by Naomi West
And once the fear has left my thoughts, I find my eyes drifting down to his body as he treads water. Noticing the sensual expression forming on his face, I realize that he's thinking the exact same thing that I am. He swims over to me slowly, stopping only when his face is inches from mine. I stare into his emerald-green eyes, feeling myself fall into them. Before I can think too long, however, Michal moves closer and kisses me.
He wraps his arms around me as we float, bringing me close and tight as we kiss. I lose myself completely in his kiss, the feeling of his body on mine like heaven. Under the water, I place my hands on his body, moving by touch along his rock-hard angles, the arousal building in me with each passing moment. No thought is in my mind now beyond how much I want this man.
Then, he moves us towards the side of the pool, pressing my back against the side. Our feet both touching the bottom of the pool, he moves his hands along my body, squeezing my breasts through my bathing suit.
"I want you so goddamn bad," he says, his voice hot against my neck as he speaks through kisses.
"Then take me," I say, the feeling of his lips against the skin along my neck and behind my ear driving me wild.
I don't have to tell him twice. His thumbs slip under his swimsuit and pull it down and off, his massive erection bounding free under the water. My body tingles with excitement; I've never made love in a pool before. Then again, my life seems to be all about first times these days.
Michal continues to kiss me hard, and I grab ahold of his cock, grazing it with the tips of my fingers and feeling the shuddering of pleasure through his body. I don't want to wait another moment.
"Fuck me," I say, my voice stern and almost demanding. "Fuck me hard."
Michal is more than happy to accommodate. Dipping his hands below the water, he pulls the spandex of my bathing suit to the side, the water cool against my sex. I wrap my legs around him, bringing his cock close to me, just on the opening of my pussy. Then, with a smooth glide, he enters me, the feeling of his long, thick cock driving up into my body one of pure bliss. I gasp as he buries himself into me, the pleasure almost too much at first.
Soon, he's pounding me at a steady rhythm and bucking into me hard, each full penetration pushing my pleasure up higher and higher until I can barely stand it. My legs are wrapped hard around him, my arms tight around his shoulders. The feeling of his wet, hard muscles is beyond compare; I want his body to simply melt into mine, to have this feeling of him in me never come to an end.
He continues to drive into me over and over, and I know that an orgasm is close, so tantalizingly close. He's grunting with each thrust, and I can sense that he's ready to cum hard. Michal fucks me at a steady pace, the angle and tempo exactly what I need to finally reach the orgasm that has been just out of reach. It explodes through my body, setting my limbs alight. I'm moaning over and over, the orgasm wracking my body as I hold on to Michal. And as I cum, he does too, finishing with a series of deep, full thrusts.
The orgasm soon fades, and I almost want to let myself float in the water—to simply drift, basking in the afterglow. Instead, I look into Michal's eyes as he removes himself from me. I see something deep in his gaze. Something real.
I realize that it must be love.
And as if reading my mind, Michal speaks, the words out of his mouth the sweetest I’d ever heard.
“Let’s get married.”
Chapter Fifteen
Iwan
Sitting at my desk at the office, the hour now late, I pour myself another two fingers of scotch. The day has been long and tedious, spent going over work that I would normally entrust to Michal. But with his schedule occupied with the Donahue situation, the mind-numbing but necessary work of checking up on lieutenants and making sure that the bi-monthly payments are in order has fallen to me. I find myself wishing that I had another subordinate to trust with such matters, but alas, I have only one son.
I sip the scotch slowly, rising from my desk and looking out of the window, my eyes moving from building to building. I think about how little I've heard from Michal since our talk. He's been away from the office mostly, focusing on his "meetings" with the Donahues. I've heard rumblings here and there about businesses getting shaken down and even a few closing their doors, allowing us to move into new territory. I know this is Michal's handiwork, but since having the Donahues not know that this is a large-scale operation overseen by myself, the head of the Nowaks, I can't stay in as close of contact with Michal as I would like. Should the Donahues find out that I've ordered these attacks in violation of the treaty, well, I'd have larger concerns than simply keeping tabs on my son.
But, in spite of this, I've heard rumblings from sources here and there about how the Donahues are beginning to suspect our involvement.
He's getting sloppy, I think, lolling the scotch in my glass. He's distracted; it's not like him to not have all of the angles covered.
Looking down at the glass, I see that it's already nearly empty. The buzz has me a little unsteady, but in spite of this, I feel like being around people. Andre's, the bar just down the road where I typically find myself drinking, sounds appealing. I drain the last few drops from my glass and grab my coat, ready to leave the office.
Arriving at street-level, I pull my coat tight against the cold, the neon lights of Andre's beckoning me in the distance. Soon, I arrive. Pushing the door open, I look around at the small, dimly-lit space, smiling as I look over the familiar, cozy décor and listen to the mellow jazz playing. There are only a handful of patrons there, and they all nod slowly as I walk in, giving their due signs of respect. I approach the bar, the man currently sitting in my usual seat hurrying away.
