Punishing Thirst : Mafia Romance (Rough Redemption Book 1)

by Olivia Fox

  She gasped and hid her face.

  The only problem with my evil plan was that it backfired.

  I meant to torment her, but just the thought of torturing those puffy little nipples of hers made me so hard when I left the bakery I could barely walk straight.

  11

  Savanna

  “Savanna, baby!” My auntie raised two flour-dusted hands to the ceiling like a Vegas performer. “So good to see you.”

  It had been two entire days since I’d last been with her.

  My mouth tugged upwards. She was in her element. There was a line of tall, dark and imposing Italian men standing three deep at the counter.

  Someone, there were a couple obvious suspects, got the word out to give her biz a bump.

  Teresa placed five tiny domes dusted with powdered sugar on a silver tray and shoved them across the counter. “Italian wedding cookies, boys. Love is in the air!”

  A round of groaning and moaning poured out across ecstatic taste buds. “Coffee refresher anyone?” My aunt held up a fresh pot and there were takers all around, huge hands dwarfing the small, steaming cups which held their life juice.

  Yup, they’d be coming back.

  And sending their wives.

  And girlfriends.

  Shoulders shivering, I tied my work apron around my waist, thinking about the bloody deeds these coffee-holding hands had committed.

  The men in suits said goodbye after filling themselves with sweets and caffeine and ordering boxes of treats to take home. Zio came inside to shake my hand and say goodbye. There was an undeniable sweetness to the man, even if he might be a stone-cold killer.

  Once the shop settled down, Teresa said, “Come to the back, Savanna. I want to show you something I found.” My aunt said.

  A shiver of guilt went through me, remembering what I had done in this very place, less than a week ago.

  I had killed a man.

  Unfathomable as it was, that Mathew was dead by my hand didn’t feel wrong.

  Extreme problems demanded extreme solutions.

  He killed Peaches.

  Pretty extreme of him.

  Tracking me to Briarville, two hundred and fifty miles from Oakland, to put me in a choke hold—also extreme. Trembling, my heart raced, nearly exploding, thinking about the pinpointed red spots I saw after his strangle hold. I could still feel how my tongue swelled up too big for my mouth from his choking.

  And now Mathew was an extreme problem that had been neutralized.

  My stomach upset, I wished I could go back and change the entire chain of events that led to his death.

  My body felt like it had gained a hundred pounds.

  Was it the guilt over taking someone’s life, or the fear of getting caught that unsettled me the most? A quick flash of heat flamed through my body, and I smoothed and re-smoothed my baking apron. What if he’d never come into mine and Kate’s pet store?

  Peaches would still be alive.

  I’d still be Kate’s business partner and roommate.

  I wouldn’t be enjoying my auntie’s company.

  A certain bossy, swarthy Italian wouldn’t be kissing me senseless and fucking me silly.

  A flash of his nipple things crossed my mind, as predicted. They were bright, cheerful things.

  Probably not as innocent as they looked.

  Dante was right, they were distracting me.

  Teresa displayed her show-girl gestures again, swept an arm across the kitchen island and said, “Ta daaaa.”

  “Yummy,” I said and approached the display of brownies, chocolates, cakes, and even a neat platter of gummy bears. “Why aren’t they in the front display case, Auntie?”

  “You don’t know what you’re looking at, do you?” She crossed her arms and strutted back and forth in front of the counter.

  “Are you selling candy now?” I asked.

  Teresa’s grin conveyed a secret knowledge, “Savanna, this line of products is going to revolutionize Piece of Cake.” Her chin pointed toward the skylight.

  “How so?” Pretty sure adding a couple kinds of candy to her bakery offerings wouldn’t change the world.

