Connelly Crime Family Trilogy

by Winters, KB

  “You always smell so good.”

  That sharp intake of breath hit my ears with delight and I smiled. “Thanks.”

  She jerked a little when one hand fell to her shoulder and slid up the side of her neck until it tangled in her hair.

  “So soft,” I moaned in her ear. I set my glass down to free my other hand, taking the same path from her silky bare shoulder to soft blonde waves. My fingers sifted through her hair, making Layla putty in my hands as she elicited little moans of pleasure. “Everywhere I touch you are so fucking soft.” From her scalp I went to her shoulders, lightly massaging them until she could barely stand up on her own.

  “Eamon,” she moaned and tilted her head back, giving me perfect access to the gentle slope of her neck. Warm skin blended with sexy earth aromas that worked like a fucking aphrodisiac on me.

  “Again,” I growled. “Say it again.” My teeth skid across the back of her neck and she shivered.

  “Eamon. Please.” Her plea was throaty and deep and the time for games was over. I spun her around and backed her up until she hit the cool glass window she was just looking out of. I slammed my mouth against hers. The kiss was a slow burn, heating up by degrees before it turned into a raging inferno of want and need, of lips and teeth and tongue, all fighting to get a better taste, a deeper kiss. More.

  I gave her more of me and she took it, offering more of her mouth as I went deep and tasted every inch of her lips and tongue until she pulled back, panting with wide eyes that registered shock. And heat.

  “Too much?”

  A slow grin curved her lips. “Fuck no.”

  Thank fucking goodness for that. I slipped two fingers under the strap of her shirt and slid them both down until the black bra was revealed to me.

  “Fuck me, Layla.”

  “On the agenda,” she whispered with a little laugh.

  She mumbled something else, but I didn’t hear it because I was too fucking captivated by her lingerie. Black leather and lace with a ribbon tied behind her neck and nothing else to conceal her gorgeous cleavage. The lace fell over the swell of her breasts and when she turned, her whole back was on display, the contraption held together with a few more ribbons of fabric.

  “Fuck this is hot.”

  She laughed again and looked up at me through thick, dark lashes, blue eyes sparkling with desire. “Glad you approve.”

  I more than approved but I was done talking. It was time to peel off those jeans and get a full look at the lingerie before I ripped it from her body and spent the rest of the night buried deep inside her. Tonight wasn’t about taking it fast, at least not for me. My only plan was to keep Layla here all night. When she was in nothing but her sexy lingerie and those wickedly hot heels, which I put back on after I removed her jeans, I took a step back and watched.

  “Sexy.”

  Layla’s response was to lick her lips and cup her tits. “You think?”

  “I know,” I told her and closed the distance between us until she was once again pushed up against the window, shards of moonlight peeking through the only real light other than a few candles. Then I dipped low and found the stiff peak of her nipple and flicked my tongue against it through the fabric.

  “Eamon,” she moaned and arched her back into me.

  I took everything she offered and then some because I was a greedy fucking bastard and I couldn’t get enough of her. The more she cried and moaned and mewled her pleasure, the more I was so damn desperate to give to her. The taste of her through the sexy lingerie was intoxicating. I was tipsy from the whiskey, but I was drunk on Layla and I hadn’t even tasted her sweet pussy yet.

  “I need you. Just you.”

  The words were ripped out of me on a growl and I didn’t give a damn how it sounded because all I gave a fuck about was getting my mouth on her. But first I had to strip the lace off her. Slowly.

  With my teeth.

  Finally she was naked but for those fucking heels that made her legs seem endless. On my knees in front of a woman was a place I rarely found myself, even when eating pussy but I was too fucking eager to get up close and personal with all of her.

  “Eamon.” She purred my name as her fingers tangled in my hair. And tightened. Her gaze so intense I didn’t know whether to thrust into her or reach for my gun, she licked her lips so slowly my cock began to leak.

  “Please.”

