REMEDY: A Mafia Romance (Return to Us Trilogy Book 3)

by M. K. Gilher

  "I'll see what I can do." I laugh, and he pulls me around the perimeter of the pool. Jacade should always be wet. His thick hair turns the richness of crude oil, and his skin shines like a duck just preened in a lake. I should carry a spritzer with me everywhere.

  The buoyancy in the lukewarm water gives my worn muscles a break. Physical therapy has been more taxing than I expected. After I was shot, the rest of my body shut down, knowing to kill the switch and send all forces directly to my wound. Moving my legs in the water was difficult at first, but with his momentum, my tendons relaxed and pushed forward. I scissor my legs and practice my range of motion.

  My hips float up and then bump down against the solid spheres of his butt as Jacade glides us through the water. The slickness between our skin creates a sensual coating, warm where we touch and colder in the larger spaces between us.

  I imagine my worries about Senator Boothby and my family drama leaking from my toes and diluting to nothing in the expanse of water. Jacade and I are alone in a sea of bliss.

  He swims to the stairs and carefully removes me from his back, situating me with my knees on the third step and my hands holding onto the pool coping.

  "Break time." He lounges on the top step with his calves submerged and his elbows on the slate tile beside the pool.

  "How're you feeling?" He looks into my eyes, and the concern in his voice drenches me in warm honey.

  His body sparkles like King Triton on his throne holding his staff. His bruises are fading, and his wounds are healing. I'm so lucky to have this strong and powerful specimen of a man here with me. Gratitude we are both alive makes the suppressed ardor within me rise up. My thirst for him overflows, and I stand so I'm above the water from the waist up. His gaze darts to my saturated—and completely see-through—white lace bra. His eyes darken to iron ore.

  I support my weight on the edge of the pool and crawl one knee up to the second step.

  "Ivy…"

  His hesitation only reassures my scheme. He wants me. Holding back for more than a week is driving him crazy too.

  I raise my other knee to the second step and rub my free hand over the front of his briefs, pointing my fingers downward and squeezing his thickening cock. His hard tip pokes my palm. I bend at the waist and make sure not to show any pain in my face. I lick a salty drop off his neck then run the tip of my tongue to his lips. This must be a saltwater pool because he doesn't taste like chlorine. He tastes like salted caramel.

  His hips grind into my grasp. "We can't…"

  "My hands aren't broken."

  I dip under his waistband and he hisses.

  He's fully hard now, and I take my hand from the coping to push his briefs down under his balls. I kiss him so he can't protest and wrap both hands around his giant dick. He dives his hot tongue into my mouth and takes control.

  Yes! Finally. I smile into our wet, briney kiss. His tongue is as divine as I remember. Kissing Jacade is like chocolate lasagna—smooth, creamy, and insanely delicious.

  I twist my hands in opposite directions and use our hydro-lubricant to wrench him with zeal. I add a vertical movement to my rotating action, and my hands create a small splash when they hit the water.

  He drops his head back and groans. I kiss his neck and glide my lips down his sternum to his right nipple. His chest is so massive, there's too much territory to cover. I need to lick every delectable drop off the canvas of this man.

  He raises his head again, and I slam my mouth to his. Forget fragile. I want him and I'm taking him. I increase the intensity and strength of my double-fisted stroking, and I briefly wonder if a woman has ever broken a man's cock with a much too enthusiastic hand job. I don't care. I can't break him. He's King Triton.

  I lose purchase on his lips as our movements become more frenzied. He's pumping up into my fists, and I'm squeezing and wrenching with my limited power. His whole body is rigid and gorgeous, each muscle defined and taut. His neck strains as he bites his lip and pulls his chin back to look down.

  "My mouth is healthy too," I say.

  "Ivy… no, god. I'm gonna…"

  Before he can finish, I sink back down to the third step, lock my hands at the base of his cock, and open my mouth around him. I lower my head and force him to the back of my throat.

  "No…"

  No doesn't work for me, buddy. You're gonna come in my neck. With my nose an inch above the surface of the water, I close my lips around him and siphon him like a Dyson. His palm presses to the back of my neck, and he holds me in place. I love it. I love him dominating me like this, and I trust him not to push it too far. He pistons up into my mouth, and I take it. I take it all.

