Straightened Out (The Pastore Crime Family Book 1)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I give her tit one more squeeze before pulling my hand away. Her eyes open wider and shamelessly rake over me.

  “How do you propose we do that?” she whispers.

  “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  My fingers work the button of my slacks and I draw the zipper down. Sliding my pants down my legs, I keep my boxer briefs on and palm my semi-hard cock. A soft whimper escapes Violet’s lips and I watch as she presses her thighs together under the clear water.

  Don’t worry, Bug, relief is coming.

  I’m gonna take good care of you.

  Tearing my eyes away from her, I move to the other end of the tub and twist the brass knobs, adjusting the water. I don’t let it run for too long because I don’t want it to overflow when I slide into the tub.

  “Good?” I ask.

  “It would be better if you were in here with me.”

  I shut the water and slip my fingers under the waistband of my briefs, dragging them down my corded thighs. Violet’s eyes zero in on my cock and she bites down on her lower lip.

  “Patience,” I grind out, kicking the briefs away. “Inch forward,” I order. She lifts her head and stares at me for a moment before pushing off the wall of the tub. Dragging her knees to her chest, she leans forward and I climb in behind her. Once I’m in, I spread my legs and pull her body between them. My cock presses against her ass as I wrap my arms around her body. One hand closes around her breast and the other presses against her flat belly. I bend my head and nudge her hair away from her shoulder with my nose, before sucking on her neck.

  “Oh,” she whispers, running her dainty hands up and down my thighs. “I like that.”

  Yeah, I do too.

  I continue to suck and nibble at her neck until there’s a deep purple marking, then I pull away slightly to admire my work.

  Mine.

  No one fucks with what is mine.

  The second that thought creeps into my head, my hold on her breast tightens and a growl sounds from the back of my throat as I slam my mouth against her neck again. She squeezes my thighs and presses her ass against my cock, urging me to continue.

  “I was starting to wonder if I’d ever have your hands on me again,” she whispers. I release her tit and lift my head from her neck. Eyeing the loofa sponge floating in front of her, I reach for it.

  “Spread your legs wider,” I demand against her ear. She does as she’s told but it isn’t enough. I want her wide open and at my mercy. Hooking one hand under her knee I draw her leg out of the water and drape it over the edge of the tub. She slips down my body but my fingers close around her hip, holding her steady. With her leg dangling over the edge of the tub I reach around her and press the loofa to her pussy.

  She moans at the touch and settles against my chest.

  “More,” she cries and I use the loofa to rub that sweet spot between her legs. Then I drag it over her pelvis, up her stomach, to the valley between her perky little tits. My fist closes around the sponge and the water spills over her skin.

  “Beautiful,” I growl.

  So fucking beautiful.

  Every curve.

  Every dip.

  All the smooth valleys.

  Mine, mine, mine.

  “You like that?” I ask as I flick the sponge over her puckered nipple.

  “I love it when you touch me,” she affirms. I let the loofa travel back down her body, caressing her. My hand slides back between her legs and I let the sponge go. I cover her cunt with the palm of my hand. The loofa surfaces and she smacks it away, staring down at the clear water, watching as my hand begins to work her.

  I drag a finger through her lips and she squeezes my knee in response.

  “More.”

  Wrapping my other hand around her middle, I pull her even closer and hold her steady as I shove two fingers inside of her. She moans and her nails dig into my thigh as my fingers pump in and out of her.

  “I’ve been dreaming of your pussy since I pulled out of you,” I growl against her ear. “So fucking tight. So fucking perfect.”

  “Oh God,” she cries, bucking against my hand. The water spills over the sides of the tub and I go harder. My cock heavy between my legs, presses against her ass and another guttural groan escapes my lips.

  I’ve seen a lot of things in my twenty-eight years, most of it bad, but right here, this…her losing control, riding the waves of pleasure, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing.

  I press my thumb against her clit. Three strokes and she starts clenching around my fingers.

