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Chapter 7

If I thought gettinghard from being zapped and put in a shock collar was a surprise, it was nothing compared to the blood that filled my cock when I'd beaten the shit out of the Russian for daring to touch Oisín. I didn't like Oisín any more than I had when he'd first taken me from Fallon Maher, but I was his right now, which meant he was mine in a fucked-up way.

This was fucking wild.

I was fucking a man.

Not just any man, but the same guy who'd made my life hell for the last two months by pushing me to do stupid exercises for my knee and hand and shoulder. It could be worse, I supposed. Like, I could still be with those fuckwads—Cillian, Aspen, Fallon, and Rowen—getting tortured, but I didn't have hope with Oisín, either. I was on the road to recovery, and he could do whatever he wanted to me.

He could've done that while you were recovering.

I ignored the voice in my head and focused on the man in front of me and how easily he arched his back, his firm cock slapping against his abs as I hammered into the delicious squeeze of his tight hole.

"Harder," Oisín hissed, eyes lighting up with a crazy energy I wasn't sure I understood. Then again, I'd known he was insane from the moment I'd met him in that torture room in the city. What kind of man decides to take home a traitor to treat like a pet? "Make me feel it tomorrow." He clawed at my arm. "Fuck me like you hate me."

That was something I didn't have to pretend. I did hate Oisín, and if he wanted to see how much, then I wasn't going to deny him. I gripped his hips in a tight hold, the fingernails I still had digging into his vulnerable flesh as I began to fuck with more power. It was strange only being able to hold him with eight fingers, rather than all ten, but my nubbins, as I'd started calling them, hadn't given me many problems over the last couple of months. My balls slapped against skin, my cock hammering roughly with every thrust inside his warm hole. He cried out with each stroke, like I was hitting a good spot inside him.

I watched his face, the way his mouth shook and his eyes stared into whatever pleasure-induced Lalaland he'd drifted off to, and I couldn't help but admire the way his jaw flexed.

If someone liked pretty, psychotic men, I could see the appeal.

He shot me a smirk, and I glared.

Asshole.

Tightening my hold on his hips, I pounded harder, faster, rougher. I wanted him to feel every inch of my long, thick cock, and by the time I was done, he'd be walking with a limp.

He pressed a palm to my chest, which heaved under his touch, and his smirk widened. "Come on, Beastie, show your owner what you can do."

I growled, and while I hadn't intended it to be anything but a warning, it came out as animalistic as he probably saw me. To him, I was a wild beast, and I was going to show him how untamed I was.

I lifted him completely off the bed, using my muscles to hold him so we were chest to chest. A gasp slipped from his mouth, and I took it as permission to drive faster into his ass, the combination of gravity and my muscles working him up and down on my cock. His arms wrapped around my shoulders and he cursed, nipping at the tip of my ear teasingly.

Pleasure curled low in my stomach and heat sprouted outward, flooding my body with an intense lust I hadn't felt in a long time. When was the last time I'd gotten hard? Fuck, I couldn't remember. The doctor I'd visited had known jack shit about what was going on with my dick, but I didn't only have a boner right now, it was raging hard.

Something clicked inside me, a part of my masculinity I'd lost over a year ago for unknown fucking reasons when I'd gotten dumped, and I felt whole again. If I didn't focus on who got me worked up, it would be the perfect situation.

His lips found my cheek and jaw, and I let him do what he wanted because the only thing that I could focus on was his warmth and the perfect pressure around my sensitive length. He squeezed my dick somehow—Who knew how to do that with their ass?—and need built at the base of my spine. My balls pulsed and my cock jerked inside him.

His nails scratched up my back and pain radiated from the marks he'd left behind. His teeth chomped down where my neck met my shoulder, and I growled, dropping him on my cock so hard that the resounding echo of our flesh meeting bounced off the walls. He whimpered and bit deeper, and I fucked into him rougher.

It was like playing gas against fire. I wanted to light him up in flames and watch him burn, but he was the fuel that ignited me.

I gripped his asscheeks, squeezing, and used them to bounce him up and down. "I'm going to split you in half."

Oisín laughed. "Promises, promises."

