Rocco

by Sarah Castille

  And yet her father’s words were an irritated niggle in her mind.

  They are not good men.

  A man is defined by the lines he won’t cross.

  They will pretend to be your boyfriend, your lover, your friend …

  Her head spun, and she clung to him, savoring his taste, the illicit thrill of being wrapped around a mobster in her bedroom even after her father had warned her away, where there was nothing but the faint sound of traffic, the rumble of the bass as Miguel practiced in the living room, and the occasional thud of footsteps as Ethan got the equipment loaded for the gig. Why couldn’t she have this, have him? Why wasn’t it enough that she knew his heart and accepted who he was inside?

  “I want you.” She ground her hips against his, feeling the hard length of his erection beneath his fly. “Here, Rocco. Now.”

  She needed to feel their connection, to know she was right and Papa was wrong.

  A growl of pleasure rumbled in his chest. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips and under her skirt. “That’s a dangerous wish. I’m not in a gentle mood.”

  “I don’t want gentle.” She nipped his bottom lip and his fingers curled into her ass.

  He cupped her sex with his warm palm, and she felt an almost frantic need to connect with him and wash her father’s words away.

  “This isn’t you,” he said softly.

  No, it wasn’t her. She had never been sexually aggressive. When she’d been with Rocco, he had always taken the lead. He had been her teacher in all things and she had been a willing pupil. After she moved to Vegas and started dating other men, she’d tried asserting herself, but it didn’t give her the same kind of thrill, and she had never met a man as dominant as Rocco.

  “I’m discovering a whole new me. I’m embracing the chaos I’ve been running from all my life.”

  His lips quirked at the corners. “I’m chaos?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  With a low growl, he shoved her panties aside and slicked a finger through her wetness. His eyes darkened almost to black. “You’re wet.”

  “For you.” She rocked her hips against him, pressing into his fingers.

  “Grace…” His voice cracked on a moan, broke.

  “Please. Right now. I need you. I need to feel close to you.”

  “Fuck. I could never say no to you.” He pushed a thick finger inside her and she gasped.

  It must have been the gasp that broke him, because he crushed her mouth in a fierce kiss and pumped his finger hard and deep into her wetness.

  “Oh God. Yes.”

  “Tell me what you want, Gracie.” He added a second finger, curling them to prime the sensitive spot inside her that his piercing would stroke when he finally got around to fucking her.

  “More.” She didn’t just want his fingers or the rough way he handled her; she wanted his dirty talking, the unfiltered words that made their every encounter seem dangerous and sordid.

  “More what?” His voice was a sensual whisper in her ear. “You want more fingers in your slick pussy? You want my cock pounding into you? You want my teeth biting your nipples? You want my mouth on your hot, tight, wet cunt?”

  She moaned as his words ratcheted her arousal up one hundred degrees. No one had ever talked to her the way Rocco did. His words made her feel desired and dirty at the same time. “I want it all.”

  “Greedy girl.” He added a third finger and thrust harder, his palm rubbing against her clit, his other hand sliding under her shirt to cup her breast.

  Grace arched against him, rubbing her breast against his hand, grinding into his fingers. She felt wanton and wild and desperate for release.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re on fire, dolcezza. I could play with your body all fucking day.” He leaned in and took her mouth, his kiss fierce and passionate, his tongue sweeping every inch. Demanding. Dominating. She’d missed it. Missed him. Missed everything they had together. Six years she’d lost by running away. Now, she wanted it back.

  “Give it to me, cara mia.” His voice dropped low and husky. “I want to feel you come all over my hand. I want your juices all over my fingers.” He increased his rhythm, firmly pressing his palm over her clit with each stroke. Grace writhed in his grip, widening her legs to accommodate his hand, just as he’d taught her the first time he’d used his fingers to bring her to climax.

