Chapter 37: Brutal Vows: Chapter 37

The place Quinn calls home is a penthouse in a skyscraper in the middle of the city that looks as if it were designed by Morticia Addams at the height of a depressive episode.

Decorated entirely in shades of gray and black, the place is dark, sophisticated, and freezing. It’s somewhere a coven of vampires might feel cozy and welcome.

Not a single speck of color enlivens the place. There isn’t a throw pillow, photograph, or plant in sight. There isn’t any carpeting or warm fabrics to soften the space, either. It’s all glass, marble, steel, and cold reflective surfaces.

Looking around the echoing living room, I say, “My, how delightful. If I were a cyborg, I’d plug myself right in.”

“Used to be Declan’s before he got married,” says Quinn, strolling past me with his hands in his pockets.

“So it’s a Mob bachelor pad. That explains its lack of a pulse.”

Quinn turns to look at me. “I take it that means you don’t like it.”

Feeling his gaze on me as I go, I wander into the kitchen. There’s an enormous marble island in the middle of it, accompanied by a host of stainless steel appliances lurking around in the gloom. They glare suspiciously at me. Even the microwave seems hostile.

I don’t want to be mean, so I look around for something to compliment.

“The stove is nice.”

“Tell me what you think of the bedroom.”

He casually strolls away down a hallway. I peek into the enormous dining room and library before I follow, deafened by the sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor, fracturing into a thousand echoes that bounce back to assault my ears.

When I enter the master bedroom, I find him leaning against a wet bar with a book in his hands. To the right of him, a stack of large cardboard boxes rests against the wall.

“What are all those boxes?”

“Your belongings from your bedroom.”

“My bedroom at Gianni’s house in New York?”

“Aye. I told you I’d send the lads to pick up your things.”

I stare at the boxes in shock. “How did they get everything here so fast? And how did they get in the house when we weren’t there?”

He smiles, thumbing through the book. “My friend Bettina the housekeeper let them in. Sweet lass. I think she fancies me.”

“And I think she needs to get fired.”

He chuckles. “It’s not her fault I’m so handsome and persuasive. By the way, this book of yours is interesting.” He holds it up, displaying the cover, which showcases a busty, half-naked woman swooning in the arms of a muscular warrior.

It’s one of my favorites.

Quinn clucks his tongue. “Did it win the Nobel Prize in Literature? It looks very highbrow.”

My cheeks heating, I demand, “Where did you get that?”

He gestures toward a box with its top open beside him. “One of them was labeled ‘naughty bits.’ So of course I went straight to it. Interesting how dog-eared this book is. It’s even got highlighted sections. Oh, here’s a good one.”

In a theatrical voice, he reads a passage aloud.

“He repeatedly speared his turgid manhood into her velvet channel, excited by her lusty cries of pleasure and the sight of her voluptuous breasts and their taut, rosy nipples lurching in his hands.”

Smirking, he looks up at me. “I had no idea nipples could lurch.”

I’m horrified by the realization that not only has my cherished collection of vintage erotica been packed up and delivered here—which means Quinn’s men had to go through it to pack it up—but also that my cherished collection of battery-powered toys must have been discovered and shipped along with the books.

I picture half a dozen Irishmen in my bedroom, chortling and making dirty jokes as they toss my favorite vibrators around like frisbees.

I might be in danger of vomiting.

“Ah, don’t make that face, lass. I’m sure nobody will think less of you that you enjoy such literary treasures as…” He reaches into the box and pulls out another paperback. “

.”

When he looks at me with his brows lifted, I say, “In my defense, that one is really well written.”

“Oh, I can imagine. The parts about how he glazed her must be majestic.”

“As a matter of fact, they are. But my favorite part’s on page sixteen.”

As he flips the pages, he murmurs to himself, “She’s got it committed to memory.”

He finds the page and starts reading. After several moments of silence, he glances up at me.

Weirdly excited, I say, “Her husband is a rich old man with erectile problems. And she’s desperate to have a child. So when the most famous, handsome, and virile gladiator in Rome gets arrested and thrown into a dungeon below the Colosseum, she decides to pay him a little conjugal visit to try to get some of his super sperm for a baby.”

“Why was he arrested?”

“Who cares? That’s not what’s interesting about the story.”

“No, what’s interesting is that this scene where a robed mystery woman enters the dungeon and tries to talk her way into the gladiator’s good graces so she can harvest his superior genes for her future child takes place in the . What the bloody hell happens in the rest of the book?”

“More of that. Except later, he breaks out of the dungeon to find her because he’s madly in love with her by then.”

Quinn looks down at the book. “She had him blindfolded by the guards before she entered the cell. How did he know who to look for?”

“By the sound of her voice.”

He glances back up at me, and now his tone is droll. “I see. So he breaks out of a dungeon to search all of Rome for a woman he’s never seen before. Excellent plan. Your gladiator is an idiot.”

I feel unreasonably smug to inform him otherwise. “But he found her, so he’s not.”

Exasperated, he says, “How did he find her? Telepathy?”

“He was in the market and overheard her talking to the tomato vendor.”

