by Kim Linwood
Montana kisses his way back up my body, until we’re face to face.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in. His mouth slants down over mine, and his tongue delves inside. The sweet tang of my own arousal mixes with his own masculine taste, but I don’t care, not after a performance like that.
His thigh nudges between my legs, and then he’s between them. The thick length of his cock rests against my stomach, but not for long. I wiggle beneath him until he’s exactly where I want him to be.
“Going to make me wait this time?” I tease.
His answer is a roll of his hips that presses him into me in one long, smooth stroke. We both let out deep breaths, thick with arousal, at the amazing feeling of skin on skin. He rests his forehead in the crook of my neck, followed by the sting of his teeth as they bite down on my shoulder. Animal instinct freezes me in place as he starts to move slowly inside me.
He releases my shoulder, softly kissing the soreness away before raising up on his arms to look at me. Our eyes meet. The heavy drag of his cock through my sex is so good, I want to close my eyes and focus on the sensations, but I can’t look away.
Pride, masculinity, strength, they’re all there, but so are tenderness, possession and safety. I can see my future in his gaze, and it scares the hell out of me.
My hands tremble as I slide them up his arms and over his smooth chest. He might have had the chance to explore me, but this is my first real chance to touch him and I’m not going to waste it. With each thrust, his muscles slide under my hands. From his arms, to his abs, to his rock-hard ass.
As if to prove the point that I’m under his control, he hooks my legs over his arms, spreading me wide and leaving me unable to do anything but hold on as he fucks me. His hips strike the backs of my thighs, and I cling to him, eager for him to kiss me.
He does, and in doing so, dominates my whole world. The taste, smell and feel of him is all I have, and all I need. His low moans and my gasps of pleasure fill the room. My nails dig into him as he plunders my body. Between the angle and his size, his cock strokes places inside me that have never been touched.
Swollen and over-sensitive after coming once already, it doesn’t take me long before Montana’s onslaught ignites me a second time. What starts as a slow burn turns into an undeniable urge to move faster and harder. We’re reduced to nothing but animals, rutting in primal need, but it’s glorious.
When I come, my entire body rocks beneath him, trying to pull him in and throw him off at the same time. He groans and shoves me down into the mattress, thrusting hard. Finally, he stiffens and the warm rush of his essence floods me.
I can’t stop moving, my hips grinding against him, trying to extend the moment for as long as possible. Deep inside I can feel the wet heat of him making everything slick and wonderful.
“God, that feels good,” I groan.
He frees my legs and brushes a hand over my forehead with a smile. Even now, when he moves inside me, it makes me shudder and squirm at the over-the-top pleasure of it.
Once we’re collapsed on the bed, he pulls me to his side. I go willingly, resting my head on his shoulder, and lazily exploring his chest with my fingers. His hand strokes my thigh.
This feels comfortable.
Right.
“I’ve never done that before,” he admits, looking up at the ceiling. “No condom, I mean.”
“Me neither.” I bite my lip and consider how cool I want to play this. The answer is not very. “Wanna do it again? I mean, it’s not like you can knock me up twice, and if they’re going to kill us, we might as well have fun while it lasts.”
He laughs at my hopefully only half-joke and gives my ass a squeeze. “I might need a minute.”
“Mmhm,” I hum in agreement, slipping out from under his arm and working my way down his amazing body.
“What are you—ohh!” He gasps and his hips jerk as I wrap my fingers around his cock and slide my mouth over the head.
Turns out a minute can go by really fast with the right motivation.
24
Montana
The sun’s just peeking over the rooftops as I walk up the marbled path to our Lincoln Park mansion. Pretentious columns with evergreen ivy wrapped around them support the front veranda. A Christmas wreath already hangs on the front door, obviously Mom’s work, because no one else would’ve. It’s freaking November.
Most of the time it’s home, but lately I can’t say I’ve missed it. Leaving Andrea’s bed this morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but she has Evie, and if I don’t check in, there’ll be hell to pay.
