Perfect Monster: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance (The Oligarchs)

The apartment was ringed with full-length windows. I stood and stared out at the strange lake of green in the center of an urban metropolis of concrete and steel. The contrast was striking, and I ran my fingers down the glass, almost as if I could reach out and touch the trees and feel their rough veins and the wind through my hair.

Instead, I heard that dying man’s final gags as he choked on his own blood.

How many people had I watched die now? Three?

Too many.

But that was life around Roman. I knew it, even if I wanted to pretend like it wasn’t true.

He disappeared somewhere into his apartment the moment we stepped inside. The place was lavishly furnished and surprisingly cozy, with thick rugs and a big white couch around a television and a fireplace. The kitchen gleamed a pristine steel and granite, and the walls were covered in colorful paintings, all of them in abstract shapes and splashes of paint.

His Manhattan apartment cost millions of dollars, with millions more in decoration. And it wasn’t even his main home.

More like a hotel room. A place to sleep.

What was I doing here, embroiled in this mess? And what did I agree to?

He was going to kill Oisin MacKenna. I had vague memories of Oisin and the rest of the MacKenna family, though Dad had worked to keep me away from them as much as possible. I didn’t know why—maybe so I’d remain safe and pure.

So I could be useful to him later. A good bargaining chip. A piece of property to be bought and sold.

Like Dia, poor Dia.

I wondered if me and her were so different.

We could’ve been friends if she weren’t dead.

A cork popped behind me. I jumped and looked over my shoulder. Roman poured two glasses and walked toward me. White wine caught the line and sparkled.

I accepted the drink and took a long sip. Slightly sweet.

“What do you think?” He stood next to me, gazing outside. The sun was down and darkness wreathed the world like that blood gushing from the dying Italian man’s throat.

“It’s pretty.”

“The view’s nice. I don’t spend much time here though. Not as secure as the bunker.”

“We’re safe, aren’t we? Giatno might try something.”

“He won’t make a move yet, not until he’s sure. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already have a plan for how I’ll take care of that problem.” He put his glass down on a side table, took my glass, and placed it next to his.

I chewed on my lip hard. I bit down and savored the pain.

It kept me from thinking of that dying man again.

“You’re scared of me now.”

It was a statement, not a question. He could read me so easily.

“I’m afraid of myself.”

He moved closer. I stayed where I was. I didn’t have the energy to fight him tonight.

“Why do you say that?”

“Watching that man die didn’t hurt me like the others did. I thought it would always feel so awful, but this time it was only… I don’t know. It wasn’t that bad.”

He stood behind me, his palms on my shoulders, and his lips grazed my neck. “You’re afraid you’re becoming more like me.”

I closed my eyes and shuddered. “No. That’s not true.”

“I don’t think it is either.”

I turned and leaned back against the window. He placed his hands on either side of me, pinning me there.

“Then what’s wrong? Why aren’t I freaking out like I did last time?”

“You’re getting desensitized. It doesn’t mean you’re a heartless monster, only that you’ve seen enough violence that it doesn’t rip you to pieces. You’re developing scar tissue.”

I winced and my hand came up to my stomach. I dropped it, but he’d already noticed.

“Maybe that was the wrong metaphor, but you understand. You’re not broken. You’re not a killer. You’re still you.”

I tilted my chin up toward him. “Why do you even care?”

“Because I told you, I need to make you happy.”

“No, you don’t. You want to use me and get your revenge.”

“And you don’t wish to use me?” He moved closer, lips to close to mine. I sucked in a breath, tired not to lose control, but each time his mouth grazed my skin I felt that sudden irrational pulse of need run through every inch of my body, like a tidal wave sweeping me out to sea.

“I never asked for any of this.”

“No, you stumbled into it, but here you are. I would’ve left you alone at my house if you refused to help, but here you are. This was your decision.”

“Some choice.”

“Pretend you hate it all you want, but you like the strength I have. Why else ask for protection? For safety? Something that only I can give you.” He reached up and cupped my chin, then moved down to my throat.

My breath grew hot and fast.

“I just need to make sure Winter’s okay.” I whispered the words, and they rang false.

He was right. I liked the power. It was seductive and terrible. He could do things to people, erase lives like they never existed, murder and kill and take at will, bend entire crime families to his will, and that was erotic and tempting and horrible all mixed up into one.

His lips found mine, hungry and luscious. I kissed him back as his hand on my throat tightened—not enough to cut off my breathing, but enough to send my pulse racing. I grabbed onto his arm, tried to move it, but he wouldn’t.