  “Because my dear, sweet girl.” She approached me and put her hand on my upper arm, “You are looking at my new line of edibles.” She said, lifting her heels and rising slightly to emphasize letters, “CBD, TBH… your wish is my command. I spent all weekend putting this together: they represent not only the key to escape reality but also a CBD-only line with all the benefits: pain relief, reduced anxiety and depression, help with cancer-related symptoms, and according to my friend Jane, great sex…”

  I scratched my cheek, unsure how I felt about my sweet auntie dealing ganja.

  Later that day, while working in the back, I heard the bell chime on the front door, and my auntie twittered and chirped like a happy sparrow.

  “Oh, Declan,” she giggled and playfully swung out her hand as if swatting him away, even though she was giving off signals like she’d like him to come a lot closer.

  “Are you going to let me sample your wares, Teresa, or do I have to beg?” Her visitor said in a low-pitched voice.

  I had to admit his chiseled perfection made him look like a storybook, silver fox prince minus only the crown. His tight T-shirt stretched across admirable pecs, which popped out proudly even when he stood at ease. His dark brown eyes had a gleaming sparkle at their very center which stared intently at my aunt, and his mustache topped mouth smiled at her in a crooked, confident grin.

  A grin that said he was used to getting what he wanted from the ladies.

  Teresa’s sumptuous treats were awaiting Declan’s inspection.

  He stopped short in front of me, holding his hand out, “Declan Powers... and you are?”

  “Savanna López. I’m Teresa’s niece.”

  “A family venture.” His crooked grin grew wider still and accentuated a dimple on his left cheek. The charming feature left me completely cold. “Even better. They’re too few and far between these days.”

  Teresa started her sales pitch. “Even though weed edibles run the gamut, cookies and brownies are the obvious classics. I’ve got a direct source to acquire the product, which means I can offer these to you at a very competitive price.”

  Declan rested his chin on his hand and nodded. “You’ve got an amazing array of goods, Teresa, the question is, are you going to keep up with the orders I can place for you? I can be very demanding.”

  Three sharp raps on the back door interrupted Declan’s discourse. I pulled back the flower print curtain to see who it was, “Dante!” I cried out, unlocking the door so he could come in. “I wasn’t expecting you until after five.”

  He lowered his voice and said so no one could hear, “I couldn’t wait. Let me take you out to lunch.” His head snapped over to Declan, nostrils flaring.

  He strode across the room and extended his hand. “Dante Drago.”

  The two men shook hands, sizing each other up.

  “You are?” It came out of Dante’s mouth like an accusation, not a question.

  “Declan Cabot,” he said, apparently unaffected by the fact that Dante was going into crouching tiger mode. “I’m here checking out Teresa’s newest delicacies.” He gestured towards the island.

  “Well, I’m here to take Savanna out to lunch,” he said, and pulled me to him, kissing the tops of my knuckles, marking his territory.

  “Mm, those brownies look delicious, Teresa. May I?” Dante asked. He stretched his chorded forearm towards the dessert table.”

  “No!” Teresa and I exclaimed in concert.

  He held his palms up and spoke to us. “Okay, okay. Sheez, just one little brownie before lunch.”

  “Those are edibles, Dante. Auntie is thinking of creating a new baking line. If you eat a whole brownie, you’ll be completely loopy.”

  “Huh,” he said, taking a step backward and pursing his naturally pouting lips. “Let’s go, then. Okay, if I keep her an hour and a half, Teresa?” />
  “You two go have fun. Declan and I have negotiating to do.” She bobbed her eyebrows up and down.

  I ducked back into the shop for a sweater after stepping out to the parking lot; the spring chill cut to the bone.

  Aunt Teresa pulled me aside and whispered, “You can’t blame Dante for being jealous, honey. Shoot, Declan’s young enough so that I could have birthed him myself, and I’m halfway to pregnant just looking at him.” She put a hand over her heart, “You two lovebirds take as long as you want for lunch, I’ll be just fine.”

  We were quite the pair, Dante and I. Each one of us had trust issues stacked high as the ceiling.

  Trusting the good in people was naïve and dangerous, as I’d found out with Mathew.

