Marrying the Mob Prince

INDIE

Knox: You look beautiful today.

The words ran down my neck like a flame-tipped feather, heating the skin under my open collar. I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the handful of people.

I stood in a Starbucks in my work building. I glared at a broad-shouldered man in slacks absorbed in his phone. He lifted his head, as though sensing my hostility, and met my stare.

Not Knox.

His tanned, fortysomething face broke into a smile that I ignored. Heart pounding, I averted my gaze to my phone’s screen.

I typed a response.

Me: Are you following me?

Knox: No.

Me: Then how do you know I look beautiful?

Knox: Because you always do.

That coated my mouth like honeydew, before my tongue curled with bitterness.

The barista called my name. I grabbed my coffee and headed for the elevators. The receptionist scowled as I opened the glass doors. I avoided her stink-eye and forced myself to grin. Nobody smiled back.

Since the sale of the company, everybody hated me. I’d done everything I could to win them over. I made small talk. Contributed to the potlucks. I’d ordered a box of cupcakes from an expensive bakery. They sat in the kitchen all day, untouched. My coworkers shunned me like a leper, and I understood why, but that didn’t make it any less hurtful.

My chest tightened as I reached my desk. I swallowed the ball of hurt and kicked aside my chair, using the stand-up attachment. Then I unpacked my messenger bag and opened my laptop. My hands shook as I scanned my inbox.

Christine, a statuesque platinum blonde with an addiction to fillers, stopped by my cubicle. She beamed, oozing saccharine warmth. “Morning, Indiana.”

“Indie,” I grated, stabbing a key. “Not Indiana.”

“Oh, my bad.” Christine’s brows drew together in a mock frown. “You’ve worked here for, what, eight months? I should remember you by now.”

She’d remembered me fine a week ago, before our company’s social media account exploded with a bombshell announcement.

Thanks, future husband.

“That’s worrying,” I said, clicking my tongue. “Losing your memory at such a young age…maybe you should see a doctor? Didn’t they release a study linking fillers with early-onset dementia?”

Her lips thinned. Then she slid her empty coffee mug over my notepad. A brown ring stained the pages, bleeding the ink.

“Christine, those are my interview notes.”

“Considering your work barely qualifies as journalism, you’re lucky to have interviews.” She gave me a raking, condescending gaze. “Well, I guess luck has nothing to do with it.”

Heat curled around my neck. “I didn’t sleep with Knox for favors.”

“I wouldn’t have fucked him, but I get the appeal. He’s rich. He’s hot. He has connections with other rich bastards. He’s buddies with the guy who owns Empire Network, so you have a foothold in the industry the rest of us don’t. You’ll always have a job. We have to do what he says, or we’re done.”

“Then quit.”

“I don’t have that choice. I’m not screwing a man whose net worth outstrips that of Bill Gates.”

“Look, I had no idea he’d buy us out.” I deliberately raised my voice so others could hear me. “All right?”

“Bullshit.” Christine jabbed her forefinger in my chest, her nail stabbing me through the fabric of my shirt. “He’s your fiance. You’re the only reason he hasn’t fired everybody and turned this place into a meme factory. Some of us have families to support!”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do, Christine! I can’t control him.”

“Yes, you can.” She leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “When he walks through that door, go into his office and make him believe he needs me. Give him a sloppy blowjob. Do whatever it takes. I am not losing my kids’ health insurance because you fucked Bryan Knox.”

Tell me how you really feel.

My cheeks blistered. “You’re way out of line.”

“I don’t care! You don’t belong here.”

Christine stomped away, lodging a knot in my throat. Angry tears obscured my vision as a chuckle broke the stifling tension, and then, the colleagues who’d been listening to the exchange returned to their desks.

I sank in my chair and breathed in deeply, head in my hands. I’d refused to quit out of pride, but this was ridiculous. The job didn’t pay enough to be worth being slut-shamed. When I accepted Knox’s proposal a week ago, I had no idea he’d buy the fucking company.

A notification pinged my phone.

I glowered at the screen, but the notification reminded me of a mandatory meeting of all employees in five minutes. I wiped my eyes and pulled it together, breathing through my mouth. Then I shuffled into the kitchen. I shoved Christine’s mug in the sink, where it shattered.

Eliot strode in, whistling. The jaunty tune blasting from his lips died when he glanced at me. He grabbed a mug from the drying rack. “Look sharp, Indie. Top brass visiting today.”

“The CEO?”

His lip curled. “Yep.”

I gritted my teeth.

Fuck’s sake.

Dread pitted my stomach as we headed for the conference room.