  “You close?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Let it go.” He pressed his palm hard against her clit, and her orgasm slammed into her, rocking her body from the inside out. Rocco swallowed her scream with a kiss, his skilled fingers drawing out her orgasm until her knees went weak. Before she had fully come down, he had pulled a condom from his pocket and freed his cock from its restraint.

  “You ready for me?”

  “Yes.” Her heart was still pounding from the rush of orgasm, but she still ached for more.

  Rocco tore away her panties like they were made of tissue. Then he curled his hands under her ass and lifted her easily, bracing her against the wall as she wrapped her legs around him.

  “Tell me you want it.” His eyes, fierce and hard, burned into her. “Use the words I like to hear.”

  “I want it, Rocco. I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. Make me yours.”

  She wanted to be his, to be anchored to the ground because the urge to run away after her father had warned her about the De Lucchis was almost overwhelming. But this time was going to be different. She believed in him, believed in herself. If it felt right between them, then nothing else mattered.

  His big hands clasped her hips, the smooth head of his cock teasing her entrance. Her breath caught in short, wild gasps and she clung to him, nails deep in his shoulders as he held her up, cool night air brushing her heated flesh. Waiting. Waiting for the anchor to come.

  “Rocco. Please.” She levered her hips up, tried to push down over the head of his cock. His hands tightened on her hips in warning, and he retreated just enough that she could feel the heat of his flesh near her entrance but nothing more.

  “Shhh. Let me enjoy you.”

  “I don’t want to be enjoyed. I want to be fucked.” This time the crude words slid easily from her lips.

  Slowly, he pushed into her, inch by thick inch, his piercing a mouth-watering erotic burn against her sensitive flesh. She shifted her weight, widened her legs to take him all in.

  He groaned, then slammed all the way in, stretching her, filling her so deep her breath caught, and yet she took him, reveled in his power and strength, felt the climax build and was determined to hold back until he could come with her.

  “Yeah, baby,” she whispered. “Fuck me hard. Give me all that hard, thick cock.”

  His strangled cry encouraged her, made her feel the strength of her femininity. She leaned down and kissed the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder and then bit down hard.

  “Jesus Christ.” Rocco pounded into her, his body taut and hard with restrained power. Faster, stronger. Her body trembled as he gently rubbed his fingertip around her clit, dipping down to her wet pussy for moisture, then stroking up again.

  Grace moaned out loud. She’d never felt so tightly connected with anyone as she did with Rocco.

  Her orgasm peaked without warning. A scream exploded out of her and she buried her face in his shoulder as she came around his cock.

  With a fierce cry, he slammed into her and joined her in climax, his cock swelling against the clenching muscles of her pussy as he pumped his seed inside her.

  “Grace?” Ethan thumped on her door. “You ready to go?”

  “Fuck,” Rocco murmured. “Perfect fucking timing.”

  “I don’t remember you swearing quite so much when we were together before,” she said as he released her.

  “There wasn’t as much shit going on that needed swearing at.” He turned to dispose of the condom and then they quickly straightened their clothes. Grace held her arms out by her sides and twirled in front of him.


  “How do I look?”

  “Like you’ve been well fucked.”

  Laughing, she ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it out, her fingers brushing over the smooth skin on her cheek. Every time she was with him, she forgot about the scar. He didn’t see her ugly, so why couldn’t she stop seeing the scar?

  SIXTEEN

  “That’s so good, baby. Keep going.”

  Mike ran his fingers through Tiffany’s silky hair as her head bobbed up and down in his lap in the alley behind the Stardust. In the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn’t have invited her to sit with him when he was supposed to be keeping watch, but when she called to see if he wanted to get together, and she was just around the corner from the damn Stardust where Mike had been sitting for the last two hours, he couldn’t resist. She’d bought his story of making extra money doing surveillance and she’d been excited to keep him company and try and guess who they were watching. So fucking cute. Every time he looked at her, he felt like he was living a dream.

