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6 - Anastasia.
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2025-01-14 08:13:05I race back into my bedroom, burning up. I can't think straight, and my mind is a jumbled mess. Every inch of my body is on fire as I rummage through my cupboards for my laptop. I hid it because I know Dad would try to find it and either throw it in the bin or hide it in a place I'll never be able to find it again. Looking up suddenly, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. God, a mess is an understatement. I look like an ogre. Like a tornado picked me off my feet and threw me down a mountain, and I crawled my way back through the door before Nate arrived.
Which is strange because I looked decent before going out with Emerson this evening. As fast as I can, I run my fingers through my curls to straighten them, and swapped the tank top I'm wearing for a black, hairy, comfortable cardigan, grab the laptop, and get back to the living room where a waiting Nate is relaxed on the couch, his sexy thighs parted, looking like a male model on the front cover of a Vogue magazine.
"First things first, Sir — "
"Nate," he interrupts calmly, looking into my eyes in his usual, disarming way. "Please call me Nate."
"Alright Sir...I mean Nate," I chuckle nervously, taking my seat beside him. "There are a few things I'd like for you to keep in mind. This blog bears no ill intent. The news on it are not different from the ones put out by credible news outlets and the media. The only difference is that I add my own twang. My own style to make it witty and engaging."
"Don't worry about it," he guffaws, taking the laptop from me. "I don't judge. And I'm sure it's a brilliant blog."
He lifts the top and turns it on. Once connected to the house WIFI, I navigate it to Chrome and key in my website on the search bar, then hand it back to him. As he scrolls through slowly, taking in each headlines, I can see the wheels turning in his head as he put two and two together about my online identity.
"You're the controversial Mira Brawn?" he asks in disbelief, raising his face to glance at me.
I panic. And whenever I panic, I start blabbering. "Uh, yeah! It's just a secret I've not been willing to divulge to anyone else, because my parents have never supported this dream of mine. To own a famous blog that speaks on celebrities, and the world of pop culture and entertainment. So..."
He places a hand on my left thigh, and I instantly shut up. "Hey. It's okay. I'm not judging your or anything. Just surprised. That's all."
"D-Do you want a drink?" I blurt out without thinking. His hand on my thigh is warm, and it makes the moisture in between my legs burn hotter. If I couldn't think straight before, right now I can't think at all. My body is attuned to his touch.
It's crazy.
"Sure," he smiles. "Just water will be fine, Anna."
He takes his hand off, and my legs somehow take me to the kitchen where I lean against the door and exhale hard. God. My whole body is buzzing like crazy. Pouring two glasses of water at the sink, I take a deep breath.
Fuck. This must be a dream, right?
It all doesn't feel real at all.
Nate Jackson in my living room.
Nate Jackson, the man who's been nothing short of calm and polite since we first met. Nate Jackson, the man I've had sleepless nights over, lusting, wishing, wanting, is in my living room going through my blog.
'I'm not judging you. I know it's a brilliant blog.'
What if he didn't mean those words? What if he's silently judging me for being nosy, and exaggerating people's reality more than I should for the views? What if he closes the laptop, picks up his phone and calls the nearby radio station to let them in on who the famous Mira Brawn is, and where she lives? What if he makes a post about it? As these thoughts sift through my mind, I nearly drop the glass of water I'm holding. Suppressing the dizziness threatening to envelope me, I pick up his glass of water and head back to the living room, leaving mine back at the sink.
I'm thirsty, but not of water.
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Kiss It Better 19 - Irene.
Four years later…“I still can’t believe it. You. A mob wife.”I glance at Breanna in the kitchen making cucumber-lime mocktails, and shake my head. “I’m not a mob wife. I’m just a wife.”“Gunsyn’s not a mobster?”“Not anymore,” I reply as I rock Annika in my arms. Who knew it would be so incredible being a mother? If you’d asked me back when I was working at the diner if I saw myself having children in the near future, I would have told you you were crazy. Funny how life throws things at you.“Once a mobster, always a mobster,” Breanna scoffs as she brings the drinks over to the table.“Well, he runs a furniture company now,” I tell her. “A successful one.”“Yeah, because he intimidates all his customers.”“He does not!” I scold her. “Would you stop that? He’s an honest businessman now. But if you want a mob boyfriend, I’m sure he could put you in touch with someone.”I take a sip of the mocktail. Normally, these would be real cocktails with vodka, but that stopped four months ago wh
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Kiss It Better 17 - Irene.
