Forbidden Pleasures: Secrets & Scandal

Leona POV

I am Eighteen today.

Finally.

I stared at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, as I grazed my soft fingers on my bare skin, just beneath the towel that was wrapped low covering my breast. I was finally a woman, or so, as I still felt incomplete.

My friend, Cassie, would say that when we turn eighteen that's when you'll want things. Feel things. Cassie was always naughty even before she turned eighteen it was one thing, I liked about her that I didn't have. Her exposure to naughty things. She was always talking wild, whispering about stuffs she did with her crush whenever she hanged out with them, how they would finger her till she cum more especially... Sex.

I always carved to experience it but I felt guys took me to be a minor and I made me burn inside. Jealous maybe.

I slowly let loose of my towel as it fell on the floor as I took a full look of my body at the mirror. Before my memory could collect, I found myself looking at the soft curve of my breast. I touched the side, slowly, and I couldn't tell how I felt. It was soft. Sensitive. When I brushed my thumb over my pink nipple, I saw it stiffen as I felt tingles down my pussy. I wondered what it'd feel like if someone else touched it. A boy. A man. Did it feel dirty? Good? Wrong? Or all of it at once?

Rubbing my belly, I let my two fingers down my clit. Feeling the wetness as I felt a little noise slipped from my mouth. I didn't mean to make it.

I was alone. I should've been safe. I could touch if I wanted to.

Then I heard BANG.

I jumped so hard I knocked over the toothbrush cup. It hit the floor with a clatter.

"Leona!" His voice. Thick, dragging across the walls. Slurred like he'd poured the bottle down his throat on the way home. "Open this goddamn door!"

Panic punched the air out of my lungs.

He was home. My adopted father.

Drunk. As usual.

I pressed my hands to the sink. My breath came fast and shaky. I didn't want to go out there. But if I didn't... he'd tear the door off like he had last time. The knob still had scratches from that night.

"You're eighteen now," I whispered to myself. "You don't have to be scared."

That was a lie.

But I quickly wore my pajamas as I rushed downstairs to open the door. But he was already in the living room. He had polluted the house with beer and stale cigarettes. The lamp was knocked over. Couch cushion was a mess.

He stood with one boot still half off, shirt unbuttoned and hanging open over his gut. His belt was unloosed, dangling from one hand. His eyes-God-his eyes didn't look like they knew who I was.

"Birthday girl," he slurred, grinning like a maniac. "My baby's all grown up."

At least he remembers my birthday.

But something wasn't right with the way he said it.

"You're drunk," I said quietly. "You should go lie down."

"Why would I lie down," he said, stepping closer, "when you matured, my little slut?"

I backed away. "I'll call someone."

"Who?" His laugh was wet, mean. "Ain't nobody coming'. Nobody's ever gonna come for you."

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm.

I flinched, tried to pull away. "Let me go."

"I took care of you," he hissed. "All these years. My house, my food. I could've done this long ago, but you were a child. You think it was all for free, huh? I was waiting for you to be ripe, so I could eat you when I want to?"

"No." My voice was thin as I broke down in tears, pathetic. My courage was already failing me. "You don't mean that dad."

"I mean every inch of it. Dolly."

He yanked me close. His fingers gripped my jaw, tilted my face up. I could smell the beer on his breath. His other hand touched my cheek, then slid down to my waist. The tank top I wore clung wet to my chest.

"Stop," I whimpered. "You're not-You can't-"

He ignored me.

He tore my tank top as my breasts fell to his face. Without hesitation he slid his hands over my breast. His thumb brushed the nipple. My insides squirmed in pleasure but my body did otherwise.

He is my father I can't let this happen.

I tried to push him away but he was stronger.

I panicked.

If I screamed, he might hit me. If I stayed still, he might take more. He was muttering things under his breath-gross things. Stuff I never wanted to hear from anyone, especially not him.

"Please," I whispered. "I'm your daughter. You're drunk. You don't mean it."

"Daughter my foot," he growled. "I had been enduring till this moment."

