On The House (Caldwell Brothers Book 7)

by Colleen Charles

  “A new way to help people with disabilities, starting with Benelisa,” Lincoln adds. “Wow. I really admire Bravo for taking a chance on that kind of a reality show. We should celebrate.”

  “I can think of a good way to do that,” I say suggestively, using my good arm to grab him and press my lips to his. With my injury, I probably shouldn’t be lusting after those full lips of his. But I can’t stop myself. I stay firmly inside the fantasy over everything I want to do to him.

  He returns the kiss, then pulls away for a moment, concerned. As he regards me, his eyes brim with passion, making a promise he doesn’t have to voice. “Are you sure we can do this? I don’t want to hurt you or make your arm worse.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure him. Hope flares, coupled with something else. Something that feels a whole lot like love. “We’ll go slow. But I want you. Now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lincoln

  As I allow the desire to course through my body, tightening every muscle, I drop my mouth to hers, driving my tongue between her lips.

  I feel almost animalistic, as if I need to claim and possess every single part of this woman. I don’t stop to explore the implications around the fact that we never seem to make it to a bedroom. Our frantic aching for each other is too difficult to overcome so rational thought doesn’t intrude.

  With an urgency I didn’t know I possessed, I slip Chloe’s tank top over her head and slide her pajama bottoms down her legs, tossing the clothing to the coffee table. She’s naked before my hungry eyes in nothing but her thong panties, a barely-there scrap of lacy fabric that does nothing to hide her pulsing core from my gaze.

  Her pussy clenches, and I gasp for breath even as she steals it from my lungs. I remember how hard she comes under my hands, and now I want to see how fast she’ll break apart from my mouth. Tasting her consumes my every thought. I want her to arch into my lips, my tongue.

  She’s mine. To explore. To devour. To possess.

  This moment is all about her. God, I almost lost her. A shiver passes over me at the thought of my future without her in it.

  As I spear her with a gaze that I fill with every ounce of heat I possess, she worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “Linc, no one has ever…”

  “Shh…that makes me happy to hear. I’ll be the first to taste you and the last. Just let me have my wicked way with you.” With a sigh, she settles back again, snuggling into the sofa cushions. I drop to my knees on the floor, catch her hips with both hands and drag her forward. She needs to look at me. I’m eye level with her incredible body, and she can’t be embarrassed to be open in front of me. We’re partners in this life. In everything.

  Chloe shifts, but I hold her steady with my hands on her thighs. “Look at me.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes meet mine. I continue to lock gazes with her as I lower my head closer and closer to my destination, finally pressing my mouth to the apex of her thighs. Damn, she’s so hot, so wet. As I taste her, my hands massage her open thighs, delighting in every twitch and buck of her hips.

  It’s like I can’t get close enough, and I want to inhale her very essence, so I spread her open to reveal her slick opening to my eyes and mouth. A moan escapes my throat when I return my mouth to her, causing her to writhe. So, she likes the subtle vibration. I tuck that discovery away. This time, I’m less gentle and more insistent, licking her like I want to. Like I’m craving.

  Even when her back arches into my mouth, I don’t slow down. She’s close, and I want nothing more than to experience her come apart under the pressure of my tongue. I lick her opening, tasting every inch of her exposed flesh from her bottom to the top of her slit. Finding her engorged clit, I suck the little bundle of nerves into my mouth and begin to work it back and forth with my tongue. As I suck, I scrape it gently with my teeth, and Chloe lifts herself up in time to my caress.

  Her hips jerk, and she screams my name to the rafters as her climax overtakes her petite frame. “God, Linc…”

  After I stand, I spread her legs again, carefully moving between them so as not to apply pressure to her arm or shoulder. I hover over her, propping myself up with both hands and looking deep into her eyes.

  A moment later, I thrust hard and deep, saying her name on a long, low moan. Her sweet pussy tightens around me, clutching my cock as I find her deepest and most sacred places with every silken stroke. Pure joy travels the entire length of my body, spreading to find every corner inside me until I feel like I’m overflowing with the warmest, brightest sunlight I’ve ever felt.