  He shouts, "Fuck," and gasps. The tang of his come hits my tongue, and I taste him for the first time. Every time I've sucked his dick before, he always pulled out to fuck me. Not this time. I swallow and savor the opportunity to ingest his virile magma.

  More, more, more. I ache for more, Jacade. And he gives it to me. So much that some of his come dribbles out the sides of my mouth and drops in the water. I keep swallowing around him until his grinding slows and his body relaxes. He squeezes my neck before releasing my head. His hand falls into the water.

  I raise my head and wipe my lips with my fingers. I smile at him, pleased with myself for breaking through the ridiculous chastity vows he had pledged.

  His mouth hangs slack, and his chest heaves as he takes in deep breaths. The love in his gaze is laced with awe and admiration. His deep voice muttering "Jesus" sends a spasm of lust through me.

  He rises out of the water and grabs a towel from the warmer. Water drips from all his angles as he stands on the top stair and opens it for me.

  "Get in here." He wraps the towel around me and guides me to a cushioned lounge chair on the deck. He sits and reaches up to position me between his legs, my back against his chest. He rubs the tops of my arms through the towel.

  He sighs. "Damn, if swim class ended with that every day, I would've gone to the fucking Olympics."

  We cachinnate for a moment in a fool's paradise, but the ping of pain in my stomach snatches me back into reality, and I calm myself.

  "That was fun," I say. "Swimming isn't so scary after all."

  "No. No, it's not, Ivy," he says with laughter in his voice. "You shouldn't have done it, though. You'll be spanked for such transgressions in the future."

  Oh, I sure hope so.

  After a few more blissful moments of coming down, he gets up and escorts me back to the elevator. He keeps his arms tight around me in the towel, and I smile to myself. This kid aced her first swim lesson.

  He helps me put on dry clothes and gives me some ibuprofen. Part of me is wondering if he's abolished the ban on my orgasms as well, but he's back in doctor mode and doesn't make any advances or show any signs of sexual attraction apart from the warm, loving touches he gives me as he helps me.

  He rubs conditioner in my hair and stands behind me in the bathroom mirror as he tugs a comb through the matted mess. "We haven't talked about Boothby since Helen was here," he says.

  I look into his eyes in the mirror, and his hands still.

  "I haven't wanted to talk about him. I've been too busy wishing he was dead," I reply.

  He's quiet for a second, then says in a low voice, "You want him dead, he's dead."

  Normally, I wouldn't take a statement like that seriously, but since it's coming from him, I field it with caution.

  "Really?"

  "Yes," he replies casually and continues with my hair, as if he didn't just offer to assassinate a prominent senator.

  "Well, are we sure he killed my mom?"

  "No," he answers. "I'm not sure of anything yet, but it seems within the realm of possibility based on Bernard and Helen's responses."

  "Is he your superior?"

  "Yes, for now. Until I take over."

  "Take over?"

  "When Raymond dies, the council will vote for a new leader. I'm favored to win."

  Whoa. He's h
igher up than I'd guessed.

  "Don't be impressed, Ivy. I've sold my soul to get to this position, and there's no guarantee I'll win."

  "Is there less risk to you if you kill him after you become boss?"

  "In many ways, yes."

  "Aunt Helen said he was high profile and powerful." I don't want him to put himself out there for me again.

  "That's not a problem for me. Senators drop dead all the time."

  Oh my god. I don't know. I really do want him dead. I wasn't joking, but asking him to do it is too surreal to contemplate.

  "Let's wait until we have proof and you're in a stronger position," I say to him.

  His lip curls up like he's surprised I'm considering his offer and he likes my villainous planning. "You want him dead, Ivy. He's gone. You want him maimed, tortured, disfigured, you tell me, you'll have it. Anything for you. Anytime."

  He kisses my ear and returns me to my bed for another nap. I'm sure I can't sleep after that daunting conversation, but I do, and this time my dreams are filled with the sight of a gorgeously hard cock sticking out of black boxer briefs in a turquoise pool.

