Dirty Chicago
Season One
K.B. Andrews
Copyright © 2018 by K.B. Andrews
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing: Charlotte Stanley (N-D-Scribable Services)
Formatting: EZ Book Formatting
Cover: K.B. Andrews
Contents
Foreword
Episode One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Episode Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Episode Three
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Episode Four
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Sneak Peek!
Acknowledgments
Also by K.B. Andrews
Foreword
If you need trigger warnings, this story is NOT for you.
There is no epic romance within the pages.
No heros.
Only villains with dirty hands.
Read at your own sensitive risk…
Episode One
Madden
1
“The shipment is going to be late, sir,” Lorenzo, my assistant says as he brazenly saunters into my office without so much as a knock.
I spin my chair around to face him, not at all ashamed of the topless woman on my lap. “Explain,” is the only word to escape my dry lips as I push her from my body. She quickly grabs her top from the floor and covers her bare chest before rushing to my private bathroom where I’ll find her later.
I quickly pick up the crystal glass in front of me and swallow what’s left of my bourbon as I watch Enzo. He looks nervous, combing his fingers through his jet-black hair before sliding both hands into his pants pockets.
“A problem’s come up down at the docks. Our shipment is too large to come in safely with all the extra security down there. This new dealer who’s moving into town is careless — stirring up a lot of shit for anyone that runs illegals through the dock.”
“Where’s my cargo, Enzo?” my voice deepens as I ask the question. I stand nice and slow, keeping my fists balled up on the desk, supporting my weight as I look him in the eye.
“Don’t worry, it’s on the way. It just had to take a detour to get here. It’ll be in tonight. I promise.” Now, his hands aren’t in his pockets anymore. He’s got them out in front of his body, palms facing me in a placating manner. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed the messenger, but I’ve grown quite fond of Enzo. Besides, it takes too much time to break in a new assistant.
I stand up straight, no longer leaning on my desk, while pointing my finger at him. “I want my cargo tonight. Got that? Not tomorrow morning, not next fucking week. Tonight.” I begin walking around my desk.
“I’m holding you personally responsible.” I come to a stop directly in front of him. “If it’s even one minute late, you’d better run.”
With each word, I lean closer to him until we’re practically nose to nose. “Run like your meaningless, little life depends on it. Because if I see you again, I will be the last thing you see. Got it?” I take a step back and straighten his tie with a smile.
He clears his throat and nods. “Yes, sir.”
I slap his bicep like we’re old friends sharing a fond memory. “Now, go make sure the others understand as well as you do.” Rubbing my hands together while spinning around, I look toward the door my date escaped into. “I need to get back to lunch.”
Without another word, his feet shuffle across the hardwood floor behind me before the door opens and closes with his retreat.
My right hand reaches out, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it with a slight push, causing the door to slowly creak open. I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed over my chest, and I find her sitting on the marble countertop, still topless.
This pleases me to no end — she’s been sitting here, waiting on me. I can’t hold back the grin that spreads across my face. “Now, where were we?” I ask, stepping into the bathroom.
Stephanie’s big, blue eyes lock on mine, and her plump, red lips turn up into a smile as she hops down. “Right about here.” Her arms wrap around my neck as her lips move to mine.
“I’m home,” I call out as I step inside the front door, setting my briefcase by the door.
“Dinner’s ready,” my wife, Amelia, says as she steps up to me, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“You look beautiful today.” I look her up and down. It’s obvious she’s been to the salon. Her dark roots are now bleached to match the rest of her blonde hair, and her nails and makeup are fresh as well. In those tight yoga pants, she damn near looks like the eighteen-year-old girl I married.
She giggles with delight. “You know me…” she spins around to walk away but gives me a peek-a-boo look over her shoulder. “Always trying to keep you interested.” A flirty smile and a hair toss later, she’s slipping into the dining room, off to my right.
A deep chuckle leaves my lips as I begin following along behind her.
Now, I know what you’re thinking… Wasn’t he just with that Stephanie bitch?
I was. But that’s just how things work around here. Amelia very well knows what happens in my office, which is why she never — and I mean, NEVER shows up unexpected.
She couldn’t care less who I fuck as long as she’s my queen. And she is… My one and only.
The women I fuck, that’s all they are — random fucks. Only Amelia holds my heart. She’s the queen of my kingdom. She’s my iron fist. She lives and breathes her man. She’ll take on any task I give her, and she’ll completely fucking dominate.
We live together.
We fight together.
And we fuck like professional porn stars.
What more could a guy ask for?
When I step into the dining room, I find my wife completely naked, lying on the dining room table, waiting for me.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “What’s this?” I hold out my hands and motion toward the set table. “I thought dinner was served?”
