Rough Stuff
Dirty Bad Things: Book 3
Madison Faye
Contents
Free Books Offer
Author’s Note
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Keep Reading!
Mailing List
Sneak Peek: Hard Core
Hard Core
Chapter 1
Sneak Peek: Pretty Dirty
Pretty Dirty
Chapter 1
Also by Madison Faye
About the Author
Copyright Notice
Copyright © 2018 Madison Faye
Cover: Coverlüv
Photography: Darren Birks
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Author’s Note
Okay, no spoilers, but there’s a plot point in the beginning of this story that might ruffle some feathers. Just remember, there’s no cheating in any my books. So you’ve just gotta trust me here, okay? ;)
While technically “book 3” in a series, this book and the others in the Dirty Bad Things series can be read in any order.
This book is exclusively available on Amazon.com. If you are purchasing this book from another platform, it is a pirated version! :(
Thanks so much for your support!
<3,
Madison
Blurb
We were supposed to be strangers. It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
Now the mob wants me to be her bodyguard, and make sure no one touches her.
…Oops.
The Marines taught me to fight and to be a man. But life as an enforcer for the mob taught me to get my hands dirty. There’s no job too rough for me. That is, until I meet the new assignment.
Fiery red hair, sweet curves that that melt me, and a sass that makes my blood run hot. I’m supposed to be Quinn’s bodyguard. The only problem?
We’ve met before.
Oh, we’ve met alright – one night, no names, nothing held back, when I claimed her as my own. Rough, hard – exactly how she wanted it. Her hair wrapped around my fist and her moans etched across my brain.
My boss, the vicious head of the Moretti crime family, thinks she’s his. He thinks he can lock her away in some tower like a little bird in a glass cage and claim her as his own.
He’s about to learn how wrong he is.
Because Quinn might be beholden to him, but she belongs to me. I’ll guard that body alright, and I’ll burn down heaven and hell to make sure they all know that she’s mine.
Please note that while a connected storyline, each of the Dirty Bad Things books are completely standalone stories centered around one couple, with no cliffhangers or spoilers. Dirty, filthy, and oh-so-sweet, with an utterly obsessed alpha hero, explosive insta-love, and enough kindle-melting steam to make you sweat. Get ready to get wrong in the right kind of way. As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating (trust me), and a HEA guaranteed.
Prologue
Roman
This is fucking wrong.
It’s filthy, and dirty, and illicit. She gasps, her thighs tightening around my muscled hips as the sound tumbles from her lips into the big night sky. My lips find the soft skin of her neck, right where it joins her collarbone, and this time, she moans in pleasure as I rake my teeth across. My hips roll forward. I’m hard — fuck I’m always so fucking hard with her, and when I feel it slide against her wet heat, the groan rumbles through my throat.
This might be wrong, but there’s not a power on earth, in heaven, or in hell that could drag me away from her right now.
You might say she’s not mine, and you might be partially right — technically right. But say it to my face and see what happens. Because the truth is, she’s been mine since before I ever laid on eyes on her. She’s been mine before I fell into her hard, before I claimed her as my own and before I made a vow to protect her with my life.
…Before I decided to take her from the piece of shit who never deserved to be in the same damn room as her to begin with.
She cries out as my thick head eases inside, her body quivering and arching towards me as I slide inside. She’s so fucking wet for me — so slick and slippery and eager for me — just like I like her. Just like she always is for me. This slow penetration is just the beginning. This is just the warm up before I take her in my big strong hands and fuck her, like a goddess like her deserves to be taken. I’m going to fuck her hard, like she likes it.
Like I like it, with her.
Her fingernails rake down my back, leaving lines on top of the ones she’s already put there — damning marks over damning marks. Evidence of our sin that I’d have tattooed across my skin if I could. Fuck the consequences. Fuck them finding out. I’m facing worse than death if we’re discovered, but I do. Not. Care.
Because you see, this goes deeper than me protecting her. It goes further than taking her from the cruel, sadistic fuck who calls himself her husband. I know on paper, what we’re doing makes me a piece of shit, and her hatable at best. But that’s without knowing the full story. That’s without knowing the details.
…And the devil is in the details, trust me.
“Harder,” she gasps softly, her hips rolling to meet mine as she swallows up the rest of me, making me groan. “You know how I want it,” she moans.
I do. I know exactly what she wants. My angel. My obsession. My heart.
…My job to protect. Protect, not claim as my own. I’m her bodyguard, she’s my charge, and her husband is my boss — Gino Moretti, the cruel, iron-fisted head of the Moretti crime family out here in Vegas.
Mob queen. Untouchable. Off limits. Big, neon red warning signs. Do not pass go. Do not collect two-hundred fucking dollars.