As I sit in my “room” – which is basically a prison cell, slightly more upscale than the one Gunsyn put me in when I first arrived at his house – I wonder what’s happening at the diner.Chris and Kyle are probably behind the stove, arguing about who’s going to cook the mashed potatoes and whether or not they can serve last night’s apple pie or if it’s gone bad and if it has gone bad, whether or not it’s okay for one of them to eat it. They’re probably pissed that I’m not there tonight, but they won’t be worried. They may be my co-workers, but we’re not really friends. It’s not like they’ll be calling the police or rounding up a search party to come find me. And even if they did, what good would it be?Breanna, on the other hand, is probably hysterical. She’s tough, tougher than me, and much more worldly, but I’m her best friend, and I’ve been missing for a long enough period of time that something is obviously wrong. She’s probably found some way to get into my apartment by now and ha
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When Gunsyn finally lets me out from underneath the table, Victor and Michail are gone. He must have been anticipating my glare, as he’s already smiling at me.“You sure you have never done that before, little one?” he asks.“What? Been made to spend dinner under the table during a mafia meeting?”Gunsyn’s hand lashes out with blinding speed. He seizes me by the throat and pulls me to him, my lips so close we’re practically kissing. “You know what I mean,” he growls. “You said you were a virgin. But you have done that before.”I swell with a sense of indignation and pride and slowly shake my head, daring him to hurt me. I want him to. “Never. I’m just that good.”His eyes flare, and he stares at me, debating whether or not to believe me. His fingers around my neck feel like a collar, one I am not accustomed to wearing. Somehow now, outside of the cell he first put me in, I feel even more owned by him. It’s like my body is his, and he knows it. Actually, it’s not like that; it is that.
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Despite the fact that I have no idea how to give head, I start doing my best on Gunsyn’s cock, moving up and down, taking him as deep as I can without gagging and even twisting my tongue around the thick, bulbous tip. I see now what he meant when he told me I wouldn’t be able to speak at dinner.I hear the sounds of a meal being served – plates being put down, glasses and silverware, and try to picture what it’s like up there. Is Victor even acknowledging what’s going on beneath the table? What about Michail? If he didn’t think I was a prostitute before, he does now.But I don’t care about those men. I care about Gunsyn, and right now, my mission is to completely screw with his composure.Okay, I’ve heard Breanna talk about blowjobs before. I’ve seen some porn in my life. I can do this.As I suck him, I take his shaft with my other hand and begin stroking it. I’m awkward at first, but as I start to get the timing, I feel a reaction from him. His legs begin to tense, and he adjusts him
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Wait, what!? That’s what I want to say, but I’m not about to get into a verbal argument with him in front of his guests. Instead, I communicate with him with my eyes.Are you kidding? I ask.No, he replies. Do as I say.I feel Victor and Michail’s eyes on me. They’re waiting to see what I’m going to do. If I refuse, I’ll make Gunsyn look weak in front of them.Do it, he says, his eyes narrowing.He loves telling me what to do. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me. And to be honest, what’s the big deal anyway? It’s not like he hasn’t already had me once, and he’s definitely going to have me again. And if I just do this now, it will probably make things easier for me later on. But if I am going to do it, I’m not just going to do it; I’m going to make a show of it.“Of course,” I say with a seductive hum to my voice before spinning on my heels so my curves are on full display for Victor and Michail. I’m suddenly conscious of my back, my waist, my butt, and the way they look in thes
Kiss It Better 13 - Irene.
What is going on with me? My mind is playing tricks on me, and I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror wearing this red dress and these insane heels. I feel like a Barbie doll, gangster queen edition or something.“How do girls stand in these things?” I say as I try to figure out how to position myself so my butt isn’t completely sticking out and my back isn’t arched like I’m trying to get a guy’s attention. But it seems futile. Even when I slouch, the effect is still the same, and I suspect that’s why Gunsyn had them laid out for me.Asking a woman isn’t sexy. That’s what he said to me. You are not the kind of woman who wants a good man.Of all the arrogant things to say to a girl. Is that even arrogant? No. It’s beyond. They need to invent some kind of new word to describe the balls a guy would have to have to say something like that.The dress is way too low, and I’m showing way too much cleavage. My hair is also a complete mess and makes me look like a carrot that’s been pluck
Kiss It Better 12 - Irene.
“Stockholm syndrome,” I say to myself as I examine one of the dresses. “That’s all it is. Perfectly natural. Just like coming on a strange, evil man’s cock. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Irene.”Uh huh. Sure.The dress is well-made, soft and flowy, and would probably look incredible on someone not me. But I try it on anyway. In fact, I try on everything while I’m alone for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time I’m finished, I’m pretty sure I can’t wear any of it. I’m not good at making decisions anyway, but when it comes to something like this, I’m hopeless.“The red one,” Gunsyn says, startling me again as he comes in behind me. “It will go well with your hair.”“My hair that you don’t like?”“When did I say I don’t like it?” He smiles. He approaches me, and I hate myself for being relieved that he’s here. At least I’m not completely alone now, and I’m pretty sure, judging by the look in his eyes, that he’s not about to repeat what he did to me yesterday. He leans down and pick