  “That’s it, Bug, come for me. Ride it out.”

  She slams the back of her head against my shoulder and cries my name as I drag the orgasm out of her. When I’m sure she can’t take any more, my fingers go still inside of her and I kiss her shoulder.

  “Best bath ever,” she pants.

  I pull my fingers out of her and drag them up her body to her full lips. She inches forward and sucks them into her mouth. As her tongue swirls around my fingers, I have to agree.

  Best fucking bath ever.

  ~*~

  Violet’s ass slides over the marble surface of the vanity and her arms tighten around my neck as I pound into her. Finding her release, her legs lock around my waist and her cunt spasms around my cock.

  She’s so fucking tight.

  So fucking warm.

  It doesn’t take much more for me to lose control and before I can think better of it I let go. Her sweet pussy milks me and I fill her with my cum. When there is nothing left and she’s taken every drop, I lift my head from her shoulder and reach between us, sliding my cock out of her. My legs are weak and I sway slightly as I take a step back. I stare at her—panting, naked, her legs spread wide open. My gaze lowers to her pussy. Pink and dripping with my cum.

  Realization settles in and I lick my lips before forcing my gaze back to hers.

  “Are you on the pill?”

  She shakes her head. A sane man might’ve panicked at that, but I remain calm. Stepping between her legs, I cup her chin.

  “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful.”

  Her arms tighten around my neck and she leans her forehead against mine.

  “We both lost our heads,” she says, catching her breath. I reach around her and fist her hair, angling her head as I press my lips to hers.

  She isn’t wrong. After the bath, she took my cock so deep down her throat, her eyes filled with tears. I would’ve came right then and there but I craved her pussy. I lost it after that and lifted her onto the vanity and everything that happened next was a blur.

  I break the kiss and reach for a towel. Falling onto my knees between her legs, I press the towel to her pussy and clean her up.

  “I’ll pick up some condoms tomorrow, until then I’ll be more careful.”

  “Does that mean we’re going again?” she asks as she drapes one leg over my shoulder.

  “You’re fucking insatiable,” I growl, turning to press my lips to the inside of her thigh.

  “I can’t help it when it comes to you,” she admits, letting her leg fall from my shoulder. I stand and step between her legs, wrapping them around my waist, I lift her from the vanity.

  “I ain’t complaining,” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She winds her arms around my neck, and I carry her into my bedroom. I lay her down on the bed and climb in beside her, pulling her close. We stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, stealing kisses and touches. I ask her about the production she’s auditioning for and as she shares the details, I picture it.

  Her on the stage.

  The lights shining bright.

  The body I just worshiped creating beautiful art.

  The applause rings out, but she doesn’t see the audience.

  She just sees me.

  And I just see her.

  Whether we’re in my dark world or a packed theater she and I are all that exists.

  A little while later she falls as
leep in my arms and it doesn’t take long for me to follow suit. I wake sometime in the middle of the night to Violet’s mouth wrapped tightly around my cock and we fuck until the sun comes up.

  The mobster no one saw coming and his beautiful ballerina.

  Chapter 22

  Rocco Spinelli

  I shrug on my jacket—another custom-tailored creation, and pop open the safe in my closet. Grabbing my piece, I check the safety before tucking it into the back of my pants. I turn to the full-length mirror inside the closet and button my jacket. Smoothing a hand over the soft silk, I divert my eyes to the row of ties hanging next to the mirror.

  Fuck that.

  I pop my collar, undo the top two buttons of my dress shirt and I’m good to go.

  Stepping into the bedroom, my gaze immediately falls to the bed and I feel my lips quirk. There, tangled amidst the black satin sheets is Violet. She lays on her belly, with the sheets twisted between her legs and her bare ass in the air. I wonder if she’d mind if I sink my teeth into one of those round cheeks.

  I want to say I’ll be gentle, but there are no guarantees. My pretty ballerina may be graceful on the stage but she’s a savage in the bedroom and likes it rough.