I nod to guard on duty, then push the front door open. Hopefully Marc isn’t up yet. I’d rather deal with Giuseppe alone. Test his mood a little before I drop the bomb. This isn’t the kind of secret that will hold for long, but I can’t just lay it out and hope for the best.
Whatever happens, I’m responsible now. For her, for the baby. The fallout needs to hit me, not her, and there’s going to be fallout, no fucking doubt about that. Marc and Giuseppe don’t care about Andrea as a person, but this will be a slap in the face of their pride.
No such luck. Marc wanders out of the den looking like shit. He might not be asleep, but he sure looks like he wants to be, his eyes bloodshot and his suit rumpled like he hasn't slept. His usually carefully styled hair sticks up like a haystack.
He eyes me with a bleary squint. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Rough night, bro?”
His middle finger is my answer. “If you were here you’d know, but no, you’re off on vacation with the DiFieros. How’s my fiancée doing, anyway? Can we just get this fucking thing over with already or do I need to send flowers and candy?”
I follow him back into the kitchen where he pours himself a coffee. Something’s not right. “Where’s Giuseppe?”
“Right this second? If I had to take a guess, sitting in a little room waiting for his lawyer.”
“What?”
“He got picked up by the feds last night.”
We stare at each other as the enormity of the situation hits. “Fuck me.”
Marc glowers. “No thanks. If Andrea didn’t seem like such a cold bitch I’d say you’d have better luck there. Maybe it would loosen her up a little.”
My fingers curl into a fist, and it takes a lot of effort not to punch that snide look off his face. “Back up the fuck up. What happened?”
“The feds happened.” He slumps into one of the kitchen chairs and takes a sip before putting the mug down on top of a mess of papers. The table is loaded down with multiple laptops, three phones and an empty bottle of scotch. “They charged in right before midnight, read him his rights and stuck the old bastard in the back of a police van. Mom went over there a couple hours ago with some shit for him.”
“She’s still there?”
“Yeah, he’s got visitation and they haven’t officially charged him with anything yet.” Marc tips the scotch bottle over his coffee, frowning when only a few drops come out.
“Little early for that, don’t you think?”
“Fuck you. I haven’t slept yet and until I hear from our lawyers, I’m not going to. I bet being the black sheep doesn’t seem so bad right now.”
I laugh and fix my own coffee. “Mixed feelings, I’ll admit it.”
“Well I don’t give a shit about your feelings. I need to get this mess under control.” His fingers are flying over one of the phones as he knits his brows in concentration. “You’d think these fuckers were incapable of wiping their own asses. You think Dad puts up with this? No wonder we’re losing control.”
Marc looks up as if startled by his own words. Giuseppe’s days as the head of the family are numbered, the only question is when and how. Too many things have been slipping through the cracks for too long.
I tip my head in silent acknowledgment of his admission. “Time for a change of the guard?”
“No,” He shakes his head. “Not yet. Not that you g
ive a shit. Admit it for once.”
I shrug. “Giuseppe can rot for all I care.”
“My great-grandfather built us up from nothing, each generation making us stronger. Giuseppe is the family. For now, what he says goes. Got it? The warrant won’t stick, and after the wedding… well, after the wedding we’ll see where we are.”
There won’t be one, not if I can help it. This might be a good opportunity to steer Marc away from Andrea without bloodshed. “Why not drop it? The DiFieros could use this as an opportunity to get the upper hand if we don’t get our shit in order.”
“That’s exactly why we need it. Keeping them close means we know what they’re up to. Besides, if we cancel it now, there will be questions. It makes us look weak, like we’re on the defensive.” He closes his eyes and leans his head on his arm, obviously exhausted.
“What if we could do it another way?”
“Like what?”
A way that doesn’t involve me beating you into a pulp every time you mention my woman like she’s an unpleasant business acquisition. Or mention her at all come to think of it.