Her hooded eyes meet mine. “It is. Now, eat up.”
Without having to be told twice, I loosen my tie and step toward her, willingly submitting to my queen.
I fall to my knees, wrapping my hands around her thighs and pulling her sexy, round ass to the edge of the table. The pristine, white tablecloth allows her to slide easily, right where I need her.
The second my tongue flicks against her clit her back arches and a breathy moan escapes her lips. Her long, delicate fingers thread through my dark hair, and her fist closes as she pulls it, directing my head in the direction she needs.
“Oh, Madden,” she calls out. It’s only in times like these when she uses my full name instead of just Mad for short.
Hearing my name fall from her lips in a gasp of ecstasy has me doubling my pace. I’m sucking. I’m flicking. I’m nibbling. And all in the correct combination to have her fucking quivering.
She calls out my name, over and over while her thighs clamp around my head. I can’t move because her legs are like a vice. I’
m damn near ready to pass out due to restricted blood flow from how she’s holding me so close.
Just before I lose consciousness, her moans quiet and her legs go limp. Quickly, I pull away.
“What the fuck, Amelia? Are you trying to suffocate me?” I stand up, wiping her juices off my face that’s now covered in a five o’clock shadow.
She lets out a long laugh, letting the crook of her arm rest over her eyes.
Anger causes my blood to fucking boil beneath my skin. I yank my white dress shirt open, causing the buttons to fly in all directions. Shrugging it from my shoulders, I drop it to the floor, leaning over her and grabbing her by her hair like she did me. I pull her up and look into her eyes. “Your turn, honey.”
She smiles wide and wets her lips, allowing me to pull her off the table by her hair. Once she’s standing, she drops down to her knees and looks up at me with her big, green eyes as she slowly unfastens my pants.
“Stop trying to be fucking cute and do your job.”
Wicked amusement flashes in her eyes just before she jerks my pants and boxers down my legs. Her hands land on the outside of my thighs, nails biting into the skin as she pulls me closer. My tip slides between her lips, across her tongue, and practically down her fucking throat.
My eyes roll back, and my lips part with pure fucking bliss. Nobody can suck me off the way she can. I swear, this woman, she’s a fucking gold medalist at the dick sucking Olympics.
My right hand fists into her long, blonde hair, holding her head still while I fuck her beautiful month. I pull myself out, only to bury myself deep in her throat. She never tries to stop me. She takes every fucking inch I give her without complaint.
Long before I’m ready, I’m spilling into her mouth. With one last thrust forward, I release her, and she swallows before wiping her mouth and standing in front of me.
Her lips are red and swollen from the fucking they just took. But her green eyes, they still hold so many dirty promises that I’m dying to explore.
Without warning, I reach up, wrapping my hand around her throat and pull her to me where my mouth takes from hers.
I can taste myself on her, and I fucking love it. I love that her mouth belongs to me.
Using the hand that’s wrapped around her throat, I push her away and spin her around, bending her over the dining room table as I position myself at her entrance.
“Who does this belong to?” I ask, rubbing my hard dick between her folds, pausing before sliding inside.
“You,” she calls out. “I only belong to you!”
When the last word leaves her mouth, I thrust deeply inside. “Fucking right you do.” I pull out and push back in with even more force than before. “You’re. Mine.”
2
I’m sure you’re probably confused. You’ve only had one small glimpse into my life. You don’t know who I am, or why I’m important enough to have a queen of a wife who doesn’t care that I fuck anything that moves.
Allow me to introduce myself, Madden Novelli — the richest son of a bitch in all of Chicago. And before you pass judgment, I wasn’t born into this shit either.
I was born to a woman who’d run out of options and a father who most would say was a complete fucking scumbag. But I’d say he worked hard doing what he had to do to provide.
He was a janitor at a nightclub. Slowly, bit by bit and day by day, he worked his way up the ranks — eventually going on to manage that club. He made deals with mobsters and local gangs, allowing them to use his club as a secret meeting place. He fought tooth and nail to be accepted. Again, with the same persistence, he moved up to be the top boss as most members died off or became imprisoned.
I was a curious kid — always sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. Once I saw the life of luxury my own father was leading while my mother wasn’t looking, I bribed my way in. I remember him laughing with pride shining in his nearly black eyes. He knew I had what it took to excel in this business.
I was handed small job after small job — taking care of his light work, as he called it. By the time I was eighteen, I held a higher ranking than most men in the group.
By the age of twenty, I was married to my queen, had Harper, my beautiful daughter, had killed over a dozen men, and also had fifty million in my possession between the cash, drugs, and guns.