It consumed me on the inside that he doubted my ability, and my hold on him tightened. I spun us around and stepped over the unconscious Russian, slamming Oisín against the wall with my cock still buried deep inside him. He whined as I wrapped my hand around his neck, crushing his windpipe under my fingers—including my nubbins. I was his god in that moment, and I got to decide whether he lived or died.

Yet, despite the control I had over him, he smiled in a way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle as he gasped for air. The unhinged stormy blue eyes that haunted my dreams danced in excitement, and the sad thing about this entire situation was how much hotter that made him. He was fucked in the head, but I was, too, because I was into it.

I smashed his head back against the wall, and he moaned, tilting his chin up.

"More, Beastie. Give it to me harder," he demanded. He wasn't in charge, yet he ordered me around, and my cock throbbed under his commands. My boner was a fucking traitor.

My fingers dug into his neck, and his moans grew louder, his cock slapping against our abs while I continued to hammer into him. He bounced on me like a paid whore, the sounds coming from him downright sinful and something I'd need to scrub from my mind when this was over. There was no way in hell I'd be into him. No. Fuck that.

My cock had other ideas, though. My balls tightened against my body, and the familiar, yet almost forgotten, tendrils of needy pleasure snaked their way through me. It wasn't Oisín getting strangled, it was me. The lust that I'd missed had me breathless, and I was a servant to its demands.

"Show your owner what a good beast you are," Oisín purred, grasping my shoulders as I dug my fingers into his fragile neck. It wouldn't take much to end this, to tighten my hold a little more and choke him out until he was nothing but a lifeless body, but the hunger to come won. I craved the sensations of an orgasm, and I chased it like the animal he claimed I was. I wanted to breed him until he was leaking cum, and then he'd know who he belonged to.

"I might be your beast, but you're my bitch," I growled against his mouth before I crashed my lips over his in an unforgiving kiss.

He groaned and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me in closer while his other hand sneaked its way in between us. It didn't take a genius to know he was jerking off. I didn't look down at his cock, despite the temptation that tickled my mind. This wasn't a feeling I was going to give in to.

My release was so close I could taste it, the swelling desire growing heavier until it became too hard to resist. Everything about these sensations of being inside Oisín were overwhelming, from the tightness of his ass to the deep-seated need to the addicting pain that came with whatever torture he wanted to use on me. I both hated it and craved more.

A few more thrusts were all it took before I stilled, balls deep inside him, and exploded. I trembled through my orgasm, my muscles shaking until I almost dropped him. I clenched my eyes shut and pressed my forehead against his, releasing his neck. I focused on the amazing feeling of coming. All at once, I realized how much I'd missed this—the pure ecstasy of the big O.

I rode the high of my body for as long as I could before I came back to reality—or more like crash landed. It took me a moment to realize where I was again, Oisín grinning where I had him pressed against the wall. Stickiness coated my abs, and I scrunched up my nose when I recognized his cum painting my skin. At some point he'd gone over the edge, too.

I took note of the red imprint of my fingers on his pale neck and the flush in his cheeks. Sweat beaded on his forehead and droplets rolled down his temple. He had more on his chest, pooling at his sternum. His nipples peaked and he smoothed his palm over his belly, gathering his cum and sticking it into his mouth—sucking with a moan.

"Well hello, welcome back." His grin turned downright wicked. "Was that as fun for you as it was for me?"

I grunted and pulled out of him, dropping his feet back onto the floor.

He laughed and patted me on the cheek, and I stepped away from him, careful of my knee. Now that I'd hit my peak, the familiar ripple of pain spread up my leg. The surgery had helped, but I still had to be careful. There was a lot of healing to do, and Oisín wasn't going to make it easy on me, especially now that I'd started playing his game.

A groan echoed behind us, and I spun around to face the Russian again. The bastard blinked his eyes open, and fury consumed me like a raging forest fire. I kicked out, my foot connecting with his face, sending him flying across the floor. He rolled away from me, but the anger boiled my blood, lighting me up with the adrenaline I'd thought I'd gotten rid of through my orgasm.

