BIG DADDY SINATRA 2: IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, Book 2

by Mallory Monroe

  “That I could do better?”

  “That you would be a rich boy looking to stay a rich boy and give his old man whatever he wants. But that’s not you?”

  Brent laughed. “Not a bone in my body,” he said.

  “But don’t get too comfortable,” Denise said. “Being a cop isn’t exactly a walk in the park either. It can be just as dangerous as exotic lands. Maybe even more so.”

  Not hardly in Jericho, Brent knew. But he appreciated her concern. “I’ll be okay.”

  “You’d better be,” Denise joked.

  Brent smiled. “Or what?”

  “Or you’re on your own, buddy, because I’m going to be out of here!”

  Brent laughed.

  “So you became a cop.”

  He nodded. “I became a cop.”

  “And your old man be damned, or something like that?”

  Brent tossed another rock across the bay. “Nothing like that,” he said. “I love my old man. He’s the most important person in my life. I just made the decision to make my own decisions about my life.” Then he glanced at her as she folded her arms. He frowned. “You’re cold. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, you aren’t okay, come on.” He placed an arm around her waist and began ushering her back toward the car.

  She felt his nearness, and his touch, in a way that she knew should not have felt so good. But it did. His touch felt great.

  “Some nights in Jericho can be breezy,” he said. “I’ve got some blankets at the house.”

  Denise stopped walking. “The house? Your father’s house?”

  Brent stopped walking too. “My house,” he said.

  Denise knew what time it was. Scratching time. And she was ready. “Sounds good,” she said, and continued to walk.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Charles was on the floor of their den, with his back against the couch, playing with his baby girl on his lap. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and was bare feet. Comfortable in his own home. Although his two youngest sons, Robert and Donald, were in the den with him, each one sitting on either side of him on the floor, and were getting on his true nerve with their childish bickering.

  “But it’s not fair, Dad,” Donald was saying. “You catch Bobby selling drugs, selling drugs, Dad, and you don’t do anything to him.”

  “He kicked my ass,” Robert said. “What are you talking about? He made me go to the cops and tell everything! I could have been looking at ten years if they didn’t give me immunity! And those guys could still do me harm if they find out I’m the one who snitched on them.”

  “Ah, they’re small potatoes,” Donald said dismissively. “They can’t do anything to anybody. The only reason Chief Joffee cut any deal with you was because he’s scared of Dad like the rest of these cowards around here.”

  “But you said Dad let me get away with it. I said that’s a ball-faced lie.”

  “But Dad’s letting you work at his car dealership. He won’t let me work at his Inn anymore, but he lets you work at his dealership.”

  “I’m washing cars at his dealership, the same thing you did once upon a time before you lost that too, so stop acting as if I’m running it or something. He’s giving me a second chance.”

  “I deserve a second chance,” Donald said.

  “He’s already given you a second chance fifty times over. You’ve blown every one.”

  “I haven’t blown anything,” Donald responded, and then looked at his father. Don’t listen to Bobby, Dad.”

  “Isn’t this Friday night?” Charles asked his sons.

  Robert looked at him. “Yeah, so?”

  “Then why are you two hanging around me? Why aren’t you out with some girls somewhere having a good time?”

  “Nobody wants to go out with Bobby,” Donald said. “He’s a drug dealer.”

  “And you’re a wife beater,” Robert fired back. “At least I know how to treat a woman. I can have any woman I want. And I already have plenty.”

  “So why are you here, Mr. Hot Stuff?” Donald asked. “Since you’re so in demand. Why are you hanging out with your daddy on a big Friday night?”

  “Same reason you are,” Robert said honestly. “I’m trying to get back into his good graces.”

  Charles looked at his son. Despite Robert’s problems, he really was the sweetest kid he had. That was why he was so disappointed when he found out about the drugs. “Stay away from drugs in every way, shape, and form, and you’ll stay in my good graces,” Charles responded.

  “Don’t worry,” Robert said. “It was a brain fart in my life. I don’t know what I was thinking. But me and my bruised body know it won’t happen again.” He still ached from the beat down his father had put on him.

  “And what do I have to do to get back into your good graces?” Donald asked.

  But Charles knew Donald was a hard case. He had no new advice for him because his problem was the same. “Grow up,” he said.

  “I have grown up,” Donald replied. “Just because I don’t run around town chasing women like the rest of your sons doesn’t mean I haven’t grown up. Just because I don’t have women screaming and hollering whenever I make love to them the way you have Jenay doing doesn’t mean I haven’t grown up.”

  Robert grinned. “No he didn’t say that, Dad. You heard him? He’s been listening while you and your wife make love!”

  “I came by a couple times and heard them, that’s all. I wasn’t purposely listening.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Robert said, never missing a chance to push Donald’s buttons, “you were probably getting a hard-on you were listening so hard.”

  Donald tried to lunge over his father and stepsister to get to Robert, but Robert laughed and leaned away.

  “You two better knock it off,” Charles warned.

  And then Jenay, with cake in hand, walked in.

  “There you are!” she said as she entered the den, and everybody looked in her direction. Charles smiled and the baby lit up with a grin. She started flapping her arms.

