Taking What's Wicked (Forced Submission Book 5)

By: Alexa Riley

One





Dante





The thump of loud music beats across Wicked. The hole in the wall bar is packed for Halloween—a holiday when women like to wear as little as possible, tempting and teasing men. None of them catch my eye even as they grind against each other on the dance floor, wanting as much male attention as they can get. No, my eye is still on the little tempting witch at the bar and has been since she strolled in. She sat her sweet ass in that bar stool, and I couldn’t look away from her if my life depended on it. She’s pulling me to her like she has cast some spell on me, but I’m being patient. If we want this to go exactly right, we’ve got to take our time. We’ve been here for a long time, waiting for just the right moment, and this is it.

I shoot back the rest of my Jack, not taking my eyes off her, worried that someone might get to her before I do. She’s ours, and I won’t let anyone steal her from us. Maybe she’s really a witch, because that’s what it’s starting to feel like. It’s like I’m under a spell, and I can’t control my dark urges. Thing is, she hasn’t seemed to notice either of us, unlike most of the other women in here.

She keeps giving her soft smile and little laughs to the bartender as she sips some green-colored drink in a fancy cup. I’m surprised a place like this serves something like that. Normally in a dump like this, all you can get is a beer or some whiskey. Maybe she’s using some of that magic on the bartender too, because she seems to get whatever she wants from him.

The thought has me on my feet, pressing through the sea of bodies on the dance floor. One woman tries to grab me by the arm to pull me to her, but I just keep moving, breaking her hold. The smell of her cheap perfume wafts over me as I push on.

When I finally make it to the little witch, I can’t stop myself from discreetly leaning into her and smelling her hair. The smell of cinnamon fills my lungs. Fuck, I’m going to love smelling that all night as I pound into her cunt. When we’re done with her, the only thing I’ll be able to smell on her is cum. She’ll never be able to wash the smell of it away from her skin.

Sliding onto the stool next to her, I let my body brush up against hers, drawing her attention. Her dark chocolate-brown eyes meet mine, and a blush hits her cheeks. I don’t know why she’s embarrassed. Dressed like she is, she’s obviously begging for some attention. Though I don’t think she had in mind the kind of attention we’re going to give her. Too late, little witch. You’re already ours. There is no going back now.

I look into her dark eyes, and something passes between us. She has an innocence about her, and the animal inside me wants to eat it alive. I want to hold her down and ruin her body so she’ll never know a moment in her life when I wasn’t a part of her. A primal need to dominate her crawls up my spine, and I intend to act on it. Whether she likes it or not.

“Can I get you another?” the bartender asks, breaking the spell. Once again, she had me bewitched, and I got lost in her eyes. I have the urge to reach over the bar and punch him right in the fucking throat for even talking to her.

“She’s good,” I answer for her. I give the bartender a look that has him holding his hands up and walking away. I’m not a small guy, and it usually only takes a glance to get people to move. When I shoot a look at someone they act fast, and lucky for the bartender, he got my message loud and clear. Mine. Back the fuck off or else.

“Excuse me?” The little witch swirls in her stool to face me and places one hand on her wide hip, drawing my eyes there. It’s the very thing about her that got my attention to begin with. She has a curvy body, and she likes to show it off if the witch’s costume is any indication. Her top and bottom are full, exaggerating her narrow waist. She doesn’t seem shy about wearing the slutty outfit. In fact, she’s cocky in what she’s got on. Nothing is sexier than a woman who’s confident, even more so when she’s not afraid to show it.

She’s wearing a short, skin-tight dress that shows off every curve of her body. Running up her legs are black stockings. An inch or so of garter belt shows on her thigh, the rest of the fabric disappearing under her dress. It makes me want to know what kind of underwear it’s connected to. Her tits look like they’re dying to escape the top of her dress, her cleavage overflowing and jiggling slightly as she moves. One good tug and I could free them for her, taste her fat nipples, drag my teeth across them. I could leave red marks from my beard behind. I plan on being rough with them to show her what happens when you hang them out like a slut.

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