Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  “I licked his face. I was breathless as I told him, ‘You’d better do that test on my ass again, Doctor Masterman.’ His eyes blazed. I kept a hold of his fat, throbbing cock as I turned to kneel in front of him.

  “Over my shoulder I looked back at him and squeezed on his hard cock as I said, ‘I’m ready for my injection, doctor.’

  “He slapped my ass hard. At LAST! The sting was bright and firm. He ripped my wet panties. God, yes! Finally, he was getting the idea. I slumped down to the thick rug on my elbows with my ass up, waiting. My thighs spread wider.

  “He slapped me again, harder this time. His hand came up along my furrow. My bean shook as he vibrated the base of it. He tweaked me there and slid his hot, hard cock between the soft flesh of my thighs.

  “I bit the back of my hand and his hands slid over my inner thighs, over my mound and all around my opening. He grabbed my hair as the slick bulb of his cock plugged my opening.

  “I moaned as my breath burst out of me. My breasts swelled. The front of my walls trembled with anticipation. Rivers of sensation burst through me. He stretched me wide as he drove in.

  “My body clung around the girth of his hot ridges. He drilled higher up into me. Rivers of sensation ran out from my core and rolled through my body as he drove his long, hard cock farther into me.

  “The fine cotton of his suit pants pushed against my soft ass, and the hard muscles of his thighs made my flesh roll. He bored deeper though my wet lips and he reached to rub my soaking, desperate bean.

  “My hips tilted to make him scrape harder at the front of my folds. My back arced and my fingers clawed. Every stroke was nearer, but never quite there.

  “I pushed my buttocks back into the pistons of his hips. I cried out as I beat against his rhythm. I yanked in my hair and slammed my hand on the rug.

  “His long rod cannoned through me, brimming and spilling my juices and my core. His fingers gripped my hair and his beat hardened. I managed to shout, ‘Not yet!’ widened my thighs and pushed my hips lower.

  “He grabbed my waist with both hands. I pulled my breast out and tugged on my poor, hard nipple. He was almost still as he gripped me. I heard the coarse rasp of his breath.

  “He pounded and pummeled into me, harder and higher. He shifted his angle to penetrate me lower, then wider, then deeper. Then faster. A slow rumble of volcanic waves stirred and rose inside me. His massive cock fucked me to a blasting, bursting plume of pressured release.

  “I slammed my hands on the floor, my fingers clawed the rug. He tugged my hair. I bit my arm and shouted.

  “I was still gushing as I pulled myself off him and spun back around. His startled moan and his steepled eyebrows made me pump again. I seized his hot, hard pole.

  “That fat shaft was going to do me more good than any piece of cake. I licked the tang from the thick, slick bulb. My damp breath fanned the underside.

  “The beast twitched as my nails very gently raked along upward curve of its length on, through his wiry bush, lightly up the front of his abdomen. Then, even slower, all the way back.

  “As it jerked I put out my tongue. His hot flesh tapped on my tongue. It leaped and dropped back. The anguish on his face was a treasure. My tongue flicked lightly under his balls. The, one by one I sucked them.

  “I fluttered my tongue up the length of his shaft, and I blew all the way along it. He swelled and pulsed as my nails softly scratched down his stomach.

  “My mouth was wide as I took him in between my soft, wet lips, into the moist warmth and slid him along the top of my tongue. I let my lips just touch the thick shaft.

  “I pulled him to me by his clenching buttocks.

  “When he got to the back of my throat sealed him in. I tasted his musky precum and I let him feel my hot, heaving breath. His veins sang and trilled on my tongue.

  “He gripped my hair and started to push. With the back of my hand, I swept his wrists away. Slowly I pulled back from him. I held his balls and blew on the head.

  “I peeked up at him and said, ‘I told you, Doctor Masterson, you had your chance. I’m taking this at my pace.’

  “Then I took it. I slid it into my mouth, dragging my lips around the velvety ridges. I took it into the top of my throat. Then over that ledge. He vibrated as my throat squeezed the top of his shaft.

  “As the sweet saliva gushed around him, it spilled from my lips and ran down his balls and his thighs.

  “Then, slowly, deeply, I worked him. In and out. All the way down and slowly back up. A hard, wet plunge, then a long, slow suck. Every time I paused, he stiffened and grew.

  “He gasped and groaned as I pushed my nails into the flesh of his buttocks. I sucked and pulled on the length of his hot cock, harder and deeper. And every few pumps, I paused.

  “Then he bulged in my mouth. A thick ring pulsed from the base of the hot shaft. Then another. Then he grabbed my head. And I let him.

  “His hips rocked and ground him into my wet face and he shouted as the bolts of hot, sticky love blasted the back of my throat and slathered across my tongue.

  “My lips were wet and slick as his juice overflowed around them. It dribbled onto my chin, down my neck and onto the heaving tops of my breasts.

  “I kept him sealed and suckled inside my mouth until he fountained out every last gulp of salty joy. Then I sucked and licked him off, and I wiped the jizz that was all around my face, into my lips and swallowed it down.

