Unorthodox (Sick Love Book 1) Read online

  But I keep my hands on her waist until finally, finally, she straddles me, knees on either side of my hips. She doesn’t touch me after the warning I gave her earlier. She’s such a quick learner.

  I drop my hands from her waist, hold them by my side.

  “Do you think you’re broken, Addison?” I ask her quietly, knowing the answer.

  Her eyes widen, then narrow with her anger and she makes to get off of me, but I grip her hips, keep her in place.

  “Fuck you, Max—”

  My hand goes to her throat, cutting off her words. I pull her to me, so my mouth is over hers when I speak. Her sweet scent—almost like cotton candy, but darker—nearly overwhelms me. But I refuse to let it.

  No matter how much I admire her stupid displays of bravery, she’s a pawn. I don’t want to keep her. She’s payment for something I need, and the only thing I could give a fuck about is getting what I made a deal for.

  Besides that, I’m in too deep now. You don’t fuck with Sinaloa unless you’ve got a death wish.

  I’ve got a lot of wishes, but that isn’t one of them.

  My biggest one is so damn close to coming true.

  “You won’t,” I tell her, fingers tightening around her throat. She can breathe, but her eyes are slits of emeralds and I know that even though I’m not really hurting her, she can’t stand me right now. Good. “You won’t fuck me, and no one else will touch you, do you understand? Not even Dante.” I’ve seen how she looks at him. I’ve seen how he looks at her. But I know he’s smarter than that, not to mention he knows I’d kill him if he fucked this up for me. “You can throw yourself naked at his feet, you can get on your knees for him and beg him, Addison, but no one in this house is going to fuck you. Not even me.”

  Ben did enough to her as it is. Apparently, according to her father, so did his men. Maybe her uncle. And perhaps she’s not a virgin, but at least I can assure her buyer she hasn’t been fucked with someone’s cock since she’s been here.

  My thumb tugs down her bottom lip and she grits her teeth. “Open your mouth.”

  She doesn’t.

  “Baby girl.” Her eyes soften, almost imperceptibly. I keep tugging on her bottom lip. “Open your mouth and I won’t hurt you.”

  Reluctantly, probably hating herself for doing it, she does. I push my finger in, pressing against her warm, wet tongue.

  “Suck me.”

  This time, I don’t have to repeat myself. She closes her lips around me, keeping her eyes on mine. She slides her tongue around my finger and sucks harder.

  I can only imagine what that would feel like around my dick.

  Her buyer is still handling his territory, handling the gang wars breaking out at the border, which gives me more time to find out.

  Her father thinks it gives him more time to buy her back. It’s almost amusing, thinking of it. I wonder if the idea of her being ripped apart by bad men with cold hearts keeps him up at night.

  I think I know the answer to that.

  The idea doesn’t repulse me like it should, but I feel my jaw clench thinking of the man who currently owns Oliver putting his cock inside of her while she screams.

  I suppose it’s only natural, to have some sort of protective instinct toward her. In so many ways, Addison London is innocent. And innocent things make men weak.

  But the way she shifts her hips in my lap as she sucks my thumb, some of the fear leaving her eyes, I know better.

  She’s not nearly as innocent as she looks.

  I know why she’s like this.

  It’s the same reason I’m doing what I’m doing to her.

  When you’re sexually assaulted as a child, it does things to your mind. You think sexual pleasure is a form of love. The only form you deserve. Even if it comes from someone you hate, you crave it all the same. I saw it happen with the women my father made me strangle. Beat. Hit and kick.

  And with her father’s words about her uncle…well, I’d be willing to bet our childhoods weren’t so different.

  My hand goes to her ass, squeezing her, and her eyes flutter closed as she groans against my finger. We’ve played this game before.

  After her training with Ben.

  But never quite like this. Never this close. And never with her completely sober.

  “Do you want to come, baby girl?”

  Her eyes fly open, her lips parting, the suction gone from my finger. She jerks her head back, off of me. “No, we can’t—”

  “No?”