I could’ve screamed. Begged him to stop. Told him to let me go.

I didn’t. I kept kissing him. I let his tongue into my mouth and I moaned as my slit dripped with need and want and my nipples pressed against my thin silk top. He grabbed my hair and pulled back, releasing my throat. He kissed my neck and untied my blouse’s bow, dropping the two long strands and unbuttoning the front until he exposed my chest.

His lips found my cleavage, pulling my hair tighter, until his other hand slid down to the top of my slacks.

I put my hands on his chest and tried to push, but that only made me gasp with pain as he gripped my hair harder, yanked it from the scalp.

He shoved me against the window. It made a low, resonant boom and I gasped as he roughly broke open my top button. He shoved his hand down my panties, not pretending to be kind anymore, and his fingers swirled around in my wetness.

“There you are,” he whispered, biting my earlobe hard. I whimpered then moaned as his fingers rolled along my clit and pleasure warred against the pain in confusing and exquisite contrast. “My soaking wet little Cassie. You look at me like you can’t decide if you’d rather push me off a roof or ride my cock into oblivion.”

“Maybe it’s both.”

“I think it’s definitely both, and I like that about you.” He kissed me and I bit his lip hard again. I didn’t break skin this time—not for lack of trying.

His fingers plunged inside and I gasped, tilting back my head.

He pulled his hand back out and ripped my blouse completely off. That poor, pretty Gucci top. The silk tore like paper and dropped to the ground, exposing my bra-covered breasts. He unhooked it, and though I tried to keep it on, he ripped it from my hands then turned me around, pushing me against the cold glass. It felt good on my bare nipples, and I gasped as his hand shoved down between my legs again from behind, his lips kissing my neck as his fingers teased my clit and my hands pushed hard into the window.

“It’s okay that you’re afraid,” he whispered as he fucked my pussy with his fingers and teased my clit with his thumb. “I want you a little afraid, my pretty doll, my wife. But I’ll always take care of you, always give you the pleasure you need and crave, even if you won’t admit to yourself that you thrive on the pain. You can struggle and lie to yourself, I see through you, my Cassie. I see what you desire.”

He tugged at my slacks, get them over my hips. I groaned as he peeled them down, stripping me naked. His hand found my ass, squeezed, then slapped hard. I gasped, looking back with wide eyes. He smirked as he pulled off the Henley, and I stared at his defined chest, his incredible abs.

He grabbed my hair and spanked me again.

“A little bitter makes the sweet that much better.”

He spanked again, and again, and soon the pain turned to something else, something confused and twisted. It felt good, sent tingling down my hands and feet, in between my legs along the raw nerves of my swollen pussy lips, and each time he pulled my hair it sent another buzz down my spine. I was his, at his mercy, my body a toy for his twisted needs, and I wanted to dive deep into that darkness, let him consume me completely.

His pants came off, followed by his boxers. I turned around and he let me take his cock in both my hands. It was thick and long and straight and so hard it was like granite in my palms. I stroked him desperately then dropped to my knees and took his tip between my legs. I licked off the salty precum then slid him into my mouth, staring up at him as I sucked nice and slow.

He pulled me back and kissed me. My saliva soaked his shaft as I stroked him hard and he growled with delight and pleasure. He lifted me up and sucked one nipple as he carried me to the couch and threw me down. I gasped, back arching, as he shoved my legs open, so lost in his need for me, so eager to take my body.

I felt wanted, so wanted, and I glowed with the pleasure of it as he pressed himself against my opening and slid deep inside.

I gasped in the pain, the shock.

He filled me, stretched me.

Took me to his balls, slid back out, thrust hard.

He bit my lip and I dug my fingers into his back.

He fucked me savagely.

It wasn’t beautiful or kind, it wasn’t gentle or soft or loving.

There were no violins playing, no chirping birds.

He was rough and raw.

His heavy musk filled my nose, a heady and intoxicating scent.

His cock took my tight pussy, my soaking pussy, over and over again. His hips ground against mine, rubbing himself against my clit as he covered me completely.

His hands pinned me down. His lips kissed my neck, bit my nipples hard enough to make me scream.

He was rough, merciless.

I came in a wild wave of confused need. He kept going, my breasts bouncing with each intense hammer blow of his cock, and he finished deep inside me moments later, joining me in total bliss, our orgasms mingling, my pussy twitching and clenching, my arms wrapped around my monster, my beast, dripping sweat, losing my mind.

