Connelly Crime Family Trilogy

by Winters, KB

  “Oh fuck, Layla. Shit.”

  My hips kept moving because they couldn’t fucking stop, not as long as she pulsed around me in an orgasm that wouldn’t quit. “Fuck!”

  Her pussy was addictive. I was drunk on the feel of her tight cunt wrapped around my cock as I slid in and out, wet and hot. I wanted more and even though I still had all night, I knew it wasn’t enough.

  “Fuck yeah,” she panted out. And then she burst out laughing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Layla

  “Okay, now I really do need to hydrate. You’re killin’ me.”

  Eamon was insatiable and not in the way of some twenty-or-thirty-something guys where they jackrabbit into you as many times as you’ll let them, not giving one damn about your pleasure. Oh no, Eamon got off on getting me off, which only made me hot and horny trying to get him off. It was a vicious cycle for the past four hours and I enjoyed every goddamn second.

  Even as I waited for the other shoe to drop. For the asshole version of Eamon to rear his ugly head and kick me out. Again. Instead he smiled and twirled a finger around a lock of my hair. “You mean I didn’t fill you up with enough liquid?”

  “Dirty, dirty boy.” I didn’t know what, but there was something about him that turned me into a giggly little schoolgirl. “As great as you are at filling me up, I’m seconds away from passing out.”

  “Can’t have that, can we?” He ground against me, his cock sliding between my lips deliciously. And then he was gone. All I saw was a naked ass, a fine naked ass, as it walked away. Damn, it was a fine ass. So fine I just wanted to bite into it. “Ice cold or room temperature?”

  “Yes,” I told him gratefully, reaching out for both bottles to soothe my parched throat.

  “Feeling thirsty?”

  I wiggled my eyebrows. “You know it, babe.”

  “You shouldn’t look so fucking hot when you come. Or sound so dirty when I fuck you from behind and flick your clit.”

  I shivered at his words or maybe it was the stream of cold water that dripped from my chin down my chest and straight between my boobs. Eamon’s eyes focused on that one little drop while I finished the first bottle.

  “You make me dirty,” I admitted to him.

  There was a gleam in his eyes, a sparkling satisfaction that lit up his whole face. “Aww princess, are you trying to make me feel special?”

  “Nah. I think your ego is sufficiently stroked all day. Every day.”

  Not that it wasn’t warranted, because it was. Eamon was a fucking god when it came to getting me off. He knew my body better than I did, making me come in ways guaranteed to make me blush, even alone in the shower.

  “I got something else you can stroke.”

  It was childish humor to be sure, but when nine inches of thick, hard cock was at my disposal, what was a girl to do? “Oh yeah, what?”

  “This.” The thick, blunt tip of his cock was perched between my lips. Not forced inside but not timidly waiting for permission. I opened wider and his hips pushed him deeper.

  “Mmmhmm.” I moaned.

  “Oh, shit. You want to play dirty?” He grabbed my hair again, hard enough that it stung a little at the root. I should have balked or at least smacked his hand away, instead my thighs grew wet and sticky and I closed my eyes and savored the taste, the heaviness of him on my tongue. With every stroke I licked him or took him deeper, drawing the most deeply erotic sounds from him.

  Who knew it would feel so good to bring a man to his knees with my mouth? Not that I was a prude, but sex with Eamon was like something out of this world. “Mmm,” I moaned around him again, feeling more moisture flood between my thighs as his muscles tightened and his cock twitched in my mouth.

  “Fuck. You are such a dirty girl,” he grunted, gripping my hair while he slowly fucked my mouth, hips moving faster and faster as pleasure took control of him. I should have felt degraded, but I didn’t. I felt powerful. Every swipe of my tongue, every move I made drew another sound from him.

  “Fuck, Layla.”

  And that was just what Eamon did, pounded my mouth and played with my boobs while he took the pleasure I gave him. He went deeper, so deep I thought I might choke on him, but he was strangely gentle considering what he was doing to me.