Eliot held the door open for me, and then he joined the group of men wearing grim expressions. Coworkers packed the quiet room, picking through a banquet of catered breakfast food. I gaped at the steaming trays pushed against the window containing an assortment of scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and a mountain of pastries.

A powerful silhouette rippled outside the frosted glass. One of them detached and opened the door, admitting Lars Whitman, the sixty-five-year-old CEO of Vanity. He shook hands with Eliot and stood at the head of the room.

“Good morning. Thank you for joining me. I’ve spent the last thirty years at the helm of this groundbreaking company. I couldn’t be more proud of my accomplishments in media. It has been very rewarding and I don’t regret a single day, but I’ve been waiting for the right moment to retire. As of this morning, I am stepping down as CEO. My replacement is a very successful individual who has assured me he will preserve this publication’s integrity. I’d like to introduce you to your new boss, Mr. Bryan Knox.”

My stomach turned. The door swung open, and there was my infuriating fiance in his jeans and bomber jacket uniform. Women swiveled in their chairs to gape at him.

A smile staggered across his wide face.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitman, for that esteemed introduction. I hold a deep respect of this company’s mission statement, and I am honored to be a part of bringing women’s voices to the mainstream.” His searing gaze swept the conference room, landing on the men. “Improvements will be made where they are needed. More than likely, we will be undergoing corporate restructuring.”

Layoffs.

Panicked whispers echoed through the room.

What the fuck is he doing?

I fisted a croissant as he droned on in a long-winded speech packed with buzzwords, too irate to concentrate. This was what my sister meant when she called him dangerous. Did he think he could buy into my life?

When the meeting ended, a thick crowd of men surrounded Knox. I returned to my desk and tried swallowing the ball in my throat. Eliot stopped by, Christine hovering behind him, their faces taut with fear. “Is he laying us off?” Eliot asked.

I shrugged. “No idea.”

“How can you not know?” she snapped.

Why did they all think I was the mastermind behind Knox’s unpredictable nature? “He doesn’t tell me anything, Christine.”

“Don’t give me that shit!” she hissed, moving to stand in front of Eliot. “The man is clearly obsessed with you. If you told him to fire me, I swear to God I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Eliot’s warning grunt yanked our attention to Knox’s presence. He filled the entrance to my cubicle, his mouth twisted with a sadistic curve. A spasm of terror twitched on Eliot’s face before he wiped it clear.

“Both of you. Conference room,” Knox barked. “The rest of you, back to work.”

Eliot nodded and took off. Christine’s lip quivered and her eyes shone, but she followed Eliot and disappeared behind the frosted glass. My fiance dropped a Styrofoam cup on my desk. A faint cinnamon smell spiraled from the steam, filling my belly with warmth.

“I picked this up for you, killer,” he murmured, palming my shoulder. “Two sugars and a dash of cinnamon.”

I’d been pissed, but the sweetness of the gesture made me melt. Bryan Knox had gotten me coffee. He’d changed so drastically, I barely recognized the man staring at me with undisguised longing.

I cleared my throat, overwhelmed. “Thank you.”

My mouth parted as he kissed my cheek. I hated myself for the involuntary rush of desire rushing through me. I shouldn’t want this cruel sadist.

He tweezed my chin like a modern Don Draper. “Wait in my office.”

My stomach knotted. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll be right back.”

I held onto his hand. “Knox, please. Don’t do it!”

He patted my head and slid out of my grip. Then he strolled toward the conference room. I knew it wouldn’t do any good for me to follow him and plead for Eliot’s job. Knox would enjoy the spectacle, and he would blame me anyway.

I charged into the managing editor’s office, a featureless room with an L-shaped desk. I paced in front of the frosted glass. Minutes later, it rippled with a large shadow. The door opened and Knox stepped through, closing the door behind him.

“What did you do?” I demanded hoarsely.

“Not much.”

Right.

Once at a crowded restaurant, Knox had backhanded a drunken man who pestered our waitress with filthy questions. He stood up, calmly approached the man, and hit him, which met with applause from employees and patrons. He rarely lost his temper, but when provoked, he threw down like an avalanche.

“I fired her,” Knox drawled. “As for Eliot, he’s finished. Not only is he fired from here, but he’ll never work in media again.”

“What did he do?”

“He created a hostile workplace. If you’re about to beg for his job, don’t.” He took a bold step forward, his body colliding into mine. “Even a sloppy blowjob won’t change my mind. Although you’re welcome to try.”

“You’ve made things worse for me!” I whispered fervently, stepping away from his intoxicating presence. “I’m going to quit.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Knox, I can’t work here anymore.”

