by Olivia Fox
He lowered himself to the ground, and dropped his hand between my breasts, tracing a tiny trail towards my now dripping pussy.
Lowering his mouth to my chest, he pulled one tingling tight nipple into his mouth. My skin became fevered with fiery desire, and I placed my hands at the back of his head, and pulled him closer, forcing him to take more of me into his mouth.
Christ that mouth of his, to say nothing of that tongue which was swirling expert rings around me in a way that made my whole body beat a rhythm that cried out to him without words, “Please, fuck me.”
Just when I thought I’d have an opportunity to find out what it was like to be taken by a real man, there was a terrible banging at the door.
“Carlos! Let us in, cugino! Time to celebrate for real.”
“Shit,” he shoved his massive hand through his hair, “My cousin. Get dressed.”
And just like that, my best laid plans to celebrate my win for real was squashed like a bug underfoot. I wouldn’t be getting lucky tonight.
Things began to look up when I rushed to fashion myself a boy again and Drago opened the door to let in some equally imposing, drop-dead devastating Italians.
Obvious relatives.
“My jockey’s gotta get home. He’s a family of his own to attend.” Carlos gripped my elbow and drug me to the parking lot and spun at me to snarl, “Meet me tomorrow at eight for breakfast at the Pinup Paradise Diner. You’ve still got some explaining to do.”
He lowered his gorilla sized body towards me and whispered a promise in my ear, that made my traitorous inner floozy shiver, “Unlike that horse you’re so fond of, you’ll find that I’m a beast not easily broken. And unlike Native Prancer, I’ll be the one riding you, not the other way around.”
6
Carlos
My dick had no conscience.
No Drago in his right mind would ever take a member of the Serrano family out to breakfast, let alone pursue her any further than sharing a morning meal.
Our family would no more look at each other as potential mates than Prancer would refuse oats for breakfast.
Recently, repairs had been made between the Jaliscos and the Dragos. We barely tolerated them as a means to increase business and our bottom line.
But that didn’t mean their daughters were dating material.
If that weren’t enough, taking Gabriela out to breakfast would give the Jaliscos’ just cause to put the hurt on me. They guarded their women almost as carefully as we did.
But try and tell that to the raging hard-on that had cursed me since she took her hair down in my office. What color was it anyway?
Chocolate? Caramel?
Something as fucking delicious as it smelled.
Her scent was the first thing to give her away, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the bottle. A blend of her sweat, induced by her hard ride, on top of pure need.
She was so adorably, obviously ready for me. It was hilarious that she didn’t think I’d notice the barely pumping hips under me on the couch when I sucked her tasty nipples, the movement stirred up the perfume of her desire which fueled my lust so that I barely managed to stop myself when my cousins arrived.
I’d chased and bedded my fair share of women in my life, some would call that an understatement. Not a single one of those females gave me the urge to tether them to me, glue them to my side, so that I’d no harm would ever come to them.
This girl, with a passion for riding a beast hell bent on breaking a record for speed, was going to kill me. Little thing like her could break her arms just trying to hold him back. To say nothing of being thrown, trampled under hooves, slammed against the railing… there was no way I could keep her out of trouble when she was headed to the finish line on that horse.
Standing by and watching it happen was not an option.
I’d tell her that her days of riding Prancer were over.
Which meant sayonara to ever sniffing that pussy, and I’d be willing bet my life on the fact that it would writhe sweetly on my tongue. Was she natural down there?
Dear God, would she be bare?
My cock fought to get out of my pants pondering that possibility.
I was a sick fuck.
Ruining my one shot at savoring her pretty cunt up close, just because I had a hopeless need to keep her out of harm’s way.
I’d better figure something out fast, or I was going to perish from a set of blue balls the size of Texas and the killer ache in my dick.
The boys had gone off to chase some tail at the Diamante, the Casino dominated by the Dragos and owned by the tribe, and dinner would be finished by now at my uncle’s house. I’d give Lorenzo a call and head on over for a serving of his sage advice.
“When did you meet this girl?” My imposing cousin stared off into the distance where his “Kitten” was spinning circles on the tire swing he’d built for her, under a tree filled with twinkle lights. The trademark glass of Scotch moved slowly toward his mammoth-sized mouth. It was a hereditary feature of Drago males; we were built big.
I wasn’t looking forward to his double take, and line of questioning when I told him the truth about how my dick was consumed with the quest to fuck a certain girl.
A girl who was totally off limits for me.
By way of avoidance, I lifted my own Scotch for a toast, “To Native Prancer.”
Lorenzo returned the gesture and said quietly, “Native Prancer.” He swiveled towards me on the porch steps and asked, “Now. You gonna answer my question and tell me why you needed to talk, or what?”
I made note of the quickest exit route to my car, heart pumping. I cut my eyes at him, “I met her today.” It was true, today was the first time finding out my jockey was a she, not a he, and worse yet, a cartel family member.
His head flinched back slightly and scratched his cheek, “And?”
Scuffing my foot on the worn, wooden stair step, I struggled to find the words to tell him. “Thing of it is. She’s Gabriela Serrano, Javier Serrano’s daughter.”