Get-buried-up-to-your-neck-in-the-desert-for-the-vultures-to-find-you type of don’t touch.
Oops.
Because here I am, sliding every single inch of me deep inside of her, feeling her moan into my ear, feeling her nails scratch down my back and her thighs tighten around my hips and her slick, tight, perfect little pussy tighten around me.
Don’t you dare fuckin’ judge me. You don’t know our story, and you don’t know Gino. He doesn’t deserve her. He never did. But he took her anyways — the winnings of a bet her father made when he owed Gino and couldn’t deliver. She was never his wife, she was his prisoner. A little bird locked in a cage.
You could blame Gino for putting me in charge of watching her. You could blame her father for being a lowlife. You could blame all sorts of people, but if you want to point fingers, blame me.
Because I saw her, I wanted her, and I fucking took her. And I won’t ever apologize for that.
“Fuck, Quinn,” I groan, my lips crushing to hers as her legs lock around my waist. My muscles ripple, one hands gripping her ass tight and the other sliding up into her long, fiery red hair. I pull back, my dark eyes locked o
n her brilliant green ones, and I just lock my gaze on hers as I watch her face start to crumble in pleasure.
She cries out as I drive deep into her, fucking her, claiming her, burying every inch inside of her harder and faster as my fingers tighten on her skin.
“Roman,” she gasps as she throws her head back and lets go. I feel her body shiver and writhe against mine, and feel her coming so hard against me, and I know I’m never letting go.
This is wrong.
This is a sin.
This could get us both killed.
…But she’s worth it.
Chapter 1
Quinn
He’s late.
I grumble as I fold my arms over my chest and glare at the silver Cartier Ballon Bleu watch on my wrist. But then, looking at this freaking watch is never something that improved my mood. Because to me, in this world I exist in, it’s more of a handcuff than a piece of jewelry. It’s not pretty to me, it’s a reminder of how kept I am.
Just the same, I glance at it and huff. Yeah, he’s late.
I drop my arms and look up at the ladder I’ve got set up under the chandelier in the foyer of the opulent house. There aren’t a lot of perks of getting a bodyguard detailed to you, let me just say that. It means some brooding, knuckle-dragging thug of Gino’s will be following my every move. Hovering in my peripheral vision, hanging outside the bathroom when I freaking pee. Yeah, fun fucking times.
Pauly was the last one — six-feet-who-cares of single-word sentences and a neanderthal brow. Before that, it was Christo. But Christo liked stealing my underwear, apparently, and Gino found out. I in all honesty do not want to know what happened to Christo after that. Comparatively, Pauly was fine. But that’s before he got nailed trying to run his own girls on the side. And that did not sit well with Gino either.
Not one bit.
So, I’ve got some new mob meathead coming today. But like I said, there aren’t many perks to having a bodyguard, but one positive thing, if you want to look for a silver lining, is that you at least have some big hulk of a guy around to do some heavy lifting when you need it. And today, the heavy lifting is replacing this stupid flickering bulb in the foyer chandelier.
That’s part of my “duties” — part of the arrangement of me being here. I fake a smile, I act like some trophy housewife from 1952, and I keep the house clean and organized.
I play the part.
And I do all this because I freaking have to.
But having my new knuckle-dragging shadow here would be pretty damn helpful right now with this stupid chandelier. For one, I’m not exactly big on heights anyways, and this light fixture is so high up that it’s going to take me standing on the top stop on freaking tiptoes just to reach it. But the second reason having someone else haul up a ladder and fumble around with the big heavy chandelier?
…Because I’m still sore.
Deliciously, heatedly, lip-bitingly, panty-meltingly sore. From last night. From him.
My face burns hot as it comes rushing back to me, and I squeeze my legs together tight, feeling that ache there between them. Fuck, what I did last night was so incredibly dangerous but I had to. With Pauly recently gone and no one hounding my steps, it was the only time I could get away — the only time I could have one burst of freedom.
I had to do it. I had to feel something besides feeling like a caged bird in here. Gino’s little pet, chirping away like I’m supposed to do. None of this is ever what I’d envisioned. Not the big gaudy house, not the ludicrously expensive jewelry. Definitely not being married to the sixty-four-year-old psychopathic head of the Moretti crime family.
…Hell, I’d never even planned to come back to Vegas after I’d left for school. It was my mom’s cancer that brought me back here after college. Then it was this stupid, stupid idea that if I stayed, I could help my scumbag of a father finally get out from under the thumb of the bigger scumbags he worked for.
Yeah, that’d turned out well.
My father was a driver for Gino, and when he ran off with a shipment of coke and two-million in cash, well, things have a way of not going so well when the mob gets ripped off like that. In another storyline, they may have just killed me or worse, but that was before Gino decided he had a better plan for me.
