by Sophia Gray
Gabe saw that she was looking at him and flashed her a reassuring smile as her father spoke again.
“My contacts in the police department went to investigate the scene. They didn't find any dead bikers. Are you positively certain you killed them?”
“Oh, definitely,” Gabe said. “Like I said, I've dealt with these types before. They're a lot more sentimental than you think. We saw them pick up the dead bodies and load them into their van before they ran off...probably so they could give them a proper burial, pour whiskey out over their graves, all that shit. But believe me, they're out of your hair for the foreseeable future.”
“Thank you, Gabe. For what you've done for me and my family tonight, I promise you will have my everlasting gratitude. Where are you now? I'll send my men to come and retrieve Margherita.”
“I'll tell you what,” Gabe said, looking at his watch. “Have your guys meet us at the corner of Basin and Iberville in one hour.”
“I will. And, again, thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” Gabe said, ending the call.
“Why an hour?” Maggie asked. “That corner is right outside.”
“Well, based on everything you've told me about your old man so far, I figured you could use a little break before having to deal with him again,” Gabe explained with a grin.
In that moment, Maggie felt her fascination with Gabe give way to utter infatuation. She'd been prepared to write him off as no different from the other men her father had set her up with, but he'd surprised her at every turn. How did he understand her needs and emotions so well? How could someone in the same line of work as her father be so generous, thoughtful, and compassionate?
As Maggie picked up her sandwich again, she realized her hands were shaking. Gabe saw them, too.
“I must still be a little keyed-up,” she admitted.
“That's totally natural after what you've been through,” Gabe said. He turned to Rodolfo. “Hey, there's a diner across the street. Sit outside, grab a cup of coffee, and shoot me a text when her people show up, okay?”
Rodolfo raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side, looking at Gabe quizzically.
“Go on, it'll be fine,” Gabe insisted.
Rodolfo sighed, shook his head, and lumbered out of the room, closing the door behind him. Maggie heard his short, heavy steps going down the hall.
“I figure it'll be easier for you to relax without him standing in the corner,” Gabe said. “Here, let me see if I can help you loosen up a bit.”
Gabe stood behind her chair and put his hands on her shoulders, kneading them. A moan escaped her lips before she even realized it was coming. His hands were so soft, yet his touch was firm and sure. He seemed to know exactly where and how she wanted to be caressed and massaged. She wondered what his hands would feel like on the rest of her body.
“Golly, that feels amazing,” Maggie said, closing her eyes and arching her neck.
“Yeah, I thought this might do the trick. Your shoulders are lovely. Very responsive.” His hand moved to the nape of her neck, squeezing it.
Maggie felt something quiver deep in her stomach in response to the sublime pressure of his fingers. She wanted him. She couldn't believe it—she'd never felt this way about a man so soon after meeting him. In fact, she couldn't remember ever feeling this way about a man at all. She'd had a few crushes in high school, and she'd lost her virginity during a casual fling when she was seventeen, before Turo and Amelia had started to act more like jailers than parents.
But this was so different. It was like someone had switched on a lamp deep inside of her, and she felt its light shining through every part of herself.
“And by the way, what's with all the 'gosh' and 'golly' stuff?” Gabe continued. “I don't think I've heard you swear once this whole evening, even when the bullets were flying.”
“My parents wouldn't let me swear either,” she said. “They said no one would want to marry a trash-mouth.”
“Well, again, I don't see your mom and dad in here with us, and I certainly don't mind, so feel free to curse a blue streak. As a matter of fact, I want to hear you do it.”
Maggie opened her eyes and craned her neck, looking up at Gabe. She could feel herself blushing. “What do you want me to say?”
“I guess we should start with the basics, right? So say 'fuck.'”
Maggie parted her lips slowly, forming the word for the first time in her life. “Fuck.”
Gabe smiled, leaning in more closely. “Again.”
She took a breath and let it out along with the word, drawing it out. “Fffffffffffuck.”
He was even closer now, his breath tickling her skin tantalizingly. There was a naughty gleam in his eye, and his lips were inches from her ear. “Say it like you mean it.”
Maggie found herself lifting her face toward his, until their lips were almost touching. She could see that he wanted her, and she knew he could see it in her eyes, too. Just a simple push forward, that's all it would take for her mouth to be on his...
“Fuck,” she breathed, and in that moment, it was a wish, a prayer, an invitation.
His fingers gently traced a line down the side of her face, and a moment later they were kissing, their tongues exploring each other. She lifted her arms, wrapping them around his body and pulling him down to her. He lowered himself to his knees next to her chair, one hand on the back of her neck as the other slid down to her left breast. She felt her nipple harden as he reached down, pushing her dress and bra aside to expose it.
