Jack of Spades: A Mafia Romance

by Rose, Renee

  He yanks my bra cups down, searching visually as he runs his thumbs inside them for a second time. “Watch your mouth, I’m still your boss. I’ll buy you another fucking dress if you’re clean.”

  “I’m clean, dammit. Where else would I hide a wire? Why didn’t you just cut off the zip-tie?”

  He catches my jaw with grim determination. At first I think he’s going to punish me for getting too mouthy, but he presses it open. “Maybe I like having you at my mercy.” He flicks his brows and I register the return of his jaunty arrogance, a fraction of humor and enjoyment. Maybe that’s what pisses me off. When he sweeps a finger inside to check my teeth, I bite down, hard.

  “Merda!” He yanks his finger back and my teeth scrape over flesh. I pop them open at the taste of blood, instantly realizing I went way too far.

  I tense, frozen like a rabbit, but Stefano doesn’t move, other than to shake out his hand. His eyes lock on mine, blazing, but not with anger. No, with dark promise. Excitement. Like he’s glad I bit him.

  A shiver races up my spine.

  “I think you must want another spanking.” His voice holds deadly calm.

  I can’t seem to move. Can’t breathe.

  I fear he’s right.

  In a flash, he whirls me around and pushes my torso over the table. He doesn’t start spanking hard like he did in the elevator, though. He just runs his hand over my bare ass cheeks and whistles.

  “Bambina, if I knew you were hiding this under your dress, I would’ve lifted your skirt for your last punishment.” He circles my ass again.

  Anticipation races over my skin, flutters in my belly.

  “You’re still wearing my handprints.” There’s a rumble of appreciation in his voice, almost a purr. “Are you sore?”

  “Yes,” I say, infusing petulance into my words. I am still sore. In fact, now that he mentions it, my butt is hot and tingling. Of course, redheads register pain more than most people.

  He rubs my ass. “Spread your legs, baby.” His voice is no more than a murmur.

  I attempt to ignore the direction, like I didn’t hear it, but he kicks my feet apart. To my utter humiliation, he starts spanking my pussy. Short, deliberate taps right over my clit. My inner thigh muscles jump and shiver as he puts a little more wrist into it.

  “Stefano,” I gasp.

  “That’s right, amore. Say my name.”

  My pussy clenches, more shivers run down my legs. He smacks one ass cheek, hard.

  “Ouch!”

  “Mmm hmm.” He slaps the other cheek, then picks up his pace, alternating one cheek then the other. The man doesn’t know the definition of a light slap. Every time his palm connects with my flesh it sends shockwaves of sensation jolting through me. Pain mingled with pleasure. It’s too much, and yet I don’t want him to stop. I’m tragically enamored with my situation. He increases the intensity and speed another notch and I cry out. “Ouch! Hey!”

  Yeah, now I want him to stop.

  Definitely.

  “You might remember the words I need to hear, bella.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I bit your finger, Stefano.”

  He stops and spins me around. “Good girl. Quick learner.” Like before, he ends the punishment with a kiss. His lips crash down on mine and he bends me backward on the table, following me down. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist and cradle his hips against mine. His cock presses hard and insistent against my panties, but he doesn’t rush. He kisses down my neck, yanks my bra down to scrape his teeth across my nipple.

  I arch into him, grind my mons against the hard bulge in his pants. He draws my nipple into his mouth, sucks it until I feel the answering tug between my legs.

  His movements are sure and confident, like he knows his way around a woman’s body, yet there’s also a crazy urgency, a passion behind every movement that carries me away. I can’t help but respond to his touch, like he’s the musician and my body’s the instrument. The music he makes with me intoxicates us both.

  He moves to the neglected nipple, sucking, biting, blowing air across it. Hot hands slide up my thighs. I think he’s going to fuck me now. This time I’m not going to refuse.

  But after he yanks my G-string down, he brings his face down to my pussy and licks into me. I cry out, my hips jacking up off the table. He holds them down and licks again, a long lick, from anus to clit.