  I smiled and grabbed her ankle, never taking my eyes off her as I placed open mouth kisses from her ankle up to the center of her thighs. Then I did it to the other leg.

  “So soft.” I inhaled the new scent of her, lavender and arousal, and something flowery that was all Layla.

  “You wet for me Layla?”

  I knew she would be, the air was thick with her scent but I wanted to hear her say it.

  “I don’t know, am I?” She hissed out a breath when slid my thumb between slick, swollen lips. “Ah!” She quivered.

  “Soaked.”

  She wanted this as much as I did and nothing was hotter than a woman who knew what she wanted, especially in bed, and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

  “Hold yourself open for me.”

  She held my gaze, a smile shining in her eyes as her hands slid down her body until they reached between her legs and exposed her hard clit to me. “Bon Appetit!”

  I chuckled and she smiled along with me until my tongue flicked out and sent her head falling back against the window with a thud. My mouth took over and Layla kept my cock hard with a steady stream of moans and cries, “oh fucks,” and my personal favorite, “fuck yeah.” I lifted one curvy leg over my shoulder and her gaze found me again, dark and hungry.

  “Don’t come,” I warned her when I felt her legs start to tremble.

  She let out a strangled groan. “Are you crazy? I’m about ten licks … nine licks away. Eight,” she moaned, panted and reached a hand to grip my hair. “Eamon, oh!”

  “Don’t. Come.”

  I knew she wouldn’t listen when her hand tightened around my hair hard enough to sting but when she began to grind her pussy back and forth against my lips and my tongue, I didn’t give a shit. Watching her from below as she took her pleasure, eyes glued to mine as she fucked my face, watching her come apart nearly had me coming in my jeans.

  Nearly.

  But there was no fucking way after Layla fucked my face that I would come anywhere but in her tight, wet cunt.

  “You’re so good at that,” she whimpered.

  I laughed, still licking her as I unwrapped her leg and set her foot on the floor. “Thanks. Come here.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to talk, not with my cock so hard all I could hear was blood pumping in my ears.

  “I’m here,” she purred and wrapped an arm around me. “Now what?”

  I gripped her hips and lifted her in the air and spun in a circle two or three times in search of a flat surface for what I had in mind. I fucking hated the decorative tables planted all around the room full of little tchotchkes, but right now I might give my decorator a raise. Layla hissed out a breath when her back hit the cool surface of the table, arching into me. I pulled a nipple in my mouth and sucked. Hard.

  “Fuck!” Her nipples were bright red, slick and swollen and I only wanted to go back for more.

  “Eamon,” she moaned and tightened her legs around my waist, grinding her pussy against my denim covered cock. “Fuck me.”

  I nibbled my way down her body, scraping my teeth across her nipples, ribs, hipbones until I was far enough away to get undressed. Layla sat up on her elbows and watched liked it was a goddamn striptease.

  “Enjoying the show?”

  “You know what you look like without clothes.”

  “But I don’t know what you think about how I look without clothes.” I smiled at her and she spread her legs barely an inch, just enough for the moonlight to catch a sliver of moisture on her lips.

  She sighed. “I think you look damn good naked. The rare man who looks better without clothes.”r />
  My cock sprang free at her words, straining and jerking toward her and she laughed.

  “Happy?”

  “Fucking ecstatic,” I told her and gripped my cock, running the head up and down her pussy, letting her juices coat my cock. “So, so wet.”

  “That’s on … you.”

  She said the last word on a moan as I slid slowly into her, pausing after every inch to look at her simply because I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  “More,” she begged.

  One jerk of my hips and my cock was buried deep with no air between us. Layla cried out and her pussy clamped around me.

  “Shit,” I hissed. I couldn’t stop touching her, even as I touched her in the most intimate way possible. My hands skated up her legs and over the curve of her ass, the dip of her waist and up to those fantastic tits. Every inch of flesh my hands touched turned my dick to steel until it was agonizing.

  “Fuck. Layla, fuck.”

  “More, Eamon. Fuck me. Harder.”