I’m not cut out for this. Need a supply drop in the middle of enemy territory? I’ll do it. Scaring the living shit out of someone who needs a warning? No problem. But this is like hostage negotiation, and I’m more the shoot them through the window type.
Mom would kill me if I shot Marc.
I need backup.
The front door bangs open and high heels click through the foyer. “Marc! No, Montana. Where’s your brother?” She gives me a distracted hug. It’s not the first time we’ve been mistaken for each other from behind, even by her.
Marc, slumped over the kitchen table, raises an arm in a half-hearted wave. “How’s Dad?”
“Furious, of course. He’s going to be a bear to live with when he gets back, but he’s fine and David is there now with the legal team.” David Shapiro has been with the Caporossis as long as I can remember. Grizzled and grey, wrinkled and worn, he’s got to be nearing ready for retirement, but if anyone can make this go away, he can.
She looks my way. “Could you get me a coffee? Lots of milk.”
“Sure, Ma.” I fix her a cup. “You think he’ll be out soon?”
“I hope so, but…” Mom frowns and gives a little shrug. “It might take a few days.” She delicately takes the cup from me and goes to Marc, running her fingers through his hair like he’s still a little boy. “How are you holding up?”
He raises his head and glances at the empty mugs and glasses scattered around the table. “I’m running on booze and caffeine, but I’ve got to play nursemaid to an army of soldiers that are acting like teenage girls.”
“That’s what the capos are for.” She shakes her head gently and rubs his back. “Tell them to do their jobs, and you go to bed for a few hours. Mother’s orders.”
“I can’t—”
“When you’re tired, you make mistakes. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Marc’s right, Mom. If he—”
She fixes both of us with withering looks. “Get over yourselves, boys. They know not to fuck with me.”
25
Montana
“Ma!” Marc stares at her like he’s never seen our mother before.
She rolls her eyes. “Go to bed.” It’s a sign of exactly how tired he must be that he listens. Once he’s out of sight and up the stairs, she dumps out what’s left of the coffee. “God bless your brother, but this tastes like tar. I don’t know why he doesn’t just use the Keurig.”
“Marco Caporossi use a mass-market capsule machine? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Mom snorts. “Don’t tell him, but his father has a fondness for decaf French vanilla.” She slides open a drawer full of little pods. “You want something?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Food?”
I slide onto one of the stools tucked under the island in the middle of the kitchen, enjoying the moment of relative peace and normalcy. “What do we have?”
“I could make eggs, or if you want something more solid, there’re cold cuts, lasagna and I think there’s some pasta salad left.” She moves around the kitchen like a queen in her domain. “Oh! I have soup in the freezer. That would just take a minute to heat up. Are they feeding you over there?”
“I’m not starving.”
“I knew it. They aren’t feeding my boy. I’ll call—”
“Mom.” I hold up my hand, stopping her before things get crazy. “It’s fine. They’ve been fine.”
She stops moving, and grabs the counter, suddenly looking tired and vulnerable. “Let me take care of you. I’ve got to do something.”
“Sure, soup would be great.”
Watching her, I know Marc was right. I don’t give a shit about “The Caporossi Family”, not the way he meant. What I care about is my family. The ones in this house, and now two more.
Mom puts a pot on the stove and starts to thaw what looks like vegetable soup. “So did you come over when you heard about Giuseppe?”
“Nah, I came to check in and found Marc wandering the house like a zombie. I only beat you by a few minutes.”
“Your poor brother. He’s going to give himself an ulcer at this rate.”
“Maybe it’s the coffee?”
She laughs. “Maybe. It was nice to see you two talking like normal human beings instead of rolling on the floor, though.”
“It’s too early. I wasn’t warmed up for a good fight.”
Not buying it, she sets down the spoon and studies my face. “So are you going to tell me why you’re really here? You never come to talk to Giuseppe in person unless something’s going on.”