  I watch her swallow as I trail my finger down the column of her throat, to the center of her chest. “I don’t—”

  “Has anyone ever made you come before, Addison?”

  Her face flushes pink, and she looks down between us, uncomfortable. “Max, I don’t think we should—”

  “Answer me and look at me when you do.” My fingers trail back up her throat, and I close them around her.

  She bites her lip as she meets my gaze. “Yes,” she whispers, the slight flush of her face growing darker.

  “Oh? Did you do it to yourself? Or did someone else touch you?”

  Her eyes narrow and she opens her mouth to say something stupid. I squeeze her throat in warning, to stop her.

  Quickly, she closes her mouth. Such a good girl.

  “Try again, beautiful girl.”

  “I did,” she whispers. “And…someone else.”

  “Say their name.”

  She closes her eyes, wanting to be anywhere but here. “Max, I don’t want to—”

  I press my thumb against her windpipe, stopping her pointless deflection. “Answer the goddamn question, or this is going to end badly for you.”

  She keeps her eyes closed. Silence stretches between us for a long moment. “Fernando, my father’s guard.” She takes a breath, and my chest tightens, knowing she isn’t done. “A-another guard, I don’t remember his name.” Her face flushes a deeper shade of red, but she doesn’t speak for long seconds, and I assume she’s given me all she will for now.

  I jerk her toward me, my brow to hers, and her eyes fly open in surprise, like she’s worried she’s in trouble. “How did they touch you?”

  “Max,” she pleads with me, “please don’t make me say it.” Her bottom lip is quivering, her skin hot beneath my fingers.

  “You’re not in trouble,” I assure her. “But I’d really hate to ask you again.”

  “With their…mouths,” she says, her voice barely audible. “Their f-fingers.” She doesn’t say anything else.

  My grip tightens on her throat as her eyes widen. “Fuck Fernando. Fuck the one that wasn’t good enough for you to remember his name.” I drag my mouth over hers and she whimpers softly against my lips. “Don’t you dare fucking think about either of them while you’re in my lap, do you understand?”

  She nods quickly and I run my tongue over her mouth.

  “Good girl.” I bring my hand up from her throat, push my thumb back into her mouth

  I think about breaking these guys’ necks but push the thought aside. Right now, this is about her.

  And she’s not the only one who was taught to please with sex. Even though I shouldn’t, I feel bad for what Ben did to her. She obeyed him, and he still hurt her.

  I feel a little bad, too, for leaving her in that room for so long.

  It’s only fair she gets a little pleasure for her troubles.

  “Shift your hips,” I tell her, pulling my thumb from her mouth with a pop. I pat my thigh. “Here.”

  I sink down onto his thigh, needing to get closer to him even though I hate myself for it. I want to bury my face against his shoulder for what he asked me. For what I told him.

  But I don’t. And I held back the worst truths. I kept those in my box.

  For the past week, Max Bennett has carefully fucked my mind, and even though I know this, it doesn’t stop the fact that in some ways, he’s the best man that’s ever laid his hands on me.

  Like with Ben.

  My father used to hit
me, too, before he fucked me, if I fought. But no one ever saved me then.

  Max killed Ben, for me.

  If I block out the sight of Ben’s head bursting into pieces like a watermelon cracked against a sidewalk, forget about Max leaving me chained to a wall, the fact that he killed someone for me...it’s almost…romantic.

  And I know it’s my desperation to be wanted that makes me think this, but I can’t stop.

  The sensation of Max’s thigh beneath me brings me back to the present. I have the wild urge to rock against him, but he plants his hands on my hips, keeping me still. My own hands are still by my side. I want to touch him, but I don’t. I know what he wants.

  He likes control far too much.

  He inhales deeply and my cheeks turn pink as he says, “Fuck, you smell so good.”

  I swallow down my humiliation, wanting to press my fingertips to his skin.

  “Don’t look so embarrassed, Addison. Your scent is fucking amazing,” he says, his eyes searching mine.