  “I scooped as much as I could from my neck and off my quivering breasts, but my face and hair were just a hopeless sticky mess.

  ====

  “‘I prescribe another injection tomorrow at the same time,’ I told him.

  “He frowned and said, ‘I’m the doctor. I do the prescribing.’

  I said, ‘Tomorrow, maybe. We’ll see.’”

  When Mother had finished telling me that story, she was actually panting. I told her she should be ashamed of herself. She looked at me as though I had suggested a novel flavor of vodka. “Mm.” She said, “I’ll try it. Thanks.”

  I’m not sure that it had much effect, though. Soon afterwards when she spent a few days in London attempting to sort out Lord Wimbush’s legal family cat’s cradle, she sent me the following story.

  The silky flesh of Adrian’s rippled shoulder tasted salty-sweet as it flexed in the gentle bite of my teeth. My back arched against his rolling weight on top of me, moving like an ocean current, filling my senses.

  On my neck behind my ear his breath was low and hard, like the puff of a steam engine as its pistons ram it on and on, up the hill, into the dark, waiting tunnel. My fingers clenched and I got a thrill from the bushy-tight tuft of his cropped blond hair.

  I bit his neck, tasted his glistening, golden flesh and looked down his muscular back as it rocked between my thighs. The morning light through the long, wafting white muslin drapes made the hotel suite feel like a palace in a fairy tale.

  As I locked my ankles and gripped around Adrian’s pumping back and I saw James returning from the bathroom, dark, lithe and shimmering wet. On his way back to bed James grabbed the neck of a champagne bottle.

  I gasped as James brought the neck of the frothing bottle to my shaking lips. I reached up to run my thumb over his teeth. Then my muscles vibrated and sang as I started to feel exactly the way that a princess feels, at the start of her very best moment.

  While in London, I thought it fun to pretend that I was the widow Chatterton. I didn’t call myself ‘Lady.’ That would have seemed to stuffy and too formal.

  London was somewhere I had visited with Lord Chatterton some time ago, and I remembered the city fondly. When the issue over inheritance arose, I was very glad to come in person to attend to it.

  Marston Quinn, the debonair and smooth English lawyer had said over the phone, “Well, Mrs Chatterton there’s really no need, although it’s always the greatest of pleasure to see you.”

  I booked a suite for two weeks in a gorgeous hotel that I remembered by the big park. It
was spring, the birds sang, I was going to have a wonderful visit.

  The lawyers’ smart and spacious chambers were near St James’ palace and all very gracious with a reassuringly olde worlde style and polished brass signs saying, Quinn, Holden, Farst. Mr Quinn himself was a senior partner, and he came out to greet me personally in the plush reception area.

  A tall man in a beautifully cut suit, he didn’t seem old enough to be a senior. He took my hand and bowed his head as he fluttered a kiss on my fingers.

  He said, “It’s marvelous to see you, Mrs Chatterton. I hope you don’t mind me saying that you bring a breath of spring into our fusty old offices,” and I saw the receptionist’s lips tighten.

  I thought she probably had it bad for our Mr Quinn and she may have been peeved that he hadn’t already enjoyed the spring fragrance from her fresh little self. And who would blame her?

  Marston Quinn had invited a principal from one of the major holdings to join us, and the business of our meeting was as straightforward as Marston had predicted. Still, he and I concocted an excuse for one more meeting before I returned to the States. Just for the look of the thing. Well, maybe not only that. We’d see.

  As he showed me out, Mr Quinn was positively courtly. He told me, “I’m sure you know that we are ethically prohibited from having personal relationships with clients, Mrs Chatterton. For that reason alone, I heartily wish that your legal business were elsewhere.”

  “But if it were, Marston,” I said, “then we wouldn’t have met, would we.”

  His perfect teeth gleamed as he said, “Teasy, isn’t it.” And he made a courteous little bow, exactly as the elevator ding’ed its arrival. He had given me something to think about.

  I spent the rest of the day shopping, and I finished up with afternoon tea and scones in a pretty little cafe on Piccadilly. In the evening, I was back at my hotel and relaxing at the bar.

  Next to me sat a fine young specimen of an English gentleman. Strong and well-built, with deep sapphire blue eyes and impeccable manners. He wore a red tunic with gold buttons, just like the soldiers outside Buckingham and St James’ palaces.

  I asked him, “Excuse me, but are you one of the palace guards?”

  His eyes tilted up at me. He said, “I have that honor, Miss,” and his look set something inside me rolling like a bowling ball. “Lance Corporal Adrian Balcombe-Smythe, at your service,” and he made a little bow.

  I love how they do that here. Then when I introduced myself, and corrected him about the ‘Miss,’ he lifted my fingers to his lips. I was thinking about canceling my flight home.

  I told myself, These gorgeous men are thrillingly polite and courtly. Enjoy, but it’s no more than that. Marston Quinn had been paying me compliments, but that was probably all. Brits are just brought up polite. I was sure that his was only the young guardsman’s way of being civil. No doubt he was was humoring me. They aren’t going to be interested in a mature, experienced woman, they’re just like any men. All they want is tight, fuzzy young flesh. Like their own.

