forefinger to his lips and pats the top of it. “Suede. It’s covered in the softest leather. And sturdy. Come take a closer look.”

Meaning, come and be used on it.

I creep forward.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, grinning.

“Easy for you to say. It’s got straps.”

He follows my gaze. “Yeah, four on each leg. Depending which way I bend you over the bench, it can tie down your legs this way, or both wrists and ankles that way.” He twists the straps to demonstrate.

The bench, as he called it, is more like a beam. Narrower than my waist but wider than my thigh. Rather than being straight though, the apparatus has two hourglass curvatures in it, one toward each end. I reach out cautiously and slide my hand along the surface of the bench. It’s smooth, and slightly padded underneath with foam.

“What are these for?” I point at the curved indentations.

“Depending which way you bend, they ensure your breasts dangle neatly on either side. See? The narrowest part of the beam slots in your cleavage. There’s two. I like symmetry.” He blushes slightly.

The bench is as high as my hips. If I lay my torso on the length of the bench, the V-shaped legs are the right distance apart to splay me wide. And, if I bend over the bench the other way, it’s narrow enough for me to reach down with my hands and be bound to the legs.

I start to shiver. Goosebumps rise up across my shoulders and arms.

Zayne, suddenly looking serious and concentrated, steps toward me, spins me around, and slides one of his giant hands under my chin. Ringing my neck with his fingers, he loops his other arm round my front and dives between my thighs.

“Fucking wet,” he growls into my ear.

I say nothing. I can’t deny I’m drenched to the point I’m a slippery slope. Behind me, I imagine his bulging cock barely held in place by his pants. It’s not possible to see, but I doubt I’m wrong. I want him so badly, my mind is racing ahead of my body, taking me to my wildest daydreams, erotic images that need only the slightest addition of his touch to bring me close to an orgasm. I have him in my head, totally naked, his huge erection ready to plunder me, and my body poised to receive him. Just as I think this, he plunges two fingers inside my pussy, and they glide in without resistance. The heel of his palm rubs my clit. I gasp and rise onto tiptoes, fighting the urge to wriggle out of his grasp.

“You’re coming already?” he says with amusement.

“If you don’t mind,” I say sheepishly.

“No, why would I? But relax, baby, you’re like a statue.” He massages my clit and thrusts a third finger into my dripping pussy.

I lower my heels, impaling myself, and allow my arms to go limp. If my legs give out, I reckon he’ll hold me up.

“Wait a sec,” he says. He shifts the hand on my neck and unzips his pants. The heavy cock collides with my back, just above the tailbone. He groans. “Better. It was just about bursting the zipper.”

He grips my neck again. But this isn’t strangulation or anything dangerous. It’s a gesture of authority. I tilt my head up and rest the back of it on his shoulder. He breathes deep at my hair.

“Nice,” he says simply. Then he resumes fucking my pussy with his fingers.

‘Jelly’ is how I would describe my body. A feverish puddle of liquefied jelly. There’s no urgency in what he does; the bundle of his fingers works methodically, rubbing firmly all the hot spots. It’s only me who has this unnecessary haste. Each dip of his hand, each stroke of his fingers inside my pussy is a torment of delight. The electrifying tingles of overly stimulated nerve endings reach a level where there is nothing for me to do except yield to the need. And I need it now. The moment he grinds the heel of his palm into my mound, I come, and he has to grab me around the waist instead of the throat to stop me collapsing into a ragdoll heap.

“Fuck, fuck!” I cry out.

He doesn’t stop, not until the contractions of my pussy lose their strength. Then he heaves me over the bench, my tits right where he wants them, hanging on either side of the notches. My ankles are swiftly bound to the legs with leather straps. He leaves my arms free and I clutch the underside of the bench as if it’s a life raft. But there’s nothing for my head to rest on, so it hangs off the other end.

I wait for him to penetrate me.

“Baby, lift your head.” He’s moved again, from behind me to stand right by my face.

Obediently, I raise my head, open my mouth, and receive his cock. The shaft goes straight to the back of my throat. I’m held there, my hair clutched in his fists, and I wait to breathe.

My pussy clenches, feeling neglected while the throbbing in my clit grows intense again. I can’t hump the bench to relieve it though. I’m held firmly in place by my bindings and the grip on my head. As for my breasts, hanging free as they are, they ache, my nipples tingling. A gentle breeze coming through the air vents wafts over my bound form.

