Top Dog_A Mafia Romance

by Rye Hart

  I threw it back, chugging it down as sweat dripped down my neck.

  I was exhausted. My feet hurt, my back hurt, and my stomach was still growling. My head was dizzy from the lack of food, and my throat was still burning for more water. I leaned against my truck, polishing off the water bottle as I heard footsteps approaching me.

  I didn’t have to look over to know who it was.

  I tossed the empty bottle into the bed of the truck and turned my eyes toward Drake. I wiped the sweat off my brow as the sun continued to sink below the trees. Night time was coming, blanketing the whole of Nashville in a cool evening breeze. At any other time, I would’ve tilted my head toward the sky and counted the stars starting to pop up overheard. I would’ve tried to find my favorite constellations and recall the stories my father used to tell me about them.

  I shook my head, shoving the painful memories to the back of my mind.

  Drake crouched down beside me, knocking his knuckles up against the tires of my truck. He looked up at me, an impressed little grin on his face. I wanted to stick my muddy boot right in his ass.

  The breeze was blowing, making me cold as fuck, and his grin morphed from impressed to devious as I bit the inside of my cheek.

  I wasn’t a violent person, but I considered it with him.

  “Well you weren’t totally useless today,” he said, as he stood up.

  His gaze fell over my chest for the briefest of moments.

  “Do you make a habit of that?” I asked.

  “Of what?”

  “Staring at women’s tits?” I asked.

  “They’re pretty obvious right now.”

  “So is the limp in your left leg, but you don’t see me staring at you when you walk.”

  I saw a wall come down in front of his face. His eyes whipped up toward mine, and his smile turned from playful to dark. His eyes clouded with a fury that seemed uncharacteristically like him.

  And yet, it didn’t.

  I’d hit a sore spot, and I was glad. If he thought I wasn’t watching him, then he had another thing coming. If he didn’t think I saw his faults, he was wrong. He wasn’t some swoon-worthy country gentleman that any woman would be proud to settle down with.

  He was a miserable, cynical drunk.

  “Same time tomorrow,” Drake said, as he turned and left.

  I watched him walk into his house, the screen door slamming behind him. The sun had fallen, and my legs were still weak. I needed a meal, a shower, and two gallons of water poured down my throat. I got inside my truck, slamming the door shut as I dug for my keys. I pulled my seat mirror down and took a look at myself, my face flushed with effort and my neck tanned from the sun.

  “It’s good money, Delia. It’s very fucking good money. It’ll set you up. It’ll pay off your degree. It’ll give you the perfect reference for any job you want.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I flipped the mirror up and jammed my keys into the ignition.

  I didn’t want to come back tomorrow. I wasn’t going to lie to myself. He was a miserable man who was determined to walk all over me just to prove a point. Whether it was control at this point or whether he was just pissed at my existence, I hadn’t quite figured out yet. But if I did the job I came here to do correctly, it would get me into whatever facility I wanted to work in until I’d established enough experience to open my own practice.

  It was only a bit of hard work. one more semester’s worth of pushing through to get to where I was going. I’d done it all my life. This was no different. Dealing with this asshole was no different than dealing with any other asshole that had stood in my way.

  If he wasn’t going to recognize my authority, then I had another trick up my sleeve.

  I could stand toe-to-toe with his antics, if only to show him that however far he could dig his boots in, I could dig mine farther.

  This wasn’t my first rodeo.

  Chapter 7

  Drake

  “What?” I asked with a groan.

  “You’ve got a performance today. Get up and get going,” Hank said.

  “I don’t have anything like that on my calendar,” I said. “The fuck gives?”

  “Shouldn’t you be up anyway? You know, doing ranch stuff? It’s an impromptu concert you’ve been invited to.”

  “I don’t do those.”

  “It’s an open-air thing, and you do it now.”

  “I’m goin’ the fuck back to bed.”

  “It’s for a good charity,” he said.

  “Then just write them a check,” I said.

  “It’s an acoustic set. Real mellow stuff.”

  “I don’t do mellow.”

  “Will you do it for Autism Speaks?”

  Raking my hand across my face, I slung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had a soft spot for that charity, for the awareness they put out and the educational materials they had for people. My sister was the light of my life, but I’d watched my parents struggle most of their final years trying to understand how my sister worked. Elsie could operate in public for the most part. She held down her own part-time job and everything. But she had her moments, and they were rough.

  Nonetheless, that girl was everything to me. And anything I could do for people who spread awareness about autism, I was more than willing to do.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you lead off with that, Hank?”

  “Should I have to?” he asked.

  “When you’re calling at five in the morning, yes.”

  “I’ll remember that for next time,” Hank said.

  “There better not be a next time. When’s the concert?”

  “It’s a morning thing. You go on stage at eight fifteen. I can’t get your P.A. on the phone. Fill her in when she gets to you if she hasn’t already quit yet. I’m sending the address to your phone and hers.”

  Sighing, I hung up the phone, waiting for the message to come through.