I bent down, ignoring our nakedness, and bashed my fist into his cheek. His head flew to the side, blood splattering across Oisín's pretty floor. I landed one punch after another, each slam of my knuckles into his head a pleasant victory that tasted so sweet I imagined it'd become an addiction.

I wanted more.

Fuck, fight, kill. They were instincts I craved and fell prey to in this moment of wild furor.

Snap!

The crack of his neck gave me pause. His head lolled to the side and his body went lifeless. Satisfying triumph twisted in my chest and a lightness floated there with it, and the calm took over. His blood was stark on my skin where it was splattered over my knuckles and chest. Wetness on my chin told me there was probably some there, too.

I stood on shaky legs, clenching and unclenching my hands, and turned toward Oisín. His expression lit up his entire face, eyes dancing with excitement that I'd never quite seen. He clapped, palms slapping together as though I was only there for his entertainment. I guess I was.

"Bravo! Bravo, Beastie!" He threw his head back and laughed. "Encore! I want an encore!"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not your toy."

"No, you're my beast, obviously. We've been through this." He shook his head and stepped in closer. I ignored every reflex that told me to get away—attack him, then run. I wouldn't get far yet. I needed to prepare better.

He grabbed my hand and raised it to his lips. His tongue darted out and he licked at the blood that painted my knuckles. I watched, entranced by the way the liquid gathered on the pink muscle. His gaze never left mine as he dropped my hand, then bent forward, this time licking up the blood from my chest.

He cradled my hip bones in his palms, and I let him, not because I wanted them there but because even though I'd been with him for two months, I still couldn't quite get a read on him. The fact that he was dangerous was obvious, but his disturbed nature held secrets that I'd found myself wanting to know.

Mom always told me that being in a mob was an addiction, one that my father could never give up, and now I understood why. Being around men who thirsted for carnage was exhilarating, a fix that couldn't be sated, and Oisín was at the top of the list for the craziest of them all.

My cock twitched and surprise hit me. Getting hard once was an accomplishment, but again so soon? It seemed like fate was playing a weird fucking game with me and I wanted off the insane train.

"Did you like what we did?" He fluttered his lashes at me, and I stared down at him with a frown. I didn't fuck men, but if my cock got hard for whatever this was, then I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I like getting off," I snapped in return. The muscles in my abs jumped when he kissed lower before he straightened and stood at his full height again.

"Funny, me too." He winked and played with his cock, and it was difficult to keep my eyes level with his so that I didn't glance down at what he was doing.

"I'll fuck you, but I am not sucking your dick. So we're clear."

He flashed me his straight white teeth. "I say what you do and don't do."

I shoved in against his chest and glared. "Want to bet? You owe me for saving you from that Russian fucker."

His eyebrows danced high on his forehead. "And you owe me for saving you from certain death. You're mine, Beastie, and if I say dance, you ask if you should do the Macarena or something from the Nutcracker, because if you don't, it'll be your nuts getting cracked. Capiche?"

He spoke with a happy smile, and despite my urge to punch the daylights out of him, something stopped me. I didn't know why, but my hand wouldn't curl into a fist. I blamed the recent orgasm. Coming could do that to a man, or at least, that's what I told myself.

My lip curled and I stepped back from him, waving at the dead Russian. "How do we get rid of this body?"

"Get dressed. We're going on an adventure."

By adventure, he meant wrapping the fresh corpse in a tarp and carrying it out to his car. We dumped it in the trunk, and he told me to get into the passenger seat. The only other time I'd left his house was to go to the hospital for surgery or the dentist, so this was certainly new. I wasn't complaining. I'd been the one to kill the man, after all.

I rested against the seat with my hands stuffed in the pockets of a soft brown leather jacket Oisín must've bought for me, a twinge aching through my knee from the overexertion. Between the fucking and carrying a dead body, I'd put too much weight and action on my injury.

The silence hung heavy in the air between us, and I closed my eyes, falling into the lull of the perilous quiet. It was strange, but there was something comforting about being here with Oisín after killing a man.

"I enjoyed it," I murmured, not quite sure why.

"Sex with a man?" Amusement layered his voice.

