He gripped her waistband, tore it down, the tight pants scoring her flesh and making her jiggle. His bad girl without her panties. He bent and kissed her, kissed her soft heat, felt those soft twists of flesh pulse and engorge in his mouth. Pushed her knees up to her chest, her little legs kicking as he resumed his suckling of her feminine flesh, licking and biting at that pink part of her that he cherished. She was breathing heavily now, almost panting, her feet dangled loosely above his head. Couldn’t take it anymore, took the pants where they bunched at her knees and whisked them down, turned them inside out and threw them off the bed. Her hands attacked his buckle, delicate fingers working the roller and pin and swooping the leather out with a fervor-focused skill. He watched dumbly, eager as she was to see his enormous arousal revealed. Shook his head, peeled his shirt off and when he had his head free her mouth was on him. Like hot wet velvet she sucked the glans and he held her head while she pleasured him. He sank back slowly, his knees bent awkwardly. Daniella had a power over him. He encouraged her, gentle urgings and softly saying her name while she brought him close to orgasm. Her hands searched his briefs found his balls and fondled them.
When she had him right on the brink, windmilling at the edge of sweet release, she stopped and smiled slyly. Ran her flattened tongue along the wide underside of him, base to tip, a smirk tugging one corner of her mouth, a chuckle whisking coldly against his spit-cold cock. Her meanness brought his own smile. He growled and rose, her hands pulling his jeans down as he did. She was on her back again, looking in his eyes and guiding his swollen cock with a gentle grip, stroking his tip against her wet pink stripe. Their eyes held as he entered her. Then he took her with kisses, her nails raking his back, his entry drawing a single sharp cry. Then he was pounding into her savagely, eager to give her his seed. She moiled against his thrusts, her hips pumping wildly, wanting him deep and hard. He gave it to her, a rising intensity building in his hanging bouncing balls. He was boiling over, he was going to fill her up with all he had, he was going to watch her face as she felt his wet love shoot from him. He stopped and she mewled.
He stood, a mean smirk of his own, his sweet Daniella clinging ardently to him, so eager to feel his come inside her. He walked with her, her beautiful flesh clutched to him, her legs over his hips. Their walking sank his hardness deep inside her, painfully deep, and she grimaced and laughed, hugged her cheek to his chest.
In front of the fire he lay her on her back, and with his cock still buried in her he watched her face in the flickering golden flame. She was lit in dancing amber, her black eyes sparkled like jewels and her eyes spoke honest unending love. His eyes told her the same, giving off to her the electric copper-coil love he had for her that buzzed inside him like a dynamo. He explored her with his hands and her heavy yearning breaths caused her insides to scantly slip on the hard swollen end of him buried inside her. Her breathing drawing his seed from him, sucking on him, pulling his nectar through his tubes and vessels like it was sucking on a straw.
“I fucking love you,” he said.
“I fucking love you, Rocco,” she said.
He thrust in and out of her, clear excitement spilling from him, lubricating their passion til she felt like silk and he kissed her and she ran her soft little feet along the outside of his thighs. His stomach tightened to a stony column as it rose within him, a pounding fiery release starting low and consuming him, washing him over with warmth and sanctity, and his pulse pounded up his neck. His eyes swelled, his hearing went distant, and she brought it out of him, conjured his seed from him like a djinn. He roared and thrust and she hissed at its heat, her lips scrolled to a snarl, her white teeth clenched and glistening wet in the light of the fire. He collapsed on her, gave her his weight, let her know she was his and she was protected. Cuddled her to him, their wetness smearing their thighs and bellies, and he kissed her, rolled with her in the warmth of the fire.
They made love all night. Playing and teasing and exploring, cuddling, and sometimes he watched her nap and she was sure she did to. When the sun rose in her towering castle windows they were close to sated, but there was much left to do. If every night could be like this he would do anything to make it happen. Even if for once it meant sparing someone’s life instead of taking it.
23
Armor
rocco
“This is so fucking crazy, baby,” he said to her.
Daniella smiled. She squeezed his hand.
The fully armored Cadillac they rode in made its way briskly through the evening traffic. Up front, driving the SUV, Jimmy gripped the wheel tightly. Sitting shotgun was his companion, Mickey. Daniella had asked for them by name to escort her. Jimmy was in a suit again, and his eyes watched the road with a serious and professional gaze. His Adam’s apple however worked nervously up and down. His shaved head had gained a soft sheen of sweat even in the Caddy’s climate controlled interior.
Sitting behind them in the custom SUV built for seven passengers, were two lawyers. Two balding and soft men who’d spent their lives in comfortable offices. The potential danger of this meeting caused them to seize with trepidation. He could see in his periphery the briefcases bouncing on one of their laps as his feet danced nervously. His hand held the edge of the leather case but it was hooked in a tense claw. Tonight’s meeting was assured by Flavio to be peaceful. Daniella was bringing him what he wanted. They brought the lawyers to witness and notarize and finalize. This was official business, not battle. But still...
“This is the way I want it,” she said, and she rolled her head slackly toward him and smiled wider.