“Nonsense.” Knox’s brow furrowed, and his hand dropped from my shoulder. “I’ve already told James you’ll be in first thing Monday morning as managing editor. From now on, you call the shots.”

“You can’t do that!” I’d never be able to live it down, not that he cared. “It’s blatant favoritism.”

“I don’t care what people think.”

He took my arms, his touch boiling my doubts and fears.

My breath hitched. “Knox, I’m not pushing your agenda.”

“Who said anything about that? I just want my fiancee to be fulfilled.”

“Fulfilled?” I yelled, my voice almost a screech. “You did this for yourself.”

He flinched. “What are you talking about?”

My mind was a crazy mixture of hope and fear. “Buying Vanity wasn’t about controlling me?”

Knox’s mouth thinned. “We needed to kill the trafficking story.”

“But I told you I was handling it!”

His expression clouded over, as though he struggled to understand my distress. “Why does that matter?”

“You don’t see me as a competent person.” My voice wavered and broke, shattered with hurt. “That hurts me, Knox. I told you I was handling it. If you’d given me a few more days, I would’ve convinced Eliot to drop the story. Instead of listening to me, you buy out my company. You fire the editor. Do you have any idea what this is doing to my reputation? I betrayed my journalistic integrity. I’m unhireable. I will never work in media again.”

He grabbed my hands, his tone beseeching. “I can talk to someone. I’ll get you a position somewhere else.”

“I don’t want to be given a job! I worked hard to get here, and you’ve guaranteed that nobody will ever take me seriously. I’ll never work in this industry again without your help. Do you have any idea how sick that is?”

Knox raked his hair. “I’ll fix it.”

He wasn’t listening.

“I don’t want you to fix it! I want you to butt out of my life! And if you don’t, then you are a tyrant.”

He stiffened as though I’d called him a disgusting swearword. A shadow darkened his handsome features. Then his hands dropped mine, his demeanor growing in severity.

“Look, I’m negotiating a contract with a very big client and I don’t need negative publicity. I can’t have that fucking video dropped into the world.”

“I was taking care of it, Knox. You crossed the line.”

His brows furrowed, and then the blue in his eyes brightened. Knox seized my waist and yanked me against him, wearing a playful grin. “Are you talking about last night? I certainly did. Have I showed you the photos yet?”

I shook my head, unable to stop my cheeks from burning.

“Want to see them?”

The pit of my stomach churned as he got out his phone, and in a few swipes, had pulled up a photo. He slid the cell into my hand.

My skin jolted at his gentle touch.

The screen blazed with the mouthwatering sight of a male torso, sculpted to perfection. He was fucking me from behind. He was mid-thrust, cock buried inside me as he held onto my bound wrists. Another shot was aimed at the mirror. I was unraveled, my face on the bed, my hair a wild mess of pink and brown, lips parted in ecstasy.

“Sweet Jesus.”

“There’s more,” he breathed hotly in my ear. “Look.”© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

I swiped to the right, my limbs weakening with another shot of mostly me. This was an over the shoulder view of ample breasts, a smooth belly, and Knox’s veiny hand on my thigh.

I kept swiping. The temperature in the room climbed with every sinful frame. I paused on a picture of Knox’s head between my legs.

Oh my God.

I shoved the phone back into his hands, not trusting myself to speak. His amused gaze followed me as I turned away from him. I desperately needed to calm down. The entire office already thought I was a slut. If I went out there looking like he’d fucked me-

Knox purred. “I forgot about this album.”

I whirled around.

He stared at his phone, his mouth curving with male pride. What was he looking at? And why did his smile stir something wild in my stomach?

I blew out a frustrated breath. “Could you be any more of a pig?”

His eyes flew open. Then he launched forward, his stone chest pinning me against the wall. One hand dove in my hair, and the other trapped my wrist. He pressed into me, his dense erection jutting into my thigh. The expression in his eyes made me wish I were closer to the door.

“Do you know what apophenia is?”

I clenched my jaw to kill the waver in my voice. “I don’t give a damn-”

“It’s a psychological trap people fall into when they perceive meaningful connections where there are none. There are studies on people who seek out patterns where none exist. We recognize ourselves in the wisps of a nimbus cloud. We are more likely to bet. We see trends in data that aren’t there because it’s human nature to problem solve. You can’t deal with your feelings for me, so you look for reasons to fear me. You see what you want to see.”

His soft voice tingled every nerve.

“No, Knox. I see a man trying to distract me because he knows he’s damaged, so he throws psychobabble at me.”

