The Hitman's Desire: A Mafia Romance (The Silent Family Book 1)

by T Steele

  “You’ll always be too good for me, Ruby, but I know I’m the only one who can please you like this.” The deep timber of his voice is hypnotizing.

  My head comes back up, and I bring my hands up to cup his jaw. John’s face turns into my palm and his tongue darts out, licking the length of it. I shiver, snaking my arms around his waist, up his back, and into his hair. He’s right—our chemistry is explosive, but that’s not all there is between us.

  “It’s not just about the sex, John. I can’t really explain it, but I felt a connection with you even that first night I saw you at the coffee shop. I felt like I wanted to belong to someone like you. I feel safe when I’m with you. I’ve never felt that way around anyone.”

  John’s lips part and then he’s wrapping my legs around his waist and lifting me as if I weigh nothing.

  “Say it again,” he demands.

  “I‘ve never felt this way with anyone—”

  “No, that part about belonging to me. Do you fucking belong to me, Ruby?”

  I bring my forehead to his. “Yes,” I murmur against his lips.

  “Say it again.”

  “You own me, John. I belong to you. Only you.”

  John kisses me back fervently. I open my mouth for him, sighing as every nerve ending in my body becomes hyper-aware in anticipation of what he’ll do next. I feel him carrying me somewhere in his arms, but I don’t stop the kiss. I grind my sex against him, already soaked and the throb between my legs is almost painful.

  “John, I need you,” I say, because fuck it. I feel we’re at the point in our relationship where I can speak these things aloud and it’s only going to spur him on. I used to feel intimidated by him. Embarrassed. Naive. But now I only feel empowerment.

  And now with the ache between my thighs turning more and more painful, I wasn’t afraid to admit that I might just beg for John to stop whatever it was he was doing and to fuck me right here and now.

  He breaks away from the kiss and his eyes are wild with lust, but at the same time with power and dominance. He sets me down, and I squeeze him tighter to me, not wanting any space between us.

  He grabs my arms and swiftly turns me around. I’m facing the vanity mirror in my girly bedroom, making John look all sorts of out of place. I gasp at the sight of us. My peaked nipples clearly show through my t-shirt and my hair is wild and untamed, but my eyes . . . they’re almost completely black and heavy-lidded. John stands behind me. He looks so much bigger than me. My head barely reaches his chest and the width of his shoulders and flex of his arms are so muscular, I know he could snap me in half. I think about the powerful thrusts into my core that I know I’ll be receiving soon and I lean against him, raising my arms and trying to wrap them around his neck.

  “What do you want, Ruby?”

  I whimper, rocking my hips slowly back and forth, rubbing my ass against his cock, making him hiss. I know the minute he touches my clit, I’ll be gone. I’ve never needed an orgasm more than I do right now.

  “Come on, John,” I rasp. “You know what I want.”

  “Fucking say it. I want to hear it from your perfect, fuckable lips.”

  “John,” I breathe, barely holding on to a single thought that isn’t about him fucking me.

  He sits in my small white chair that’s placed in front of my vanity. The place I’ve sat dozens of times to style my hair or do my makeup. Then, he pulls me down onto his lap, lifting my shirt and ridding me of it.

  He props my feet onto the dresser in front of us.

  “Oh, God,” I moan, understanding where he’s going with this. My breathing quickens and through the mirror I see a muscle in John’s jaw twitch, but his eyes are focused on our reflections.

  His fingers trace the fabric of my underwear between my thighs where I can already see a damp spot.

  “I did this to you,” he says savagely. “Only me.”

  “Yes,” I moan. “Never anyone else. Just you.”

  Then, John rips my panties in half for the second time that night. Impatiently, he jerks them off me, and I’m completely bare in front of the mirror. John’s eyes move over my body like a branding iron. Like he’s marking me as his. Little does he know, I’m already his and always will be.

  His hands cover mine and bring them up to cup my breasts. We move together, massaging and holding them up, then he moves his hands away from mine.

  “Touch your breasts, Ruby,” he demands.

