"That you did," I agreed. "But you didn't know the things that really triggered me. That you can't be guilty of."
Dante shook his head. "Still, for what it's worth, I never knew. I asked you out because I enjoy spending time with you."
"So tell me something. If you had it to do over again, back when we went to the Pie Bar, would you have at least kissed me?" I asked, starting to feel a little better and curious what he’d say.
"If I had a DeLorean and a flux capacitor, I'd have kissed and done one other thing."
"What's that?" I asked, leaning forward. He passed the test.
"I'd have burned that book," he said. "You don't need to carry that weight around any longer. At least, not alone."
That wasn’t what I was expecting. We came closer, a sense of fate guiding my actions as he leaned down, and our lips touched for the first time. I could feel the hunger inside him from the way his lips caressed mine, but he kept it in check, behind a wall of steely unconscious, natural discipline that I had seen before. It was the same discipline that had let him seize the moment when Tomasso gave him an opportunity, and the same discipline that allowed him to put himself through day after day of rigorous multidisciplinary training, all to help me.
I scooted forward, reaching up and stroking his cheek as our lips parted. "Dante?"
"Yes?"
"Did you know that I sleep on this couch almost every night?"
Dante looked at the sofa and chuckled. "Sounds like me. My apartment, it's not exactly a good one either."
"Well . . ." I said, not needing to complete my answer as he pulled me into his lap, his mouth finding mine again. His kiss was still tender, but this time there was a sense of growing passion in it, and I could feel his body respond to my closeness. There was a growing lump in between his legs, and I slid my hips over it, moaning lightly.
"Wait," Dante said, breaking our kiss. "Isn't this . . . you know, ironic?"
"No," I replied, stroking his hair and letting my hips keep moving. He swelled more, heat building in the pit of my belly as his hands, on their own, came around and rested on my waist. "Because you respect me. You make me feel like I'm special."
"You are special," Dante gasped as I ground down on him.
"Show me how you feel," I whispered, kissing him again. Our tongues wound around each other, passion replacing anger like water draining out of a sieve. His hands pulled my t-shirt up, his fingers finding the skin of my back and stroking it, sending chills up and down my spine. "Oh God that feels good."
He came to the strap of my bra, pausing as he tried to figure out what I was wearing. After a little bit of fumbling, he pulled back, looking at me. "Sports bra?"
"What did you expect? We were going to dance, you know," I teased. "Here, let me."
I pulled my shirt the rest of the way off, smiling as he took in my body. All the hours of dancing had left me in the best shape of my life, maybe even fitter than when I had been stripping. I unzipped the front of my sports bra, freeing my breasts to his view.
He lowered his lips to the tops of my breasts, kissing them tenderly, his eyes fixed on mine. With smoldering looks, he made love to my breasts, not devouring them like every other lover I'd ever had, but instead relishing them, not even touching my nipples until I was nearly moaning incoherently, lost in the pleasure of his hands and mouth while my hips rubbed back and forth over the bulge in his pants.
His tongue paused, then barely touched the tip of my left nipple, tracing around until the already stiff nub was aching, then he wrapped his lips around it, sucking strongly. I lost it, humping Dante's crotch in my pants until I trembled on the edge of orgasm.
He shifted, his hands coming from my back and ass to slide his right hand between us, his fingers finding my pussy through my pants and curling up slightly until, with an explosion of light behind my eyeballs, he started stroking my clit as he bit down gently on my nipple. Caught between two electric pleasures, I exploded, crying softly as I ground against his fingers, my body stiffening. My orgasm shot through me with a galvanizing clarity, and I pulled him to me, refusing to let him go.
When it passed, I blinked, my chest heaving as I pulled air into my lungs, not knowing how long it had been since I'd taken a breath. "Holy shit, I needed that," I whispered, looking him in the eye.
"You're an angel, and watching you come was the most beautiful sight I've ever seen," he said smiling.