"Evening, Iwan," says Andre, the bartender, a tall, trim man with a close-cropped silver beard and not a strand of hair on his head.
"Andre," I say, pulling off my coat and wrapping it around the curved back of the barstool. "Chilly evening."
He gives me a half smile in acknowledgment. For a bartender, Andre's never been one for idle chatter. I like this; I typically have no time for small-talk, and if I'm at a bar for pleasure, I tend to prefer to be alone with my thoughts.
Suddenly in the mood for something cheap and clear, I gesture with a limp finger to the bottle of Svedka. Within seconds, I have a small glass of vodka in front of me, neat and simple. I sit there for a time, thinking about my son and this young woman for whom he's putting so much on the line.
Well, if he ends up pulling this business off with the Donahues without getting exposed, he can marry her for all I care, I think.
But I think about how sloppy he's been and wonder if this girl has something to do with it. He's not the type to act this way, but I'm beginning to suspect that there's something about her besides her tight little body—something that's going to lead my son down a path that might be …detrimental to the business interests of our family.
Putting these thoughts aside, I take a sip of my vodka, the warm liquor chasing away any last traces of cold. But before I can settle in too much, the door opens and someone steps in. One can never be too careful, so I glance at whoever it is as I take another sip.
And a small smile forms on my lips when I lay eyes upon the hefty, red-faced form of Eamon Donahue.
Spotting me, he shambles over, a light-gray, cable-knit sweat pulled over his massive bulk, his ruddy features shrouded beneath a short-brimmed cap.
"You're not waiting for some company, are you? One of your little blonde lasses?"
I shake my head, my drink inches away from my mouth.
"Eamon," I say in acknowledgement, my eyes lingering on the small, black eyes set amongst the folds of his face.
"You look like you could use some company, old man," he says, heaving himself onto the stool next to mine, the wood groaning under his bulk.
I scan the front door and see that a pair of young, well-dressed thugs have entered behind Eamon. I consider whether this is a hit, but toss the idea aside; there's no way Eamon would bother with some
thing like that. Besides, Andre's is my territory; if he tried anything, Andre and the other patrons, all men on my payroll, would make sure that none of them walked out alive. No, this was likely an impromptu meeting.
But about what? I swallow another sip of vodka, my thoughts on Michal.
"Nice little bar," says Eamon, looking around as he gestures for a whiskey. "Good to have places you can, you know, go to get away from things."
"Getting tired of your usual watering holes?" I ask, trying to get him to the point as quickly as possible.
"Well, I would be, if the places I call my own weren't dwindling by the day.”
I raise my eyebrows in feigned surprise. I can see Andrew watching the situation carefully.
"Oh?"
"Get off it," says Eamon, taking a greedy sip from the glass of whiskey placed in front of him. "You think I'm a goddamn buffoon or something?"
His voice rose higher than I like.
"Please, Eamon, lower your voice," I say. "You're ruining the ambiance."
"'Ambience,' huh?" he said, his already-red face turning an even deeper shade of crimson. "That boy of yours doesn't seem to be worried too much about ambiance in those businesses of mine that he and his little thugs are making a goddamn mess of!"
Michal, I think, my jaw grinding at this confirmation of how sloppy he's been.
"You suspect my son in these goings-on?"
Eamon leans in, his large head looming over the tiny glass of whiskey that’s been placed before him.
"I know it's your son; the only thing I'm not sure of is whether it's him acting alone, or if this is some plan of yours to move in on my territory. I'm praying, for your sake, old friend, that it's the former."
I see a way out and take it.
"First of all, let me express my sincere regret for the actions of my son. And let me assure you that he's certainly acting on his own accord. I would never order him to do anything that would violate our treaty in such an egregious manner."
"Egre-?" he says, stumbling over the word.
Eamon has never been much in the way of brains; brute force has always been his style.
"So, you're saying that this is him acting alone?"
I sit back in my chair, affecting a calm voice.
"You know how things are at that age; you're trying to prove yourself, to make a mark on the world, to impress the old man, to prove yourself. The exuberance of youth and all."
"Well, his ‘exuberance' is gonna get my men killed and is already costing me a shitload of fuckin' money."
He shifts in his seat in agitation; I'm pleased to see that he's buying the lie; it never did take much to pull one over on Eamon. But get on his bad side …
"Here," I say. "I'll talk to him and get him to cease his little attempts to impress me. He's a smart young man; he'll listen to reason."
Eamon considers my words. I know him well enough to know that he would just as soon kill Michal, and maybe me, and be done with it. But he knows that would be war, and he also knows from experience that war is far more costly and far less simple than that.