When he pulled back and looked at me, I knew he wasn’t even close to finished, not yet, not tonight.

His arms wrapped around me as he nuzzled up against my back. He was so big and easily swallowed me tight against his body.

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered softly.

I almost purred from the pure comfortable pleasure of him holding me mixed with the post-orgasm haze.

“Can it wait? I’m enjoying this.”

“There’s more to enjoy soon, wife. I don’t want to keep this from you any longer.”

I sighed and chewed on my lip. I felt him still hard against my back. That man, insatiable. “Tell me then.”

“We’re meeting with your father tomorrow.

I stiffened then peeled myself away from him and stood.

He looked at me, frowning. I covered my breasts with one arm as much as I could and my scar with the other.

“Tomorrow. My dad’s here in the city?”

“He will be.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“It wasn’t a sure thing.”

“You asshole. I knew you wanted to parade me around—“

He stood. Big man, sweating, muscles flexed. I stepped back, aware of my nudity, my vulnerability.

“Go ahead and get angry. I need you nice and mad. You can fight me as much as you want, but I’m not done with you, not yet.”

I turned, tried to run—

But he grabbed my wrist, pulled me toward him, and kissed me.

I bit his tongue. He cursed, wrenched my wrist behind my back, pinned me against the couch, and spanked my ass.

I gasped in pain. My nipples buzzed. My pussy dripped.

Fuck, I wanted him to hit me again. “Harder,” I moaned. “You animal. Spank me harder.”

He spanked me rough again, and again, and again, until his fingers sank into my pussy and he fucked me with them, over and over, blissful and insane, then spanked me, alternating his palm on my skin and his fingers against my clit until my eyes rolled back and I was lost, so lost, and all his to do with whatever he pleased, the bastard, this was what he wanted, my body in his hands willing and pliant, but I was too deep to pull back and stop, too wet and writhing and dizzy with the pleasure of his hands, fingers, lips, and cock.

Another spank, another blast of utter bliss before his mouth lapped me up from behind, licking me, fingers touching every inch, teasing clit, rubbing along my lips, and I wiggled my hips, shaking my ass and moaning, god, begging, so pathetic, so needy, and he spanked me before he slid his cock inside and rocked in and out fucking me like a savage, holding me down, face shoved into the cushions, fucking me wild, fucking me so deep I screamed and came again in a blind flash that left me quivering and gasping for air, my skin bright red, an easy ten, until he pulled back out, grabbed my hair and shoved his cock into my mouth.

I licked my pussy from his tip and he groaned as he fucked my lips.

He came on my tongue, down my throat, and I struggled to swallow every drop. When he was done, I collapsed, buzzing and spent, so tired I couldn’t move, all the anger drained out of me.

But he stood there staring at my body, at my breasts, at my scar, and he stroked himself—still half hard.

“I know this is difficult for you.” His voice was velvet and chocolate. “I know how much you’re giving up to follow through with my plan. I promise, little Cassie, my pretty wife, I will make it worth your while. But you have to stop resisting me.”

“If you think this is fighting then you must be used to some very obedient women.”

His lips quirked, head tilted. “Maybe I am. And maybe you need to learn some manners.”

I leaned back, too exhausted to get mad. “Asshole,” I said, but there wasn’t much behind the word.

He knelt down in front of me and spread my legs wide. Instead of licking me, he moved forward, kissed my chest then ran his tongue along the length of my scar.

I sucked in a breath, too surprised to stop him. When he reached the one end, he kissed back along it to the other. “I don’t know how you got this and I don’t care. You think it’s ugly, but I think it makes you so much more beautiful than you realize.”

I grabbed his hair and pulled. He grunted and looked up.

“Stop it,” I whispered. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I mean it. I don’t require perfection. Nothing is perfect in this world. Perfect is too clean, too sanitized. I need your flaws, all of them, and you’ll accept mine.”

“You don’t have any.”

He touched my lips with his thumb. “Darling, I have plenty. Now, tomorrow we’ll meet with your father, and you will be on your best behavior.”

I snapped my teeth, and he pulled his hand back quick. He was learning. I smirked and sighed. “I’ll try my hardest.”

“Still fighting me?”

“Maybe.” I glanced down at his cock. “I think you have a few more lessons left in you tonight.”

His eyes were like nuclear blasts. He kissed me and I licked his tongue with my own and pressed myself to him, skin to skin.

“I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy teaching you how to listen.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy you trying.”

He laughed and stood and held out his hand.

I knew what that meant. Where he’d take me.

And what he’d do to me when we got there.