  Jesus. I didn’t know that would feel so good. I’ve never had attention paid to my anus—never wanted attention paid there, but Stefano’s unafraid.

  He delves his tongue into my pussy, penetrating me, then shifts to suck my clit. He dips two fingers into me and curls them inside, rubbing my inner wall.

  I tear at his hair, my juices flowing so freely I’m afraid they’ll leak out of me. This is all too much and yet my body sings, glories in his touch. His thumb slides in my entrance and another finger, wet from my pussy, pushes at my anus.

  Once again, my hips fly off the table. He holds me down, re-affixing his lips to my clit, sucking the nubbin hard. He penetrates my asshole with a finger.

  I’m mortified.

  Exhilarated.

  The sensations flow through me too quickly to process. My body belongs to him. I have no choice but to surrender, to let go and let him play me, his instrument. And he does.

  Within moments, I’m orgasming—hard. When I scream, he covers my mouth with his hand, still pumping his fingers in and out of me. It’s miraculous and horrible. I’m undone.

  And when it’s over, vulnerability and a pinch of shame rush in like an ocean tide. I choke back a sob against his palm.

  * * *

  Stefano

  Oh fuck.

  I release my hand from Corey’s mouth to see her face. She turns away from me, shoving her knuckles between her teeth. She’s crying. Or trying not to.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was so sure she wanted it. Her body responded like I was its master. She never said no, never pushed me away.

  My cockstand drops to nothing. I don’t get off on rape. At all.

  I quickly pull her up to sit, tugging her panties back into place. “Cazzo, Corey.” I search her face, trying to decipher the tears. Was it just too much? Sometimes chicks cry after orgasm, especially a big one. Or did she feel forced?

  I fucking hope not.

  “Are you—” I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but she thumps me on my chest with her bound hands.

  “Stop looking at me, Stefano.”

  Relief washes over me. She’s okay. I can tell by the familiarity she uses—calling me by name, smacking my lapel. She wouldn’t do that if she were truly scared, truly felt forced. She’s raw from the orgasm and the fucked up situation, that’s all.

  I cup the back of her neck with my clean hand and pull her against me. She hits my chest with her forehead and stays there, gulping and sniffing. I stroke my thumb along the tendrils of hair at her nape until her breath slows. Then I release her. “Sit tight,” I warn, pointing a bossy finger at her. “Don’t move or I’ll spank your ass again.”

  She scowls at me, which I take as a good sign. She still has spirit. I have no interest in breaking her.

  When I come back, she’s pulled herself together. “Stefano,” she says, holding her bound wrists out to me. “Let me go. I’m not going to talk, I promise. My cousin, who’s like a sister to me, is marrying your brother. I’m practically part of the family now.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, because Nico—the stronzo—hasn’t told me he’s marrying the girl yet. I hope that means the shit with the Family is done. “That true? They getting married?”

  She bobs her head. “She texted me a picture of the ring.”

  I don’t know why, but that makes me insanely happy for the guy. Nico is one seriously intense motherfucker. He’s never attempted to make himself happy, maybe because the marriage contract with Guisseppe Pachino’s daughter’s been hanging over his head all these years.

  I crowd into her space again. It’s hard to
take her seriously when she looks like she stepped off the pages of a classy men’s magazine. The thigh-highs and heels are pretty much blowing my mind. “What does that make us, then?” I unhook her bra in the back and slide the straps down, even though I know they’ll catch on her zip-tied wrists.

  “There is no us,” she snaps, but doesn’t resist my touch. “Stefano, let me go. Please.”

  I put a finger under her chin. “I can’t,” I tell her. Won’t. “Not yet.”

  Her breath quickens, which makes her pink-tipped breasts bob with each inhale. “Why not? What are you going to do with me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Please.” Her voice rises. “You can call Nico—Mr. Tacone…” she trails off, though, uncertainty flickering over her face. Which doesn’t surprise me. I can count the number of people who are certain of what Nico will do or say on one hand.

  “I will certainly talk to Nico,” I say smoothly. “In the meantime, you’re staying here.” I tug the bra tangled around her wrists.