She had made herself up. Brilliant blood red lipstick, black around her eyes, her hair was washed and styled. They'd spent the last five days like rutting peasants, fucking and sucking and eating, and while it was glorious he had forgotten what a princess she was. Now though she was his princess.
“Then this is the way you'll have it.” He showed her his smile too. Then added, “We might die today, but if this is what it takes to make us right, I'll do it with a smile.”
She touched his cheek, then caressed his neck. “We're not going to die, Rocco.” Her voice added in a quiet whisper, “I think.”
Now he caressed her cheek too, leaned close and kissed her. He breathed her in. Breathed her perfume, the smell of the leather jacket she wore, her skin, her sweetness. If they died, so be it. He’d been a fool so long. Being with her, so close, looking in her eyes and holding her hand, this was where he was meant to always be. They were driving straight into the fiery maw of the beast, but he wasn’t scared. He could see in her eyes she wasn’t either. They had each other.
Jimmy slowed the truck, indicated right, and out the window Rocco saw the towering Target sign. They turned right and went down a shallow gravelly dip, the sides overrun with tall timothy grass flattened to humps by snow. It was like they had passed through a portal and were now entering another world. Just behind them was the familiar suburban feel of the outer edges of the city with its big box stores, but straight ahead they descended into a decaying ruin of a Chicago that didn’t exist anymore. The silos loomed on the right, a black fortress against a dusky dwindling rose sky that was lowering to dusk. On the left, the sprawl of abandoned and crumbling warehouses. Rocco leaned forward and watched between the two front seats, a hand on each of their curved shoulders.
“What do we do?” Mickey said as the headlights lit up one of Flavio’s soldiers. The tall black-clad man stood in the white halogen light of the Caddy, boldly pointing and wagging a gloved finger to the right. He was indicating them to a different warehouse than the one Rocco had met Flavio in the day before.
“Do what he says,” Rocco said, his eyes darting from the left to the right.
Jimmy nodded and he turned the truck. Flavio’s men had set up road flares to indicate the passage through the maze of decaying warehouses. They sparked and sizzled dull orange in the snowy gravel. The truck wandered left and right following the trail of flares and finally their
nose was pointed at a vacant warehouse dead ahead. This one was missing the entire wall at the short end of its shape. There was no ramp up, the drive was straight ahead. Inside they could see the space lit up with bright halogen construction lights on candy yellow tripods. Four SUVs were parked within, headlights on, and sitting low underneath them was a sleek yellow Lamborghini. Rusted girders criss-crossed in decaying deltas above, sheets of hanging white plastic waved in the light wind. Past the parked vehicles they could see there was a raised floor, concrete brick painted with colorful graffiti. Sitting on that same wooden throne, on the higher tier, was Flavio. Waiting, one leg crossed over the other.
A soldier stopped the truck with a held out hand. This time they’d set a perimeter and they wouldn’t let the vehicle any closer. They had no explosives, no guns. Nothing to hide this time.
Jimmy glanced over his shoulder at Rocco, looking for instruction.
“Stop,” Rocco told him and he moved his hand to Jimmy’s suit shoulder to calm him. The grill of the truck was brought to the soldier’s feet and he stopped and put it in park.
“You guys just be cool,” he said to the two in the front.
daniella
She could act as brave as she wanted but her heart thudded in her chest. Back into danger. Back into the world of murder and death. She was raised in this world, raised as a pampered daughter of one of this city’s deadliest men. Her lover was its most vicious soldier. One snap of her finger and this monster sitting next to her would break Flavio’s neck. Kill all his soldiers. Then it would be over. The choice had been made though. She couldn’t rule this world because she didn’t believe in suffering. Or at least being responsible for its provision. If that meant anything, they would start right now—deal with this problem like they would deal with problems from now on. No killing. No death. If she snapped her fingers, Rocco would kill for her. But it put him in the service of death and in that role he would some day die.
Flavio’s men were all around the truck now. Soldiers coming out of the dark and standing at both sides. The one outside her door knocked twice on the glass with a leather knuckle. The barrier between them was bulletproof and tinted black. She was safe inside the vehicle but she had to get out. She had to put an end to this. She squeezed Rocco's hand one more time and took a deep breath. Exhaled, said, “Here we go,” and she pulled up on the chrome handle.
Flavio’s soldiers pulled all the doors open and tugged the occupants out. Not roughly, but also not carefully. Enough that Mickey grunted and complained and swore, but not rough enough that they wanted to fight back. She was turned briskly to face the SUV and her hands were yanked out to place them on the roof.
“Easy, easy,” she said.
Her ankles were kicked, indicating to spread her legs wider, so she did. Rocco smiled at her across the glossy black roof and winked, his confidence bolstered her. She'd never been frisked before. It was an invasion but she allowed it. The guard ran his hands up and down her sides, under her coat. Felt around the small of her back, then along both sides of her legs, one at a time. They did the same to the others. Jimmy at her left and Mickey grumbling across from her, standing next to Rocco.
Mickey’s eye had been blackened. He had a bluish half-moon under the one on the right. This morning Rocco and he had engaged in macho banter, leftover from their altercation at the Empire Crest. They began to box and manhandle each other and it was mostly playful but Rocco easily had the best of him and left the kid with a shiner. Mickey wore it well.