"Oh, we're not done yet," I replied, feeling his cock still hard underneath me. “I’m all for tenderness, but now I want something more. Show me your strength. Show me your power,” and I motioned him to the drawer over to his right, “there should be a few condoms in there.”
His smile changed into a hungry grin, and he nodded. Before I knew it, he was pulling me in close. I thought he would roll me, but instead he carried me like I was only a feather until we were bumped against the table, our lips mashing together and our tongues dueling. His hands pulled on my pants, pushing them down until he cupped the skin of my ass, kneading it hard. "Mmm," I groaned as he knelt, only long enough to pull my pants the rest of the way down to my ankles before he turned me around, bending me over the table.
I trembled as his strength was displayed, his right hand holding me totally still while I heard the rustle of his pants being pushed down. It only took him a second to roll the condom on, and the first feel of his cock against the lips of my pussy sent a fresh gush of wetness between my thighs, and I pushed back, hungry not for tenderness but for the animalistic joining that I hadn't had in so long.
He nudged my feet apart as far as I could with my pants down, then pushed again, his cock filling me in one perfect motion. He pulled back, just the head inside before sliding in again, both of us hissing in pleasure as his balls rolled forward to slap into my clit. He began stroking, tight, powerful thrusts that drove me against the table that rattled the legs and added a counter beat to our joining.
I thought that, after already coming, he would be first, but somehow, he knew, controlling himself by alternating between long, powerful strokes that drove the breath from my lungs and left my fingers clawing at the table for more, and smaller, rapid-fire strokes that kept most of his cock inside me, still building the tension inside my body while letting his own rise slowly. Again and again, we repeated the cycle, long strokes partnered with small, slapping thrusts until I was trembling again on the edge of orgasm. “D–don't hold back."
“I won’t,” Dante grunted, his hips speeding up. I was shocked as he went faster and faster, his cock slamming into me over and over. I thought his longer strokes had been good before, but they paled as he hammered me into submission until I was crying out loudly, losing all control, abandoning myself to the sensations that shot through my body with every stroke.
I felt him tremble, and he swelled inside me, his balls tightening until with a powerful cry, he buried himself inside me and erupted, sending me over the edge into another powerful orgasm. Afterward, I lay against the table weakly, tears trickling from the corners of my eyes as I cried softly.
"What's wrong?" He asked, lifting me from the table and holding me in his arms, carrying me back to the sofa and lying down, pulling me close. It was tight on the sofa, but I felt warm and comfortable. “I thought that was pretty damn good myself,” he said with a smirk.
"Nothing," I whispered, wiping away the tears. "For the first time in a long time . . . nothing. Are you staying?”
"No work today, just training," he mumbled in reply, yawning. "Got the day off work.” I snuggled against him, letting my eyes close, napping peacefully.
We woke up two hours later, and I smiled, feeling the slight tang of sweat on my lips from our exertions. I hummed and pushed back, nestling against him. "I didn't think you were awake."
"I wasn't, until a few minutes ago," he said softly in reply. "But I wanted to let you rest as long as you wanted. Carmen, about what we just did . . ."
"I have no regrets," I said honestly, turning in his arms to loo
k him in the eyes. "You?"
He shook his head slowly, then nodded once. "Well, one."
"What's that?" I asked suspiciously, my worry disappearing when he smiled.
"We're supposed to be working on our tango," he teased. “This is amazing, and I want more, but I can't imagine this wins us that dance competition."
"It won't," I agreed. "Although that seems less important right now."
I was surprised when he shook his head, his eyes filling with fire. "Oh hell no. I haven’t done all this for nothing. We’re going to make it up tomorrow. You got me?"
I smiled and kissed him. "And that is why you are my perfect partner."
He smiled and pulled me closer. "I like the sound of that."
"Do you have to go now?" I asked, enjoying the feel of his arms around me. "You said you still have training."
"I can do it this afternoon. As long as I get it done, Luisa's going to be happy with it."
"Good. Then stay a little while longer."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Chapter 13
Dante
"We've got an issue to deal with," Tomasso said two days later as I wrapped up the last of my training. "I need your help.”
