I stroke her glorious hair as it fans out against the pillow, a stark contrast to the white. It's so silky, I could spend an entire day touching it. Heat radiates off her body, and I can smell her desire. With the taste of her pussy still on my lips, I feel like I'll go insane if I can't be inside her soon.
I move my hands to her breasts, kneading and lifting her nipples to my lips. I can't get enough. Every damn inch of her skin tastes so good. Her straining peaks harden as I bite and suck as her hands fall to my back. Even though it feels right, she's not following directions.
"Put them back where I told you to, and don't defy me again."
Reluctantly, she puts them back over her head. I'm amazed at how much she trusts me. And she should because I'll never betray her. She's my everything. "But—"
"No buts, woman. This is about you. There's an entire lifetime for you to touch me. Let me do this for you."
She strains to do what I say, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. "Nixon, I don't think I can come anymore. It's too much."
"I haven't even begun, angel." I move my hand between her legs and delight in the moist heat that greets my caress. "You'll come when I tell you."
Pushing her knees back, I glide the thick ridge of my cock across her clit, teasing her until I see that rosy flush on her skin that I love so much. She's writhing underneath the pleasure only I can give her. My dick strains and throbs, aching to impale her. Her eyes flutter closed.
"Open your eyes, Marcella," I command. "Look at my cock and beg me."
"Please, Nixon," she pleads, as I slide it back and forth through her wet heat. "Please, I want you inside me."
"That's not good enough," I say, wanting to get her used to naughty talk between us. Nothing held back.
"What do you want my cock to do to you?"
She licks her lips. "I want you to put that huge cock inside me. I want you to fuck me." She never loses eye contact even as her body thrashes against the mattress, overflowing with need.
"That's my girl."
With one powerful thrust, I'm seated inside her. Her wet pussy throbs and contracts around me and I have to struggle not to blow my load right then and there. I wonder if this ache inside me that only she can ease will ever lessen. Probably not. Her pussy's perfection. Like only our bodies were made to be tied together this way.
I lean down, kissing her lips, wanting to be closer, wanting every part of me to be attached to her. It's like I can't get close enough. I stay still, waiting. Once I'm confident I won't come too soon, I begin to move. Her hands are still above her head. I smile. She's obeying me, and she's about to be rewarded.
Reaching between us, I thumb her clit, trying to coax her to another strong release. I know the longer we hold back, the better it will be. That's what I want for her. For me. Fireworks. An explosion of pleasure so spectacular it rivals the Fourth of July. After a few easy strokes, I feel her pussy clench, and the throbbing in my cock increases.
Marcella's hips move, reaching toward the ceiling, asking for more. I give her every part of me as I collide our bodies together, thrusting hard and deep. My thumb on her clit picks up the pace, and her internal muscles clenching on my cock become so damn incredible, stars appear before my eyes.
"That's it, my angel. I want to feel your sweet pussy taking what it wants." I want her to come all over me. My hand, my mouth, my cock. I want to own every ounce of her pleasure and lock it away. Because I've claimed her, and it's mine.
I take her lips in a deep kiss, sliding my tongue inside her mouth as she writhes, wild in her release. I ingest every moan, swallowing her orgasm. I want to take on every single emotion she feels, every single nuance of her body, and every single breath she breathes.
When her pussy clamps down on my cock, I cry out and follow her over the cliff. I thrust into her one last time, holding myself deep as waves of pleasure cause every cell in my body to spasm. It's never been so strong, and my balls draw up tight, filling her pussy. I realize I didn't grab a condom in my haste to have her, and I don't give a shit. Marcella would look even more beautiful with her belly swollen with my baby.
I break our kiss and rest my forehead against hers as I cling to her body and cherish the afterglow. I feel spent but energized at the same time. I can't believe this is going to be my life. From where I started to where I am today is like night and day. I didn't really exist until the day I saw her on my casino floor. Marcella Castillo has turned me into a better man. The man my folks would be proud to call son, especially my dad.