When he stares at me in disbelief, I smile. “So, Maximus Aurelius Tiberius…how strong is your sperm?”

His eyes sharpen. His energy charges. I swear I see his canines elongate.

Setting aside the books on the bar counter, he says gruffly, “If you want to harvest it, Antonia Octavia Flavius, you’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

I sashay toward him, holding his predatory gaze. “But I brought this special terra cotta urn to collect your seed in, gladiator. I’m married. I simply betray my wedding vows.”

As soon as I’m within arm’s length, Quinn reaches out and grabs me. He pins my arms behind my back, pulls me against his body, and stares down at me with blazing eyes.

“If your husband is too old to fuck you properly, your wedding vows are already broken.”

I coyly bat my lashes. “But sir, I’m a lady of the upper class. I could never fornicate with a mere soldier. A vicious criminal. A man condemned to death for his crimes.”

Looking at my mouth, he licks his lips. “You can’t have my seed unless you do.”

When I wriggle against him, rubbing my breasts against his chest, he growls. His eyes darken. His growing erection presses against my hip.

I’m not sure who likes this game better, him or me.

I say breathlessly, “You’re supposed to be tied to a chair and blindfolded.”

He looks around the room. Releasing me, he strides over to a desk on the opposite wall and pulls the chair out from under it. He sets it in front of me, sits down on it, whips off his tie, and holds it out.

When I take it, he rips off his suit jacket and dress shirt and flings them to the floor. Stripped to the waist, he sits there staring up at me in fiery intensity with his chest rising and falling and all the tendons in his neck standing out.

“Hands behind your back, gladiator.”

He instantly clasps his hands behind the chair.

I might lose consciousness from excitement.

Stepping behind him, I wind the tie around his head, covering his eyes, and knot it in back. I bend down and kiss his neck, whispering into his ear, “Will you be a good gladiator and keep your hands behind you, or do I need to find something to bind them with?”

“I’ll be good,” he says, practically panting.

As a reward, I kiss his neck again, gently biting him, then licking the sting away. He groans softly, fidgeting.

When I straighten, I feel light-headed. I walk around to his front and straddle his lap. Between my legs, his erection is enormous.

Scratching my nails lightly over his shoulders, I whisper, “You’re the most gorgeous gladiator I’ve ever seen. So strong. Look at all these beautiful muscles.”

He leans forward, blindly hunting for my mouth. I give it to him, thrilling at the animal sound he makes when our lips meet. We kiss deeply, until my nipples are aching for his mouth and the throbbing between my legs is unbearable.

I stand, unzip my dress, and shimmy out of it. I remove my panties and kick off my heels. Then I kneel down in front of Quinn and unbuckle his belt.

When I’ve got his zipper down, his hard cock is proudly jutting out from the top of his briefs.

“Ooh, gladiator. You’re as talented as I’ve heard.”

I spread my hands over his thighs and lick the engorged crown.

He moans, flexing his hips. All the muscles in his stomach clench.

I take his cock in both hands and lick it all over, swirling my head around the crown and sucking on it, then trailing my tongue up and down the pulsing vein underneath. When I’ve got him good and slick, I straddle him again, pressing my bare breasts against his chest.

His hard cock is trapped between us, wedged in my wet folds. I slide back and forth on it, barely moving my hips.

He says through gritted teeth, “More. Inside.”

Kissing his neck, I smile. “You’re not in charge here. You’re a prisoner, remember?”

“Fuck.”

Flexing my hips back and forth, I take his face in my hands and guide his mouth to my breast. He latches onto a nipple with a sound of relief, sucking so hard, his cheeks hollow.

“That’s so good,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair. “I love your mouth.”

I give him my other breast and he does the same thing, licking and sucking greedily. Every pull of his lips is an arrow of pleasure shot down to my pussy. I’m so wet, the friction so delicious, I moan as I glide back and forth over the length of his rigid cock.

I say breathlessly, “I think I should go, Maximus. This is a dangerous plan. If we’re found out, my husband will kill me.”

He snarls, “I’ll kill your husband before he finds out. Then we can be together.”

“But you’re locked up in this dungeon!”

“Not for long. Now take my big fucking gladiator dick inside your pretty high-class cunt and ride it until I give you what you came for.”

Laughing in euphoria, I dig my nails into his shoulders and sink down onto his giant cock.

He thrusts up into me with a grunt, making my breasts bounce. Balancing on my toes and holding on to his shoulders, I slide up and down on his shaft, my hard nipples skimming his chest, until we’re both moaning loudly.

Panting, he says, “Are you ready to take my cum?”

“Yes! Give it to me!”

He grabs my hips and pulls me down as he thrusts up, swearing and jerking so hard, the chair jumps.

I feel him spill himself deep inside me. I follow him over the edge into oblivion, convulsing around him as I helplessly cry out his name.

“Take it, baby,” he commands hotly into my ear. “Be a good girl and take every fucking drop.”

A wave of emotion overtakes me. I sob and lower my head, hiding my face in his neck. He slides his hands up my back and holds me as he grinds himself into me, growling in pleasure, my mobster who let me blindfold him and played such a wonderful gladiator.

I think I might actually like this bachelor pad after all.