I close my fuzzy eyes, and swim in dizziness. It’s strangely relaxing.

He withdraws and I inhale like I’ve been drowning. He moves one hand under my chin, where he supports my lowered jaw, and the other stays at the crown of my head.

“I’m going to fuck your sweet mouth,” he says longingly. “Then your cunt. Then I’m going to play with your asshole. This is going to take some time, baby. So if you get a cramp or feel faint, I want you to tell me.”

I’m shaking like a leaf. “Yes, sir.”

“You gonna have to trust me, baby.” The tip of his cock rests on my lower lip.

I taste his essence leaking from the slit, and without prompting lick it greedily.

“Oh, no, baby. No teasing. Open wide and take all of it.”

He thrusts forward. The corners of my lips stretch, my cheeks draw in and I suck hard. He holds, pauses, then slips back, before thrusting again. The rhythm is set, the pace relentless. I savor his musk, that blend that is particular to him. It affects me perfectly, like a potion created especially for me to enjoy. I taste the length of his cock with my tongue, each ripple of his swollen veins adding texture to his flavor. All this is too perfect almost, and no matter how hard it is to keep pace of his thrusts, I want more of it than I can possibly bear. And in the midst of this frenzy of thoughts and movement, I come again, only he’s not touching me there, so it hits my body everywhere. I’m a mass of twitching muscles that spread from my vacant pussy, through my belly, and into my heart. For a moment, the explosive beats falter, or so it seems.

“Fuck, girl. You’re crazy.” He whips his cock out just in time to avoid my chattering teeth. I gasp over and over for breath, and nearly black out. “Do you want cock in your pussy?”

“Please,” I say pathetically.

“My pleasure.” He pats my head, smoothing down the ruffled hair.

Right in front of my eyes, he strips off his ebony uniform, discarding it in a heap, and I gape in delight, acknowledging this is my pleasure too. The way his polished muscles animate his body is divine. The dark lines of his tattoos embellish the sinews, outlining his broad chest and the well-toned bands of his stomach. Light dances across him, picking out patterns, emphasizing every inch of him. Every bit of him is perfection and in the center of it all, upright and rigid, his erection glows hot and ready for me. Zayne is in a class of his own. I follow him and all his attributes out of the corner of my eye until he disappears behind me.

He inspects my sex, fingering my folds with a light touch. “You’re wet enough for my cock in your pussy, and fingers in your ass. Have you had that done to you?”

I quake, thinking the answer should be, ‘No, thank you.’ But I’m not in that sensible place any longer. My senses seem to have gone rogue. “No…”

“Normally I like to use a dildo in the ass and double fuck that way, but since you’re a virgin…” He clucks his tongue. “But it’s best if I stick to the plan: one finger in your ass, and fucking your pussy, yeah?”

I rattled my legs in their restraints. “I think if you keep talking like this, I’m going to go crazy.”

He laughs. “Baby, you’re driving me crazy as it is. I could stare at you all day like this, bent over, pussy dripping, ass smooth and glowing. Hell, I might just spank it so it’s red. Or what about the cane? A few stripes, a couple of mean welts? What does that do to you, baby?”

Stop it, Zayne.

He’s punishing me with words, and it works just as well as the real thing. I moan, tearing at my hair with my fingers. Squirming, I hump the edge of the bench with what little movement my bonds allow.

He strokes the length of my spine with his fingertips, drawing them down into the groove of my ass, over that untested hole, and into my slit. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly. “I can see you like the words, but what if I really meant them, Gabby? What if I do those things to you for no reason other than because I can?”

I pant, and with his fingers rimming my pussy, I’m close to coming once more. This has never happened to me before, not like this. I don’t come this easily, this quickly—and rarely without constant physical stimulation. He’s feeding both my imagination, and his. A wild fantasy of punishment and sex.

“There are ways I can punish you, baby. And you’ll not have any say in them. I’ll gag you and force you to suffer the consequences of driving me mad.” He takes hold of my hips with his clever fingers.

I brace, tensing, offering him some resistance because I know he’ll like it. And if it brings me some discomfort, I can live with it. It’s what I do, it’s how I submit. I give him my pain, and he brings me pleasure in return.