  Of course, his words only cause me to grow hotter. And wetter.

  He lifts his knee, ever-so-slightly, causing his thigh to press tighter against me. My fingers curl into fists by my sides, and he slides his hands down to my ass.

  I shift my hips, wanting more friction between my thighs.

  He glances down, looking his fill at the crease of my inner thighs, the cut of the cotton fabric of my underwear giving him a glimpse of what’s beneath, waxed and smooth.

  I see him swallow, and then one hand comes around to my low belly. Without saying a word, he grips the tight fabric of my panties, just below my belly button, and yanks it up, so it wedges between my lips.

  I whimper, self-loathing mingling with the pleasure I feel. He meets my gaze. “Don’t fight me,” he warns me. “Do as I say, let me make you feel good, and this will all end well.” He angles his head, his eyes searching mine. “Give in to me, Addison.”

  I nod, my lower lip trembling.

  He yanks the material up higher and I groan at the pleasure and pain of it, press my head against his shoulder as I see my pussy lips spread to either side of the material.

  “Pick your head up, baby girl. You’re blocking my view. And don’t move your hands.”

  I do as he asks, and despite my humiliation, I’m dying to touch him. I’m desperate to hide my face as he pulls up again and the friction against my clit feels so disgustingly good that I rock my hips against his thigh and the material of my own underwear.

  “Can you touch me?” I whisper, my eyes closed as he keeps pulling up on the fabric and I continue to rock against his thigh. I want him to hold me, to take away the mortification I feel at enjoying this. “Please, touch me. I want you to—”

  “Shut up. I don’t care what you want.” My eyes fly open with his words and he’s staring right at me as I freeze on top of him. “You’re here for me to do what I want.” He leans closer to me, pressing his forehead against mine. “And I want you to keep rubbing your little pussy against my leg. Now.”

  Despite the command in them, despite how fucked it is, his words drive me wild. After a week of tormenting me, of fucking me over, he’s finally doing it. Giving me a release. A connection.

  I bite my lip, keep my forehead pressed to his and do as he said, rubbing myself against him. I can feel his breath on my mouth, and I want to kiss him, but I don’t. Instead, I watch his eyes as he looks down between us, and I know I’m getting his pants wet. When I get up, I’ll still be on him, and the thought drives me just a little crazier.

  I ride his thigh faster and he grips my ass tighter, keeping me balanced. The feel of his strong fingers digging into my skin is enough to make me moan out loud.

  But his hand suddenly moves from my ass to between us and I look down and watch in a sort of horrible fascination as he strokes his finger over my flesh, split between the roped material of my underwear he’s still pulling up on as I ride him.

  He pulls on one of my lips, then strokes his finger just over my clit, the cotton the only thing between us. I groan again as he moves to the other lip, pulling me wider, like he’s examining me.

  “Stop,” he suddenly commands me, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to because I’m so fucking close, and seeing him play with me like that, like I’m just an object to use and inspect, is pushing me closer.

  But I do as he says, and then he lets go of the fabric on my low belly and hooks his index finger through the wet cotton of my underwear, shifting it to the side and giving him a better view, and me a sense of release. Now I’m not bound by the fabric and his thigh is just underneath me.

  I shift my hips, wanting to ride him again, but he grips the back of my hair, winding his fingers through it without even looking up at me, in a motion to indicate I need to stay still.

  “Such a good little girl,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s saying it more to himself than to me. The words don’t hurt, not with the admiration in his voice. “So fucking wet.” He rubs his index finger down his pants, and I see the shiny, translucent trail of myself staining his clothes.

  I feel hot all over again. Hot and turned on and slightly uncomfortable.

  He brings his finger to my clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves and making my fingers dig into my own palms as he does.

  “You have a perfect pussy, Addison,” he tells me as he spreads my lips with two fingers and I rock back a little, letting him see more.

  For the first time, at the sight of my slick, pink lips, he groans, and the sound heats my blood. Then he slips his palm beneath me, so I’m sitting on his hand instead of his pants.