His hands went to my trouser as he tore it open too and I was completely naked. He held my both hands with his one hand as he turned to pin me to the wall, revealing his fully erected dick to pull inside my pussy.

That was it.

Something in me snapped.

I kneed him in the leg. Not hard enough to drop him, but enough to make him grunt. I shoved him back with all my weight. He grabbed at hair trying to drag me backwards but I kicked him harder this time. I covered myself, and ran for the front door.

He lunged after me, cursing. "You ungrateful little-"

I snatched my yellow raincoat off the hook as I sprinted through the hallway. He almost caught the edge of my sleeve.

I slammed the door behind me and tore down the porch steps into the rain.

It hit me like ice.

The wind slapped my face, drenched my hair in seconds. Thunder cracked over my head, close and angry.

I ran barefoot, legs splashing through puddles. The sidewalk was slick. I tripped on a curb, scraped my knee, but I didn't stop. I didn't even cry. The adrenaline was louder than the pain.

Somewhere behind, he was yelling. His voice faded with every step I took.

Streetlights flickered. My breath came out in clouds. I was freezing, wet, scared, but I wasn't planning on turning around.

I walked down the street aimlessly. I didn't have any money. I thought of calling Cassie but I didn't have my phone. My adopted father broke it months ago one night I attempted to call the cops on him.

I didn't have a plan. I didn't have money. My phone was inside, somewhere under the couch maybe, probably dead.

All I had was my stupid yellow coat and a racing heart.

A set of headlights cut through the darkness. I tried to wave it down, but my knees buckled. The light got brighter-too bright.

I felt the thud before I heard it.

Everything spun.

Marco POV

I hate charity galas.

I hate board-room handshakes even more.

Give me the cash to count and I'm grinning; give me politicians begging for bribes and I start grinding molars.

It was already Midnight. I had just finished my meeting for the night as I stretched holding my suitcase waiting for my guard to bring my umbrella. The rain hadn't stop since afternoon. I climbed into the back of my Maserati, shoulders aching from the forced smiles. Anton, my driver, pulled away from the curb smooth as silk.

I needed some rest and little pleasure alone as I had Annabel-tonight's arm-candy. She is tall, blonde, her breasts full in nature just as I liked them. She smelled sweet and looked very eager to please me. The moment the door shut she popped champagne and tossed her stilettos on the floor.

"Cheers to successful extortion," she purred, bumping her glass into mine.

"It's called negotiation," I corrected, though she wasn't wrong.

We turned onto Via del Porto. No streetlights here, just warehouse shadows and puddles that looked like oil slicks. Anton kept his speed steady-he knew the right directions to drive to avoid dipping into potholes.

Annabel crawled across the seat, as she dropped both glasses carefully on the floor. She hiked up her purple dress past her thigh revealing her laps. Her sequins scratching my trousers, as she pressed her lips to my jaw slowly unzipping my down. She was good at pretending to please me. I just wanted pleasure to ease my body from the day stress.

She can't fool me.

My phone vibrated- it was Paul from finance texting numbers. Good numbers. I smiled, pocketed the phone, as I pushed myself back against the leather to allow Annabel please me. Rain drummed on the roof like applause. I loosened my tie; she took it as permission. Her fingers unbuttoned my shirt, mouth tracing my chest. She slid down between my knees as she found way to my dick thrusting. Slowly.

The engine hummed, low and soft. Street empty. My head tipped back as I groaned in pleasure. For what seemed like five minutes or more it was all heat her mouth going in rhythm to how I wanted to feel it

"Go deeper, hmmm, I want to feel your throat," I groaned a bit louder, making her thrust harder as we moved in rhythm.

I was about to cum, then THUD.

The car lurched. Brakes squealed. Champagne bottle rolled under the seat, glass shattering somewhere. Annabel's teeth scraped exactly where you never want teeth scraping.

I hissed, shoved her back. "Anton!"

The car stopped. Rain hammered the windshield. Anton's voice crackled through the intercom: "Boss-I think we hit someone-no, she collapsed, she just-"

"Open the damn door."