I didn't open my eyes. Instead, I got more comfortable, crossing my arms and falling into the lushness of the seat. No car should be this cozy, but I supposed if a vehicle was this expensive, it made sense someone could sleep in it, too. "Killing a man. An enemy. I enjoyed it."

He chuckled. "You are an animal. That's why I chose to keep you."

"What makes you think I won't murder you?" I sneered.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take. Actually, it's one I very much enjoy." He grabbed my thigh, and my eyes shot open, gaze dropping down to where his hand clamped around me. He slid his hand higher, closer to my cock, which twitched. Fuck. Had he fed me some super potent blue pills that doctors didn't even know about? Because not even Viagra had gotten me hard.

"Do you also like getting smacked around?" The question came out meaner than I'd meant it—but fuck it. Oisín wasn't an angel, and we weren't wimps who beat around the bush. We were Company men—I was at one point—and what happened wasn't something we could ignore. He'd let a Russian, an enemy bratva member, come over to his house and take advantage of him.

He shrugged. "When one takes risks, eventually it'll get out of control. I usually have it handled. It isn't like I didn't want to get fucked. I adore pain. I've been known to ask for a slap or more. It just went sideways."

"What happened today?" I hissed, an anger surging up in my chest. He could've died. Fucking been as dead as the Russian was right now, all because he took risks. "He would've killed you if I hadn't been there."

He tapped the steering wheel and squeezed my thigh once before removing his hand, but as a parting shot, he slid a finger over the bulge in my pants. "Life's short. Either it'll work out for you or it won't."

"Fucking bullshit." I clenched my jaw until my teeth hurt. "Just because we're in a mob, doesn't mean we can be fucking stupid about our decisions."

The grin that spread across his mouth burned my ass. He wasn't taking any of this seriously. "That's rich coming from you, Beastie. You're the one who stole from Sloan, the biggest, baddest mob boss in the country. That's a death wish if I ever saw one. They could put your smiling face in the Wikipedia entry beside dumb-ass."

I couldn't exactly deny that he was right. I'd been fucking stupid. Growling, I glanced out the window.

"Aw, come on, don't sulk." The laughter in his tone had me tensing. "Just be glad I was there to save your life."

"You didn't save me."

He outright laughed again. "Oh, I rescued you from being slaughtered. You were on the chopping block, and I definitely saved you. You should do a little thank-you dance before using that tongue on my dick like it's an ice cream cone."

I shot him a fierce glare. "Fuck off. I'm not giving you a blowjob. I'm not going anywhere near your cock."

Oisín's mouth curled smugly in the orange-hued streetlights that flashed past us. "We'll see. You also said you wouldn't fuck me."

I slumped in the seat and turned back to gaze out the window. I had no idea where we were going, but by the time we got there, I realized it wasn't out in the middle of nowhere like I'd expected. Instead, we were in another nice neighborhood, in front of a massive house that could only be described as a mansion.

Fuck, it was huge, but also really fucking ridiculous.

The circular driveway had a water fountain in the center—an elephant with its trunk raised—and it looked almost brand new, gleaming under the LED lights directed at the cement feature. There were a few brilliant fall leaves caught around the base, but with the number of trees nearby, it was clear someone had been doing constant cleanup or there would be a lot more.

The house itself was something that I'd only ever seen in a movie—curved balconies, peaked roof, a brownstone chimney, and an estate that seemed massive in a place like the Hamptons. Whoever lived here had money and something to prove because this was a measuring contest if I ever did see one.

"Where are we?" I narrowed my eyes at the house when the door opened, and an elderly man stepped out. The inside lights flooded the settling gloom with cheerful brightness, making the man and his plain black suit glow.

Oisín didn't answer as he stopped the vehicle, then exited, and all I could do was follow. My knee throbbed in disapproval when I bent it to get out, but it wasn't painful enough to warrant any attention. I let Oisín lead me toward the steps where the elderly man waited, and I froze when another person appeared at the threshold.

I'd met a lot of men in my time working for the Killough Company, but I hadn't seen many higher-ups. I was never in the position to have anything to do with the top-tier members, but I knew an important face when I saw one, especially Conall Morrissey, the pet and partner of Sloan Killough.