  I do.

  First, I start slowly, moving my soft palm over the pink tips, but it doesn’t feel as good as John’s calloused ones.

  His hand covers mine once more and then he’s bringing our joined hands to my slick folds. “Spread those pussy lips for me.”

  I gasp at his rough words, but hesitantly do as he asks.

  When my two fingers come in contact with the lips of my sex, spreading them wide, I release a shaky moan.

  “Fuuuck.” John hisses in a breath through his teeth. “I bet you want to touch your clit so badly, don’t you? Better yet, I bet you want me to touch it. To lick it, and suck on it—but not yet.”

  “Please, John,” I cry out, so turned on, ready to cum with the slightest bit of friction.

  “You said earlier that you want me to see myself the way you see me. Well, how do you see me, Ruby?”

  His forefingers and thumbs tweak my nipples, making more heat and wetness develop at my core. I lean my head back against his chest, closing my eyes, trying to control my breathing.

  “I think you’re beautiful, John.” My voice is strangled and I open my eyes to see his locked on mine in the mirror. “I think you’re loyal and protective and trustworthy.”

  “I’ll never be those things, Ruby,” he says, still with his hands at my nipples.

  I arch my back, trying desperately to feel more friction. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are beckoning, seductive. My teeth sink into my lip so hard. “Can you please touch me now, John?”

  He smiles and it’s beautifully terrifying. “Tell me who fucking owns you.”

  “You,” I say. “Always you.”

  His fingers pinch down harder on my nipples. “Ahh!” I cry out.

  “I’ll touch you when you tell me I’m not a good man.”

  “I’ll never say that.” I glare at him in the mirror, though it’s hard to keep my eyes open. My hips start gyrating and I move my own hands down my stomach, but just when they’re about to reach my wet slit, John stops them. I whimper when he holds them down on my belly.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

  “Because I want you to cum. Hard. I want this orgasm to rip through you so violently that there’s no question about who caused it.” His teeth bite down on the shell of my ear as he growls, “Look at yourself, Ruby. Do you look like something I would deserve? Look at your perfect tits,” he says, gliding one hand against the both of them, flicking a nipple hard and my sex clenches brutally. I’m so close. “Your pretty little pink nipples are so soft. Your breasts are so perky and one day I’ll slide my cock between them and cum all over you.”

  “John,” I whimper. “Please.”

  “Put your finger inside yourself, but don’t touch your clit,” he demands. His voice and body command authority.

  I do, and my hips buck forcefully. John chuckles darkly.

  “Who do you belong to, Ruby?”

  I move my finger in and out of my wet heat, then I feel John pull my fingers away.

  “You,” I whisper.

  John pushes two fingers inside me and his big palm slams down on my clit, palming firm circles and I fall apart.

  I scream so loudly, John angles my head back to kiss me, silencing the noise, but I keep cumming.

  My hips buck so forcefully that the vanity starts thumping against the wall loudly, and my feet use the dresser as leverage so my hips can fuck his fingers faster and faster.

  “Open your eyes.” His voice is guttural but filled with authority.

  They open to thin slits as I watch
John’s intense eyes stare, transfixed, at his fingers inside me.

  “Look how beautiful you are,” he says. “Watch my fingers fuck your pussy, Ruby. Watch my hand stroke your perfect tits. I want you to see what I see when you cum. Because you look like a fucking angel.”

  “John, I’m gonna cum again.”

  “Fuck yeah, you are.”

  My body is so spent, but John’s fingers are magic as they work me. My hands move up behind his neck and my head starts whipping back and forth.

  “Keep your eyes open,” John says. “I want you to watch yourself.”

  My peaked nipples rise and fall as my breath comes in short bursts.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God . . .”

  My hips start bucking again and I watch as John’s fingers keep their persistent rhythm between my legs. My moisture shines on his hand, glinting in the mirror.

  I watch my mouth fall open as my orgasm starts. It’s so strong, I feel the entire lower half of my body clenching and flexing and quivering. My hips rock so explosively that John has to brace himself, anchoring his feet to the floor so that the chair doesn’t tip over backward.

