Free STRONGER by Lexie Ray Page A

mother could see me—see how far I’d fallen, seducing a mob leader, lying and spouting off disgusting dirty talk—her shock and disappointment would be crushing. Maybe as crushing as my own disappointment when she ceased being my mother, drowning in the fantasies the bottle of gin fed her.
    The Don pushed me onto my back and climbed over me, still slipping his finger up and down my lips. He eased my thong down and smiled.
    “I’m going to be your first,” he said. “And you always remember your first.”
    He leaned down and kissed my neck while simultaneously guiding the head of his cock to my entrance. I responded almost automatically to his kisses, leaving a trail of red lipstick over his cheek.
    I cried out as he thrust in completely, my body struggling to adjust to the unfamiliar invasion. I tried to think of anything else—of ice cream, of pizza, of money, of this being over, of Mom being alive again, of getting the hell out of here. It hurt too much, it was too much.
    I realized I was clawing at the Don’s back with my sharp new manicure and tried to stop, worried he’d get angry if I made him bleed.
    “Don’t stop, you little hellcat,” Don Costa grunted. “I just made you a woman. You deserve to try to take something from me.”
    He started to thrust in and out of me and I yowled at every movement. The lubricant Cocoa had practically forced on me helped ease the way, but my body was having trouble adjusting to the Don’s eager but brutal pace. He was too excited and I just wasn’t physically ready for this onslaught.
    I bit his neck to try to smother my cries and Don Costa laughed low in my ear.
    “I love a girl who gives as good as she gets,” he said, ramming into me even harder.
    Sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my chest as I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing and trying to slow his pumping. It felt like he was going to break me in two if he didn’t slow down.
    He worked his hand between my thigh and his ribcage and pushed his thumb against the hard bud of my clitoris. I saw stars, forgot myself, lost everything. All his ramming didn’t seem so bad anymore, just as long as he kept his finger right there—right there . I moved my body against his, my breasts bouncing, feeling dirty, feeling desperate and empty.
    I didn’t understand what I was working toward until it happened—a shattering climax that surprised me with its intensity and suddenness. I howled, not caring what I looked or sounded like to the Don, not caring who heard me. I didn’t care who I thought I was. The only thing that mattered was the orgasm, the painfully short white nothingness. I felt like crying when it released me from its hold.
    The Don sucked in air between his clenched teeth and gave one last massive thrust, driving into me. The water of his completion filled my body. The mob boss moaned in my ear, suckled on my neck as he emptied his cock into me.
    After a few final thrusts, he pulled out of me and flopped down on the bed, making it creak dangerously. We panted side by side, and sounds began to return. I hadn’t even realized that my senses had been drained, boiled down to only the sense of touch. Mama was well into another set, it appeared, the lyrics and tune muffled but just audible.
    A wretched wave of nausea washed over me and I rolled off the bed.
    “Be right back,” I said, trying to smile.
    I managed to get the bathroom light on and the door closed before the bile came. I collapsed in front of the toilet, my body heaving, vomiting even though there wasn’t anything to throw up. It was all water, perhaps some bits of breakfast that my stomach had been trying desperately to hold onto.
    It was almost as if my body was disgusted with itself.
    I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth out in the sink. The water still running, I splashed my face and wet a washcloth I found on a shelf. The Don’s semen was trickling down my legs. I cleaned myself up, rinsing the washcloth again and again,