Mr. Morrissey was gorgeous. Even straight guys didn't have to wonder too hard about why the boss would fuck him. He had cheeks that could cut glass and wide, pouty lips. His dark hair was long and usually pulled up into a bun, and the bright red collar around his neck—a sign of Mr. Killough's ownership—was vibrant against his creamy skin.

Did I look as owned as he did right now? My fingers twitched, but I didn't reach up to touch my collar.

He crossed his arms over his thin white T-shirt and cocked his head. "Oisín. What a pleasure."

Oisín bounced up the stairs and stopped in front of Mr. Morrissey. "Sir." He tipped his head forward, and it was strange to see Oisín quasi respectful. "I heard the boss was having a few guests over for a drink. I was hoping Caden was in. You know the one. Short King with a baby girl attitude but has a knack for body disposal?"

The elderly man beside Mr. Morrissey grunted, clearly unimpressed.

Mr. Morrissey stared intently, the corner of his mouth twitching. "He might be. Why? Did you kill someone? That would have to be a record for you. Two in a month." His gaze slid to me and he cocked his head. "Aren't you the traitor?"

I swallowed and held my hands in front of me. Oisín didn't get my respect, but Mr. Morrissey did. Maybe I could work my way back into Mr. Killough's good graces and get out from under whatever this was with Oisín through Mr. Morrissey. If anyone had the boss's ear, it was his pet.

"Reed Olsson, sir. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

Oisín quirked a curious eyebrow at me, lips curling in laughter. "It looks like you have the talent of taming wild beasts." He glanced back at Mr. Morrissey. "But this one is mine. You staked your claim on the boss." I didn't miss the hint of warning in his amused voice. Interesting.

Mr. Morrissey must've recognized the tone, too, because he straightened. "So, you wouldn't like it if I told the boss that I wanted Reed as a pet of my own?"

Oisín's posture stiffened. His entire demeanor changed as easily as flipping a light switch. The danger I'd sensed a few times before drifted off him, and the hair on the back of my arms stood up, like one predator identifying another. I couldn't see his face, but I didn't think I wanted to right now.

Mr. Morrissey smirked. "Ah, I see." He waved his hand. "Fine. I'll get Caden for you. Have you ever heard of a phone or did you want an excuse to visit?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Stay here." He left, but the elderly man—a butler, maybe?—kept his watchful eyes on us.

I shifted closer to Oisín. "The boss's pet doesn't like you."

He chuckled, but it was as stiff as his body. "He doesn't trust me around his man. I mentioned wanting Sloan to fuck me one time and suddenly I'm the enemy." He made a disgruntled sound. "As if the boss pays attention to any man other than his pet."

Bile rose in my throat at the thought of Oisín finding Mr. Killough attractive, but I shoved it aside. Oisín wasn't the first man in the mob to lust after the boss, and he wouldn't be the last, yet the unpleasantness of discovering this information about Oisín was new.

Strange.

And I hated it.

I curled my fingers into fists at my sides.

Oisín glanced at me from the corner of his eye and the grin returned. "Something to say, Beastie?"

I gritted my teeth. "Other than I'm going to kill you in your sleep? No."

He snorted out a laugh. "Don't flirt with me."

Crazy bastard.

A few moments later, a man who was far too fucking pretty and young to be a mobster showed up at the open door. With big eyes, blond curls, and a bright smile, I felt more like I was in a church rather than at a mob boss's house. This kid barely looked twenty and he was short as fuck.

"You got a body for me, then?" the man, who I assumed was Caden, asked.

Oisín gestured at the trunk of his car. "Yep, in there."

"Any blood and guts at the kill site?" Caden gave us a big smile, appearing way too excited for someone asking about this kind of thing.

"Yeah, blood on my bedroom floor," Oisín said with a sheepish smirk.

"All right, I'll get the guys to clean it tonight. I'll message them now. I might even come over to help later. My mom always said I was good at cleaning." He shot the butler a grin, but the man didn't react. "Let's move it to my truck. I've already got a few I need to get rid of this week." He bounced his way over to us, and all I could do was stare.

What the fuck?

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