  “Look at me.” I did and the sight I saw, stunned me. His gaze was pure melted gold, dark desire written all over his face as he thrust in and out of my mouth, one hand gripping my hair to hold me in place and I’d let him. Submit to him because giving him this kind of pleasure gave it right back to me.

  “Yes,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “Just like that. Such a fuckable little mouth.”

  I smiled and flattened my tongue under his cock and that was when I learned the meaning of losing control. I saw the moment all civility fled and the primal beast inside of him took over, gripping my hair tighter while he fucked my mouth hard, slamming my throat over and over, growling his pleasure until he froze, went still with the buildup of pleasure until it exploded out of him.

  “Ah, fuck!” That roar was worth everything. He held my head tight and his jizz shot out of him like a volcano.

  “You like that, don’t you, dirty girl?”

  I nodded even as I continued to suck him dry, taking every drop of his come simply because I liked the way he jerked each time my tongue swiped the sensitive ring around the head of his cock. My tongue dipped into the slit of his cock.

  “Enough!” He grabbed my ankles and spun me around, dropping before me and burying his face between my thighs, making wicked wet noises that might have embarrassed me under normal circumstances. What should have embarrassed me even more was that it took two, maybe three swipes of his tongue before my body coiled tight with tension and sprang free in an orgasm that nearly tore me apart.

  “Oh fuck, Eamon. Yes!” I gripped his head and ground against him like the hussy he had turned me into until the last sparks of orgasm left my body.

  “I guess you like it when I fuck your mouth.”

  “I’d say I’m not the only one.” My back arched and another moan escaped as he slid his tongue deep inside me, making my hips swirl all on their own.

  “The difference is that I can make you come again and again. And you know what, Layla?”

  “W-what?” the word barely made it out as the tip of his tongue traced my opening, teasing me until I felt another orgasm building in me.

  “I plan to make you come until you tap out.”

  My body was more than up for the challenge, but one look into his green and gold-flecked eyes, dark with lust and I worried about that flash of something I couldn’t decipher when he looked at me like that.

  ***

  “I should probably get going.” It was well after midnight and I was completely wrung out. My body hummed with a constant arousal I wasn’t sure would ever leave, but I knew I couldn’t take Eamon again. Which meant I was no longer useful to him.

  “What’s your hurry?”

  The way he traced a finger up and down my arm, like a genuine lover, made it hard to remember why I was here in the first place. But under his gentle, seductive touch, I’d begun to wonder why I was in a hurry to get back to my empty apartment when I could stay here. I might even remember what it was like to sleep in someone’s arms again.

  “You got a hot date or something?” he asked.

  “In the middle of the night? What kind of girl do you think I am?” I immediately realized my mistake in asking that. “Don’t answer that.”

  Eamon chuckled, the sound deep and rich as he pulled me closer so I could feel that he was ready to take me again.

  “I think you had no idea what a freak in the sheets you were until last night. I also think I enjoyed unleashing your inner sex goddess.”

  He kissed that spot behind my neck that was guaranteed to turn me into a puddle, long and slow and with a lot of tongue.

  “And then, I think, if you called me in the middle of the night offering up your sweet cunt, I’d br
eak traffic laws to get to you.”

  Yeah, that dirty talk really did it for me. Even though I knew I couldn’t take anymore, my back arched against him, pussy seeking him out like a missile seeing its target. “Eamon, I can’t.”

  “I know, but I wonder, have you ever come just from having your tits licked?”

  I barked out a laugh. “That’s an urban myth.”

  His lips curled up into a darkly seductive grin. “We’ll see about that. For now I need food. Come.”

  Wrapped in his t-shirt that was somehow still warm and smelled of him, I followed Eamon to his kitchen where there was plenty of food warming in his ovens. As in multiple ovens. “Are you having a party?”

  “I didn’t know what you liked so I had my chef make a few things.”