  Jenay smiled. “There’s my little angel!” She sat the cake, and her purse, on a side table, and made her way toward her husband and child. “There’s my little sweetheart!” She sat down beside Charles, and took the baby from his lap.

  “You look beautiful as usual, Jenay,” Robert said to his stepmother. Donald rolled his eyes.

  “Thank-you,” Jenay responded to Robert. “Why aren’t you out painting the town?”

  “He’s too busy kissing up to Dad,” Donald said. Then he stood up. “I’m going home.”

  “Don’t leave on my account,” Jenay said.

  Donald wanted to hit back hard. He wanted to tell her that he would never leave on her account since she was of no account to him. But he knew his father would knock him through that wall if he went there with her. “I’m not,” was all he said, and left.

  Jenay looked at Charles and lifted her eyebrows.

  “Don’t worry about him,” he said, and kissed her on the lips. “He’ll eventually come around.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Jenay asked.

  Charles had no answer for that. Raising Donald differently from his other sons, where he felt he had to overcompensate for the lack of motherly love Donald had in his life, was perhaps his greatest failure as a father and a man. “He’ll come around,” he repeated.

  “My advice, Jenay,” Robert said as he stood up. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Charles looked up at him. “I thought you wanted to get in my good graces.”

  “I do,” Robert said with a smile. “But I’m not going to pretend my baby brother is going to suddenly have an epiphany and change his miserable life. He’s a wreck, there’s all there is to it, and nobody can change that fact but him. And he’s not about to change anything because he likes being daddy’s little boy. But as for me? Now that you have somebody to keep you warm, I figure I can excuse myself and find somebody to keep me warm. To
ny’s got a date, and Brent’s out with Denise, I need to get with the program too.”

  Jenay looked at him. “Brent’s on a date with Denise?” she asked.

  “Ooops!” Robert said. “Was that supposed to be a secret? Did I give away the secret?”

  “It was no secret,” Jenay said. “Just a surprise.”

  “Why a surprise?” Charles asked. “That friend of yours is hot in the panties, and Brent’s hot in the pants. They match.”

  Jenay smiled. “Your son’s a player, Charlie?”

  “Of the highest order,” Charles responded, smiling too.

  “We all are,” Robert said, as he began to leave. “We watched Dad in action for years, and learned every move.”

  Jenay laughed, as Robert left.

  Charles looked at her as she played with Bonita. “So how did it go?” he asked her.

  Jenay nodded her head. “For the most part it went okay.”

  Charles stared at her. “For the most part?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What part didn’t go okay?”

  “The last part.”

  Charles braced himself. “Tell me.”

  Jenay looked forward, remembering that last part. “Nothing much to tell really,” she said. “The meeting went really well. We came up with what I thought were very reasonable and good proposals for certain upcoming events around town. But as I was about to leave, I noticed that nobody had bothered to taste my cake. But it was no biggie because there were a few other dishes that nobody touched. They were all very slender women, so I figured maybe they weren’t into sweets or just needed to watch their weight or something. I didn’t give it any serious thought. But then Pat’s husband got kind of rude.”

  “Her husband?” Charles asked. “You mean Stoke? What was he doing there? I thought it was a meeting of the business wives club.”

  “It was. He didn’t attend the meeting. He answered the door when I arrived, and he came out of his study after the meeting was over when we were eating and hanging out.”

  “And he was rude to you?”

  “He thought he was being funny I guess when he said they would rather eat poison, of the most lethal level he added, than to eat any cake of mine. Or, as he put it, any cake baked by Charles Sinatra’s wife.”

  Charles’s jaw tightened. “He said that?”

  Jenay nodded. “He said it.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything. I took my cake and came home.”

  Charles smiled, and placed his arm around her waist. He kissed her on the forehead. “Good for you,” he said.

  But as he held her, and they watched their daughter grin and play, his eyes were turning colder, and more chilling. His eyes were saying something entirely different.

  She was fucking Brent Sinatra! That was all she could think about as she laid on top of him and moved her body up and down his massive rod. This was what the fuss was about. This was what all of these hicks in Jericho would have given limbs to sample. And she was getting it her way. And the feeling surprised even her. He was good. He was better than good. He was scratching the shit out of her itch.

  She laid down on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around her, as her pussy continued to glide up and down on his now sticky, slippery condom-covered rod. It felt so wonderful to her that she didn’t want it to end. She just knew she could go on all night like this.

  And she could have. Because Brent like it too. But he needed more. But he remained patient. He wanted her to get hers first. He continued to let her slide on him. He continued to let her stay on top and feel that wonderful feeling. And she felt it. For the longest time she felt it. And then she came.

  She let out a scream that was fine by him since his house was secluded enough. She screamed and she screamed as she came. He could feel her vaginal muscles tightening around his rod as she came. She was getting hers. He was pleased.

  But he wasn’t done. Because he had to get his too. That was when he took over. He put her on her knees, had her big ass facing him, and he put his dick back in. Only this time he was doing the pounding. This time he was putting it on her. Because it was a purely sexual thing for both of them, they didn’t try to make it anything else. It had been a month long dry spell for Brent, and he was making up for lost time.