  I let out a low groan and pounded harder into her, letting my hand slide up to her throat for a small squeeze. I watched as her hooded eyes flared wide for a split second but more importantly, I felt the way her pussy crushed my cock, pulsing quickly all around me. “Oh fuck!” I cried.

  Layla grabbed at my wrist and I prepared myself for her to shove it away but she didn’t. Her grip tightened on my wrist and my grip tightened just a hair. She pulsed around me again and I snapped.

  My hips took over, pumping in and out of her, one hand fondling her breast while the other held her throat. I couldn’t look away because every emotion, every expression of pleasure was written all over her face and telegraphed to my cock. Tighter and tighter she gripped me and I knew she was close.

  “Yes,” she squeaked out unnecessarily.

  Her legs tightened as her pleasure took over and I continued to pump into her, hard and fast, until pleasure snaked up my spine and my orgasm was yanked from the depths of my nutsac. It was rough and vicious, and long, pulling every ounce of pleasure from me it could.

  “Fuck yeah, baby.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Layla

  There were two things I noticed when I woke up from a knock-out orgasm. First, I was still totally bare assed naked, and second, there was a big, strong, manly arm banded around my waist. Neither of which were common occurrences in my life worth mentioning. It took half a second to remember that the arm belonged to Eamon, not because we just couldn’t keep our hands off each other, even if that was true, but that I was here to pay a debt.

  I blinked and looked out the window to see the night dotted with sparkling stars and the moon lighting up the room just enough to see the outline of Eamon’s shoulder. Even in sleep he was a powerful man. His muscles shone under the moonlight, giving his skin a pale yellow hue. I turned, careful not to wake him because I wanted to see if he was as intimidating in his sleep as he was awake.

  Yep. Eyes closed, bed head, and the slow, rhythmic breathing did nothing to weaken him. I was sure if his eyes were open, they’d be as fierce and implacable as they always were.

  But now with them closed, I could have my fill of him. Take in all the details I’d missed, including that small scar on his left eyebrow and the scar on his abdomen that could have been a stab wound or a bullet wound. Either was plausible and as I let my hand roam over that scar, I closed my mind to the gruesome thoughts and images of how he got it.

  “Christ, that’s a lot of thinking when the sun’s not even up yet.” Eamon turned his head and opened his eyes with one eyebrow arched in question.

  “Even if it’s thinking about giving you a wake-up blow job?” I hadn’t been thinking about it but now that I’d said it, my body was already gearing up for the show.

  “Never too early for those kinds of thoughts. Or too late. Were you?”

  I shook my head with a teasing smile. “No. I was really thinking about when you let me ride your face earlier. God, I even had a dream about it. I think I might have picked up a new fetish.”

  Eamon tighten his hold on me, hands digging into my ass as he fit me against him with a tortured groan. “You can ride my face anytime you like, princess.”

  I felt the blush creep up my chest and by the time it turned my scalp pink, the heat flamed hotter. “I just might take you up on that.”

  He grinned and closed his eyes, pulling me half way on top of him while his fingertips played up and down the dip in the center of my back. It was a soft touch, a lover’s touch that felt too good considering what we were. What this was. “Hungry?”

  “Starved.” I’d eaten five bites of the delicious pastrami before the whole printer debacle took up most of my afternoon and that was the sum total of my food consumption for the day.

  “Come on. There’s always something in the fridge.”

  “That’s a nice perk. We sure do eat a lot,” I said, accepting the oversized t-shirt he threw at me and following him into the kitchen. “Do fairies come in and pick your towels up off the floor, too?”

  He grinned up at me. It was cute and boyish and I really wished I hadn’t seen it. “Gotta stay strong. And who says I leave my towels on the floor?”

  “You don’t?” I challenged him, my gaze on the beautiful expanse of his back. His muscles were beautifully sculpted and his arms were the perfect canvas.

  “I do, but I pay Loretta very well to come in and be my fairy three times a week.”

  “Sounds kinky.”