  My dick swells at the thought and I have to press my palm against my fly to tame it. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve had her or how many ways, my dick is always rearing to go when it comes to the beauty in my bed. Until her sex was a distraction, a fleeting drug at times, but with her it’s almost like a means of survival. My body craves her like it craves water. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

  I make my way around the bed and take a seat on the edge. Reaching out, I gather her blonde hair and push it away from her face. I could get used to her being the first thing I see when I open my eyes.

  The back of my hand gently traces down the side of her cheek and I watch as she stirs slightly. Her eyes flutter open and my chest tightens.

  Yeah, I can get used to that too.

  “Good morning,” she murmurs, covering my hand with hers.

  “Morning,” I say softly, bending my head to press my lips to hers. She drops her hand from mine and winds her arms around my neck, deepening the kiss. Her tongue slides over mine, enticing a groan from the back of my throat. If Anthony Bianci wasn’t due to arrive any minute, I’d give her the best fucking morning of her life. Instead, I regretfully tear my mouth from hers.

  “I hate to leave, but I’ve got business to do.”

  “You’ve got business here too,” she teases, lifting her head off the pillow to meet my lips again. I kiss her more thoroughly than I did before, sucking and nibbling on her plump lips.

  This time when I pull away, I run my thumb over her lip.

  “I much rather stay here with you,” I assure her.

  “Then do it,” she dares. “Stay here with me and we’ll never leave this bed.”

  Now, that sounds like a fucking plan, but before I lose my head, I try a different tactic.

  “Don’t you have to get to the Academy?” I ask. A frown ticks the corners of her lips and she drops her arms from my neck.

  “Shit,” she mutters, and I chuckle softly.

  “You had a bag when I picked you up. Do you have a change of clothes in there? If not, Bruno will take you home before he drives you to the Academy.”

  “Bruno is going to drive me to school?”

  “You gonna fly there?”

  “I can take the train,” she argues.

  “Baby, there is no train that takes you from Staten Island to Manhattan.”

  “The ferry then.”

  Sexy as fuck and stubborn as hell—that’s Violet.

  Sighing, I tear myself away from her and stand. I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Bruno will drive you, just let him know if he has to make a stop beforehand.”

  “Fine,” she huffs, sitting up. She leans her back against the headboard and crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes meet mine and the annoyance fades from her irises. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before asking, “When will I see you again?”

  I don’t give my response a moment’s thought.

  “Tonight.”

  Her eyes light up and I wink at her.

  “You’re not going to disappear on me again?”

  Not this time.

  It’s my world. My fucking rules.

  I wasn’t a fan of my cousin Adrianna’s boyfriend when we were teenagers and I’m still not. If you look up the word impersonable, I bet you anything you’ll see Anthony Bianci’s mug right there. The motherfucker knows three phrases—'No’, ‘Fuck no’, and my personal favorite, ‘Get the fuck in the car and shut up’.

  He’s not president of my fan club either, so you can imagine how fun the car ride from my house to the Satan’s Knight’s clubhouse has been. I don’t understand why the fuck he’s even the one introducing me to this Parrish guy in the first place. I mean what happened to keeping Bianci out of things? Now he’s the middle-man between me and the bikers.

  What a mindfuck.

  Who knew Uncle Vic got down with the boys in leather? Not me that’s for damn sure. And this chump sitting next to me doesn’t look like he’s the type to break bread with a bunch of bikers either. Rough their bikes up—sure, yeah, I can see it. But knock back a couple of beers with them? Get the fuck out of here.

  However, according to both Bianci and Uncle Vic, this Parrish guy is gold and an ally I can’t afford to lose. With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I divert my attention out the passenger window and spot the infamous bakery, Court Pastry Shop.

  “Stop the car,” I demand.

  Bianci raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word. He also doesn’t make an attempt to veer to the curb.

  “I said stop the fucking car.”