  He didn’t blush or look ashamed and that was a damn turn-on. It was nice even if it was totally unnecessary. I didn’t expect all this, hell I didn’t expect a bologna sandwich given our arrangement, but I appreciated it.

  “You chose good. And now I’m grateful for all the calories burned.”

  There was fried chicken, pulled pork, steak and shrimp scampi plus roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes.

  “So grateful.”

  He snorted. “I guess the orgasms don’t count?”

  I looked up and grinned. “Oh they count. But they were a bonus. You got moves, so even if you hadn’t gotten me there, it still would’ve been fun. The fact that you get me off every time is a bonus. And now with the food, well, that’s a double bonus.”

  Maybe I’d drop a few pounds from this insatiable beast. I piled an ungodly amount of mashed potatoes on my plate, feeling no reason to pretend I needed to be cute and girly for him. Eamon wanted to possess me and while we were in bed, I had no problem with that. As long as I didn’t let myself think about it too hard.

  “You’re thinking way too hard over there, Layla.”

  I looked up and realized he’d already made himself a plate, two actually, and had sat down to eat.

  Joining him, I said, “I was just wondering, how does one become a mobster? Do you call yourselves mobsters? Is it like in the movies, your dad is like the Godfather and you’re a made man?”

  His lips twitched and I decided it was a damn good thing Eamon was an asshole instead of one of those charming playboys who smiled all the time. That scowl had saved many women from heartache, of that I was certain, because his smile, even a hint of a smile was devastating.

  “Born into it. No. Kind of, basically and pretty much.”

  “Did you have a choice?” I asked, flicking a napkin onto my lap.

  In the movies there was always one son who wanted to go to college and pursue a legitimate career and I wondered if Eamon was so angry because he was that son.

  “Yes,” he said, digging into his food. “Did you?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. My dad didn’t even realize what was going on, he was drinking all the time. I paid for the tests and admissions and he never knew until I came to him and said, ‘Dad I’m leaving for UCLA on August fifteenth’. Totally stunned.”

  My dad was proud, but hindsight was twenty-twenty and all that and I realized he was more upset that he would have to fend for himself while I was away at school.

  “I could’ve majored in philosophy,” I told him, “and it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  Eamon nodded in recognition. “Yeah, I could’ve done something else, too, but by the time I realized it, I was in too deep.”

  “A real troublemaker, huh? I can see that.”

  “A troublemaker yeah, but with violent tendencies.”

  His gaze hit me head on so that I could see exactly who he was. I liked knowing, because I was making damn sure his orgasms didn’t breach any of the walls I’d put up.

  “I enjoyed beating the shit out of people a little too much to become a football coach.”

  Even though his words were sad, they were also funny and I found myself laughing. Hard. Ridiculously hard that turned mildly unladylike thanks to the piece of fried chicken in my hand. “Sorry, it’s just, the imagery.”

  “Glad to amuse you, princess.”

  I laughed again, happily digging into more food. “Seriously though, how do you become a mobster and what do you call yourselves?”

  His laugh was deep with an echo. A man’s laugh. “We call ourselves family because that’s what we are.”

  “Like the five families?”

  He laughed again and sweet Lord above, I might’ve been willing to do all manner of kinky shit to hear it again. “No. We’re not Italian, we’re Irish. My grandfather immigrated when he was a kid. We just take care of the city and keep the bad guys out.”

  “Aren’t you the bad guys?” I asked with a wink.

  He sighed. “No, do you think loaning people money to help them out of a bind is a bad thing?”

  “Are you satisfied with your work?”

  I’d always thought gangsters were either sociopaths or tortured souls searching for a way out. But maybe that was what Hollywood wanted me to think. His answer surprised me.

  “Yeah, I am actually. I love what I do.”

  “Then you’re luckier than most.”

  “Are you?” he asked. “Satisfied with your life?”

  I nodded, surprised he even gave a damn to ask. “I am. For now. I like what I do and my boss is cool, but I hope I’m not in this position five years from now.”

  “What position do you hope to be in?”