  Eamon barked out a laugh and let my nails dig deep into my palms because when he was relaxed, free of his gangster persona, he was irresistible. “I’ll tell Loretta you said so and her husband of thirty years.”

  “Wow. That’s a long time to be married.”

  “You sound envious.” His tone was curious but there was a hint of caution in them.

  “I am. I envy the kind of trust it takes to be with someone so fully. Sometimes I wonder what kind of lives those people have.”

  But I never wondered too hard because finding out they somehow had it harder than me would mean I was the problem.

  “Didn’t peg you as a romantic.” He said it like it was a dirty word and I couldn’t help but smile as he pulled out ingredients for sandwiches from the fridge.

  “Not a romantic, just a realist. It would be nice to have that but I don’t think I could ever trust anyone enough.”

  And thank you Dad for adding another layer on top of my trust issues.

  “You might find this hard to believe Eamon, but when I turn fifty, I won’t have a gaggle of twenty-something guys lining up to bang me.”

  His heated gaze turned to confusion and then he scoffed. “You think I’m fifty?”

  That hint of vulnerability was damned appealing. What was so fucking wrong with me that every broken piece of himself he revealed only made me want him more?

  “I think it doesn’t matter how old you are. You’re good looking and you have that whole bad boy thing going with the added bonus of being an actual bad boy, plus rich. You have the luxury of being an eternal bachelor.”

  “Mustard?”

  “Spicy?”

  He nodded and I nodded back, enjoying how utterly sexy and masculine he looked wearing nothing but a pair of low slung pajama pants while he made big fancy deli sandwiches.

  “You said you would never trust anyone, Layla.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not open to the possibility of it. So far it hasn’t happened and I have little hope that’ll change anytime soon.”

  As it stood, if a man was attracted to me that was a guarantee that he was no good. Homeless, unemployed, married, a musician, permanent students and gay rounded out the problems with my exes over the years.

  “You have great sandwich skills, by the way.”

  He grinned and sliced the sandwich diagonally, dropping a pickle on each plate along with a handful of chips. “Easy and perfect any time of day.”

  “But you have a chef.”

  “I do,
but I keep odd hours sometimes and other times I just want to be on my own. Do my own thing.”

  His words were sincere. A rich guy who didn’t enjoy having a herd of servants around to dote on him. “So Eamon, do you have siblings and cousins who are also your best friends?”

  He grinned like a caught little kid. “How’d you know?”

  “I didn’t but I’m trying to see how much gangster stuff is real and how much is fiction.”

  He looked up, sandwich halfway to his mouth and grinned. “Seriously?”

  “Why not? This stuff is legendary and when am I ever going to get a chance to ask these questions again?”

  He gave me that look, that sort of condescending yet affectionate one you get from an older brother’s best friend. Not that I was familiar with it personally, but I kept my e-reader stocked with romance books, so I kind of had a good idea.

  After a long pause he finally answered. “Yes. I have a younger brother and a cousin. I don’t know if we’re best friends, but we are very close.”

  “That sounds nice. Mom and Dad were both only children with elderly parents so holidays were small. Quiet.”

  He pointed to himself before he swallowed, then answered. “Boisterous, bordering on obnoxious would describe our family gatherings.” He grinned again, this one loving as he described his family. “It can get loud and crazy but it’s the way things have always been.”

  “You like it,” I accused, and he shrugged.

  “I do. My family means everything to me.”

  “Clearly.” I said, a little snarkier than intended.

  His face hardened as anger changed his features back to the slab of stone they usually were. “I won’t apologize for doing my job, Layla.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” In fact, I hadn’t asked anything other than some stupid mob questions, even though the more I was around him the more I wanted to know about him and his real life. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

  I slid off the stool and tugged down his t-shirt. “I’m gonna get out of here.”

  No point ruining another amazing orgasm with an argument. Eamon sat in silence, and I blamed my love of romance novels for making me wish he’d said something while I rinsed off my plate and glass. I didn’t even look at him when I left the kitchen.