Gabe pulled his lips away from hers and began to kiss the side of her neck, working his way down to her chest. He took her nipple between his teeth tenderly, flicking his tongue against it until her breath came in sharp gasps. She put a hand on the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair.
“Do you like that?” he murmured. His breath was warm against her breast, and she felt herself getting wet.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I love it.”
“Let's see how much,” he teased, putting his other hand between her thighs. Her legs pulled together reflexively for a second—she still couldn't believe she was doing this with someone she'd only met a couple of hours ago—but she willed herself to relax, opening them for him. His fingertips tickled her delicate skin, tracing dizzying patterns all the way up to her panties. He pushed past the edge of her panties, stroking the lips of her pussy until she felt like she might faint from ecstasy.
“You're really soaking down there,” he said, taunting her. His finger pressed deeper, sliding inside of her. She bit her lip, whimpering softly and sliding down in her chair.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Margherita?” Gabe asked, looking up at her. His eyes were like the night sky, dark and deep and starry.
She nodded, breathing hard.
“Then say it.”
Maggie took a deep breath. She'd never said it in her life, but she'd never wanted anything so badly in her life, either. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Again.”
Her entire body felt like it was covered in goosebumps. “I want you to fuck me, Gabe. Please, I need it, please...”
His powerful arms were wrapped around her body before she knew it, lifting her out of the chair and lowering her to the floor on her back. His hands pushed her dress up, sliding her panties down her legs. She sat up and reached for his belt, undoing it and lowering the zipper below it. Her fingers disappeared into his pants, finding his warm, hard cock and releasing it. She loved the way it felt in her hands—throbbing with desire for her.
He pushed her down again and she surrendered, feeling the hard floor under her back. She spread her legs, her pussy exposed and waiting for him.
Gabe positioned himself over her, using one hand to brace himself and the other to cradle the back of her neck. He kissed her again, and then he was inside her, so fiercely and suddenly that she cried out. Her lack of experience had kept her tight, and she could feel every inch of him as he plunged into her, until it felt like it w
ould tear her apart.
It hurt sharply, but Maggie held onto him even tighter. She couldn't bear the idea of him pulling out of her. She wanted him to open her up, to mold and reshape her until she fit him perfectly.
“Is this what you want, baby?” Gabe challenged, his eyes blazing into hers.
“Fuck me,” she hissed, digging her fingernails into his back. The words spilled from her mouth uncontrollably, until they sounded like they were coming from someone else. “Fuck me, fuck me, oh God, harder, please, harder, don't stop...”
Gabe thrust into her violently, the shaft of his cock rubbing against her clit as the tip prodded her cervix insistently. The pleasure and pain mingled into something thunderous and indescribable, and she felt the friction from the rug burning her back.
Over and over, he entered her and she met him stroke for stroke. Their moans overlapped, building to a furious crescendo, a divine symphony of lust.
“You feel so good,” Gabe purred into her ear. “I'm going to come.”
“Do it,” she begged. “I want to feel it.”
Gabe gushed inside her, filling her up. Seconds later, she climaxed with a loud cry, her pussy twitching and tightening around his cock as she wrapped her legs around him.
There were tears in her eyes, and the muscles in her body ached and spasmed—but she'd never felt happier.
Chapter 11
Brock
A few moments after Brock withdrew from Maggie and collapsed on the floor next to her, his cellphone blipped. He groaned, pulling himself up again. “Well, that was some perfect timing, huh?”
He checked the screen, and saw the text from Crack: “They're here.”
“Looks like we'd better pull ourselves together and head down there,” he said. Maggie nodded briskly, reaching for her panties and pulling them back on.
As Brock buckled his belt and zipped up his pants, he found himself trapped in the moment of crystalline clarity and reason that most men experienced in the ten or fifteen seconds immediately following an orgasm. He'd assured Robby he wouldn't fall back into his old habits and endanger the con by fucking this girl, so why had he?
He tried to tell himself it was no big deal—it was a familiar weakness of his, he'd indulged it many times before even when he shouldn't have, and most of the time, he'd managed to get away unscathed.
Well, maybe not “most of the time.” But at least half, right? Maybe even a little more?
Still, it irked him. He'd gone into this scam genuinely determined not to let his libido put him at risk. These weren't just clueless tourists or blustering businessmen they were targeting here—they were dangerous gangsters, and the punishment for blowing this score would be severe. So what made Maggie so disarming that he'd succumbed to his lust almost instantly?
For starters, he had to admit she was astonishingly beautiful. Her dark hair, her brown doe eyes, her swan-like neck and delicate frame. He'd expected her to be charmed and impressed by him during the date and the “rescue” from the Saints—that was part of the con, after all—but he hadn't expected to be so damn captivated by the sincerity and desire in her eyes when she looked at him.
Maggie smiled at him as she fixed her dress. “You're staring.”