Chapter Twenty-Five – Marcella
"I'm so happy that UNLV has a good occupational therapy program so I can stay here with you and Linc for college," I say, lacing my fingers through Nixon's. We're sitting at the huge island in our gourmet kitchen, talking about our favorite thing. The future.
Even though the house is in my name alone, I don't consider it mine. It's our house, the one where we'll raise our family and grow old together as we love each other right into eternity.
"I have a confession to make," he says, giving my fingers a squeeze.
"Uh oh." I give him a fake menacing look. "I'm not sure if I like the sound of that. I have enough to deal with helping Linc and preparing for school. What are you up to, Nixon Caldwell."
Nixon had a state of the art occupational therapy lab built on the bottom floor of this huge house. Now, I can help Linc every day, and when I'm done with my degree, I can work from home. Things couldn't be better.
"I bought you something. A gift."
My face floods with heat. He's got to stop buying me so much. I'm going to get spoiled and turn into a woman I no longer recognize and don't like. I'm not very good at the receiving thing yet even though I'm enjoying the journey toward learning.
I scan the room, thinking a box or package might jump out and bite me. When I can't stand it anymore, I turn toward Nixon. Then the door slams and Linc thumps into the house before I can assuage my curiosity.
"Present's here!" In spite of his braces, he's moving pretty fast and bouncing up and down on his feet, out of breath in his excitement. "Come see, Cella! You're going to love it. I just know you will!"
I follow behind my two favorite men in the entire world until I'm standing on the front stoop. Our house has a grand entrance, and there is a flight of stairs from the circular drive to the double mahogany doors, complete with gold lion's head knocker. I scan the acreage, looking for the present he's just promised me. I hope he didn't buy me a peacock yet. I wouldn't know how to care for it, and I'm so strapped for time, I wouldn't be able to give it the proper attention.
A stunning, white horse prances toward me, its long tail flagged in the air. The shiny alabaster coat resembles cultured pearls flashing in the Vegas sunlight. Its black nostrils are flared, and as it tosses its head, its long mane and forelock twirl in the breeze. A man is leading it with jet black hair and…what the fuck? Is that Wayne Newton?!
My heart sings with such joy and elation I want to break into the chorus of "Danke Schoen" in his honor.
"Are you Miss Castillo?" he asks, that thousand-watt smile lighting his handsome face. He's the best looking dude in his seventies I've ever seen. He's tan and tall, and his trademark black hair is swept back from his face. But it's his eyes that do it for me. They sparkle and flash more life than a lot of twenty-year olds that I know.
I step down to greet him, taking his outstretched hand. "Mr. Newton, it's such an honor. My mom was such a fan of yours. She's no longer with us, but she won tickets to see you at the Stardust, and she talked about it until the day she died. She was in awe of your musical talent and how you could play so many instruments."
I stop because tears threaten to overflow my eyelids. I'm not sure if it's from Wayne, the nostalgia and close feeling to my mom, or because the most stunning horse I've ever seen is pawing the ground in front of me, but the emotion overwhelms me. But this time, it's a good cry.
"Well, that's so nice to hear," he says. "The Stardust was a favorite venu
e of mine, and I had the showroom named after me. It was a sad day when it got imploded. But life moves on, and you have to move with it. If we're not growing, we're stagnating."
Ain't that the God's honest truth.
The door shuts behind me, and Nixon bounds down the front steps, taking them two at a time. He's wearing a huge smile of his own, and it looks good on him. He's so much lighter lately, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. It's been happening so much more since the war with Dante died down. For now.
I'm happy that he's happy. We're happy together. Maybe Wayne could sing a song about it. I think there's one from the sixties, years and years before either Nixon or I was born.
"Wayne," he says, shaking the legend's hand, and taking the horse from him. "Marcella, my love, I wanted you to have the best, and Wayne breeds some of the best Arabian horses in the world. This is Anja, and she's yours, my angel. Isn't she beautiful? You can ride her around the property. Wayne assures me she's gentle and perfect for a novice."