  I dragged myself to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I showered, shaved, and put on the nicest boots and bucket hat I owned. If I was going to make an appearance at something like this, then I wanted to make it a good one. The understanding I had of my sister and her condition was a direct result of charities like Autism Speaks.

  I walked downstairs and headed for the door just as I heard the sound.

  Delia’s truck drove up the driveway, and I shook my head. Fuck, the woman was persistent. I had thrown her one of the tougher days on the farm, so she’d go running to the hills and quit like I wanted her to. But it didn’t work. She was driving up my driveway in that rust bucket she owned, ready for another day’s work.

  Even after mucking out horse stalls.

  Sleeping had been hard last night. Seeing her sweat drenched face chugging that water as it dripped down her neck, falling onto those sweat-soaked tits with nipples that were poking against her bra. Her white shirt clung to her as she tipped that bottle back, chugging it without taking even one breath. It had set my groin pumping for her. That's the last thing I needed too.

  And that angry look in her eye. Shit. That was the icing on the cake. It was a good thing she didn’t have any romantic interest in me. Otherwise, we’d be in deep shit.

  Today was her lucky day. Even though she was dressed for another day on the ranch, we had to leave for my performance. I went into the kitchen and drew out my flask, tipping it back and draining it so I could fill it up again. I didn’t have enough time for coffee, but this would warm me up just fine.

  I screwed the cap on tight, took another swig from the bottle, and headed for my truck.

  “We’re leaving,” I said, as I stepped back inside and grabbed my guitar.

  “What? Where are we headed?” Delia asked as she rushed up to me.

  “Pick up your phone, and you’d know,” I said.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “We’re heading to an impromptu concert. I’m due on stage at eight fifteen.”

  “Is the band meeting you there
?”

  “No, just me and my guitar this morning. Come on, we’re taking my truck.”

  I walked over to my blacked-out truck, a present to myself after my second hit single.

  I pulled open my truck door and tossed my guitar in, but I noticed Delia wasn’t getting in. She was standing against her truck, her arms crossed as she studied me closely. I didn’t have time for this shit. We had to get going.

  “You coming? Or is this you quitting?” I asked.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just answer me one question.”

  She walked over to me, her hips swaying as her tits jostled with her movements.

  “Have you been drinking already this morning?” Delia asked.

  Her eyes were holding mine as her hands rested on her hips. She was eyeing me up and down. Sizing me the fuck up at seven in the damn morning. I sighed as I closed my eyes, knowing it did me no good to lie to this woman.

  I nodded, hearing her let out a deep sigh.

  “I’m driving,” Delia said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “I’m not even drunk.”

  “I’m driving. Now get in,” she said. “You'd think you, of all people, would know better than to get behind the wheel when you've been drinking.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Now get in the fucking car. I'm driving.”

  She had a fucking point, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t drunk, but I still had a drink that morning.

  I watched her open her truck door and hop in, sitting there as she waited for me to join her .I ripped my guitar from my truck and slammed the door, gritting my teeth in the process.

  I slid into her truck, my guitar sitting between my legs as we pulled out.

  “I got the address of the place,” I said.

  “I know where you’re going,” Delia said.

  “You told Hank I’d been drinking, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Yep,” she said.

  The truck ride was silent after that. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, and her back was completely straight. If she wasn’t going to entertain me with some sort of conversation, then I was going to study her. I hooked onto the profile of her face and grazed my eyes down her body.

  She was a pain in my ass, but she was nice on the eyes.

  We pulled into the venue, and I saw Hank flagging us down. Delia pulled into a parking space, not speaking to me as she slid out of her side of the truck. I grabbed my guitar and started for the coordinator, who was usually a goofy-looking asshole with a clipboard.

  Hank and Delia were talking to one another before they joined the conversation.

  “You’ll have time at the top of the hour to set up, then your set starts at eight fifteen, Mr. Blackthorn. Your bus is here with your gear in case you need it, though it’s an acoustic set so a speaker and a hookup is plenty. Your bus is yours to use as you wish—”

  “I know my bus is mine,” I said. “Just point me in that direction, and I’ll take it from here.”

  Both Delia and Hank looked over at me before the coordinator pointed.

  “Thanks.”

  I didn’t wait around for either of them to lecture me on my tone of voice. Hank fucking acted like my mother, and Delia was quickly becoming that nagging little voice I wanted to squash like a bug. I heard the pitter patter of little feet behind me as I strode for my bus, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

  I heard someone step in behind me before the door closed.

  “Sure you wanna do that?” I asked.

  I looked up into a mirror and saw Delia’s reflection standing at the front of the bus.

  “Didn’t realize you’d need all this for a local performance,” she said.

  “Gets brought to every performance,” I said. “Personal protocol. If you don’t wanna attend the performance, you can stay on the bus.”

  “Sounds fine with me,” she said.

  “I got a forty-five-minute set, so try not to miss me too much.”

  “It’ll be hard, but I think I can manage.”