My toes curl, and the muscles in my calves are close to cramping. As for my breasts, they are aching too. It’s like an orgasm but without the clitoris doing its thing. I’m supercharged, electrified—and caught totally unprepared for his powerful thrust into me.

He slams inside me as deep as he can go, and I jar against the beam.

I cry out like it hurts but I’m not registering pain; it’s as if I’m numb to it.

“Do you want a gag?”

I shake my head frantically, pressing my lips together and whimpering instead. I have a whole repertoire of appreciative sounds I can unleash for his benefit.

“Pity,” he murmurs. “It’s something special to hear muted screaming.” Pinching my hips with his viselike grip, he smacks his body against my ass again.

And what happens next is a blur, reality and fantasy merging into one.

It’s hard to explain, how I’m both aware and yet oblivious to my own body. Later, when I’m in a cooler, calmer state of mind, I’ll reconstruct these events, these feelings, and try to make sense of things.

For now though, I commit to my memory what I can, focusing on sensations, the core one being his presence inside me, the heat of friction his fucking generates within me. It’s not chafing or rough, but instead it’s the texture of his cock rippling through me in waves. When he eases back, the vacuum left behind is a hollowness that I can’t wait for him to fill again. Time slows when he pauses, the seconds feeling like hours.

I soar high on a plateau, somewhere up in the macabre vaults of the ceiling. But I’m not detached from Zayne, for he’s become part of me, in more ways than one. It’s my mind that wanders, and his fantasies come alive in my meandering thoughts.

He continues telling me what he wants, what he desires, and I see what he describes vividly in a stream of moving pictures that fuel my lust.

He teases and torments. The former is pleasurable, the other is diabolically not. I need both working in tandem for me to tolerate the latter. Pain on its own is pure punishment, and he knows this, so I’m grateful he works hard on finding that balance.

I’m woken from my dazed state by him tickling my anus. He’s targeting his preference with infernal persistence. Do I want him to truly take me there? It’s too soon, surely. I raise my head and mewl a warning.

“Baby, don’t interfere,” he admonishes.

“But—”

“Gabby, it’s just my thumb.”

“I’m not sure,” I whine.

Zayne resumes fucking my pussy, pounding and pummeling the length of it with unceasing movement, all the while toying with my asshole, but never quite penetrating it.

Wicked man!

“When this goes in, you’ll wish it was my cock,” he says breathlessly.

He’ll come soon, won’t he?

I try to squeeze his erection, but his thrusts are far too quick for me. I’m back on that brink of bliss, drifting there, surfing the waves and never quite tumbling over the crests into an orgasm. I’m stuck on the familiar and frustrating plateau of readiness.

The pressure of his devious thumb, which I react to tempestuously, provokes me into opening my eyes.

“Zayne,” I squeal.

The fucking slows, as if he’s concentrating. He groans then.

The blur of real life and imagination fuses once again. My puckered hole yields and something firm slips inside my ass.

A finger? A thumb? His cock?

It’s not his cock, but it doesn’t matter that he’s still using his thumb. I come, hard.

There’s a roaring in my ears, like thunder, and my limbs go rigid fighting the spasms. Rammed against the beam by his pounding hips, my hammered clitoris is pained, hot-wired into my brain. As far as my fantasy is concerned, he’s just thrust his gigantic cock in my tiny asshole. In this dreamworld, I’m no longer a virgin, and to add to the illusion, he’s using me remorselessly and without consideration. It’s heavenly, this place in my mind, because I’m safe in it. Reality is where the danger lies. Reality is about raw feelings and passion, making lasting connections with lovers. It’s not about hanging out in the erotic daydreams of a frivolous fun-loving girl who fears romance might cripple her.

It’s always been hard to explain—even to myself—where I go when I’m fucked, and why I stay there.

Zayne cries out then, just once, and the air stills, the vibrations ceasing.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Gabby?”

“Don’t stop,” I mutter.

I’m not even on the bench anymore. I’m untied and lying on the bed. I’m on fire, super-heated, and breathing in great gasps. Zayne massages my legs, easing the cramping there. He gathers me into his arms, and lies underneath me, pressing me to his chest.

Then, to my shame, I fall asleep.