“Sorry about that,” Brock said, returning her smile. “It's hard not to.”
“I, um, hope I wasn't too forward tonight. I mean, I never do this kind of thing, you know? Seriously, never. I don't know what came over me.”
“Adrenaline's a funny thing sometimes,” he reassured her. “No need to overthink it.”
“And earlier tonight, you said you were already distracted...”
“I guess you distracted me from my distraction,” he replied smoothly, giving her a quick kiss. The feeling of her soft lips against his was tantalizing, and he wanted to linger, but he forced himself to pull back instead. It was better to leave her wanting more. “Come on, let's go down there before they start to worry about us. Everyone's probably already on edge.”
As they left the room and headed for the elevator, she asked, “So what is going on with your father?”
“It's complicated,” Brock said, hitting the button for the lobby. “And I'm not really supposed to go around talking about it.”
“I'm not really 'supposed' to go jumping into bed with men I just met, either,” Maggie prodded with a grin.
“I don't remember a bed being involved, but you've got a point. Tell you what—I'll give you the whole story next time we see each other. Sound good?”
“And when's that going to be?” she asked as the elevator doors opened.
Before Brock could answer, a cadre of six stone-faced gangsters came forward to greet them, led by Adamo.
“He's still got you running around tonight?” Brock asked Adamo. “Jesus, I figured after everything you've been through, you'd be sitting somewhere quiet and nursing a drink or three by now.”
“Nothing is more important than ensuring Margherita is delivered to her father safely,” Adamo rasped. “Don Ricci wants me to thank you again for your quick thinking earlier, and for protecting his most prized possession.”
Brock felt Maggie stiffen next to him at being called a “possession.” He couldn't blame her. It reminded him of something from his own life, but he couldn't quite place it.
“Come along, Margherita,” Adamo said, taking her by the arm gently. “It's time to go home.”
As Adamo led her away, Maggie called to Brock over her shoulder. “Even with everything that happened, I still feel like I should thank you for a lovely evening, ha!”
Brock smiled. For a pampered rich girl, she sure had some balls on her.
“Likewise, I'm sure,” he called back.
Once Maggie and the gangsters were gone, Brock turned to Crack, who stood near the check-in desk. “So! All in all, I'd say things are going well so far. I guess we should go to The Clear View and meet up with the guys, huh?”
Crack raised his eyebrows and followed Brock out the door.
Chapter 12
Hammer
Hammer's forehead ached furiously where the paintball had hit it, and the streaks of red dye were already stiffening and cracking on his face. But he was so filled with glee that he didn't care. He hopped up onto the bar at The Clear View, pantomiming a shotgun and bellowing theatrically.
“It's time for some motherfucking payback, you worthless dago bitches! We're here for the girl, and you can't stop us! Eat buckshot! Blam! Blam!”
The room erupted with laughter except for Franny, who stoically poured out shots of whiskey for herself and the others.
“How about Brock, huh?” Cobra chortled, holding his sides. “The others are all cowering behind the car, and he's just standing tall like a badass, killing guys with each shot like he's fuckin' Dirty Harry or some shit.”
“My favorite part was Splinter's Oscar-winning performance,” Lash snorted. He clutched his chest dramatically, shrieking in a panicked falsetto. “'Oh, no! You wasted Hammer! You scoundrels! You dirty rats!'”
“'They're just too much for us, guys!'” Splinter chimed in merrily. “'We've gotta get out of here!'” He mimed hiking up a skirt and mincing away quickly, and several others followed suit.
Hammer laughed so hard he fell off the bar, tears streaming down his cheeks as they turned purple. “Stop it,” he wheezed, slapping his knee. “I can't breathe!”
“Hey, how about that Crack, huh?” Lash said. “Can you believe he switched out Adamo's gun without being noticed? Man, how does a guy that big have such fast hands?”
“Speaking of which,” Greg pointed out, “shouldn't he and Brock have made it back here by now?”
“Relax, they'll be here,” Robby assured him. “Brock is probably buying himself a drink at every bar in the French Quarter, patting himself on the back.”
“He goddamn deserves it,” Hammer said. He turned to Ben, touching his forehead and wincing. “Dude, those paint rounds sting like a sonuvabitch! You couldn't have made them any softer?�
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“They were still fired out of a damn Desert Eagle,” Ben replied, rolling his eyes. “What, did you expect them to feel like dandelion puffs? I thought you bikers were supposed to be tough. You're just lucky Brock is such a crack shot, or you could've lost an eye.”
The door opened and Brock walked in with Crack. Everyone in the bar applauded, and Hammer put two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly.
“You're finally here,” Robby exclaimed, getting up from his seat and bringing shots of whiskey to the two men. “What took you guys so long?”
Before Brock could open his mouth, Crack answered. “He fucked her.”
The room fell silent immediately.