  His knuckles whiten around the steering wheel and he drops the Escalade into park—right in the middle of fucking Court Street. A horn blares behind us, but he ignores that too. Turning his steel blue eyes on me, he clenches his jaw.

  “You walking?”

  “No, you imbecile, I’m not fucking walking. Pull the car over to the curb,” I say, matching his glare. I know he’s not intimidated by me, not in the least, but curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls in front of the bakery. I reach for the door handle and pause before climbing out of the car.

  “How many bikers are there?”

  “What?”

  I stand corrected, he’s not an imbecile, he’s a fucking moron.

  “How. Many. Bikers. Are. There?” I repeat, slowly annunciating each word. “You can use your fingers to count if it helps.”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “You’re useless,” I mutter and step out of the car. Pulling out a pair of sunglasses from my suit jacket, I fix them to my face and enter the bakery. I order two dozen cannoli and three pounds of rainbow cookies for Parrish and the bikers. Where I come from you don’t go anywhere empty-handed. I hope they have an espresso machine at this clubhouse or these cannoli will go to waste.

  With the two boxes in hand, I make my way back to the Bianci’s truck. As soon as I open the door his gaze darts to the boxes.

  “What you got there?”

  “I went with the basics—cannoli and cookies.”

  “Wait a minute,” he says, twisting to face me. “Where you going with those?”

  I stare at him for a moment unsure what to say. He can’t be this stupid—there’s no way.

  “Did you just make me stop at the bakery so you can bring Jack Parrish cannolis?” His lips quirk and my eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. I didn’t know he knew how to smile. Go figure. “Oh, this is too good,” he continues, barking out a laugh as he throws the truck into drive.

  He continues to chuckle as we pull away from the curb. In fact, he doesn’t stop until we enter the gated compound belonging to the Satan’s Knights. I ignore him and take in my surroundings. There are tires and recycled scraps of metal thrown a
ll around the lot. Two luxury buses are parked among the sea of chrome motorcycles and they sit in front of what appears to be an abandoned warehouse. There are picnic tables and a smoker that has seen better days too. All in all, this place is the fucking pits.

  Bianci parks the Escalade haphazardly next to the bikes and kills the engine.

  “C’mon fancy pants, grab your cookies and let’s get this shit over with.”

  He slides out from behind the wheel and slams the door shut behind him. I glance down at the bakery boxes sitting on my lap and start to rethink my peace offering. Maybe cannoli wasn’t the way to go here. Judging by that smoker, I would probably have more success at winning over Parrish and his posse if I stopped at the butcher and offered them a fucking cow.

  I set the boxes on top of the console and make my way out of the car. Bianci doesn’t wait for me and I find myself jogging across the parking lot to catch up. He pulls open the front door of the clubhouse and I follow him inside. I’m immediately engulfed by the scent of stale cigarette smoke and as we cross the bar area, the soles of my designer shoes stick to the floor.

  “Don’t these people know what a mop is?”

  Anthony doesn’t respond—I told you. Three phrases. That’s all he’s got.

  He leads me down a narrow hallway and that’s when I hear the rowdy bunch known as the Satan’s Knights. Bianci pauses in front of a closed door. I wait for him to knock, but he just opens it and strides through, leaving me in the fucking hallway.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite brother-in-law,” someone sing-songs from inside the room.

  “Don’t recall you marrying my sister,” Bianci grunts.

  Oh, look, more words. There’s hope.

  “Made her my Kitten, Bianci, that shit is worth more than my given name,” the other guy responds. Before Bianci can get add another word to his limited vocabulary, another voice sounds. It’s deep and menacing.

  “You’re late. Any particular reason?”

  That’s my cue.

  I straighten my shoulders and slide one hand into my pants pocket as I make my way inside the room. My gaze shoots past Bianci, to the long wooden table and the men gathered around it. Picture the last supper only the apostles are dressed in leather and instead of bread and wine, they’re passing blunts.