  Mike moved his seat back one more notch so she didn’t hit her head on the steering wheel. His mother had always said he was thoughtful, and he’d done his best to make sure she was comfortable when she lay on his lap and tugged open his fly. He’d put his jacket over her and angled her seat down to accommodate her long, lean legs.

  Frankie wouldn’t understand, but guys like Mike didn’t usually catch the attention of girls like Tiffany. And even if he did get to hook up with them, they didn’t call him again. Or beg to spend time with him even though he was stuck in a back alley staring at a black metal door. Or give him a “little treat” in the car so he didn’t get bored. What universe was he living in that he’d found the perfect girl?

  It wasn’t like Frankie needed him, anyway. There was nothing the enforcer couldn’t handle. Yesterday, he’d sent Mike and Paolo away from the warehouse where they’d tied up the dude from the trailer park, telling them he’d handle the interrogation himself.

  Usually, Frankie would do the dirty work and the Toscani family soldiers or associates would clean up the mess and handle the disposal of the body, unless they were giving the dude a pair of concrete shoes, in which case Frankie would deal with the concrete work. Over the last few weeks, however, Mike—and Paolo because Mike had taken him under his wing—had been working almost exclusively for Frankie at the behest of Mr. Rizzoli who told them to treat Frankie with the same respect they would give any boss.

  Mike didn’t mind. Frankie had been different in the last few weeks. He didn’t scowl as much. He talked occasionally, and not just to bark out orders, and the few times Mike had seen him with Grace, he could swear he’d seen the enforcer smile. It was almost like they were Frankie’s crew, although the De Lucchis didn’t have any crew outside of themselves. Frankie even paid them, and as a result, Mike’s bank account was in the black for the first time in years. To celebrate, he’d bought something special for Tiffany—a two-week anniversary present that he could hardly wait to give her when his shift was done.

  Tiffany did a mind-blowing suck and swirl move that made his eyes close involuntarily and his body jerk back in the seat. Damn she was good. He was at once appreciative of her skill and jealous that she’d gained that experience with someone else. Maybe more than one someone else. Fuck. That was not a question he wanted to ask. He hadn’t asked her many questions about herself. He knew now that she was a nurse and she was half Italian. She lived in an apartment in Henderson with a female roommate and a Bichon Frise. She loved his muscles, the fact he owned a chain of gyms, and having lots of sex. He wanted to know more, but she always started kissing him when he asked questions and he’d finally given up, afraid to fuck up what was turning out to be the most incredible hook up of his life.

  “You like that, Mikey?” She looked up, licked her lush lips, and he almost blew right there.

  “You’re fucking amazing.” He gently pushed her head back down. “Don’t stop now.”

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered. “I’ve got another surprise.”

  Oh man. He didn’t think he could handle any more. He was right on the edge and holding back simply because he wanted it to go on forever.

  Stroking her hair, he watched her get to work. This time she cupped and squeezed his balls with one hand and pumped him with the other, her mouth working in counterpoint until he was worried he was going to come so hard he’d choke her.

  “Your eyes aren’t closed,” she said pulling away.

  “I like to watch you.”

  Her lips tipped at the corners. “Then promise you won’t take your eyes off me and I’ll take you deeper.”

  Mike wasn’t saying no to that. “I promise.”

  She opened her mouth and took him so fucking deep his fingers tightened in her hair.

  “Jesus Christ. Where did you learn to do that?” He regretted the question as soon as it dropped from his lips because she pulled out and looked up at him, her big blue eyes hazy with lust. “The same place I learned to do this.” She took him in again and …

  Holy Hell. He couldn’t even see his own dick. Or his balls. Christ her jaw must have come unhinged to fit him all in. Pleasure built up at the base of his spine and it was all too much. Her soft, thick hair. Her beautiful face. Her hands. Her mouth. Her throat. The thrill of her going down on him in the car where anyone could see them …

  Fuck. He was supposed to be watching the door.