  How could it be that this fucked up situation was the best date I’d had since coming back to Rocket?

  “Leading my own team or maybe even working in my own little boutique marketing shop.”

  “A girl with dreams.”

  “Damn straight, buster. I have plans for my career and my life.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “Woman,” I corrected. “Smart woman.”

  “Sexy woman,” he shot back with that grin that had me crossing my legs. “But a dirty girl.”

  And just like that, the food, the conversation was forgotten as we both succumbed to our baser urges.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eamon

  I fell asleep with Layla’s curves pressed up against me, her blonde hair draped over my face and my chest, and one leg thrown over mine. It was a rare occasion that I fell asleep with a woman, because I didn’t trust anyone outside of my family to watch out for me. And sleeping was when I was most vulnerable.

  After dinner was interrupted, with more orgasms for me and three for her, we’d both collapsed and passed out. Waking up with a soft, warm woman beside me was a novelty and I let myself enjoy it for the moment, because it wasn’t something I planned to repeat. Ever.

  I had to remind myself of that when I turned to face Layla. Her face was so calm and serene in sleep, but even then, I could see the dark circles under her eyes, proof that she wasn’t as unaffected as she appeared.

  I should have been goddamn grateful that she wasn’t making a big production out of her worry or fear for her old man. Hell, I should have been jumping up and down that she’d agreed so easily to my demands and that she took so much fucking pleasure from it. She even seemed to forget the real reason we were together. But when she snuggled closer, it did something to me.

  Made me forget about the fucking Milanos who were trying to hone in on Connelly territory and businesses. That was dangerous. Too fucking dangerous. It was why Shae, Rourke and I had always steered clear of anything resembling a relationship with a woman. Hell, with anyone who wasn’t family. I’d learned long ago only to trust family; they were the ones who’d have my back when the shit hit the fan. And in our world, the shit always hit the fan.

  Which meant none of us had the luxury of being able to relax with a woman. To just fucking be with a woman.

  No, we all knew the deal and we lost ourselves in a sea of nameless, faceless women who fit into the lifestyle we’d chosen. Despite what Layla thought about the organization, Patrick had given us each a choice. J
oin the family business and one day we’d be at the top, running shit the way we’d seen him do since we were kids, or go to college and attempt to have a normal life and do the bidding of some asshole.

  Normal, now, that was a joke. There was no fucking way in hell that we’d ever be comfortable with normal, not with the shit we’d seen.

  Layla stirred beside me and I braced myself for her to wake up, to ruin this peaceful moment with mindless chatter women seemed so fond of. But she didn’t. Her eyes opened, and her lush mouth curved into a smile, one hand drifting lazily across my chest. Then with a soft moan, her eyes closed and her head lolled on my chest as her hand rested so close to my cock, I was tempted to turn over and slide right into her. Waking her up properly.

  “You’re doing a lot of thinking for the middle of the night,” she purred against my chest.

  “Just thinking.” About too many damn things to be able to go back to sleep.

  Layla’s hand stopped the gentle, dizzying stroke of her fingers and she looked up at me. “Do you want me to go?”

  I was half tempted to say yes just to see how she would respond. So far Layla had acted exactly the opposite of what I’d expected, which had my thoughts all twisted up. The fact that I wanted her to stay was a red flag that she needed to get the fuck out, but the second she began to move away from me, to remove herself from my arms, I tightened my hold on her.

  “You’re not going anywhere yet.” Yet being the operative word. I didn’t keep women around and, in that regard, Layla would be no different.

  “Sounds good,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep as she turned over and pressed her back against my chest. I didn’t need any encouragement to turn around and fit my body against hers, one hand full of a soft, plump tit with a semi-hard nipple pressed against my palm. The other hand rested low on her hip, my cock cradled into the warmth of her ass cheeks and my face full of the peach scent of her hair.

  Before I could remind myself that this was an anomaly, something that could not or would not happen again, I found my body growing heavy as it was pulled under by exhaustion and satisfaction. And sleep.