  He smiles and it’s breathtaking. I smile too, my eyes finally closing as my legs collapse on the dresser. My erratic breathing still echoes in the background.

  When my eyes open, he’s still watching me. And I stand on shaky legs and turn around to unbutton his pants. He lifts his hips, helping me and I pull them down, along with his boxers.

  His erection springs free, and I kneel before him to return the favor, but he shakes his head and pulls me up from the ground. He turns me around once more and leaves a soft kiss on the cheek of my ass before his hands grab a firm hold of my hips and lift me, setting me on his hard cock. Filling me up and stretching me out. He’s once again made it to where we can watch ourselves in the mirror, like our own little erotic movie. John’s face looks carnal, almost feral, yet reverent at the same time.

  “Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Being inside you feels like home,” he breathes against my ear. “Like fucking heaven.”

  I lock my hands on the arms of the chair, readying myself, and start bouncing up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

  John’s warm breath fans against my skin as I move, riding him. He grabs my hand and brings it to my center where his cock slides in and out of me. His huge hand engulfs mine and John groans in pleasure as we keep our hands on the warm, wet skin where our bodies connect.

  “Tell me again,” John rasps, “who you belong to.”

  “You,” I say throatily. “I belong to you. It’ll always be you.”

  John’s head falls back and his mouth opens as his hands squeeze my hips. His own hips speed up and he starts pounding into me at a punishing pace. I don’t close my eyes. I watch John’s face. Watch his muscles flex. Watch as he gasps and bites his lip. His every move, never wanting to forget it. Committing everything about him to memory.

  “Ruby,” he says, my name sounding like a prayer. Like I’m the only thing sustaining him in this crazy life we live. Like I’m the only thing he’ll ever need. I arch my back, my head resting on John’s shoulder. The sounds leaving my mouth are nothing but unintelligible noises, and it’s hell trying to suppress the moans when I feel this much pleasure. This much emotion. When all I want is for John to hear me. For him to know what he does to me. I tug at the strands of John’s dark hair while he continues to pump into me mercilessly. My breasts bounce rapidly and I see the skin of my thighs and hips jiggle; while John is nothing but a brick of muscle. Sweat glistens on his body while the veins in his neck stick out and he grits his teeth. He looks sexy and wild and fierce.

  “One hand on your clit. One on your nipples,” he orders.

  I comply immediately and he growls. “You’re going to break me.”

  I don’t know what he means, but with his forceful thrusts and my hand ministrations coupled with the erotic sight of us in the mirror makes ecstasy come at me full force.

  “John.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own when I say his name, but it affects him nonetheless and he growls with a powerful release.

  “Yes,” I whisper tenderly. “That’s it,” I rub soothing circles on his thighs beneath me as his cock pulses the last of his pleasure inside me.

  His head collapses on my shoulder and I feel him leave a soft kiss there. When his eyes glance back up at mine in the mirror, looking as soft and content as I’ve ever seen them, panic grips me because I want nothing more than to tell him I love him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day I awake to a “burner” phone placed on my dresser. Unease fills me as I lift the covers off my body. I stand up to stretch slowly and notice the tension in my limbs from last night's activities.

  John’s stare is like a physical touch as I walk across the room.

  “Feeling a little stiff today?” he murmurs deeply.

  I blush scarlet all the way down to my toes, but I still smile at him.

  I’m also surprised because his facial expressions are getting easier for me to read. Though his face still looks cold and emotionless, I can see a glint of worry in there as well. Worry for me.

  I bite my lip as the old fashioned Nokia slides into my hand. So much was riding on this one phone call. I smirk to myself, knowing my father was in my room while I was sleeping. It enraged me, but also gave me a sense of satisfaction, that he couldn’t face me—at least not when I was conscious and awake.

  Coward, I think to myself.

  You’re no better, says the voice inside my head.