  Chapter 10

  Ivy

  "Take it easy, Speedy Gonzales."

  "I could've come by myself," I say over my shoulder as Jacade follows me up the stairs to my apartment.

  "No coming by yourself or otherwise for two more weeks."

  I roll my eyes, but he can't see because he's behind me. "I meant come alone to my apartment."

  I need some time away from his intensity and the cloud of gloom surrounding him. The last three weeks with Jacade have been awesome. He's attentive. He listens and he cares, but being so close to him without making love has me flustered. His gentle yet unyielding rejections are wearing on me. I want to lie around in my underwear and no bra watching tawdry Lifetime movies and forget reality for a while. Although Jacade probably wouldn't have minded me in my underwear and no bra.

  "Not without Shane or me present."

  "You can't be with me every moment of every day." I laugh because I don't care what he says, I'm going to the bathroom by myself.

  "I can and I will."

  Grr. If I could send him an angry emoji with its tongue sticking out, I would. I'm such a brat. Here I am complaining about wanting independence from my sick-hot boyfriend who won't leave my side. A girl could have worse problems.

  The retina scanner at the top of the steps recognizes me and unlocks my front door. Jacade grins and holds the door open for me. I give him an impatient glare as I walk past him into my living room, letting Jacade handle the buttons on the security console behind me.

  Ahh, my place is the same as I left it the day I went to rescue the man I love. I trail my finger along the soft fabric of the armchair and breathe in the remnants of the clean linen smell from the air freshener plug-in. Jacade presses his burner phone to his ear as he brushes past me and into the kitchen.

  "Talk." Jacade's voice mixes with a rustling sound.

  In the kitchen, Jacade unpacks four paper bags onto my counter.

  "Who brought those?"

  "Thanks." He closes his phone and flashes his pearly whites at me. "Shane cleared your place." He tips his head to the counter. "Sheryl brought over some groceries. I'm making you dinner."

  Ooh. I check out his ingredients on the counter. A bundle of fresh spinach, grape tomatoes, raw garlic, a can of artichoke hearts, and deli-wrapped chicken breasts. He draws a bottle of white wine from another sack.

  "What are we having?" My stomach growls.

  "Trip's one-skillet fantasy chicken." Warmth and mischief radiate in the endless blue of his eyes. I touch my throat with my fingers and cough.

  "Yum. Can't wait." Opening the cupboard containing my skillets and pans, I say, "Choose your weapon."

  As he inspects my cookware, I collect the bags and tuck them in the pantry. My I Love Lucy pink-and-white polka dot pin-up apron hangs on a hook on the door. This should be entertaining.

  "May I?" I bat my lashes and present the apron to him.

  He grins and raises his hands behind his head with his elbows out. "Anytime you want to use an apron on me, you can."

  With his arms raised, his bulk magnifies and stretches the limits of my miniscule kitchen.

  My stomach flops as memories of lemon shots and Jacade tied to a chair surge in my mind. He could've easily broken out of those periwinkle apron straps tied to his burly wrists, but he played along and let me ride him.

  His thrusts lifted me off my feet.

  I'm gonna keep fucking you and fucking you.

  Crack.

  I'll never forget the intensity on his face as he lost control and burst free from his bindings so he could pump harder into me.

  I blush as I loop the neck opening over his head and tie the straps behind his back. The straps hang over his ass in his tight dress pants. His cheeks are like two honeycrisp apples waiting to have my teeth break through the skin.

  He pivots to face me, and I gasp at the beauty of this powerful man in my kitchen, humbling himself by wearing my silly ruffled apron. Hair spiked to precision, piercing blue eyes smiling at me, high cheekbones highlighting his dimple. I'd like to lick maple syrup from that indentation.

  He bows and says in a French accent, "Your own personal chef at your service, Ms. Summers."

  I'm so impressed he let me put it on him, I'm tempted to drop to my knees, dip under his apron, and be his personal servicer. He grabs two glasses from the cabinet and pours us each a half a glass. He lifts his in the air and says, "May we never forget the past, live in the present, and fuck our way into the future."

  "Cheers!" Especially to the fucking part. We clink glasses and I take a swig. The smooth, fruity liquid cools my throat. He sets his glass down and lights the stove.