It took a lot to throw off my cousin. Guy could stare down the hungry green eyes peering from a panther's skull. So it freaked me out when he blew air out his mouth so it rattled his enormous lips and said, “So what? You trying to get us all killed thanks to your dick?”
“I told you. I just met her. My dick hasn’t come into the picture yet,” I thought about the gripping hard-on I’d sported ever since figuring out the minx was a girl, “And that’s why I came to see you. Your love affair with Jessica began very quickly. You must have known right from the beginning.”
My cousin gave a half-hearted shrug and grunted his response, “Known what?”
“That she was the one. She moved in the same day you met her.” I pleaded, realizing my life wasn’t worth a plug nickel if I ended up pissing him off. He no longer ran hits, but he was absofucking-lutely not a man you wanted to upset.
From the left, Jessica squealed as she kicked her foot off the ground propelling the tire into spinning another circle. “Her laughter,” Lorenzo wore a yearning expression on his face, “so infectious.”
“I guess that’s a yes,” I said.
“Look here. It’s one thing to fall in love with a defenseless young woman being taken advantage of…” Lorenzo’s voice raised, same as it always did whenever he remembered what he’d rescued Jessica from that day.
We all make up stories in our head. He could believe whatever he wanted about his “Kitten,” she was about as helpless as a black mamba.
“I’m not talking to you now as a member of la famiglia, Lorenzo. I came to talk to you because of the expression you’re wearing on your face right now. The one you can’t hide no matter who’s watching. That one that says she’s the apple of your eye. The moon in your stars. Whatever the hell you want to call it, I’ve never felt this way before about a woman.” My body froze on the steps, and I felt my ears turning red as a tingling sensation traveled up the back of my neck and across my face.
He s
hook his head, voicing his surprise, “Man. You really have been struck by the thunder bolt.”
I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “I told you, didn’t I?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lorenzo drag a huge mitt to his five o’clock shadow and rub at it while staring fondly at the now giggling Jessica.
I held my breath.
If he told me to back off, I’d listen. I’d have to.
A soldier had to swear loyalty until death. I’d pledged my honor to him as my Capo, and I’d sworn to protect the family.
I’d learn to forget her.
Out of respect, I kept my trap shut, but watching him slowly rub his hands together, mumbling to himself while seeking his own counsel, I wanted to rip the petals right off of the potted flower to my right.
That would mean a sure and certain death. Lorenzo loved his flowers more than he loved most people.
With a flourish, he stopped his pacing and opened his arms wide, “What’s meant to be… is.”
Huh?
Jessica’s woo woo ways were rubbing off on him.
“How do you figure?” Hope wasn’t a thing I was too familiar with, not with what I’d seen in my three and a half decades. Waiting for his blessing, I grew to know the acid taste of disappointment on my tongue, thinking he might refuse me this request.
And the threat of having her taken from me, the resulting ache in my chest and churn of my guts, that was hope. For once I’d run into something so good, it pained me to imagine it gone.
Of course I wasn’t talking about love.
Just the chance to allow my lust to run its course.
I needed to see her again. And once I had my fill, we’d part ways like civil adults.
Not as if we were on opposite sides of the competing clans we were born into, the very same ones who wanted to slice each other open and let the sin spill out onto the sidewalk under a hot and unforgiving sun.
7
Gabriela
The smell of strong coffee and singed tortillas teased me awake.
My dad could afford to have his bellinis flown in from Venice for brunch at this stage of his career, but no. He preferred to rise at dawn, make coffee in an old fashioned percolator and burn his corn tortillas to a crisp on a stovetop comal made just for that purpose, and have both with a serving of mamá’s magical beans.
No one could make them like her.
Mouth watering, I rose and strode to the kitchen in my pajamas.
We won.
A knowing grin on my lips, I felt taller than I’d ever been in my life.
“Morning, mija.”
“Buenas…” in our house we sprinkled our speech with Spanish, just enough to add flavor and spice. Like the single clove of garlic mama used to season the beans. Just enough so you knew it was there. All of us held secret spices beneath our skin.
“What are your plans for today, Gabriela?” My father asked.
I may be a legal adult, but that didn’t count for squat if you were a Serrano male. Ever since high school, when dad sent the entire police force after my ass because I’d decided to walk across the street to the arcade, instead of being in the fast-food restaurant I told him I was going to it had been like this.
He’d called said restaurant to check.
Since then, my strategy was to fully inform said padre of my whereabouts.
Thankfully, my time at the stable was accounted for. I’d ridden since I was a child and seeing my bouncy step and enthusiastic attention paid to my homework so as not to suffer restriction and be made to stay at home from the riding paddock, my father allowed me the indulgence of my passion for horses.
He knew, I was spending time at the racetrack. He just thought I was hired to condition the rides, not race them.
He would never allow that.
Nor would he be sitting here at the breakfast table with his hand over mine, staring warmly into my eyes if he knew I’d defied him.
My father, deadly as though he may be, held a soft spot in his heart for his women. Mama and me.