  My eyes whipped to hers in the mirror before I turned around and picked up my guitar.

  “Enjoy the bus,” I said, as I maneuvered past her. “When I’m done, we can get on back to the ranch.”

  I stepped off the bus before she could say anything. I didn’t give a shit what she did, honestly. If she got into her truck and drove off, she’d be doing both of us a fucking favor. I walked up to Hank who was still talking to the coordinator, getting logistics and probably working out payment options for the gig.

  “I’m not taking payment,” I said.

  “What?” Hank asked.

  “Don’t pay me for this gig. Keep your money,” I said.

  “Mr. Blackthorn, Autism Speaks sets aside funds for stuff like this.”

  “Keep the money and put it to better use. If artists demand to be paid for things like this, then they don’t need to be doing it. Though you could’ve made it an afternoon concert if you’re looking for suggestions.”

  I marched off toward the venue, ready to warm up and tune my guitar. Delia was alone on the bus doing fuck-knew-what, Hank was probably pissed I wasn’t accepting payment, and this guitar hadn’t seen the light of fucking day in almost a year. It would take me all my damn warm-up time just to tune the fucking thing, but I didn’t care.

  It would be worth it to see those kids smile.

  The End

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  ONE MORE TIME: A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE

  Prologue

  The moment our lips connected, I felt myself come to life. His lips tasted delicious. His body was throbbing against mine as his hands meandered along my skin. Our tongues lapped lazily at one another, neither of us battling for dominance but neither of us backing down.

  I felt his cock growing against me, hard and thick and ready to be inside me. His hands slid my pants down, grasping my naked ass as I smiled against his lips. I trailed kisses down his neck as his hand found my folds, dripping and wet for him as he explored my wet folds. I left love bites on his neck and raked my teeth down his chest, my hand descending beyond his boxers and wrapping around his length.

  “Shit, Chanel. Fuck.”

  I spread my legs further for him, wanting his fingers buried inside of me.

  He slid two fingers in, filling me up as I moaned into his neck. I rocked against his hand as his lips found mine, claiming dominance over my body as he bent me over the couch. I rolled my hips against his hand as his cock jumped in my palm. I could feel his warmed leaking down his skin, warm and dripping onto my fingertips as I slowly slipped my hand up and down his shaft. He was moaning into my lips and bucking against my body as I began to pant. His fingers stretched me perfectly as his thumb found my pulsing clit, and soon, I was a whimpering, gasping mess against his couch.

  I brought my head up and connected our lips again, sucking his bottom lip between my teeth. He groaned as I sat up, allowing my lips to suckle on his before our eyes connected in the middle of his apartment living room.

  I released his throbbing cock as he shoved his boxers down to the floor and then quickly worked me out of my pants.

  He rushed up my body and picked me up in his arms, carrying me to his bedroom. I held his gaze the entire time as my back descended to his sheets.

  I watched him perch between my thighs, my legs tossed haphazardly over his shoulders. His hands crawled up my skin, electrifying me as his hands wrapped around my tits. His fingers tugged at them, forcing my head to fall back on the pillows as his tongue lapped at me.

  He licked a long, thick stripe up my slit that had me moaning and writhing uncontrollably.

  His tongue licked between my dripping folds and found my clit immediately. He started slowly. Languidly. Licking at it as my juices
poured from between my legs. My hands ran over his head as my hips began to roll against his mouth. His hands pinned my hips to his bed, ceasing my movements as his lips puckered around my swollen nub.

  My legs were shaking, and my toes were curling. With every stroke he took, he stroked a fire in my gut. That burning sensation started to encompass the whole of my body, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. His pace became faster, and his tongue pressed deeper. I was breathless as I moaned his name, chanting it like a ritualistic prayer. I was allowed small undulations, the slightest bit of control as I rolled against his tongue. His hands massaged my hips and worked their way down my thighs. He freed my movements, allowing me to buck against his lips as my heels dug into his back.

  “Please, baby. Please. I’m so close. Don’t stop. Please.”

  Chapter 1

  Chanel

  Is it too late to change my mind?

  “I still can’t believe we’re going on this idiotic cruise.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re a journalist. Don’t you take photos and shit?” Ana asked.

  “I’m not a photojournalist, woman.”

  “Well, don’t pictures have to go with your blog posts or whatever?” she asked.

  “Is that really all you think I do? Write blog posts and sit around in my underwear?”

  “Well, you’re always so freakin’ happy. I figured it had to be something like that. Fuck knows you’re not getting laid properly.”

  “And here we go again,” I said with a sigh.

  “Come on. You and I both know you fake your orgasms. All the time.”

  “How the hell would you know this? You aren’t in the room when I’m having sex.”

  “Oh, come on. With how tightly wound you are? And the fact that you haven’t seriously dated anyone since Rhett isn’t a coincidence.”

  “I do not want to hear that name,” I said.

  “And I also saw your little bag of fun you packed over there. That’s a new vibrator, isn’t it?”