  I asked him, “That uniform is bound to get you draped in girls. Are you in here hiding from the crowds?”

  His eyes flickered down to his drink, “I do get the odd one or two, but I’m never sure what to say to them.”

  “You’re probably nervous because you know what you want to say, but maybe you don’t know quite how to say it. Could it be something like that?”

  “I know what you mean, Mrs Chatterton, but I really don’t know what I want to say.” The turmoil in his sad young eyes said that he meant what he was telling me. I rested my hand gently on his to reassure him.

  As our skin made contact, a bolt like lightning shot through me. I saw Adrian’s eyes flash and I knew that he felt it, too.

  He took a moment to form his thoughts into words, “You see, Mrs Chatterton, that was a real thrill. The young girls, you know they don’t make me feel like that, they just make me feel awkward and silly.”

  My hand was still on his and I felt the pulse rise in my body. “You don’t seem awkward to me now, Adrian,” I looked into his eyes and the current in my body plunged through the bottom of my stomach.

  His voice was low and husky, “Maybe that’s because I know that you wouldn’t be interested in a young man like me, Mrs Chatterton.” The heat in my panties was rising so much, I had to let my thighs part a little.

  My breath caught in my throat and my own voice dropped an octave as I said, “Whatever makes you think that, Adrian?” As we looked into each other’s eyes, another young man in a red tunic appeared at Adrian’s side.

  With a strong voice like warm, dark syrup, the soldier said, “Not wasting off-duty time, Lance Corporal Balcombe-Smythe. Glad to see,” then to me he said, “Young officer isn’t wasting your time I trust, Miss.”

  More of that formal Brit courtesy. Was it just shallow formality? What did it matter, it certainly was pleasant.

  I told him, “The Lance Corporal and I are having a very nice time getting to know each other.”

  He introduced himself, “Permit me. Captain James Bruton, 3rd Household Palace Cavalry.” I saw that Adrian was shy in making eye-contact with the captain. A look passed between the two men.

  Adrian seemed awkward, in a way that reminded me of what he had said about being around young girls. James gave him what looked like a very engaging smile in return, and then my heart skipped when he flashed the smile to me.

  “Lance Corporal offered to show you his lance yet?” Adrian blushed, but the captain went on, “Very proud of his lance. Polishes it for hours every night, isn’t that right Lance Corporal?”

  I could see that the captain was just having fun, but Adrian was practically squirming. Captain Bronson wasn’t finished yet, “Polishes it again most mornings, don’t you, Lance Corporal?” The gleam in captain Bronson’s smile was distinctly friendly and playful, but Adrian didn’t see it as he couldn’t bring himself to look the captain in the eye.

  James said, “Well. Shan’t interrupt your evening, but if you need anything, table by the window,” and he made an endearing little bow from the waist as he withdrew. He left Adrian with a friendly pat on the shoulder, but the poor boy was shrinking into his chest.

  I thought a change of subject might help him out. I found myself saying, “The park is quite beautiful at this time of the evening, don’t you think?” and it sounded so silly, like an imitation of English polite conversation from a cheesy TV show or a movie, I couldn’t help laughing.

  Adrian sniggered, too, and his shoulders shook as the snigger swelled into a laugh. His eyes were damp as he said, “Yes, the lake shimmers in a way that is quite lovely, don’t you find?”

  We chinked glasses and, before I thought about it I had said, “The view is so much better from my suite, don’t you know.”

  “Well,” Adrian was still laughing, “Actually, no, I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.”

  “Come along then, dear boy. You simply must allow me to show it you.” And I stood. Adrian stood, too, taken up in the moment, but I saw him hesitate.

  I kept up the part, “Do come along, my good fellow, before we lose the light.” And, like that, he did. He followed me to the elevator, where our eyes smirked and we sniggered at each other until we got to the top floor.

  I stood close to him, my eyes were level with his collarbone. He was a fine young man. Inside the suite he said, “Oh,”

  It was a lovely suite. Large, airy, all white and creams and fluffy soft rugs and pillows. I hadn’t lied about the view, either. The lake in the park shimmered and sparkled in the fading evening light, and on the skyline we could see Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye.

  I could see that Adrian was taking more interest in my pink and grey silk dress than he was in the view outside. My breasts heaved as I settled him back into an armchair.

  “I don’t feel so awkward with you, Mrs Chatterton,” he said, and looking down into his lap, I could see that behind his military twill pants,
something was rising to demonstrate his point.

  I was breathless but I managed to say, “No, Adrian, you don’t, do you.” He saw where my eyes had rested and his face colored.

  “Oh, Mrs Chatterton, I’m so sorry.”

  “No you’re not, Adrian. You’re not sorry, you’re just shy.”

  “Well,” the poor boy’s voice was thickening in his throat, “I’m not experienced, Mrs Chatterton.”

  “No, I can see that, Adrian. But you’re keen, and that can make up for it.” I stood close by his chair. My heat was rising and I could smell my juices. “Adrian, being close to you is making me excited,” the boys eyes widened, “and I’m getting kind of… hot. Do you know what I mean?”