  So, I’d take my chance on this bad boy instead, and hope he had an honorable heart.

  Even though doing so meant I risked breaking mine own beyond repair.

  12

  Dante

  “Relationships are about trust, Dante. If you have to play private investigator, then it’s time to move on.” My sister’s voice came through the car phone on my way to pick up Savanna from work. Easy for her to say. She and her husband were happily married since right after high school and lived with their kid six hours south in Monterey County.

  “I’m not siccing a detective on her, Jacqueline. I’m keeping her safe,” I said, tapping a defensive beat on the steering wheel with my fingers. “There’s a difference.”

  The only way I’d rest easy was knowing Savanna had a security detail on her when I wasn’t with her. After a day of letting her go off to work without protection, I knew that.

  “Alright, little brother. Whatever you say. I’m just warning you, she might not think you’re doing her any favors assigning bodyguards on her.”

  “It’s for her own good,” I replied.

  My voice was harsher than I liked, and I could tell missing my morning workout had messed with my head.

  “Well. She’s your fiancée. I suppose you know her better than anyone,” Jacqueline said. “And congratulations, Dante. I’m so happy you’ve found someone to love again.”

  I hung up with my sister and drove the rest of the way to Piece of Cake, my dick aching at the thought of seeing Savanna again, even though it had only been since lunch time.

  My sister had no idea how very little I really knew about Savanna, nor that our engagement was a total sham. What was genuine was the way she drew me to her, and how my overwhelming need for her blotted out all reason.

  This evening, I’d tattoo my ownership on her brain by having her submit to me in a way that she had with no other man. And I’d make sure she liked it.

  I hated the fact that Lilly’s death made me available to meet Savanna and sometimes wondered if I was being disloyal.

  The sick fucking question I had to ask myself was if I could bring her back from the grave, what would I do?

  Something told me I’d stay with Savanna, and that realization made my chest tighten so that I had to pull at my collar to breathe.

  Lilly wasn’t a submissive.

  She let me know that in no uncertain terms, and I was willing to sacrifice that aspect of my life if it meant being with her forever.

  A tremor of unease rippled up my torso.

  Forgive me, Lilly, for I have sinned.

  God help me, but now that I’d had Savanna, I simply couldn’t stop.

  I rapped on the back door of the bakery before going in and the smells were insane. Savanna cleaned the glass display cases, while her aunt wrote up a list of tomorrow’s featured treats on a chalkboard sign.

  A cocoon of distinctly female activity filled the room, and I basked in it. Teresa greeted me kindly, “Hey Dante. How was work?”

  Almost as if all of this were really happening.

  Savanna.

  Me.

  Our families braiding themselves into an inextricable tangle of laughter, tears, and the inevitable heartache wrought by time.

  And let’s face it, bloodshed.

  Much as I wanted to avoid it, if I pulled Savanna into my world, she’d witness violence. If only on the periphery, women and children eventually came into contact with brutality when doing business meant taking revenge.

  It always came to that.

  Despite the risk in making Savanna a part of my family, I stood in the bakery and played pretend. In my head, I made as if instead of a temporary, fake engagement, Savanna wanted me as her actual husband.

  I imagined having her, as a young boy fantasizes about that remote control car for Christmas—the one his parents could never afford. Driving it, being the talk of the neighborhood—in that same way, I imagined Savanna as my real-life wife.

  The wife I couldn’t have, or at least didn’t deserve.

  Later that evening, after we stacked the leftovers of roast chicken and potatoes in glass containers in the fridge, and dishes whirred along in the machine, I grabbed Savanna’s hand in mine and took her towards the meeting room.

  Fucking finally.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  I pulled her with me quickly down the hallway.

  Damn right I was in a hurry.

  “Hey.” She flinched her wrist out of my grasp and I backed her against the wall, dipping my mouth to her lips, which were slightly open in their indignation.

  I swept my tongue across hers, chasing it and wrestling with it when she kissed me back. I lowered my hands to her hips and pulled them to me, pressing my erection against her belly so that her eyes flew open.