Mentally, I laugh as I reflect. And I thought life was good then. I’ve only blossomed from there. I took that fifty mil and fucking doubled it by the next year. And now twenty years later, my assets number in the billions.
My queen, Amelia, grew up poor. Before me, she’d never known a life so nice. Now she’s decked out in priceless jewels, designer clothes, and expensive cars — not to mention the fucking mansion and staff to wait on her hand and foot. Hence, the reason she treats me like the fucking king I am.
I’m un-fucking-touchable.
And the whole goddamn city knows it.
I dress in my usual work attire, an Armani suit paired with my Bally dress shoes imported directly from Switzerland, and I make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Harper is pouring a cup of coffee. When she sees me, she spins around causing her long, dark locks to fan out with the motion. She holds out the cup. “Good morning, Daddy.” She smiles sweetly.
I take the cup she offers, sipping the bitter mixture. “Good morning, princess.” Picking up the morning paper, I have a seat at the table that’s already covered in every breakfast food imaginable.
“What are your plans for today?” I unfold the paper, my eyes already skimming over it as I grab a piece of toast and take a bite.
She pours herself a cup and comes to sit across from me. “Shopping with Beth.” She shrugs while looking over the food selection.
“I’m guessing that means you want my credit card,” I state flatly.
She can’t hold back the wide smile she flashes, but she picks up her coffee and takes a taste, trying her best to hide it. “If you don’t mind. It’s just that I have this really important date, and I’m in serious need of grooming.”
At her words, I peek over the top of my paper with my eyebrow raised. “Grooming?”
Her blue eyes go wide. “Yeah. My hair needs to be fixed, my eyebrows need to be waxed, and my nails, ugh.” She holds up her hand for me to see her chipped manicure. “I mean look at these monsters. They’re hideous.”
I let out a silent chuckle before dropping my paper and leaning over to one side to pull my wallet from my back pocket. I flip open the Italian leather and pull out my black card.
“Stick to your budget this time,” I warn.
She reaches out for the card, but I don’t let go. “Okay?”
After she agrees, I release the card and put my wallet back in place. It’s not that I don’t have the money to afford her extravagant shopping trips, because God knows I do, but I feel like she needs to start learning the value of money. And there’s no fucking way I’m bringing my princess into my business. If I had a son? Sure. My wife, she’s handled my light work on many occasions. But my daughter? No fucking way. I’ll kill any creep that so much as looks at her.
“Thank you, Daddy.” She jumps up and rushes over to me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“You’re welcome.” No sooner have the words left my lips, than she’s already running from the kitchen.
With a laugh, I shake my head as I stand and put my cup in the sink.
Amelia walks in, looking behind her at Harper rushing up the stairs. “How much did you give her this time?”
I turn and press a kiss to her cheek. “It’s nothing.”
“You spoil that girl, Mad. She’s never going to grow up,” Amelia says as she pours herself a cup of coffee. Calmly, she walks over to the breakfast table and plucks a strawberry. Slowly, she takes a bite while watching me.
“What do you expect me to do, Amelia?” I shrug my shoulders, holding my hands out at my sides with my palms facing up.
“Give her a small job. Something legal.” Sh
e points her index finger at me with that last part.
A scoff leaves my lips. “I don’t want her anywhere near my business. You want to find her something to do with her time, get her a job at that salon you’re always going to.” I quickly walk up to her and press a kiss to her lips. My hand lands on her hip, and I pull her closer.
I get lost in the kiss. It’s deep. It’s slow. And thanks to the strawberry she just ate, it’s sweet. With a sigh, I force myself to pull away before I shove everything off the breakfast table and bend her pretty ass over the glass top.
Her glossy eyes lock on mine, and they only remind me more of the acts we did last night. My dick twitches when my eyes drop down to her plump lips which provide so much dirty pleasure. Her mouth turns up into a shy smile and her eyes shine so brightly. She still takes my breath away. Even after all these years, she still looks so much like the sixteen-year-old girl I fell head over heels in love with. I can still see it now. The moment that changed my life for the better…
I walk into the casino that Dad sent me to, so I could handle some business. I’m in no fucking way old enough to walk through these doors, but people around here know who I am — they know who my dad is, so I get anything I want.
With my eyes peeled, I strut around the casino, looking for the man I’m after. I’ve already been to all his old stomping grounds, but since Dad is after him for not paying off his debt, he’s in hiding. I’ve spent a month looking for this worthless mother fucker, but every day, I turn up empty-handed. It pisses off my old man having to wait for his money, but it pisses him off even more that his legend of a son is failing. That may be harder for him to swallow than the fifty grand he’s missing.
Dirty Chicago_Season One Page 1