  It’s her. My Chloe. She’s like a light that illuminates every space that previously held darkness.

  All those years I spent alone…playing the martyr while hating the hand that I’d been dealt, I never thought it could be like this.

  My body slides up and down hers, in perfect sync, and her hands move to the back of my neck to draw me even closer. I plunge into her harder, faster, letting out a series of sharp moans that seem to come from somewhere deep inside. Probably my soul.

  Her expressive eyes are frenzied with desire, and my name is on her lips as an explosive climax rips through both of us at once…like a grenade of sheer ecstasy going off between us, its shockwaves continuing to shudder through our limbs long after the suddenness of the initial blast.

  I withdraw and lie down on the floor next to the couch, so I won’t accidentally hurt her arm. She reaches down, taking my hand in hers and holding it tight.

  We stay that way for a long, long time.

  ***

  “So, let me get this straight.” Chloe leads the way as we take our seats in the massive arena. She picks her way through, trying to make sure she doesn’t bump into anyone with her injured shoulder. “Jamie and Jon are both going to photo-bomb Ariana Grande while she performs? At the same time?”

  I sigh, letting my exasperation for the unified obsession with photobombardiers.com show to everyone within hearing distance. “That seems to be their plan. Can you believe the critics are still calling her the new Mariah? Mariah retired years ago. They should get a new tagline for Ariana’s Vegas residency.”

  She wrinkles her nose, confused. It’s an adorable expression, and for a moment, I’m tempted to lean forward and kiss the tip of it right here in public. But as happy as I am with her – and as much as I’ve become a looser and more confident version of Lincoln Caldwell in social situations – I’m still not quite there yet. At this rate, though, who knows? Maybe I could be someday soon.

  You will be, Linc. Chloe inspires you to be a better man. To step outside your comfort zone.

  Chloe makes me want to become the man I was meant to be. It’s like I have a goal to work toward. Husband. Father.

  “But then who will get the points for it on the website?” she asks.

  I lift my shoulders and let them drop. “I get the impression that they’ve decided to work together from now on, rather than competing. In fact, I think their partnership has taken on a decidedly…shall we say, ‘personal’ nature.”

  A long silence as the speculation echoes through my head, then Chloe’s eyes widen. “Seriously? You mean the two of them are…?”

  I nod, smiling. “I’m pretty sure they’re boning.”

  She takes a moment to process that thought, then breaks into a wide grin. “Yay, they’re boning! That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for them. Especially Jamie. She can be so neurotic, there were plenty of times when I was sure she’d never find someone. What if Jon can fuck the neurosis right out of her? Won’t that be the end all?”

  The words tickle my funny bone probably more than they should. “It will make her a more proficient assistant, I’m sure. She had those moments where you were concerned too. God knows I felt the same way about Jon often enough. I figured if he ever got married, it’d be to his bong. If she can get him to step away from it a few days a week, we’ll all be in a much better place.”

  Chloe snorts with laughter. “So we have to get the photos f
or them, right? Without security people seeing us and assuming we’re filming the show so we can bootleg it, I mean.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “That’s the idea.”

  She reaches over and takes my hand in her warm one, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I take a moment to inhale a monumental breath. I’ve never had a woman to hold hands with in public. But now, I feel certain that I can forge a future by returning to memories of the past. My difficult past doesn’t define me. It only makes me stronger.

  She lets a beat pass as the words settle. “Good thing you’ve got a brother who’s rich and another one who’s a lawyer, then. We might need them to get us out of handcuffs when this is over.”

  My cheeks are starting to ache from the pull of my perma-grin. “Well, technically, all of my brothers are rich and so am I, but still, I take your point. Anyway, they said they’ll be photo-bombing her during the very first song, so hopefully, we can get this done before security sees us and throws us out.”

  Her lips form a perfect oval. “Ooh, you sound so fearless and self-assured. Is this the hubris that comes with single-handedly defeating Dante?”

