“Rourke?” I blinked in surprise.
“You’re not a virgin anymore.” He moved his hand down my abdomen and started rubbing my clit. “He’ll make you come just as hard as I did.”
“Oh god.” I moaned as the pleasure surged through my body from his touch.
“You want that don’t you?” He pressed his lips to my ear. “You want to come again.”
“Yes.” I moaned and nodded.
“Then don’t go anywhere.” He chuckled and sat up, removing his finger from my clit as he started to stand.
My head started to spin. Brody didn’t just want to have sex with me—he wanted to share me with his friend. I wasn’t sure I could go through with that. I had already let one man come inside me—then swallowed his seed. I was turned on from his touch, but I wanted him—not someone else.
Brody got dressed and walked to the door. A second later he closed it behind him. I stared at the ceiling again.
So, this is what freedom feels like.
Rourke
The woman Brody brought through the front door didn’t look like any of the others that had been marched through our house. She looked like an angel with beautiful blonde hair—hair that looked like it had never been tussled by a calloused hand. Her skin was soft, and her makeup was perfect. Even her perfume smelled expensive when she walked past me. The purse on her arm had LV on the side. Louis Vuitton. I was pretty sure nobody on the South Side of Chicago had one of those purses unless it was one of the knock-offs they sold at the flea market. She came from money—and I had no idea how the fuck she ended up with my best friend. The girls he usually brought home were barely more than gutter sluts and crack whores.
He took the girl—the girl that looked like an angel—to his bedroom. There was no doubt what was going on, especially when the floor vibrated and her moans seeped through our very thin walls. A woman like that—hell, she was barely more than a girl—she didn’t belong with someone like him. Whatever brought her to the South Side of Chicago was a definite fall from grace—she probably lived in one of those ivory towers on the North Side—where the purse on her arm would have been as common as the dirt on my shoe.
I don’t get it. I guess nothing should surprise me when it comes to Brody’s charm, but a girl like that? She should be immune—she should be getting charmed by billionaires and rock stars—not getting fucked by a South Side thug.
Hearing her moan was enough to make my cock hard. It had been a while since I had brought a woman home. I was in a bit of a dry spell, trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do with the rest of my life. I was tired of the South Side—tired of doing whatever I had to just to make a few bones, so I could eat and drink. Things were getting dangerous and running a package across town wasn’t as safe as it used to be.
My boss—hell, everyone’s boss that had a hot meal on their table, wanted more. Jacob Durst—he wanted me to become a made man—like he was some kind of Mafia boss. He wasn’t. He was just a drug dealer with a bunch of addicts at his disposal—and a few people like me that didn’t touch that kind of shit but needed to make a buck. I knew that pulling a trigger for him would send me down a dark path—one that might increase my station, but it would trap me in the South Side forever. I just wanted more out of life than that.
Brody’s door opened and closed. I heard his lighter click and he walked into the living room with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Hey, you want a turn with her? She’s tight as fuck. I just took her virginity.” Brody sat down with a huge grin on his face.
“What the fuck, man?” I shook my head back and forth. “Where the hell did you meet her?”
“O’Malley’s.” He shrugged. “A spoiled little rich girl looking to have some fun.”
“Holy shit man.” I kept shaking my head. “You really took her virginity? What are you—some kind of fucking monster?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged again. “Get this—she ain’t just some spoiled little rich girl though. That’s Adrian Prescott’s baby girl.”
“Oh my fucking god.” I jumped up and grabbed my hair. “Are you out of your god damned mind? Do you know what you just did? You—fucked Adrian Prescott’s daughter?!”
“I’m going to do it again—if you don’t.” He motioned toward the bedroom. “She’s nice and wet—just waiting to find out how good it feels to have her world rocked for the second time.”
Everything inside of me said that I shouldn’t walk down the hallway, but my feet betrayed common sense. It would have made more sense to run out the front door and not stop running until I saw the West Coast. That probably wouldn’t have been far enough to escape Adrian Prescott’s wrath. My boss might not have been a Mafia boss, but Adrian Prescott was about as close as it got without being a full-blooded Italian. He was the king of the pricks on the North Side of Chicago—and that girl in Brody’s bedroom—she was his princess. I had no idea how she ended up on the South Side with scum like us, but she was definitely going back to her castle when the night was over—and then all the king’s men were coming to chop our fucking dicks off.
I got to Brody’s door and slowly opened it. She was naked on his bed. Her head slowly lifted, and I could have sworn that her blonde hair was a halo—slightly bent after having her innocence stripped away by my best friend. I stared at her as I closed the door and our eyes met. I felt something—a twinge inside me. She was so beautiful—ravishing, even without her expensive dress. I had never been with a woman who looked like that. The sight of her perfect tits, pouty lips, and gorgeous curves made my cock throb. It was trying to run the show, even if my brain was screaming at me to listen to the rational voice in my head.
“Hi.” She pulled a sheet across her chest and lower legs. “I’m Anabelle. You must be Rourke.”
Anabelle—like a god damn fairy tale princess—of course, the king would name his daughter Anabelle.
“Anabelle, I think it’s time for you to go home.” I exhaled sharply and looked down at the floor.
Please go—please go before I change my mind and do something stupid.
“You don’t want me?” She blinked in surprise. “Brody said it’s okay.”