  “Are you going to cut that off, too?” she snaps.

  “Yes, I think I will.” I pick up the scissors. It’s not to be a dick, but because the idea of buying her new bras gets me harder than a rock. I’m going to enjoy having Corey Simonson at my mercy.

  Very much.

  She huffs as I snip the bra straps and free the fabric from her wrists.

  “Come, bella.” I take her tangled fingers and lead her toward the bedroom.

  She balks, digging her heels in and pulling against me.

  “Relax. I’m putting you to bed to sleep. It’s late and I need to get my ass back out on the floor.”

  She shakes her head. “Stefano, please. This is fucked up. Just let me go. I don’t understand why I’m your prisoner.”

  “I need to be sure of you, bella. So for now, you stay.” I nudge her toward the bathroom. “There’s the restroom. Use it if you need to, because you won’t have a chance while I’m gone.”

  Panic flares in her eyes, but she tosses her long red hair on her way to the toilet. While she’s gone, I yank the casino phone out from the wall and stow it in the closet. Using more zip-ties from my pocket, I make a chain with them, affixing the top one to the solid metal of the bed frame. When she returns, I pat the bed, hiding the zip-ties. She eyes me warily but approaches and tucks herself under the covers, presumably to hide her state of undress.

  I catch her wrists and attach the zip-tie chain to hers.

  “Hey! What the fuck?” she tugs at them.

  “Stop.” I make my voice sharp. “Take it easy, bella or this zip-tie will cut into your wrists.”

  She glares up at me. “Oh, and you care because why?”

  Because I don’t want to feel bad about the way I’m treating her. And I definitely should. She doesn’t deserve to be tied up to my bed. She’s done nothing wrong. But I’m thinking with my dick now, and there’s no way I’m letting her go. Not when I have her in such a delicious position.

  I lift her bound fingers to my lips and kiss them softly. “I don’t want to see red marks here.” I trace my finger beneath the zip-tie, testing for tightness. “If I come back and you’ve worked your skin raw, I’m going to punish you again. Capiche?”

  Her eyes fly wide, genuine fear flooding them.

  “No,” I say, guessing at her panicked thoughts. “I’m not a psychopath. Although I’d love to play sex games with you chained to my bed all fucking week. Be good”—I tap her nose—“or it can be arranged.” I head for the door.

  “Stefano!” she screams my name through clenched teeth. It’s a good sign. I like her mad. I don’t want her terrified.

  I turn and arch a brow. “Need anything? No?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. “I’ll get you a toothbrush while I’m downstairs. I’ll be back by dawn. Try to get some sleep.”

  * * *

  Corey

  I’m ready to murder Stefano Tacone myself. I can’t figure out his game. Is he really worried about me talking? Or is he a crazy sex predator who saw an opportunity to take me captive and did so?

  But no. If he was into sex crimes, he would’ve raped me on his kitchen table. And he didn’t. He didn’t even try to have sex with me. All he did was offer me pleasure.

  He’s definitely attracted to me; he’s made that plain. But I really don’t think he’s going to force himself on me tonight.

  With that thought, my confidence in making it through this situation takes an upturn. I witnessed a mafia murder, but I’m still alive. The man who captured me has not been cruel. In fact, other than keeping me captive, he was fairly attentive—offering me water, suggesting I use the bathroom. Blowing my mind with the orgasm of the century.

  Oh fuck, what am I saying? Do I seriously already have Stockholm Syndrome? Am I bonding with my captor?

  Then it hits me with a flash of cold. Is that his intent? How he’s going to be sure of me? Get me to bond to him so I won’t talk?

  No, that’s ridiculous. A man like Stefano Tacone does not rely on wooing women into silence. That’s scoffable. He uses his fists. His gun.

  And since he’s used neither on me, I can probably assume I’m fairly safe.

  I lean over the side of the bed to investigate where he attached the zip-tie. If it’s to the leg of the bed, maybe I can lift it off.

  No dice.

  It’s right to the metal frame beneath the mattress. Stefano’s good. I shudder to think he’s done this before.