“Am I that obvious?”
She’s right. It’s rare for me to go out of my way to see Marc, and never Giuseppe. I catch myself looking down into my cold coffee—it really is as bad as she says—and when I raise my gaze to Mom’s face, her mouth is curved in a sly smile. “I’m your mother.”
“Andrea’s pregnant.” No point in beating around the bush.
Her eyes widen, and she sloshes soup onto the stovetop as she pours it into a bowl. I grab a paper towel and move around to help her clean up as she stares at me in growing dismay.
“Who? When? What? Oh dear Jesus.” She makes the sign of the cross and closes her eyes. “I needed a distraction, not a heart attack. Giuseppe is going to be fit to be tied. I hate to even say this but… is she keeping the baby? Do we know the father?”
“Yes, on both counts.”
“Who? It can’t be Marc. He’s been in a horrible mood. If they were that friendly already he’d be less grumpy.”
“Mom!”
“You’re a big boy. You know what I mean.”
This conversation is going to scar me for life, I can feel it. “It’s me.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy and hands me the soup. “I know it’s you. I’m your mother.”
“No, it’s me. I’m the father.”
“What?” Mom grabs the bowl back before I can even think about taking a bite and scowls at me. “She’s your brother’s fiancée!”
“Well, we didn’t know that when we met on the plane to London, now did we?”
She shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “And in the course of a single flight, you managed to…”
Unable to meet her gaze, I busy myself with the coffee cup. “Yeah. Things happened.”
Exasperation is painted clearly across her face. “Oh God, Montana. How on Earth do you do this? Every time.”
“What? I've never knocked anyone up before. We were safe, even, so I have no idea how it—”
“Dio mio. And you believe her? The DiFieros, they might have some angle that—”
No angles. Andrea’s all curves. “It’s mine.”
“And you were planning on telling Giuseppe this? Are you crazy?” Her voice goes up nearly to a screech.
“What other choice do I have? It’s my responsibility, and obviously we have to call off the
wedding. Better he finds out now, rather than afterwards.”
“No!”
“No? You can’t be serious. This isn’t me hiding my enlistment papers. This is my child we’re talking about.”
“I mean, not yet.” Mom grabs my hands. “This girl, when you say it’s your responsibility, are you just doing what you think is right? Or do you care for her?”
“I…” Do I love Andrea?
She’s beautiful and—when she’s not driving me crazy—a lot of fun to be with. I clearly can’t keep my hands off her, even when I should know better. Is that love?
Isn’t it enough that she’s carrying my baby and the thought of anyone else touching her makes me see red?
“Yes, I care for her.”
Mom smiles and pats me on the cheek. “It’s a good start.”
“It’s a fucked up start.”
“Montana, language!” She smacks my arm.
“If you can swear, so can I,” I grumble.
“Don’t talk back to your mother.”
“It’s true, though. This is like history repeating itself. Except it will be me behind bars, and Marc raising my kid.” Is there more of that scotch somewhere? “I need to do better. Andrea deserves better.”
Her eyes go wide and she puts a hand over her mouth. “You think this is like it was with your father?”
“Isn’t it?” I finally say out loud the words that have been eating at me since the moment I realized what was happening. “If he couldn’t keep you safe, what chance do I have with Andrea?”
Mom sighs and pulls me over to the table to sit down. “I know you don’t remember, but I loved your father. He was handsome, and exciting. The forbidden fruit. Giuseppe was…” She sighs. “He was to me what Marc is to your Andrea. He was what was expected of me.”
“I’m not seeing how this is different so far.”
“Hush. It’s different because you aren’t your father, and Marc isn’t Giuseppe. I did you a disservice, not forcing Giuseppe to accept you when you were small, but I was so young, and you were all I had left. Of your father, of that other life. It took years before I knew coming back here was the right choice. By that time, Marc was born and things were… they weren’t all bad were they?” She looks heartbroken, and it kills me.