  “Hardly ‘single-handedly,’” I remind her, giving her a peck on the cheek. “You, my dear, are a perfect partner in crime.”

  She sighs an exhale of contentment, which tugs at my heart. “Partners. I like the sound of that. And it’s kind of you to share the credit.”

  An ache settles in my chest at the thought of being part of a real couple. “I’m magnanimous that way. Everyone says so.”

  The lights flick on and off, and the last few audience members rush in to take their seats.

  “I guess we should get our cameras ready, huh?” Chloe yanks hers from her pocket, swiping to the camera app one-handed and trying to line up the best shot. I take mine out too, smiling to myself even though my hand trembles a bit.

  Here we go.

  I hope this works, or when it’s all over, I’m going to feel pretty damn stupid.

  A deep rumble emanates from the massive amps set up around the stage. Mist floats up from hidden vents, and laser lights strobe across them in bursts of primary colors, like an impending alien abduction.

  The audience starts to shriek with delight as Ariana struts onstage in a badass leather costume that looks straight out of a burlesque show, her signature ponytail swaying behind her. She still looks damn good for a woman in her forties. Sounds good too. She runs her fingers over the slick sides of her head, strikes a pose, and launches into a playful, raucous song from her latest album. The long, thick silk ribbons she uses for this part of her act lower from the ceiling, crisscrossed like a giant spider’s web.

  I glance over at Chloe’s phone screen. Any minute…

  Now.

  While Ariana sings, two figures gently lower among the acrobatic silks, until they hang right behind her. Wearing hot pink unitards, each one holds half of a custom created sign decked out in glitter and plastic jewels. When the lights hit the sign, it sparkles with the energy of a thousand stars. They stretch their arms out, putting the sign together right over Ariana’s head.

  Chloe Sanderson, Will You Marry Me?

  Chloe gasps, dropping her phone. She turns to me, her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Chloe Sanderson, you’ve turned me into a man who wants a future. Who finally feels he deserves it.” Something about the truth of my words sends a thread of happiness straight through to my very soul. “I want it all. With you. Will you marry me?”

  She lunges forward, kissing me hard and throwing her good arm around me.

  The entire arena erupts into thunderous applause. I steal a glance toward the stage – the huge screen above it shows my impromptu proposal and our kiss to seal the deal. The frame widens to reveal Nixon, Carter, Reagan, and Ford sitting behind us, clapping and giving the thumbs-up, their gorgeous wives beside them.

  My eyes sting, and I suddenly realize that tears have formed in my eyes. And for once, I don’t want to sweep them away. They represent everything that’s good in this life. Everything that’s real. Lincoln Caldwell is about to get his happy ending.

  I never thought I could experience this much joy. Not after the surgeries and treatment, not even when I knew Dante would be going to prison for the rest of his life. I didn’t think I could be so filled with love and hope that I might burst. A feeling of belonging flashes through my mind, summoned from ashes by this woman. The only one who could ever completely own my heart.

  Nixon rests his hand on my shoulder, and Chloe kisses me. And kisses me.

  And kisses me again.

  In my soul, I know she’ll never, ever stop. I lean into her warmth. Her love. Her very being. For the first time, I welcome the tears, filled with joy and hope and promise. Most of all, filled with the knowledge that I’d reached for everything and not come up empty-handed.

  Epilogue

  I lean against a gray brick wall outside the cell block, with two dozen other convicted felons waiting for their numbers to be called. The prison uniform itches like a hive of buzzing bees, and the cheap slippers they gave me to protect my feet feel like they’re made out of toilet paper. I put my hand in my pocket to palm my bootlegged cell phone. Charles is going to get his ass fired for this, but my hand comes up empty.

  No, Charles is going to laugh all the way to the bank with his paycheck in his hand. The one he no longer has to earn.

  A fresh burst of rage reverberates through my body, every single cell vibrating with an anger I’ve never known. Not even Caldwell ever pissed me off to this extreme. But Caldwell’s the reason I’m in here. Not Nixon. His retarded little brother. Who would have thought that little handicapped dipshit could bring me down?