I zipped, buttoned halfway, as I grabbed the umbrella to go outside. Annabel adjusted her lipstick with a snarl. "Seriously? Traffic corpse now?"

I didn't answer. Outside, water came sideways. My shoes splashed deep. The headlights carved a little cone of light onto the road-and there she was.

A young girl in a yellow raincoat that clinged to her small body like a drowned chick. Knees scraped raw, dark hair plastered to her cheeks. She wasn't bleeding bad-only from one knee-but shock had drained her face sheet-white.

She hadn't been hit; Anton swerved. She must've fainted from running. Or fear.

I crouched, ignoring rain stabbing my neck. "Hey. You breathing?"

Her eyes fluttered open. Big eyes-the color of storm clouds if storm clouds ever begged for mercy. She looked straight at me, like I was both salvation and the wolf at her door.

Something punched me in the ribs from the inside.

"Name?" I asked. I always ask. Names make people real.

Her mouth moved. Nothing came out.

Fine. I slid arms under her. Light, fragile, bones sharp under soaked clothes. Her cheek fell against my shoulder like she'd done it forever.

Annabel shrieked from the car doorway. "You cannot be serious! She smells like gutter."

"Get in the escort car," I ordered, not ready to shout over rain.

"I-I was in the middle of-" She gestured to my half-done buttons.

"And now you're done."

Guards hustled her to the trailing SUV. She swore in French and English, heels clicking. She'd still take the gift bag later. They always did.

Backseat, I settled the girl-raincoat dripping, hair covering her face. She shivered hard, teeth chattering even unconscious.

I shrugged out of my suit coat, wrapped it over her like a blanket. It swallowed her. She curled into the warmth instinctively. Crazy that someone could trust a stranger's coat more than their own home.

"Hospital, sir?" Anton called.

"No. Westlake private." Too many questions at public ER. I didn't like cops pawing around my business.

"Copy."

The convoy moved. Wipers smacked furiously. My phone buzzed-Annabel texting fury emojis and something about a ruined night. I ignored the text immediately. Easy.

I glanced at the girl again. Water dripped from her eyelashes. Her red lips were barely parted. I could feel her boobs soft touching my laps close to where my cock lay. Her barefoot toes pale white peeked from under her coat, paint chipped on one, exactly like a teenager dodging chores.

I wonder who would dump a kid out in a storm?

Monsters like my father. Devil in human skin.

My memory flashed to when I was eight, kneeling on marble under the rain, Dad's boot on my shoulder because I had spilled ink on his desk. That same helpless cold.

But it carved me to be strong. Heartless

But why did my heart soften to this fragile girl. My jaw clenched.

"Boss, we're five minutes out," Anton said.

The girl stirred. A soft, broken sound, almost a word. I leaned closer to listen to her

"Where am I-" she whispered in an unconscious tone.

"Safe," I replied softly. It felt stupid. Nothing in my life was safe. But I said it.

Her hands grabbed my already hard cock I had been taming due to her hard nipple tingling on it. Leaving me at shock.

Then she fainted fully against me. I relaxed. She might have touched it by mistake. But the deed has already been done.

---

Westlake Clinic sat behind a nondescript gate, cameras everywhere. Doctor Bianchi was waiting, gray hair flat from the sprint in the rain. "Hypothermic. Minor lacerations. Possible fracture in the hip," he rattled off while staff eased her onto a gurney. "We'll warm her up, run scans."

"No police," I reminded.

He nodded-paid enough not to ask.

Annabel's SUV pulled in. She stepped out, umbrella held by a guard, mascara streaking down cheeks. "Marco, this is ridiculous. I ruined my knees for you earlier."

I gave a thin smile. "Get them fixed, then."

"You're choosing some street rat over me?" She asked irritated.

"I'm choosing silence. You're making noise." I replied my eyes still fixed on my little kitten.

She spat a curse, stomped away. The guard trailed her-he'd escort her home, then she'd vanish from my contacts by morning. Problem solved.

I turned back to the glass partition where my little kitten lay under warming blankets. Pale lips, dark lashes, bruises I hadn't noticed blooming on her thighs.