  “You can’t just yank me around like a little red wagon, you know,” she said, hands on her hips.

  That sassy attitude of hers was going to get her spanked.

  “And why not? I’m going to play with you and fill you up with my stuff just like a little red wagon.” I locked eyes with her and shoved my body up against hers so she was sandwiched between me and the wall.

  “Please,” she said. “That’s the worst sex analogy I’ve ever heard.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I lowered myself to her mouth again. “Analogy this.” I dipped my shoulder and lifted her up like a sack of potatoes, reveling in her slaps when she swatted my ass. Every rounded, curved, soft and squishy part of her jiggled against me.

  “Dante!”

  “You’d best pick a safe word, sweet cheeks. Something you’ll say if you want me to slow my roll when I’m playing with you.”

  There was silence as I proceeded down the hall, into the library, passed the navy velvet couch, and strode over to the meeting room wall.

  “Well, what is it? What’s you’re safe word?”

  “Little Red Wagon.”

  “I like it. So, any time you want me to stop what I’m doing in the meeting room, all you have to say is, ‘little red wagon.’”

  “Agreed. And what’s your safe word?”

  I shuffled back a step. “My safe word?” I asked. “Why do I need a safe word?”

  I set her down in front of the meeting room door, and her eyes sparkled like polished sapphires under the light.

  She picked up the vase to open the chamber and asked, “What if I do something to you, and you can’t handle it? You need a safe word too, right?”

  I raised my eyebrows, deliberating. “My safe word will be Signora Drago.” I picked her up so her legs wrapped around me and let her slide towards the ground until the spot between her legs rested against the ridge of my cock.

  “Funny,” she said.

  “You think so? Trust me, Savanna. It’s no joke.”

  She barely argued when I stripped her, had her climb up on the wooden spanking bench, and wrapped restraints around her wrists and ankles.

  “I can’t move.” She fussed.

  “Exactly the point. You’re at my disposal.” I watched as she wriggled back and forth, positioning all of her lovely curves comfortably beneath her. “Do you like it? Being at my disposal, I mean.”

  “I mean, I have a feeling that I shouldn’t—but I’d
be lying if I said I didn’t. It’s exciting, and a little scary.”

  “Perfect.” My fingers yearned to explore her. “I promise I’ll do nothing you don’t want me to, all you have to say is your safe word and I’ll stop.” I ran my hand up her satiny inner thigh. “But I will take you to your fucking limits and make you beg, baby girl.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She remembered, and it was as if she had placed a kiss on the tip of my cock with those sweet lips of hers; precum wet my boxers, and I was so hard it hurt.

  “Are you going to be brave for me?”

  “Just what are you planning to do?” she asked.

  “Good things come to those who wait,” I replied and ran my rough hands over the silky-smooth surface of her back. “It’s your job to please me. It’s my duty to help you trust me.”

  She shifted her hips on the pedestal, and her tongue darted out to lick at her pink lips.

  I palmed her broad bottom and slowly slipped my fingers between her legs to assess her response.

  She was wet, warm and perfect.

  “Let’s see what a good girl you can be for your dom, shall we?” My words came out like a groan.

  Her only other spanking from me was a temptation. This was the real deal; an exchange of passion which illuminated the darkest fragments of each other’s soul. “I’ll teach you to obey my every command. Remember these?” I held up two colorful nipple suckers.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Has any man used them on you before?” I asked, my breath coarse and my stomach hard like rock.

  “No, never. But sometimes…”

  “Sometimes what?” I give her ass a light slap to help her focus.

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “Sometimes when I touch myself, I twist my nipples hard to help me come faster. So, I think I might like it.”

  She gave a breathy little moan when I palmed the breast closest to me, the nipple already pert and stiff at the tip. Her flesh there was cool, creamy white, and my dick swelled imagining marking her there with sucking kisses from my mouth.