  “Ride me,” he tells me, looking up at me again. The sensation of his hand beneath my folds makes me want to cry with how fucking good it fills. “I want you to come on me. Tonight, you belong to me, and I want to feel you come on my hand, do you understand?” He tightens his hold in my hair, tilting my head back.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I—”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, sir.” I don’t know if that’s what he wants to be called but it’s what Ben taught me. I see Max’s eyes dart to my mouth, feel his grip in my hair loosen, and I know it was the right thing to say.

  “Good girl,” he tells me, his voice strained.

  I start rocking against his hand, not about to wait another second. With his fingers fisted in my hair, and the feel of his hand beneath my pussy, I can’t wait anymore.

  I’m panting as I move up and down, stroking myself against him, my eyes closed tight, breathing him in. Me in.

  My fingers are aching to touch him, but I don’t dare. Instead, I press my head against his shoulder, savoring his nearness.

  This time, he doesn’t stop me.

  And just as I feel myself cresting, a flush of warmth and nerves and a shudder of pleasure coursing through me, he drops his fingers from my hair and wraps his arm around me, pulling me close into him as I finish on his hand, gasping his name.

  “Look at you, baby girl,” he whispers against my ear as I keep rocking against him, warmth oozing from me onto him. “You’re doing so good. You’re so wet and so hot and so fucking good.”

  His words make warmth explode in my chest, between my thighs, and I’m almost crying against his shirt with how good it feels to release everything. Almost weeping with pleasure and a satisfied sort of exhaustion and delirium and a need to be closer to him, to be connected. All of the oxytocin in my brain is craving more of him, and even when I finish, even when my rocking stops, I’m still breathing hard against his chest, my eyes closed. I’m completely at ease, completely relaxed.

  And for a long, long moment, he doesn’t release me.

  For a long, long moment everything is perfect.

  Then his phone starts to ring.

  “Evora is asking for you.” I can hear the words from a feminine voice through his phone, my eyes locked on his. I’m still straddling his thigh, my hands by my sides, and I want to beg him not to leave.

  I don’t know who E
vora is, but I remember he told Dante to bring her to his bedroom the night I was locked into the soundproof room.

  My chest starts to cave.

  “Don’t call me for bullshit again.” Max ends the call.

  Still, my eyes narrow, and I make to get off of his lap.

  But he’s faster. He grabs my throat, keeping me still as he slides his phone back into his pocket.

  “Where are you going, love?” he asks me, squeezing me tighter.

  I swallow, and I know he can feel it beneath his hand. I keep mine by my side, keep myself at his mercy.

  But that won’t keep him here. And I know I shouldn’t want it. I know after he coerced me into this, I should be glad he’s leaving.

  But I don’t want to be alone again.

  It’s not the first time I threw myself at a devil, hoping he’d stick around in my hell. But it still hurts all the same, knowing he’s going to leave. It’s the same feeling I had when my father used me and hopped on a plane, flying to someone else. Someone he cared for more than me.

  “To let you enjoy your whore,” I answer Max’s question, knowing that in this case, I’m the whore. The box of all the things I don’t want to remember is threatening to burst open again, but I force it back into the darkness of my mind.

  At least until Max is gone. Then I can break apart without a witness.

  He smiles coldly at me, grabs my ass with his free hand. “Don’t be so judgmental, baby girl. You’re nothing better.” He pulls me close, by my throat, until his mouth is over mine. “And at least she gets used like a whore should.” He glances down between us, my underwear still shoved to the crease of my thigh. “You only get to hump my leg. Who’s the real whore, Addison?”

  I stiffen in his lap, anger and regret boiling my blood. Self-loathing washes over me in an uncomfortable wave. What have I done? He manipulated me into this, and I did it to avoid punishment. Now, he’s throwing it back in my face.

  “I hate you, Max.” How many times will I say those words, knowing they don’t affect him?

  He smiles again, and I hate him all the more. “Good. That was practice for your future. Giving it up to someone that you hate.”