Bianchi read vitals, started an IV. She looked even smaller on that bed.

"Keep her overnight," I said. "Charge everything to my Rome account. She wakes, you call me first."

"Yes, sir."

I lingered when everyone left. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and wet wool.

Why was I still here?

Because those eyes. Because nobody had looked at me like that since... well, never.

I rested my palm on the glass. Ridiculous gesture. She couldn't feel it.

I needed answers: ID, family, reason for running. If she was trouble-and life taught me stray kittens bite-I'd deal with it.

For now, I watched her breathe.

---

Two hours later I was back in the car. Shirt changed; hair half-dry. The rain had eased to drizzle. City lights flickered reflection off the wet streets.

Anton eyed me in the mirror. "Where to, boss?"

"Home."

He pulled away.

Silence settled. But inside my head, questions shouted each other: Why did she run? Who bruised her? And why did I care more about that than the entire port contract I'd sealed tonight?

At a red light, I caught my own reflection-tired, faint smudge of lipstick still on my throat. I wiped it off with my thumb.

My world had rules: buy or bury your enemies, pleasure without attachment, never pick up strays.

Tonight, I'd broken rule three. Maybe rule two if I'm honest.

The light changed. The engine growled. I sat back and let the city blur, but somewhere in my chest, a new thread had been knotted tight.

Leona's POV

The sheets were too soft.

Like clouds or cream or... something expensive I had never touched before.

For a moment, I thought maybe I'd died. But death wouldn't smell like fresh linen and cinnamon soap. Or... maybe it would, if heaven had a five-star housekeeping staff.

I sat up too fast. Bad idea. My head spun, like I was still running.

Where-? What the hell-

Panic gripped me like a hand to the throat. I grabbed the edge of the bed-white, massive, carved with some old rich-people design-and tried to focus. Big window. Curtains that looked like they belonged in a museum. A gold clock ticked somewhere softly.

I wasn't on the street anymore.

I was in a... suite?

A goddamn palace.

And then the door clicked. I froze.

He stepped in like he was finally here to claim my life. Maybe he probably did.

Oh, I remember his face. The man who carried in the rain in his arms. He carried me like I weighed nothing, who wrapped me in his coat like I was something to special to him.

But he looks pretty much different now in his facial expression.

Black button-down. Rolled sleeves. Veins along his forearms. Hair too perfect. Eyes like tempered steel-cold, unreadable, but deep.

And God help me... I noticed everything. The way his chest stretched the fabric. The faint scar near his collarbone. The way his voice was always low, in a husky tone making me wonder how if this is how he always is.

I hated that I was taking note of him.

"You're awake," he muttered expectedly not asking.

"No shit," I muttered before I could stop myself.

His brow twitched. Just a flicker.

"What's your name kitten?" he finally asked, in a nonchalant tone.

I swallowed. "Leona."

"Last name?"

I hesitated.

He stepped closer. The bed suddenly felt too small. My whole body tensed. Not because I thought he'd hurt me-no, that wasn't it.

It was worse.

He smelled like clean smoke and power. I could see the muscles shifting under his shirt as he moved, and some crazy, needy part of me imagined them against me-rough, claiming, unapologetic.

I shook the thought away. What the hell was wrong with me?

"Leona what?" he asked again.

I squared my shoulders. "Leona- None of your business."

That got a reaction. His lips twitched-maybe amusement, maybe irritation. Couldn't tell.

"Kitten, you were unconscious. Wet. Barefoot. Bleeding," he uttered slowly. "You laid on my laps and I paid your bill in the hospital."

I snapped. "But that doesn't give you the right to interrogate me like I'm a criminal!"

His eyes locked on mine. Sharp. Focused. Like he was analyzing everything, filing it in some brutal mental folder.

"You're in my house," he reminded.

I faltered.

Right. Shit.

He sighed and sat down-on the edge of the bed. Right to where I laid. The mattress dipped and my heart jumped into my throat.

"I need answers, Leona," he voices softer now. "Why were you running? Who were you running from?"

I dropped my eyes.

"Tell me the truth," he added.