  Denise was the beneficiary of his makeup, and she was loving the benefit. He pounded her so hard, and made her feel so sensual, that she found herself, after long minutes of his masterful young dick, feeling that urge again. More pounding, more intense feelings and she found herself cumming again. She experienced that sweet sensation of another orgasm.

  And Brent was still pounding her. He was still thrashing into her pussy and fucking her ass into submission. This might not have been a love connection. They didn’t know each other like that. But this was the best fuck connection either one of them had ever had.

  By the time Brent came, Denise was on her third orgasm.

  By night’s end, she was already dick-whipped.

  After several doorbell rings, the outside light came on and Stoke Ackerman opened his front door.

  “Charles?” he asked, obviously surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  Charles stood there in his jeans and sweatshirt, with a pair of tennis shoes on his feet, and it was obvious he was angry. He also had Jenay’s uneaten cake in his hand. Without saying a word, he took that cake and shoved it into Stoke’s face. He shoved it so hard that Stoke fell backwards, into his foyer, knocking over a flower stand and flower pot. Charles jumped on top of him, shoving more cake down his throat, making him gag on that cake he claimed was worse than poison.

  His wife Pat, and a few of the other ladies who were still there, heard the noise and hurried to see what the fuss was about.

  They stopped in their tracks when they saw middle-aged and out of shape Stoke Ackerman struggling to get Charles Sinatra off of him, but Charles was too young and too strong. Stoke didn’t stand a chance.

  But Charles forced himself to stop. He wasn’t above getting in the mud with anybody, but he also had promises to keep. And a wife and a baby and four grown sons who still needed him to look out for them. He stood up over the downed man. “Disrespect my wife again,” he warned, “and cake won’t be the only thing you eat.”

  Pat Ackerman and the other women stared at Charles, and Charles looked at them. They were already convinced he was a monster from way back, and this little act would only solidify their beliefs. But he didn’t give a damn. Monster or no monster, they were going to respect his wife.

  “My wife attended your meeting in good faith,” he said to them. “She was respectful to each and every one of you, and she deserved respect in return. She tried to participate and do her civic duty, to be a leader in this community, she tried to make it work. The vast majority of the people in this town get her, and respect her, and trust her. You so-called town movers and shakers don’t even give her a chance.”

  Charles let out a harsh exhale. “Not that your approval of my marriage or my wife means shit to me. It doesn’t. Whether you like her or don’t like her, whether you agree with her or disagree, I don’t give a fuck. But what I will not tolerate is for you or your husbands or anybody else to come at my wife incorrect. Because anybody who mistreats Jenay Sinatra will have me to answer to. You hear me? You’ll answer to me. And my response will be a lot of things, but nice won’t be one of them.”

  Then he looked at Stoke as he continued to wallow on the ground, afraid to get up least he be confronted by Big Daddy Sinatra again. “Just ask cake boy here,” Charles said, looked at the women once again to make certain they heard what he was saying. And then he left.

  Jenay was done with these obnoxious, sanctimonious people, he thought as he walked out. He had no choice but to deal with them. For the sake of the poor and the disenfranchised in this town, he had to fight against their bullshit every day of the week. But his wife didn’t. Not anymore. He was pulling her out of that fire.


  She was done.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The office door opened, and Mary peered inside. “Your son is here to see you, sir,” she said.

  “Which one?”

  “Brent.”

  Charles nodded. “Send him in,” he said. Then he looked at the two people in his office. Nester Hamilton, his property agent, was standing in front of his desk, and Will Horton, his property manager, was standing on the side of his desk. Both were in an uproar. Both were overstating the case. It was Monday afternoon, Charles was still feeling the effects of that craziness Friday night, he wasn’t trying to get caught up in any more drama. “Reinstate her,” he said to Will.

  “But sir,” Will pleaded, “she can’t keep promising these tenants the moon the way she does. They can sue us if she keeps pulling that stunt to get them to rent those properties.”

  “But I’m not promising them anything,” Nester said. “That man was lying to you! Just because he said it’s true, doesn’t make it true.”

  “And if it’s not in the four corners of that contract,” Charles said to Will, “then it’s not true.” Brent entered the office. “If you can show me proof that that’s what Nest is doing, then we can talk. But I’m not allowing you to fire a good worker on the strength of what one man said.”

  Nester was almost in tears. She needed her job like she needed air to breathe. “Thank-you, Mr. Sinatra,” she said.

  “Now both of you get back to work,” Charles ordered, and both of them began leaving.

  “Hello, Brent,” Will said as he headed out.

  “Hey, Brent,” Nester echoed him.

  Brent spoke to both as he made his way toward his father’s desk.

  “And Nest,” Charles said, and Nester, just as she was clearing the exit, turned toward him. “Sir?” she asked.

  “Let another tenant accuse you of oversell, and I won’t be so forgiving.”

  Nester nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said, and left.

  “What was that about?” Brent asked.

  “Nonsense, what else? Sit down.”