"Fine," he says. "Talk to your boy. Tell him that he's risking a war that he, and you, don't want. And make no mistake—there will be consequences for what he's already done."
Eamon decides the conversation is over. Tossing back the rest of his whiskey, he pushes his bulk away from the bar and begins to head out. But before he does, he turns to me, leaning in close.
"And I swear on my goddamn father's grave, if I find out that you've been behind this, I'll wipe your fuckin' family away from this town like they'd never been here to begin with."
And with that, he leaves.
I finish my drink, raising a finger in the air to signal to Andre for another. Sipping the new drink when it's placed in front of me, I wonder just what it is that needs to be done about my boy.
Whatever it is, it needs to happen, and soon.
Chapter Sixteen
Alina
Eloping. I can’t imagine a sweeter word. After Michal said what he said that night in the pool, I felt a great weight lift off of my chest. Soon, it will just be him and me, with no worries beyond what sort of life we want to start together. Sure, he'll have to slip away from his responsibilities to his father's business, but I'm certain that everything will work out for the best. He is still going out late and doing the awful work that he has to do, but now that there's an endpoint—a place on the horizon that's almost within reach—I feel that I can stomach the current situation for just a little while longer.
It's a Saturday morning, and Danica's in town for the weekend once again. She's been a frequent guest at the house, and I'm thinking that it's because she and I are hitting it off more than she's able to with anyone in the city. She frequently complains about the superficial, status-obsessed ways of the women in New York, and I think that she finds me a refreshing alternative to all of that. This is just my guess, but there's no doubt that we're becoming fast friends. Our weekend shopping trips are quickly becoming one of the highlights of the month, and I'm happy to have a good friend. Especially one who's so close to the man that I care so much for.
She picks me up around ten and we get right to the shopping. We go to the stores that I've liked from our previous trips, and after a quick lunch, we decide to treat ourselves to an afternoon at the spa.
"I have to admit," says Danica, a towel wrapped around her slim figure as we sit in the spa's steam room, her dark hair hanging loosely on her shoulders, "I'm surprised to see that Michal's taken such a liking to you."
"Oh?" I say in a playfully confrontation tone. "You think it's surprising that a man would be into me?"
Danica smiles and swipes her hand through the air. Her pretty face is sheened with sweat from the heat.
"You know that's not what I mean. He's just not one for serious relationships. As long as I've known him, he's always been more of a player than anything."
My stomach tightens. I know that what she's saying is true, but I don't like to hear about him with other girls, as silly as it is to feel this way.
"But," said Danica, realizing what she's saying. “That just means that he must really like you. I don't think I've ever seen him act like the way he acts with you."
I feel a little better. The gossip—that Michal and I want to run off and get married—is right on the tip of my tongue. I've wanted to shout it from the hills since the moment we decided upon it, but know that I shouldn't say a word until things are more certain, especially with Michal's ...work-related activities taking up so much of his time.
But, still, it takes all the restraint I have not to bring it up.
Danica and I spend the next few hours pampering ourselves, and by the time we're done, it's late afternoon. Stepping out into the parking lot, the air brisk and chill and the sun shining down, I feel like a new woman.
"All this relaxing is making me thirsty," says Danica. "What do you say to some wine?"
I smile and nod.
"Sounds perfect."
We hop in her car and drive to a wine bar downtown. Soon after, we're sitting on the patio overlooking the city, a bottle of rose in front of us. Taking a sip of the delicious wine, I think about how nice it is to finally have a friend who I can talk to. My life since my parents’ deaths has been one trouble after another, and now, finally, I feel like my life is something approaching normal—even if my boyfriend is a mobster.
Danica and I chat a little more. She tells me about New York gossip involving extremely rich people who I've never heard of but am interested in all the same. It's like hearing the recap of a reality show that I've never seen.
"Well," says Danica, pouring herself another glass of wine, "I think that about does it for what's going on with me. Surely you've got some gossip to talk about?"
I'm a couple of glasses of wine in and my desire to share my news about Michal has overwhelmed me. Taking a long, slow sip, I spill the beans, as the Americans say.
I tell her everything. I t
ell her that Michal has fallen hard for me, that he's doing extra work with his father in order to make our relationship work, and finished with telling her that Michal and I want to run off and get married.
Danica listens closely, as though making sure that she's heard every word clearly and precisely. Finally, when I'm done, she sits back and takes another sip of wine.
As soon as the last word has left my mouth, I feel like I've done something terribly, terribly wrong. After all, what's the point of eloping if you're just going to tell everyone about it?
But, to my relief, a big, broad smile crosses Danica's lips, followed by a happy shriek as her arms shoot out for a hug. We embrace, and all of my fears are put to rest.
"Oh my God," she says. “You have no idea how happy this makes me. I've been waiting for so long for Michal to finally settle down, and to hear it's with an awesome girl like you is even better."