“How am I supposed to fix that, Indie?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m not a therapist, but seeing one would be a start.”

“Therapy,” he scoffed. “You would have me relive my abuse over and over again, just to make you feel better about being engaged to a man like me.”

My heartbeat galloped. A growing awareness pulsed behind my ribcage, clawing at me like a frightened animal. He wrenched my head back. Somehow, I preferred his cool outrage to the unpredictable silence humming between us. I ignored the sparks in my belly, clinging to a desperate hope that he’d leave.

“This isn’t about me.”

“It is.” His thumb played with my lower lip, sending a jolt down my body. “You can’t face reality, which is that you enjoy submitting to a callous bastard like me.”

I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a whimper.

“You want to be tied up and dragged by your hair. You want to be gagged, thrown over a bed, and taken. You want me to call you my little fuck toy. You want me to cut off your air as I come inside you. You like the thrill fucking me gives you. You even enjoy cooking for your man. Taking care of him. Doting on him. You want to be my little woman. Don’t you?”

No use denying it.

He’d felt me tremble from enough orgasms and tasted my enthusiasm when I couldn’t hold back my arousal. He knew how to make me come, that my appetite was just as insatiable as his. He’d seen me effortlessly blend into the role of a dutiful wife. He made me feel stripped of agency, but I had power.

I needed to stop him.

My heart hammered.

I pictured shoving him toward the door, but the violence might make things worse. He’d take it as an invitation to assert his dominance. He’d rip my clothes off and pleasure me until I screamed for mercy. Then he’d fuck me.

A heated shiver rippled through me.

“You’re wet, Indie.”

His other hand brushed my shoulders, provoking a trail of goosebumps. His light caresses sent shivers of ecstasy through me. My lips formed stop, but a hot ache grew in my throat, blocking its escape. He touched my breasts through my shirt.

“You have a safe word you never use, despite how often I pound that tight cunt.”

Blueberry.

“Knox, I-”

I broke off as two fingers massaged the top slope and down the sides, rotating, hardening my nipples into aching points. I breathed more quickly, short of breath.

“Finish your sentence,” he said, his touch flooding my face with fire. “‘Knox, I…what?”

I panted, distracted by his breath fanning my cheeks. My mouth pooled with saliva, tantalized by his closeness, his earthy scent. Heat rushed to where he caressed me.

I swallowed hard, meeting his glare head on.

His lips pulled into an infuriating grin. Then he tugged at my blouse.

The tension in my fist relaxed, and the cotton slid down my shoulders. Knox’s gaze dipped down my cleavage. His palm glided over the exposed skin, painfully teasing.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I don’t-oh.”

He flicked my nipple, and a lightning bolt of desire struck me. My feeble protest transformed into a groan. My torment was an invitation that he seized. He jerked, and the shirt and bra slipped down my torso and arms, baring my body.

“Jesus,” he sighed, drinking me in. “Fuck.”

The pulsing knot in my stomach swelled. I waded in a pool of lust. Why does he always do this to me?

He pushed my skirt up and clasped my thigh, sending a tingle up my core. His fingers blazed a path to the apex of my thighs, kneading. Arousal fogged my brain as he slid my panties aside and massaged my clit. He rotated, sucking at my lips until I opened for him. We shared long, smothering kisses, like he drew life from me. His hand anchored over my thigh. Then he pushed a finger inside me, the intrusion rough. He pulled out and slammed in. My legs widened. He fucked me, the pressure not enough to ease the building agony.

I dropped my head, watching him slide between my lower lips. I fought the urge to roll my hips. He dipped into a bed of nerves, and I began to pant uncontrollably.

“Still want me to leave?” he taunted.

I couldn’t control my body’s reaction to him, and I hated him for reminding me. He thrust his fingers inside my tight channel.

“No.”

He stopped thrusting. “No? As in, stop?”

“No.” I wrenched his hair, my voice hoarse. “I mean, yes. Please.”

“Which is it, Indie?”

Fuck, I had to stop this. It was impossible. I felt his touch everywhere. A rolling warmth curled through my hips as he resumed his thrusts.

I pulled his arm away and jabbed his chest. “Blueberry!”

He stepped back. His rock-hard erection strained the fabric of his jeans. He looked wild, untamed, unlike himself. A moment later, he softened.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

I couldn’t untangle my jumbled feelings. I was confused, angry…scared. Scared to be alone. Scared to be without him. Scared that if I looked into those deep blue eyes and he asked me something, I’d say yes to whatever it was.

I wanted him to heal.

I did.

But not at the cost of my freedom.