  Well, not for long. I’ll bust out of here. My lawyers are working on my appeals as we speak. I’ll fucking buy my way out of here if I have to. Money talks and bullshit walks. But for now, my life consists of colors that don’t flatter me and toilet paper cheap shoes – no more Italian leather shoes, no more silk shirts, and tailored suits.

  That will all be waiting for me when I blow this pop stand.

  The moment I’m free of these steel bars, even for my new trial, I’ll be on a private plane so fast and home to Italy these penal workers won’t know what hit them. And when I’m home, I’ll wipe every single Caldwell from the face of the earth.

  Starting with the little cripple.

  I dream of all the ways I can kill him, but I finally settle on crushing him with his own wheelchair. Better yet, maybe I won’t kill him at all. Just paralyze him from the neck down and put him straight back where he belongs.

  It would make sense for me to be scared. But I’m not. I’ve got friends here on the inside. I’ve got people pulling strings on the outside. I’ve got enough fucking money to buy and sell every single Nevada penal code worker several times over. Nothing bad will happen to me in here.

  How could it?

  Sure, things would be better if I’d have escaped to Italy with the money the first time. Sure, I wish I’d already exterminated the entire goddamn Caldwell family like a nest of cockroaches, and that smug peg-legged bitch, and Troy and Hawk and Herb and the rest of their merry little band of motherfuckers. Sure, the thought of Caldwell and his gimpy wife hosting their own fucking TV show while I sit languishing behind bars for the distant future makes me want to strangle someone.

  Come to think of it, I’ll take out Andy fucking Cohen while I’m at it.

  These things are all beyond my immediate control, at least until I’m sprung. So why let such thoughts poison me with my own rancor? Prison is still better than ending up dead, like a lot of people in my business. Where life exists, hope exists. Plenty of my associates have stories that concluded with them living out the rest of their lives in relative comfort in places like these.

  A man can still pull strings from the pen.

  In fact, I’ll be seeing some of my associates soon. Friends. One of life’s great pleasu
res. And I have many.

  “Prisoner G-One-Eight-Seven-Two-Seven, step forward,” the guard booms.

  I step forward mildly, holding the bedding and personal effects that were given to me in exchange for my ten thousand-dollar custom Armani. Shit, my shoes probably cost more than this little asshole makes in a year.

  The guard gives me a little shove, and I bristle, but I take it. I imagine Beverly, my latest assistant, with her perfect mouth wrapped around my cock. Just like it was last night. Compliant women and decent food is what I’ll miss the most. At least until I get situated and start pulling those strings from the inside like a master puppeteer with my favorite marionette.

  “You’re in Unit M, Cell Six. Get going.”

  I nod, following the guard’s instructions.

  No, everything will be fine. Not perfect, but acceptable. That’s the thing most people don’t understand – doing time is a far different experience for men like me. I fucking own these prisons. I pay off the guards so I can mostly do what I want when I want, with no consequences. If I play my cards right, I get wine and steaks and fresh seafood and produce smuggled in from time to time, not to mention televisions, movies, stereos, computers, cell phones, and plenty of drugs to sell or trade to the other prisoners.

  If I’m horny, I can bribe a guard for a conjugal visit for a little cock sucking from Beverly. I even kept her on salary to run my office until I return. She owes me. No one walks up behind me and shivs me, or assaults me in the showers.

  I’m Dante Fucking Giovanetti.

  In here, men like me are treated like kings.

  Is it as good as freedom? No. But it will have to do, and I’m willing to make the best of it, my lust for sweet revenge fueling my every thought and deed.

  I walk into my cell and throw my bedding on the bunk. As I make up my bed, I look up and see some familiar faces, which make me smile. Philly “The Iceberg” Moretti. “Loopy” Louie LaMotta. Jackie Graziano. And others…so many other friends I haven’t seen in years. A sliver of pleasure cracks my heart open. Things are about to turn around.