"That she is," Wayne says, handing over the reins to me. Anja nuzzles my shoulder, and I pat her velvety nose, admiring her beauty and grace.
"Welcome to the family, beautiful girl," I say, whispering the words low into her ear. She must like it because she nickers and nuzzles in even deeper. A bond is already forming between us. I love animals so much, but I've never been able to have one. Anja is my first pet, but I can't wait to get cats and dogs from the local shelter. Between Nixon, Linc, me, and our furry menagerie, we'll be a happy home full of rescues that no one ever thought would make it.
Nixon seems satisfied that his gift will be cherished and adored. "Thanks so much for the horse, Wayne. You know, we have an empty headliner arena at the Armónico just waiting to be filled. Maybe I could talk you in to doing a run at my house?"
Wayne laughs, causing those flashing eyes to sparkle even more. I'm falling in love with the man just like my mother before me. I wish Manny were here to see this, but he's fallen off the wagon again, and I told Nixon he can't help him anymore. Manny has to step into his adulthood and learn to do for himself. If we continue to save him, he'll just fall lower, and we'll be nothing but enablers.
Wayne turns to leave after we say our goodbyes, but something pops into my mind, and it won't be ignored. "Mr. Newton?"
He turns back to me, and I blush, feeling like a goofball. He must get this all the time. I start to talk but then chicken out. He gives me a gentle smile. "What is it, Miss Castillo?"
"I know it's rude of me to ask, but my mom talked about you so much and seeing you is making me feel closer to her. Could you sing a few bars of her favorite song?"
"Of course," he says with a wink. "Believe it or not, that's hardly the most unusual request I receive from fans. Now, if you asked me to strip down on your lawn, that would be another story. Which of my songs was her favorite?"
"Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast," I say, remembering how my mom used to sing it when she washed the dishes at night. Manny, Lita, and I would be playing outside, and her melodic voice would wind outside and hit my ears through the window screen.
Nixon hisses in a breath, and I turn toward him. "No way, that was my mom's favorite Wayne Newton song. She used to sing it around the house whenever she was vacuuming."
Just as Wayne bursts into the familiar chorus of the song, a monarch butterfly flits through the air and lands on Anja's back. It stills and seems to listen right along with us.
Thanks, Mom. You've brought me the ideal man. He's not perfect, but he's perfect for me. I'm so happy. Now, if you could just work on Manny, things would be good.
As the last few words of the chorus float away on the air, I press my hand to the place I'd been branded, the skin still feeling a little raw from the tattoo. Last week, I'd had the brand transformed from Dante's hateful initials to a beautiful pair of angel wings in honor of my parents.
It was fitting.
And it was time.
I might never be rid of the past, but I can be in control of my the future.
As my fingers link with Nixon's, I believe that with all of my heart.
Epilogue
"He's going to pay for this," I say, imagining the final countdown to a comeuppance that's long overdue. "The ultimate price. I want it done. See that nothing's left to chance."
"Sure, boss. I'll see to it."
"Wait," I say, holding up a finger. "Let's play with him a little bit first. Like a cat batting a mouse until it finally bites its head off. But just like a wild animal, we're not going to show any mercy, only euphoria over the kill. That would be fun, wouldn't it?"
The man standing next to me laughs, and I join in because thinking about fucking with my enemy is the best thing I've done today. I hate the man more than I hate Satan himself which is why I'm going to send him straight to the fires of hell and delight in watching him blaze into a fiery corpse.
"Start with this one," I instruct, reaching down to point at the glossy, tri-fold brochure. "It's perfect."
The man picks up the advertisement, glances at the professional photo gracing the cover and shoves it in his breast pocket as he nods his approval. I trust him. Whatever I want, whatever I ask, he'll provide it just as he has for years.
I tent my hands together and touch my nose for luck.
It won't be long now.
TIGHTWAD - SNEAK PEEK
The Caldwell Brothers - Book 2
By
Colleen Charles
Prologue
Taryn
“Your father’s never going to forgive you. You shame him this day, young lady.”
