Saved by a Dangerous Man

By: Cleo Peitsche


He peeled off the condom and imprisoned his swollen member in his jeans. When he looked at me again, his eyes had gone cold. “If he lays a hand on you—”

I stood on my toes and kissed the sandpapery underside of Corbin’s jaw. “You won’t have to do anything because I’ll castrate him myself.”

I heard my toilet flush. It was a strange sensation because I never had company. It definitely felt… icky. My apartment was my private space. When Corbin slipped in, it was welcome. But Henry’s intrusion felt like trespassing.

A strange feeling came over me. I glanced down at the bulge of Corbin’s jutting, unsatisfied cock. It would only take another minute. He followed my glance, shook his head.

“Fuck me,” I said, my voice quiet. Then I hit the play button on my decrepit CD changer. I shoved my dresser over a few feet so that it blocked the door, just in case Henry started getting ideas.

“My good girl’s gone bad,” Corbin said. He studied my face with that intense expression of his, the one that made me feel stripped naked.

“You knew I wasn’t a good girl when I fucked you in the alley,” I pointed out.

“Oh, I knew long before then.” Corbin worked my jeans down again. I’d intended to suck him off, but if this was what he wanted…

I leaned over and hit the play button again—all of my appliances were recalcitrant—and a rock song exploded through the speakers. Only then did I realize that it could have too easily been The Second Waltz—the song we’d danced to our first night together. I’d never heard of Dmitri Shostakovich before then, but I’d listened to that song hundreds of times since. That would have been embarrassing.

Corbin shoved me on the bed, pulling my legs up. I stared at my jeans around my knees, my worn boots in the air, and I felt foolish.

“The moment you woke up in my bed, I knew,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

“Your eyes gave you away.” He treated me to his cocky smile. “I thought to myself, ‘Goddamn, this sexy little bounty hunter wants to fuck me more than she wants to turn me in.’”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Wrong.”

“History says otherwise.” Corbin leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Sex with me is worth two million bucks.” His amusement gave way to that ragged lust that I knew so well.

He anchored an arm around my knees, guided his cock to my slick folds. “What do you want, Audrey?” he asked, his voice all low and seductive.

“To get fucked by someone who isn’t an egomaniac,” I said.

“Mm.” He sank his teeth into my denim-covered calf, then shoved himself so forcefully into me that I felt my face get fireplace-poker hot.

And he fucked me. It was fast, but it was rough, even for Corbin, who liked to liberally spice his sex with pain and domination. I knew I’d have bruises where his hand gripped my hip. He held my lower body in the air, my mid-back, shoulders and head on the mattress. Barely.

His fingers dug into me, and I knew he was marking me. And when he leaned forward, folding my body under his weight, and pressed his palm over my mouth, I let myself go, writhing and moaning. Our grunts mixed with the music.

Corbin collapsed over me in a rare lapse of complete control. The man was heavy as a truck. I was so surprised that I didn’t try to shift him to a more comfortable position. He was still breathing hard, still coming down from his own orgasm. “I wish you wouldn’t go,” he panted.

“Sorry.”

He kissed my neck, right under my earlobe. “Ok.” He easily raised himself off me. “In that case, you’d better take this.” He sat up, then reached under the bed—my bed, which really shouldn’t have sheltered things I didn’t know about—and handed me an opaque black plastic bag, the kind the liquor stores use. He handed it to me, but I sensed he didn’t want to.

I glanced inside and saw a box of pretzel sticks, enough candy and chocolate bars to put a horse in a coma, chewing gum, a paperback novel about cannibal zombies, bottles of painkillers and vitamins, and a black box.

“Some things for your trip. Snacks and so on.”

“What’s in the box?” I pulled it out. It rattled.

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