My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back

LUKE

Cambridge was nothing more than the place my father threw me to spend the next three months of life. It was where I’d lost everything that shone brightly before my eyes, and compassion was shredded from me. But to deal with everything once more, I should at least enjoy myself in every possible way. I’d booked a suite at the Ritz Carlton, where I was leaning on the bed, entangling my fingers in a woman’s hair, devouring my shaft.

She was teasingly sliding her tongue around my tip. “Mm… you’re perfect.”

I groaned. I pushed her head down as she pressed her lips to cover my entire length. Over the past three hours, I’d bent her over the table and fucked her relentlessly.

It was satisfying, but in the next few days, I’d have to find someone else.

She took me in her mouth again. The pleasure was building up in me; my legs stiffened, and my body was telling me to let go. I slightly pushed her head to move her away, but she didn’t move. She went down deeper and sucked me harder. I scowled and tried to pull her off again, but it was too late. Thick spurts of my cock exploded into her mouth.

She looked at me hungrily as she swallowed every last drop. When she was finally moving away, I sprang up and zipped my pants.

“Shall we have dinner and then go on with a few rounds?”

I raised an eyebrow, confused. “I told you I never fucked a woman twice, but I did agree to sex that’ll make you forget every man who’d ever had your pussy.”

That was how exactly women wanted it to start. A senseless conversation, some sex, and at the end of the day, she would begin to think there was something more. I was done with that.

“Can’t you consider it since we’ve been talking for a few days? Exam week is coming, and I have no time to chat with you.”

Right, yes. I met her on Meet and Greet, an online dating site. Her profile said she was a professor at a university.

“No, thanks.”

“Hmm, why don’t we just tell each other something real? My real name’s Chloe, not Anna. I’m not a professor but an undergraduate from Boston University. I’m not really from Harvard. I drove several hours just to meet you, and I don’t give my real info to strangers.” She smiled sheepishly as if her lies were something to brag about.

“What, you just screw with people, is that it?” I shook my head in disbelief. The fact that she lied about her name and school was a major turn-off. “Are you going to stay here, or do you have another date to screw tonight?”

“How dare you?” She scowled at me, her voice rising.

“Is there something wrong with my question?”

“Wow...” She shook her head. “Someday, you’ll regret doing this.”

“Regret doing what?”

“This. Wasting a woman’s time, trying to look interested, fuck her, and then moving on to the next.”

“I never gave false hopes.”

“One day, you’ll get a taste of your own medicine,” she continued.

 “You know what, Chloe, or whatever your name is, I don’t give a fuck what you think about my future.”

Years ago, this was my favorite place. It was where I dreamt, hoped, fell in love, and spent days with the people I trusted. I created my own world with the people I loved, but all of it ended up a broken dream when I discovered the person I loved the most was fucking another man.

I wasn’t a dramatic kind of person—well, I was. I was sentimental, compassionate, and considerate—which I now despised.

Fortunately, I was able to regain half of myself when Dad remarried. My stepmother, Gene, was a bit unapproachable at first. However, she showed me that I could trust someone. And to end this fucking overview of my life, I liked the person I’d become. At least no one would dare get inside me again, see through me, and break my trust.

I’d been looking online for a woman to screw since last year. I found it entertaining and interesting, knowing I could choose whoever I wanted to screw without commitments. I never trusted a woman online—all I wanted was their wet core.

I scrolled through my inbox and checked if I had emails from any women I might be able to meet this weekend.

I deleted the other uninteresting messages, especially fake profiles. Then, another email popped up. The message was from Ericka and the only email I kept in my inbox for some compelling reason. She was twenty-eight, a Harvard graduate, working in an IT company in Cambridge. We’d been sending senseless emails for three months. She was fun to talk to, and she was sexy as fuck when she started the dirty talk.

I opened her message.

Subject: I need help

I need help with deleting your relentless messages. What is this all about? There are tons of women to find in this app, and you’re supposed to be with one because it’s Saturday, and yet here you are, interrupting me in the middle of my meditation. I need to loosen up since I’m supposed to finish my new Esri ArcGIS API-based project, but I’ve hardly started, and your messages keep popping on my screen.

Ericka

Subject: Re: I need help

Well, I was waiting for you to finally open your account to tell you that I’m in Cambridge right now, just a few minutes away from you. Maybe this is the right time to finally show up. You’ve been teasing me for three months with your smart mouth.

Now, will you tell me where you are so we can talk face-to-face?

Jax

Subject: Re: Re: I need help

Well, Jax, I already told you I’m sharing a room with someone. There’s no chance we could meet. However, I don’t plan on revealing my face even if I'm alone. It’s against my rules. I don’t meet men from online.

Ericka

Damn it. I tossed the phone on the bed. We met through another app, Pro-Express Chat, founded at Harvard. It was a simple social networking application that allowed the user to chat anonymously. No profile pictures, feeds, comment boxes, or even blogs. Nothing. Just an inbox and a few details such as name and age, gender, relationship status, and occupation.

Every user must be a professional and a graduate of Harvard. Additionally, you must be invited by the admins to register. Either you were a doctor, professor, architect, artist, or CEO (like me). I never wanted to try the app, but since I don’t mix any of my personal shit anymore, only interested in hard sex, I gave it a try.

The app was intended for professional chat only, but screw the rules. My one protocol was to get their personal number to call them.

And I had Ericka’s number.

“Why don’t you just give me your address and real name? I’m tired of just talking to you over the phone.”

She laughed deliciously. I just liked hearing her voice. “We’ll never meet. It’s impossible. Besides, I’m busy.”

“I don’t care about your excuses. Would you like to know my address and my name? I just moved in.”

“I don’t know why you’re in Cambridge right now, but I’m not interested. I can’t lose a friend when all you ever want is one night. You’re going to throw me away, just like the others.”

“I’m sure it won’t be just one night for us,” I admitted. “I can make an exception since you’ve earned my trust.”

“Oh, really? This should be good.”

“Yes, so what is it? Tell me. I’ll be willing to come and get you.”

“I don’t think so. Hey, I need to go, Jax.”

“Wait! Okay. I’m giving you a week. If you don’t want to meet up, I’m done talking with you.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure you won’t do that.”

“I am sure that I would.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you like the sound of my voice.”

Yes, I liked the sounds she made whenever she begged me to make her come on the phone. She could make me hard just by listening to her voice alone.

“I’m pretty sure I like the sound of you moaning.” I sighed. “Look, I can’t continue our friendship like this. I need to see you. One week, Ericka.”

“I can’t. I’m going to New York to see my parents this week. Did you forget? It’s been a long time since I last saw my mother.”

“That’s good, then. I’ll put New York on my schedule this week, and then I’ll meet you. I’ll take you to New York.”

Silence.

“Ericka?”

“What? I don’t know. I can’t promise.”

“Listen to me very carefully. I’m very good at tracking people. I could find anyone in a blink, and the only reason I’m not doing it yet is that I respect that you’re not ready. But this isn’t going anywhere. I need to be buried inside you. I would like to hear you scream my name. My real name when I devour every inch of you. If you don’t agree, I’m going to find you.”

I heard her breath skip. “Don’t you think that’s illegal?”

“I will take every risk.”

“Jax,” she called. “Okay, but not this week. Give me two weeks. Please? This week is a bad time.”

“Done. Fourteen days and you will tell me your address. Fourteen fucking days, Ericka, or we’re done.”

“Okay! Okay! Stop intimidating me.”

“Good. That’s good, then, Ericka. Good night.”