  We’re both avoiding each other. I guess we have that in common. My father knows I’ve wanted to talk to Daphnee for a while now and I think this is his way of saying he’s sorry. I’ve got news for him, though, I won’t forgive him that easily. He should’ve done a lot of things differently. Telling the whole truth about my mother from the very beginning is just one of them. Then, maybe my life wouldn’t be the way it is today. Maybe if he’d made better choices, my mother would still be alive. The thought almost sends me doubling over with sadness. I’d give anything to have her back. My thoughts continue to churn in turmoil, and I don’t know how I’ll face him today.

  The phone becomes slick in my hands with sweat as I grow nervous and push the thoughts of my mother aside.

  One problem at a time.

  “What should I even say to her?” My voice cracks and I clear my throat, looking away.

  He knows I’m talking about Daphnee.

  I’m so afraid. Afraid because she knows me better than anyone, and when she hears my voice she’ll sense I’m hiding things from her.

  John walks over to me slowly, studying me and butterflies erupt in my stomach. After his eyes scan my face, it seems like he makes some sort of decision because he cradles my head to his chest and hugs me. I sense this was what he was debating—whether or not he should hug me. I know John wants to comfort me, but he doesn’t always know how. I hug him back tightly, never wanting to let go, showing him that he made the right decision.

  “She’s never going to believe me if I say ‘Oh yeah, I just randomly decided to move. Sorry I didn’t call you even though you're my best friend.’”

  “It’ll be better this way,” John says quietly. “She has no relation to the family. It would be so hard for her to know about this life, and if she did, your father would have her every move monitored, making sure she wasn’t snitching. And she’s not Italian, she has no family in the mob, and she’s not the Boss’s daughter. . .” John trails off and I tighten my arms around him. Sensing what he’s not saying. Basically, could I live with myself if Daphnee found out and then was killed for knowing?

  Women weren’t coddled in the mafia, but, for the most part, they weren’t thrown head first into danger. Woman or not, though, Daphnee would be killed if she knew. Anyone would be who wasn’t willing to obey the Boss. Work. Make money. Do the deals. But especially a normal civilian who has no ties to the mob. How could I put that kind of pressure on her?
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  Guilt fills me like a tidal wave when the next words leave my mouth. “I almost feel like I shouldn’t call her. Like it would almost be better. I’m so afraid she’s going to keep prodding, and I just don’t want her to be mad at me.”

  “She won’t be,” John says and I can’t help but snort at that.

  “You don't know her like I do.”

  “I just don’t see how anyone could be mad at you for very long.”

  “You’re just saying that because of all the sex. I don’t think sex is going to fix this situation with Daphnee.”

  I feel his chest vibrate with deep laughter, and I can’t help but smile for a beat.

  “Would I be a horrible person if I just didn’t call her? I miss her like crazy. I want to say goodbye, but I don’t know if I can face her . . . even through the phone. Does that make me a coward?”

  “No, not at all. I think the question is, can you live with yourself if you don’t call?”

  Can I? I silently ask myself. I think about all the times Daphnee has pried info from people she barely knew or blurted out secrets because she just “couldn’t keep it in any longer” and I know that I need to protect her. The potential consequence of my father killing my best friend is what makes my mind up for me, and only serves to shove more coal into my fire of hate toward him. I gently place the phone back down on the nightstand.

  Profound sadness attempts to engulf me now that the decisions been made. I want to scream and cry and shake my fist at the world at the unfairness of it all, but I don’t. Right now, I feel numb, tired, and emotionally exhausted, but I sense a breakdown in my near future. Once my emotions catch up with me and it sinks in that I will never see her again . . . that’s when I’ll fall apart.

  “Are you alright?” John asks.

  I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, inhaling his masculine scent. When I glance up at him, I notice the dark circles under his eyes. I avoid the question, not quite ready to talk about it. “Go get some sleep, John. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

  John kisses my forehead, gently stroking my cheeks. He recognizes my subject change and doesn’t pry. “I don’t need sleep. I barely sleep as is. I can stay for a little while.”