"What do you need?" I asked, putting away the last of the plates I was using. I’d stripped off my t-shirt after finishing my work, and catching a glance of myself in the mirror, I stopped, surprised at what was looking back at me. I really wasn’t in as good of shape before as I thought I was. I looked hard, befitting a Bertoli man.
"You okay?" Tomasso asked, tapping me on the shoulder. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
I nodded. “Nothing, just lost in thought," I said. “What’s up?”
"Tonight's all about intelligence gathering. That job you did on the run to Castle Rock, it contained information that my father wants to verify. One of the local street gangs seem to be trying to go back on the agreement they have with my father."
"What are they trying to do?" I asked as we left the gym and headed outside. The weather was starting to get chilly, and Tomasso wanted to get as much time outside that he could before the winter dreariness socked in. "I don't know that crew."
"They’re small and based out of the Industrial District and part of Beacon Hill," Tomasso said. "They started out as a Latino crew, but nowadays they are mixed. They reached out to us some time ago, and we came to an agreement with them. We provide protection as long as they abide by the rules.”
“Which are?” I asked, taking a seat. I shivered, and wished I'd grabbed a sweatshirt or a jacket after the change in temperature. Summer was pretty much over, and fall was coming on. "Sorry."
"No, go grab something," Tomasso said. "No need for you to catch a cold so close to the dance competition in Vegas."
I dashed inside, grabbing the hooded sweatshirt that I wore that day before starting training and coming back out, finding that Tomasso had already ordered Jessie to bring out two cups of coffee, big mugs that I saw were laced with cream and sugar. "Before you complain, you need the calories and the energy," he said, sipping his coffee. "So let's see, where was I?"
“Some small timers violating an agreement?"
Tomasso nodded. "Right. They agreed that any street dealing they did went through us for suppliers, and that they were to limit what they dealt. Also they agreed to put limits on the types of vice that they organized. No pimping, and no underground casinos. Those were to be controlled by us.”
"So what's changed?" I asked, suppressing the shiver of disgust I felt at the fact that the Bertolis controlled the prostitution game in Seattle. I knew that it existed, it always does, but after holding Carmen in my arms, I was starting to feel doubts about it.
"It seems the Gatos are changing suppliers," Tomasso said. "According to our friends in Portland, they've been in contact with some groups out east in Spokane that we're not friendly with. They're connected with some of the pipeline that's been growing. Mexico through El Paso, up through New Mexico and through the Rockies. The Pacific Northwest groups have kept them out for the most part, those guys don't give a fuck about purity or honor or anything like that. So they can undercut our suppliers and bring in new shit that we don't allow here in Seattle, like that Russian shit, Krokodil. Maybe it's a fine line we walk here, Dante, but it's one that I see. I won't allow bad shit into this town."
"So you want me to gather intelligence," I said. "Anything in particular?"
Tomasso nodded. "Yeah. Go down, stay inconspicuous. See what the Gatos are up to. Report back, then you can get ready to go to Vegas."
"Not quite," I said with a grin as I got up. "We've got one more practice tomorrow morning. Then I get ready to go to Vegas."
For work that night I was dressed as far from being a Bertoli man as I could, in a Mariners jacket, my hair pulled back into the beginnings of a small ponytail, and wearing a dirty, slightly threadbare set of BDU pants. I looked like any of the regular residents of the area, and I had taken the bus down to SoDo, where our information had the greatest activity by the Gatos. I could see Safeco Field a few blocks over when I got off, and in the distance the skyscrapers of downtown gleamed in the night sky. I was glad that the rain, which had threatened for most of the afternoon, had held off, and I hoped I could find information quickly before the clouds changed their mind.
Walking along the sidewalk, I kept my eyes peeled for the signs of the Gatos. I'd seen a few pictures of their graffiti tags, and kept my eyes open for a black cat spray painted anywhere.