I bit my lip. My whole chest ached. I wanted to lie, but I didn't have the energy.

"I can't go back there," I whispered.

"Where?"

"Home."

His eyes narrowed. "What happened there?"

I shook my head. My hands gripped the blanket. "Doesn't matter. I'd rather sleep in a gutter than go back."

That did something to him. Something shifted behind his expression. The cold cracked. Just a little.

Silence stretched. The clock kept ticking.

Then, carefully, he stood. Walked to the window. Looked out like this was some business meeting he was weighing with stock options.

"I can make you disappear," he said.

I immediately felt chills.

He turned back. "No records. No names. A new place. A safe one."

I stared at him. "How? I mean why?"

"Because I hate the people who make girls run in the rain."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to throw myself into the offer, scream yes, throw my arms around him like I wasn't terrified. But... his eyes still held walls.

"You surprise me," I said trying not to show excitement.

He tried to smile at my question. "Don't be surprised, kitten. You'll stay under my roof, by my rules."

"Rules?" I asked, surprised.

He stepped toward me again. I didn't move.

"Yes. No wandering. No guests. No lying. And no touching anything with my name on it."

His voice had gone lower. A warning? A tease?

God, he was too close. I could smell the heat of his skin now. Could see the shadow of stubble on his jaw. The curve of his neck. I wondered if he tasted like the rain or whiskey or maybe both.

I hated myself for thinking it.

He turned to go, and I caught a flash in his eyes. Vulnerable. Lonely. But it wasn't fake.

Why did he carry me, help me, feed me... just to build a wall between us?

"You're complicated," I muttered.

He paused in the doorway. Glanced over his shoulder. "No. I'm controlled."

I snorted. "That's just a fancy word for cold."

He didn't smile, but he didn't walk away either. "Do you want to stay or not?"

I looked around the room-the warmth, the comfort. I could feel safety clawing at the door of my chest. Real safety, not the fake kind people promise and never give.

I nodded slowly. "I'll stay."

His head dipped. "Good."

Then he was gone as he clicked the door shut behind him.

I fell back against the pillows. Heart pounding. Legs trembling. Not from fear this time. From... something else.

I stared at the ceiling, cheeks burning. Why the hell did he get under my skin like that? Why did I fantasize about that mouth, those hands, those rules whispered in my ear in a way that made me want to disobey?

I imagined what it would be like to break them. On purpose.

To make him crack. Lose control. Take me apart with that same cold voice commanding me to stay still while he-

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my face.

Get yourself together Leona. He just saved you don't ruin it.

I was still in my thoughts when I heard a soft knock on the door startling me. It cannot be him. He won't knock.

"Come in," I said pulling the duvet to my body.

A middle aged lady walked in with a food tray in her hand as she walked to where I laid and dropped it on a stool by the bedside I didn't notice was there.

"Good evening ma'am, I was instructed you eat dinner in your room. Master doesn't want to be disturbed," She dropped it as she turned back to leave shutting the door behind her.

Pheewww, that was close, I thought.

I came down from the bed as I looked through the window listening to the calm quiet nature of birds chirping and the trees waving. I was soon disrupted by some noise.

"Mmnh-yes... Marco... yes... ah-"

My blood turned to ice. It was coming from the room next door.

I stood straight, ears straining.

Another moan. High-pitched. Hungry. Followed by a low, masculine grunt. Furniture shifted. A soft thump against the wall.

I froze. Every muscle clenched.

That was his voice. Marco.

The same man who gave me rules. Who looked at me like I was a storm and a burden. So, this was why he didn't want to be disturbed.

He was-

He had-

No. No, it didn't matter. He was a grown man. He could screw whoever he wanted. Hell, I'd only known him for what, ten minutes?

But my stomach twisted. Heat turned to embarrassment. My stupid fantasies flipped inside-out. My whole face burned.

I went back to the bed and faced my face on the bed. Squeezed my eyes shut.

You're not special, I reminded myself.

You're just another stray he's grooming for himself.

The moans got louder. I covered my ears.

But the damage was already done.