…To be his wife.
I know I could’ve refused, or run, or whatever. But I had other people to think about. My grandmother in Reno, for instance, along with my little cousin Melody who lives with her. Me running or refusing? Yeah, Gino only had to smile that sick smile of his to let me know what’d happen to them. So, I did what I had to do, and I married the devil of Sin City.
The one sliver of a silver lining? Gino’s never touched me. And I do me never. But that’s part of it — part of being a caged bird. I sit in my cage, playing the part. Gino can do whatever he pleases, but me? Nope. Nothing. It’s also one of the reasons I have a bodyguard, I’m sure. But, c’mon, I’m twenty-four years old, and a girl has needs. A girl needs release, right? And me, well, I need more than a release.
…I need something no one’s ever really given me. Or maybe something I’ve never really known how to ask someone for. “It’s too wrong,” my ex-boyfriend from college, Mike, had said. “It’s not right.” But I knew what I wanted. I want to feel. Not just sex, I want the edge. The excitement. The roughness.
…That’s what I found last night, even if I wasn’t sure what I was looking for when I’d gone to that place.
Without a bodyguard, sneaking out was easy. Gino spent days on end never coming home while he was playing gangster. I put on a skirt that he’d have never let me leave the house in, fuck-me heels, and a blonde wig, and I’d jumped in a cab right down to The Playroom.
A sex club.
16 hours ago:
Yeah, this is what it’s come to — me sneaking off to sex club. I know I should feel guilty, or like a cheat. Unfaithful, maybe. Except my marriage isn’t what people think it is. Trust me, it isn’t. It’s not even really a marriage, by some standards. But even still, four minutes after I walk into the place, I’m painfully aware I don’t belong here. Or maybe I’m terrified that one of the Moretti’s people will be here and know me even through the wig and heavy eye shadow. Whatever it is though, I look around at the half naked couples and triples and more on various couches and beds and stages around the place and turn to get the hell out.
The man grabs my arm before I ever see him coming.
“Leaving so soon, baby?”
“I— Yep.” I can feel my blood pounding in my ear as he leans close, leering at me with this predatory smile.
“Naw, I just saw you come in. C’mon babe, the real fun is in the back rooms.”
“I’m really fine. I have to go.”
I pull away and make for the door, but I can feel him right behind me.
“You know, you come in here and it says something to people.”
“That’s great,” I throw over my shoulder.
“It gets people interested.”
“Great.”
“People like me.”
I gasp as his hand catches my arm again, yanking me around. “I think you should come check out the back room with me.”
“I think you should take your fucking hand off of me,” I hiss back.
“Now listen to me you little bitch. Quit with the hard to get act and get that sweet little—”
He screams when my stiletto nails him in the shin through his dress pants. I turn and I run. I go crashing through the small entryway, streaming past the doormen and half tripping down the sidewalk away from the place, my nerves shaking and my heart pumping wildly. I make it half a block before he overtakes me, yanking me by the arm into the dark alleyway next to us and shoving me against the wall as the scream catches in my throat.
“You— Wait, you don’t know who I am—”
“I don’t give a fuck who you— fuck!”
He screams as I kick him with my heel again, freeing his grip enough for me to dash down the a
lley. But he catches me even quicker this time.
“You bitch!” he roars in my face, yanking me around and slamming me into the brick wall. “Now you’re in big trouble you little fucking—”
His head makes a thudding sound as it hits the wall next to me, and I watch his face scrunch in pain as he goes stumbling to the ground with a groan.
“You keep your fucking hands away from her!”
The voice booms through me, over me — this dark, deep baritone that sends vibrations through my whole body. I turn slowly, like I’m moving underwater or something, and look up, and up into his face.
Whoa.
He’s gorgeous. He’s dangerous looking. He’s huge — towering over me and baring his teeth in a snarl as he glares down at the creep on the ground. His muscles ripple under the tight black t-shirt he wears, his jaw with the trimmed beard clenching tight as those dark eyes flash something fierce at my attacker.
“What the fuck do you—”
The creep gasps as the big man yanks him up by the collar, slamming him against the wall viciously. “Leave,” he growls, the words snarling from his jaw. “Leave before I fucking bury you.”
The creep breaks speed records sprinting out of the alley.
And I stare. I stare at my rescuer, standing there half hidden in shadow, half illuminated by low, neon lights from the street. His broad shoulders tense, his glare following the creep as he darts from the alley. He’s like some sort of dark knight. No, something even more primal than that. A freaking caveman or something.
A really, really hot caveman.
He turns slowly, his dark eyes flashing as they take me in. I can feel my blood pumping hot with adrenaline and something else too…