It didn't take me long, the Gatos had kept themselves busy, and I saw tags on two different buildings within minutes. The problem was that I didn't see any Gatos. I spent nearly an hour walking around the neighborhood, trying to find anyone, and all I saw were the normal residents, mostly artists who crashed and squatted in the semi-industrial buildings that filled the area. Finally, I turned to the other regular residents of the district, the homeless that dotted the streets.
"Hey bro," I said, approaching one of the homeless, an older guy that didn't look too mentally unbalanced, "think you can help?"
"Tha depenz," the guy said, shifting under the ratty blanket that he had wrapped around his shoulders. His grocery cart, tucked away in the space in between the man and the dumpster he was using as his shelter for the evening, was full of his earthly possessions, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath already. Rotgut gin by the smell of him. "Wass innit fur me?"
"Enough for you to get a decent meal and maybe some left over," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a folded twenty-dollar bill. Inside my jacket I had my Beretta, but I didn't want to use it unless I had to. "Whaddya say?"
"Whatchoo looking fur, missa?" the bum asked, his eyes fixed on Andrew Jackson's face.
"Some action," I replied. "Heard some Black Cats were in the neighborhood."
The homeless guy nodded. "Rizal Park, missa. Thosh assholes chased me outta there, now I gotta sleep here. Assholes."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out another twenty. "Thanks, man. Try to use it on good stuff and not cheap liquor."
The bum shrugged and made it disappear. "Maybe I'ma go ta Burgah King. Thanks."
I shook my head and turned east, cutting over on South Lander Street until I hit the Interstate, where I turned north. Dr. Jorge Rizal Park is part of a complex of three parks that are at the intersection of Interstate 5 and Interstate 90, and marked the northern border of Beacon Hill in my mind. Crossing under the Interstate, I followed the Greenway Trail, a popular running and biking trail in the area, to Rizal Park.
I slowed up as I approached the park, not wanting to be seen. Tomasso had told me my job was to gather information, not to get involved tonight. The problem was that I couldn't just loiter in the area, it wasn't that bad of a neighborhood that someone loitering wouldn't be noticed, at least an outsider loitering.
I hung out near the apartments nearby for about twenty minutes, hoping that the bum had been a bit off in his directions before I headed up the
road to Rizal Park, trying to look like I didn't have a care in the world despite it being nearly eleven at night.
I saw my first Gato when I was approaching Judkins and 12th, the southeast edge of the park. It was a perfect hangout for a drug dealer, as it was approachable in only three directions, and if a cop approached, it was easy to melt away into the park and just further on, the maze of onramps and off ramps that made up the Interstate junctions. The Gato was wearing the traditional colors of black and green with a hat that had their symbol, copied from the Japanese delivery company Yamato Transport. The "kuroneko" (black cat) was easy to copy for tagging, and easy to get because of the fact that SoDo was also the home to an Asian market that had been around since 1928.
I melted into the shadows of a nearby building, watching as the guy stood on the corner pretty brazenly, waiting for customers to come by. Neither of us had to wait long as in about five minutes, a scrawny teen girl, obviously jonesing for something, came by. "Billy, I need a hookup."
"Go screw, Candy," Billy said, just loud enough for me to hear. "Your credit is no good here, and I don't need a suck job right now."
"It's okay, I got some goods now," Candy said, scratching at her arm even as she pulled something out of the pocket of her jeans. "I got me a sugar daddy, he's good."
"What is this, fourteen karats?" Billy sneered as he held up the item, which I could see was a gold chain of some type. "Your sugar daddy must not be that rich, or else you ain't turning out what he wants before he gives you the real thing."
"Still, that's gotta be good for somethin', right?" Candy asked.
He thought about it for a moment, then shook. “Next time, you bring me cash only. I don't care if you gotta give your sugar daddy every bit of your pussy or ass or whatever. And don't be hoping to trade pussy for merchandise, you haven't been clean in who the fuck knows how long."
Billy pocketed the chain and passed Candy something, so small he was able to conceal it in his palm as they touched hand to hand. "Thanks, Billy. I’ll be good next time, I promise."
Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 11