  My maneuvering twists the zip-tie around my wrists and I check my skin for marks. Yep, totally left some.

  And that thought should not excite me.

  But I could really get off on Stefano Tacone’s punishments. What am I saying? I already have.

  So yeah, tempting him into another one feels like a delicious danger I’d love to play with.

  But despite my certainty I’d never sleep, I drift off.

  I dream of mafia meetings: dangerous men with guns and tempers. My dad is there. He’s the leader and he catches me spying on them. He holds me up by the hair and slaps my face like he used to when he was drinking.

  I startle awake, sweating.

  “Shh, bambina. You’re safe here.” Stefano Tacone appears in my dream, brushing my hair back from my face.

  No.

  Stefano Tacone is in the bed.

  I blink my eyes open. The early light of dawn spills through the curtains.

  “Go back to sleep, bella. It’s too early to be awake.”

  I try to turn toward his voice, but plastic bites into my wrists and I whimper.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll free you.” The mattress pitches and he climbs off. When he appears in my line of vision, he’s holding a deadly hunter’s knife. He crouches in front of me and slices the zip-tie holding my wrists. His stubble has grown overnight and weariness tugs down the corners of his eyes. “You stay in this bed, though,” he warns.

  I rub the chafed skin, rolling over to face the middle of the bed where he lies down. He takes one of my wrists and strokes the marks with his thumb.

  “Naughty, babe,” he murmurs, closing his large hand around my wrist as his eyelids close.

  I stare at his handsome face in the dark, listen as his breath slows. He smells like the casino—like scotch and money and old leather. I consider trying to slip out of his grasp, but I can’t seem to find the motivation. I might have to admit to myself that I enjoy being his captive. Leaving now would be a disappointment. Eventually, my inhales match his and I slide back into a dream. Only this time, I’m tied to Stefano’s bed.

  Chapter 3

  Stefano

  Oh, no you don’t.

  My hand closes around Corey’s wrist. She’s trying to sneak away from me.

  Her electric blue eyes meet mine. They hold no trace of fear or remorse, which makes me want to kiss her senseless. I love her confidence. Her verve. I have her half-naked in my bed and she’s not unnerved in the least.

  “I have to pee,” she says. “Did you
get me that toothbrush?” Adorable. She treats this like a fucking slumber party.

  “On the counter,” I mumble, still coming awake. I release her wrist. She tugs the sheet off the bed to cover herself as she pads to the bathroom.

  “Leave the door cracked open, amore. I need to hear what you’re doing.”

  “Fuck you, Tacone,” she calls back.

  “Still your boss,” I remind her.

  Even though she’s mouthy, she does as she’s told.

  Smart woman.

  When she comes back, she walks straight to the dresser and pulls out a drawer.

  They’re all empty. I don’t plan in staying in this guest suite, but I haven’t bothered to kick Sal out of my suite on the top floor yet. He moved in there when I left for Sicily six months ago.

  “You looking for something to wear?”

  “Yeah,” she says, turning to face me. “Where are your clothes?”

  “Come back to bed. You’ll get clothes when you earn them. Right now you have a punishment coming.”

  She has the nerve to roll her eyes and I have to suppress a grin.

  “Now, bambina.”

  She examines one wrist. “How do you know you didn’t do this putting them on?”

  I shrug. “I know. Besides, you’re getting punished no matter what.” I cup my aching balls through my boxer briefs. “If my balls are still bruised, bambina, your ass is going to be raw. That’s just casino rules. Capiche?”

  She winces, glancing at my cock, which surges to attention. “Sorry?”

  I climb off the bed. “You will be. Come here, bella.” She darts for the door and my dick grows hard because I get to lunge for her, pick her up and carry her to the bed. I toss her down in the center of it and yank the sheet away.

  She doesn’t appear particularly frightened or pissed off, which bodes well for me finally getting my cock into her. Climbing into bed last night and not claiming her was an exquisite torture. I didn’t sleep enough to dream, but if I had, I’m sure it would’ve been all about those pouty lips stretched around my length, those bright blue eyes gazing up at me.