My stomach flips over. I don’t know what’s worse, his words or his expression. Like he can’t stand the sight of me. Like he doesn’t even know me.
“I–”
“You’re wearing your unmentionables in public,” he says, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “Only floozies and harlots dance in their underwear. This isn’t a performance. It’s lewd. Why, I can’t even stand the sight of you.”
“I–”
He held out a hand, stopping my words in their tracks. “I’m leaving. As soon as I’m back home, I’m calling your father. When I offered to check on you after my conference, I never thought I’d find…this.” He shook his head and mumbled, “Sin city indeed.”
“No!” The word is a breath and a prayer, but Father O’Hara just turns his back on me. He’s hard of hearing and my voice just floats away, adrift on the river of noise inside the club.
A fellow dancer puts a supportive arm around my shoulders and gives them a squeeze, but Tawny could never truly understand. She’s not from a conservative Catholic family in South Dakota. She’s a California girl through and through, and her hippie parents support her in anything she chooses to do. I barely got my parents to agree to let me attend UNLV. The only reason they finally gave in is because they’re farmers of meager means and UNLV offered a full-ride theater arts scholarship, meaning no cash out of pocket for my folks.
“He’s a crabby old man,” Tawny says, hugging me even tighter.
“He’s my parish priest,” I correct, although she wasn’t exactly wrong. “He baptized me.”
I glance at my friend, but she grimaces, and the light of understanding isn’t in her eyes. She could never realize the implications resulting from Father O’Hara tattling to my dad. The news of my shame will travel through Milton, South Dakota faster than a Colorado wildfire or a teenage game of telephone. My mom will lock herself in the bathroom to pray the rosary until her fingers are raw as Dad polishes his shotgun and shakes his meaty fist.
And I’ll be disowned.
Not that there’s much to pass down to me, and besides, I’ve never considered going back. I love it here. I love singing and dancing, and I’ve been doing it since I could walk upright and twirl. I made all my own dance costumes out of fabric I confiscated from our turn of the century attic, and that is where my other passion is… fashion. And if I need to bump and grind a little bit to
reach my goal, so be it.
I took ballet at the local YMCA, then graduated to tap, jazz, and ballet at the only qualified dance school within an hour of my family farm. And my mom, bless her heart, still drove me to classes right up until the time I could drive the beat-up Ford F150. My fellow dancers made fun of my cow-pie infested mud flaps and rusted out fenders, but none of that mattered. When I danced, I felt like I was flying. And I don’t want to stop. Even if my father, a virgin traveler, boards the next plane to Vegas, I’m not going back to my one stoplight town.
No. Way. In. Hell.
“Who cares, Taryn,” Tawny says, clucking her tongue. She’s still wearing a corset, garters, and barely-there panties, just like I am. No robe or cover-up shields her killer curves. Our burlesque show at the Mona Lisa is the top rated sexy but non-nude show in Vegas. We opened to rave reviews, and dancers from all over the world auditioned. I should be proud. I should have stood up for myself to stern Father O’Hara.
Instead, I’m mired in shame and regret over my new adult life choices. I will not cry. I will not cry. In spite of my best efforts to tamp down my emotion over a man of the cloth’s harsh upbraiding, a tear escapes my eyelids and runs down my cheek. I brush it away before Tawny can see it and comfort me even more.
I don’t want comfort right now.
All I want is to live my own life without regret or judgment.
Is that too much to ask?
Chapter One
Taryn
I pace from one end of Strict Nécessaire to the other, my heels clicking on the mauve and liver marble floor. Everything looks pristine – a rack of Alice + Olivia dresses here, rag & bone designer denim there. A mix of boutique perfection all the result of my hard work and dedication. If only my folks back on the farm could see me now. Delicate crystal chandeliers hang from the ceilings and the coats of dusty rose and ivory paint gleam with a polished sheen, free of even one speck of dust.
Buyer Beware (Caldwell Brothers Book 1) Page 17