She was moved to the side and the lawyers were helped out to stand and then frisked. Their briefcases were opened and examined. She huddled in her leather coat and fought a shiver. They were outside the warehouse, in the wind, feeling its tug. Dry wintry snow swirled around her thousand dollar shoes.
Satisfied, the guard next to her took her by the elbow and walked her towards the open end of the warehouse. The one leading Rocco said, “No bombs today, tough guy?” It made Rocco laugh but she didn't get the joke.
When she raised her head she saw him. Flavio. He wasn’t a scrawny boy any longer, but still exuded his youthful arrogance. They entered the warehouse and moved beyond the vehicles and she could see him clearly. He reclined in a stiff wooden chair. Tall and dark, polished, like a throne. He slumped to one side, his cheek resting in one palm, watching her with indolent disregard through sleepy eyes. One leg was crossed over the other, and he wore alligator Cuban boots the color of glazed blood.
“Daniella, Daniella,” he sang, his bored face growing a reproachful smile.
“Flavio,” she said, giving him her own unpleasant smile.
“How long has it been, dear Daniella? ...Fifteen years?” He sat forward in his throne now, put his elbows on his knees, eyes still regarding her like she was inconsequential to him.
“Fifteen years,” she agreed.
“Come,” he said, and waved them up with one hand. She and Rocco and the two lawyers were walked up a set of broken concrete steps to the space at Flavio’s feet.
He was a lot like she remembered now that she was close to him. She would never have recognized him with just a photograph. Much of what made him Flavio came from the lively arrogance in his black eyes, the haughty tilt of the head, and a crackling energy that felt very dangerous and seemed to sizzle off him in streams. When one touched you you felt the hair raise at the back of your neck.
“We’ve lived quite different lives since then, princess...”
“We have...”
He regarded his own hand, held it out like he was admiring his nails, extended it to her then and let it hang, said, “The princess should come and kiss my ring.” He gestured his ring finger to her and there was an enormous gold chunk winking in the white halogen light.
Rocco’s hand gripped her arm and tugged at her. He growled, “She’s not doing that.”
Flavio laughed, throwing his head back and barking off a high maniacal cackle. Daniella waved away the notion, flicking her hand between them like sweeping away imaginary dirt. She said, “You look like you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Not as well as you,” he said, “But I wasn’t handed a thing.”
She bit her tongue, stopped herself from mentioning the money her father sent every month, the loot paid to the guards to ensure his safe stay at the prison school, money put into a trust. She’d love to fucking lash back but it wouldn’t help a bit. Flavio wanted to make believe he’d built something out of nothing, maybe he’d led his own men to believe that. He was as fortunate in as many ways as Daniella, he’d just always been trouble. “You’re accomplished. I couldn’t put together an army like this,” she said, nodding her chin around the room, pointing at all his well-dressed and well-armed men. There were a half dozen in a crescent around the back of his throne, another half dozen behind her group and then more interspersed below on her left, standing and watching in the bright light beaming from his convoy of black vehicles.
“You didn’t have to,” he said. “You were born with one. You sure you don’t want to kiss this ring? It’s a beautiful ring. It was my father’s...”
Rocco took a step towards him and her heart jumped. His fists were balled, his head lowered like a bull’s, and he said in a low and frightening voice, “She’s not kissing your fucking ring.”
Flavio coolly snapped his fingers and the guns came out. All of his men around the throne pulled pistols from under their jackets, one stepped forward and placed a muzzle a foot from Rocco’s face. She cried out, not a word, just a frightened sound and she clamped both her hands over her mouth quickly to stop more from coming. Hammers cocked and the lawyers clamored, Jimmy and Mickey had guns thrust in their faces as well. Her legs shook, but she tried to remember the plan. Just stick to the plan, Daniella.
Her hands went out to her sides, holding them up to stop the madness. “Stop, stop,” she said, trying to sound as collected as she could. “Stop this bullshit.”
She stood straighter, tossed her hair and adjusted her jacke
t. “I don’t sign the papers you don’t get a thing. You create problems for me and this whole thing is over. So cut this macho fucking garbage.”
Flavio eyed her, smiled. His eyebrows raised and he snapped his fingers again. The guns were withdrawn, Jimmy and Mickey were released from being held. The lawyers sighed with enormous relief. There was a distinct smell and she assumed one of them had wet themselves. She didn’t blame them.
Flavio shifted his gaze to Rocco but addressed her, “You need to house train your dog, sister.”
She let it go, wouldn’t take his bait but did consider how easy it would have been to just tell Rocco to be Rocco and this would all be over already. She took a deep breath. “You wanna sign these papers, or I gotta watch you jerk yourself off all night?”
Another high manic laugh barked from him and he clapped his hands once. He waved to a soldier at his side, he nodded, and shortly two men quickly carried a table before him, one on each end. Flavio eased himself under the table and lay his forearms on it, weaving his fingers together. He cocked his head at her and his mean little rodent eyes fixed on hers. “Let’s see what you got.”
Broken (Dying For Diamonds Book 1) Page 20