  "While you're doing your thing in here, I'm gonna go look through the mail."

  "Don't get lost," he says while glancing at me over his shoulder.

  "I'll bring a flashlight, just in case."

  "I would." He places the chicken in the skillet. "Listen for dueling banjos."

  I laugh and meander back to my bedroom. I ignore the pile of mail on my dresser, wanting to have some time to myself.

  As much as I'd like to cannonball onto my bed, I take it easy and climb toward the pillows.

  Ahh, my bed feels so good. It's like a bedgasm.

  I stretch my arms and rub the comforter, making a fabric snow angel. I loved sleeping with Jacade in his giant, fluffy, expensive bed, but this is my bed. My haven at the end of a long day. I've shed tears here, made love with Kevin here—when he'd come over—and explored my own body here—when he wouldn't, which was often.

  Hmm. The nightstand next to my bed is shiny and clean. No dust after three weeks? Did Sheryl clean my place for me?

  Tap-tap-tap.

  What was that? I get up and peek toward the kitchen. Jacade is washing spinach leaves in my colander. Did he hear that?

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Jacade moves to the skillet to flip the chicken with metal tongs but doesn't react to the noise.

  I tiptoe into the entryway and glance at the security monitor.

  No. It can't be.

  I look more closely.

  It is.

  I disable the alarm and open the door to a blond-haired man I know well.

  "Ivy." His voice carries relief.

  My hand reflexively covers my chest to shield my heart. My other arm wraps around my waist to hide my hips in these tight yoga pants.

  "Kevin. What the hell are you doing here?" The shock of his presence spikes resentment in my voice.

  "I heard from a friend you got shot. Is that true?" His assessing eyes scan my body.

  I wish I could twitch my lips and cover myself in a thick, wool trench coat so he couldn't look at me that way. "Which friend? Never mind. I don't care. Why are you here?"

  I'm not going to bother with politeness. This man was calamitous to me. I can't even count how many times he told
me to do more crunches because my stomach needed some toning. Or to laugh quieter because it made his skin crawl.

  The kiss of death of our relationship was the night I kicked him out in the middle of sex. He was going down on me and stopped without notice. He glared at me from between my legs and said, You're crushing me with your thunder thighs.

  And that was the end of him. I have no idea why I stayed with short, blond, and mousey for three years. I'm a different woman now. A woman worshiped by Jacade. Kevin can suck it.

  "Ivy, I'm still in love with you."

  "Oh, is that right?"

  "Yes. I miss kissing your lips, hearing you laugh at your own jokes, running my hands over your curves…"

  "You mean these fat curves that suffocated you?" I fan my arms out to my sides.

  He shakes his head at my nasty remark. "I'm sorry for that. I was an asshole."

  "No. You are an asshole and always will be. It's too late. Please go." Screw you, Kevin!

  "Let me take you out. We'll talk over din—"

  "I believe she asked you to leave." Jacade's deep, masculine voice resounds over my shoulder.

  I turn to see him behind me. He somehow manages to be imposing in a ruffled polka dot apron. Above my head, he holds tongs in his hand resting on the door. Jacade sees me looking him up and down. He cracks a brief smile at me, but quickly returns to firing missiles out of his brain at Kevin.

  "Nice outfit," Kevin sneers at Jacade.

  Jacade steps in front of me. "Thanks. Brings out my eyes. Now, get gone." Jacade swats at the air.

  Kevin blinks at Jacade. "Who's this guy, Ivy?"

  Oh boy. You can't cure stupid.

  Jacade lets out a huge sigh. He takes one step toward Kevin and pins his wrist high behind his back with the hand holding the tongs. Jacade's free hand Vulcan grips Kevin's neck and pushes his head below his waist. The sight of Jacade in my girly apron ushering my ex-boyfriend down the stairs is too much, and I have to laugh.

  Jacade releases Kevin at the bottom of the stairs. "Walk away and do not return. Don't contact her, capisce?"

  Kevin squints at me then levels his gaze on Jacade. "Fine. You like a fat ass? Have at it, loser. I was just looking to get laid. Didn't come here for all this shit."