“I’m having breakfast later with a friend at the diner.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; Drago wasn’t a boyfriend and this wasn’t a date. We were colleagues in arms and shared a great love for the same animal.
“Then I’ll head to the stables to ride for a bit. I’ll be home for supper.”
“Okay, mija. Just be careful on the back of that beast. I don’t want any harm to come to my girl,” he said.
Suddenly the small bowl of beans in front of me held no appeal. Maybe I should just tell him? It wasn’t like he was a completely unreasonable man; he just had an overdeveloped sense of loyalty. When the Dragos allowed the Sinaloans into the Northern syndicate, he felt betrayed.
From the outside, it was a savvy business deal, bringing the families together to strengthen alliances, to say nothing of profit.
But my father didn’t forgive so easy. He felt he should have been further consulted as a current member of the syndicate.
I was born in the States, but we still called Mexico “home.” Back there, blue field after blue field of agave had been painted red with the blood of our family members, killed by the Sinaloans who clung to territory for dear life.
Uniting our factions was essential for expansion into California and was good for business, but my people carried the torch of betrayal like genetic memory. I’d listen to my father and his brothers late at night under the stars, sitting around a campfire in the backyard, retelling stories of firefights in the tequila terrain which blazed with hot lead through the bitter night. My father told the story of his father in one of such fights, who described bullets buzzing like angry hornets around his head.
If I was very quiet, they wouldn’t notice I was there and I’d remain until they got to the good parts. The tales where my grandfather’s gun tracked his Sinaloan target in the dark, sighting in on the kill, then a fresh round cored out the center of the enemy’s chest that remained upright, propped on two legs which of their own accord ran for fifty yards until they crashed in to the barbed wire fence.
So yes, I was my father’s princess. I obeyed him in all the ways that I could, without sacrificing my dreams.
The dating a Drago detail, that might take a little more explaining.
But hey, I reminded myself, this wasn’t a date, it was a business meeting.
At least, that’s what I’d tell my dad if he ever found out. We’d skip over the part about how there had been a furnace between my legs, ever since I wound up on Carlos’s couch.
My mouth watered at the sight of the turquoise diner and the thought of their chocolate chip pancakes. Maybe skipping early breakfast wasn’t the best idea, my muscles were jumpy and my hands trembled.
He probably wasn’t as handsome as I remembered. It was easy to build someone up in your fantasies, especially where hormones were involved.
The chink of dish ware being collected from the tables rang up towards where I stood at the front of the open diner, and I marveled as a tiny server whisked past, “Be right with you hon.” She winked at me, at least ten plates stacked high on her arm.
“That’ll be a table for two.”
Oh crap, his rough voiced request behind me made my nipples pucker up faster than a mouthful of sour gummies.
Without trying, I turned to greet him and breathed in his scent. His wild, male smell made me want to dive my nose into his chest and inhale him.
So much for fantasy build up. This guy was the real deal.
Don’t forget, he’s also a killer. Nothing sexy about that.
A lusty feeling of warmth stole over me, taking in the span of his shoulders which could fit two of me inside.
Jeez, clearly, I was overdue for a date with Chuck. That’s what I’d named my vibrator.
Shaking my head, I gasped and stepped back away from him, trying to gain enough distance to be out of range of his pheromones. “Congratulations, winner.” Rather than sound like a neutral greeting, it was like a hum of sat
isfaction sounding from my lips, like I was coming down off of a post-Chuck-induced orgasm.
“Your table’s ready!” I’d never been so glad about an awkward interruption in my life. The bouncy waitress stood there for a moment, drinking in the spell of Carlos which took any dry as a desert pussy and turn it into a slippery, throbbing mess in under ten seconds.
The server held our menus against her chest, and I speed walked right along with her to our corner booth. She leaned over and whispered, “Jeez, these stinking Dragos are a menace to every female past the age of ovulation.”
“Tell me about it,” I whispered back to her.
Thick porcelain mugs full to the brim of steaming coffee in front of us, Drago scooted over so that his steel column thigh seared mine. Our server had already taken our orders, and looking down to where his leg touched mine, I was shocked to see that his cock grew, straining toward the ceiling beneath the table.
I slid away on the bench seat to avoid touching him, while imagining those thighs clenched around my head while I took him in my mouth.
“Tell you about what?” he asked, but it came out like a command somehow, his voice as thick as molasses.
“Our waitress was just noting how the Drago family has its fair share of good looking men in it.” I stared at my coffee while wondering if his girth was really as wide as it appeared under his trousers.
“Is that what you think, Gabriela? Do you find me handsome?”
He picked up my hand, dragged it to his lips, and pulled one of my fingers towards his mouth to innocently kiss the tip.
I didn’t feel innocent. I felt wanton, dirty, and wanted to wrap my hands around his erection and feel him strain to fuck my palm, I wanted this man at my mercy, and that was something I’d never felt before.
My flirtation with sexual power was short lived. Alerted by the jingle of the bell, I turned my head just as Santiago, my father’s right-hand man, pushed open the front door of the diner and came to a stop at the waiting area. Just in time to see Carlos Drago kiss the back of my hand.