  “Tiff…”

  She sucked harder. Fuck it all. How could he stop her now when she had worked so hard to get him off? She wanted to give him this, and it would be wrong of him to refuse. No woman had ever treated Mike so good.

  “Harder, baby.” He fisted her hair, holding her still as he pumped his cock into her mouth.

  Fucking heaven.

  SEVENTEEN

  Rocco did a quick visual sweep of the club, making sure the soldiers and associates he’d called in were still in place. Mike was out back, and he’d put two men on the front door. With both Mia and Gabrielle in the club, Rocco wanted more security, so he’d brought in another two guys to keep watch, and he marked them standing near the various exits in the club.

  Satisfied with his security arrangements, he ordered a glass of bourbon and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, realizing as he did, that he hadn’t had a smoke in days. Maybe he wasn’t addicted after all. Or maybe he’d lost the desire to prematurely end his life.

  Tucking the cigarettes back in his pocket, he checked out the club, looking for potential threats. For the most part, the crowd consisted of couples, a few groups of women, and a few single guys at the bar. There was a skinny guy hovering near the pool table, who was watching Mia, but he had no doubt she would put him in his place if he made a move. Gabrielle was in good form, although her belly kept getting in her way.

  Rocco chuckled when she missed an easy shot, but his smile faded when she put her hand on her lower back like she was in pain. He’d never spared much thought for the girlfriends and wives of the Toscani crew until he’d gone on a rescue mission with Gabrielle. She had impressed him with her skill and courage and amused him to no end with her kick-ass attitude. Still, he didn’t go out of his way to talk to the Toscani women, but tonight Grace had invited them to hear her sing, and he’d felt uncharacteristically protective. It made no sense. He wasn’t part of the Toscani crew and he wasn’t responsible for their women.

  Longing gripped him hard and it took him a full minute to realize that he’d been heading this way ever since the first day he’d walked into the Toscani crime family clubhouse. He’d done a job for Nico, and then another, and another until the jobs he accepted for Tony’s father, then the boss of the Toscani family, became fewer and fewer. When Tony’s father was whacked in the massacre that led to the current power vacuum, Rocco had cut all ties with that side of the family and made it clear he was working exclusively with Nico—save for the assignments that came directly from Cesare and Don Gamboli.

  They were family—
albeit bound by crime and not blood—the kind of family he’d thought he was going to have when Cesare had adopted him, the family he had given up wanting when he lost Grace.

  Now he’d found her, and she’d opened his eyes to the desires he’d been forced to hide away—family, in every sense of the word.

  Fuck Tony and his stupid warning. Now that the underboss was on the mend and Tony had as good as admitted Tom was with him, whether as a guest or prisoner Rocco didn’t know, and Nunzio would be sending guards to watch over Grace, he needed to turn his attention to how to break his ties with Cesare. He had accepted the situation for far too long. Grace had the strength to make a change. She had faith in him. He needed to have faith in them.

  He slid off his seat and made his way over to the pool table. The skinny guy had been joined by two cowboy types wearing belts with big buckles and brand-new boots. Rocco would have pegged them as tourists, except they were too tense. Jazz lovers were usually a laid-back bunch. Tourists even more so. They came to shoot a little stick, have a few drinks, and enjoy the music. Those two looked like they were strung up tight.

  “You okay, Gaby?”

  Gabrielle startled, her eyes going wide like he’d grown a second head, but he wasn’t surprised. He’d never made any effort to check up on her before, or Mia for that matter, but things were changing and they were going to have to keep up.

  “Um.” She shared a quizzical glance with Mia, and then shrugged. “Yeah. It’s just … um … backache. From being pregnant. It happens if I bend over too much. I just need to sit down.”

  “I’ll get you a chair.”

  “Thanks.” She looked over at Mia again and then back to him.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I’ve just … we’ve just…” She looked over at Mia again. “Never seen you in a jacket and shirt before. You look … nice.”

  “I signed the papers this morning.”