Sweet Stalker: Mafia Romance

I squirm and wriggle. I stretch out as his mouth sets off strings of firecrackers inside me. OH! And he knows exactly where I’m SUPER sensitive. I try to turn over but he holds me down, damn him. He is so fucking strong!

But I’ve outsmarted him. While he’s been concentrating on making me spasm and yelp, OH! There it is ag– OH! Again. Damn.

But now I’ve got the canister of whipped cream.

I squirt it in his face.

He stops. Lifts his head. He’s about to wipe his eyes.

“Ah-ah!” I tell him. “Play fair. You have to let me lick it off.”

He hesitates. I spray more cream.

“All right,” he says, making a meal out of not being able to see as he clambers up my body.

“Here.” He presents his face. And as he does, I spray his cock. It looks like a massive pole with a scoop of ice cream on the top. Mmm. Nice idea for next time.

“No fair,” he protests. “I couldn’t see.”

“I couldn’t see when I was sleeping, and you decorated my pussy to suit your own ends. Now. Bring me your cock for a thorough cleaning.”

My phone rings. Damn.

“It will go to voicemail,” I tell him. “Cock. Here. Mouth. Waiting.”

He felt the ripple of tension in my body at the sound of my phone, though. There’s no use pretending. How does he know me so well? And how have I lived without him so long?

He sits up. His cock looks pretty appetizing with a dollop of whipped cream, so I slurp it off. Damn. Of the two flavors, the distinctly rich taste of his cock is the one I’d come back for more of. I pop it into my mouth and he lets out a long sigh as I slip my tongue over it and around it.

We both know what’s coming, though.

My phone rings again.

I know who it is, obviously. I can ignore it again, but they’ll only keep calling. And naturally, my phone has a tracker and both my brothers have access to it, as well as my father. Having them call and ruin the night is bad. If they show up, it will be a whole lot worse.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I have to take that.” I kiss him before I scramble across the room to fish my phone out of my jeans pocket.

“Jealous husband?” he jokes.

“Getting blind drunk with his Special Forces buddies,” I tell him as I head for the bathroom.

“They’ll never take me alive,” he calls after me, “those damned Capulets.” His heart isn’t in it, though.

Behind the closed bathroom door, I’m about to call Angelo, the last name on my missed calls list, but a call from Giovanni pops up on the screen before I can even tap it.

As soon as I pick up, Giovanni says, “Where the fuck are you?”

“Nice, Giovanni. I hope you’re having a good evening, too. How was the poker?”

“Just get your slutty ass back here. Now. And don’t let Father know you’ve been out dragging your culo around town.”

“Giov–”

“Can it. A big deal is going down. You’ve got an important part to play. Just. Get. Home.”

Back in the room, he looks at me.

“You have to go.”

I nod. I don’t know if I’m proud of myself or disappointed that I’m able to hold back my tears.

My voice is flat. “We’ll meet again. Here.”

He says, “Okay, when?”

“Tomorrow. Or tonight, whichever it is.” I check my phone. Past midnight. “Tonight. Eight-thirty?”

“A roulette table.”

I hate that he sounds so low and flat too.

I hate more the fact that what I’m most afraid of is him asking me questions about who I am.

I dress and I kiss him.

But there’s a cool gulf between us. And I’ve never been that good of a swimmer.

Chapter Seven

Peter

Deflated, I stay slumped in the back of a cab all the way to the O’Malley compound. I thought about staying in the room, but without her, it just felt too empty. I don’t know the time and I don’t care.

The cab drops me inside the gated compound. My brothers, my father and I live in the sprawling house at the center of the property. The house is big enough to be called a palace, but I still feel like we’re crowded on top of each other. Mostly that they’re living on top of me.

Climbing the steps, slouching through the main entrance and into the living quarters, I’m ready to just crash. On the way to my apartment, I stop by the study to grab a cognac, hoping the alcohol will help put me out of the misery of being separated from my one true obsession. Tonight feels like years away. Light shines at the edge of the door. I’m turning away, but Paul flings the door open.

“The wanderer returns. Have you been out playing the wild rover?” He reaches to muss my hair. I set my jaw and give him a look that makes him stop.