“… Chicago as in Iris?”
“I felt your dick twitch, Pretty Boy.”
I give the nod as if to say—oh well. She constructed this grid, and I won’t feel an ounce guilty for following the instructions of my Mistress. She drops down slowly as I sink inside of her. “There are some things you need to be aware of concerning,” she says, faking a cough. “Chicago.”
“What about her?”
With a deliberate slow rock, she informs, “She isn’t easy. In fact, she’s tough—like you. Maybe even worse though.”
“Sounds like I may meet my match…”
“You probably have,” she admits, licking her lips and striding upon my shaft at a rhythmic pace. “Do you remember when we went to Chicago after our honeymoon?”
My hands glide up her hips as we fuck and talk and feel. She’s trusting me, and I cannot blow up with a giant downburst of hot air at whatever she may have to say, or she will retreat rapidly back to her nestled lair. “Yes, why?”
“Because I lied to you.”
Ya, not uncommon with you, wifey.
“I told you I was going to meet Fink at the club since he was working up there for a month,” she says, not slowing her rolls against my body. My hands rise from her hips and cover her back as I brace for the impact of what she is about to say. “I went to meet Iris.”
I blink.
It’s okay. Everything is still fine.
“And I fucked her in the bookstore.”
Okay, everything is not okay.
“I thought you weren’t going to bridge a gap between you and me so that I could build my character.”
“Interesting way of putting it,” she says as her body comes flying on top of mine. Her lips brush my own as she demands, “Do that thing you do, where you fuck me from underneath.”
My face contorts. “Are you fucking serious? You broke your own rule! You said I could present myself to her however I wanted, and now she knows there is a connection between you and me.”
“Iris Kettles doesn’t know shit about you and me,” she challenges as I buck up into her slow, almost torturously. I know what she wants right now. She wants me to fuck the hell out of her, but I’m too pissed off. “Move dammit.”
“Stay away from my Chicago…”
“Ohhh!” Her lips form a perfect O-shape. “Salvatore, getting possessive already! That’s promising! I needed to instill some doubt in her perfect marriage.”
I sigh, gripping her hips tightly. Still, I refuse to start the ride. “And did you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kaci gloats, kissing my chest. “The online, live porn biz she has got set up is just the beginning of that bitch’s kink. Besides, I needed to test the merchandise before I promised you down that road.”
With a solid pound into her hollow, I warn of our imminent take-off. This ride will begin soon. Fasten your safety belts. “And is it?”
“You are one lucky bastard,” she says with a gloating smirk. “Don’t fuck it up. She’s damn perfect for you.”
I pump up again as my dick pulses with an urgency. It’s taking everything I have not to fuck her senseless, but I hold back, knowing the explosion will be abrupt and sudden. I’m seriously turned on with her above me. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“About my date with Iris at the bookstore?”
“Ya,” I snarl and seethe with a seduction. “Tell me all about it.”
She giggles. “You tacky fucking bastard.”
“You built it, baby.”
“No, I take no responsibility for your cocky arrogance,” she sasses, nipping at my pecs. “That came pre-built in.”
I hiss, “Tell me.”
“I called her that afternoon from the hotel when you went to the gym,” she whispers, looking remarkably guilty. “And told her I would like to meet her for dinner concerning a hefty donation for her books for the children project.”
“Oh, that’s smooth,” I compliment. I’m steaming with an angry frustration, but the talk of Iris combined with my dick seated deep in Kaci renders any battle I may want to pick—pointless. “Props to you.”
“I left to go meet Fink at Fierce and went to All About the Page Bookstore instead. We met with a hug, had some wonderful quiche and tea in the cafe. Though, it really should have been sweet.”
I give her that look. “Would you get to the juicy bits?”
“Well, the tea is important because I accidentally spilled mine all over her shirt.”
I lick my lips, and my hips move without warning at the thought of that rack wet. “Go on…”
“So, she strips off her shirt and things just escalated from there,” she baits, knowing she has my full attention. “She went to go get one of the t-shirts they sell at the store; you know emblazoned with the AAP logo?”
I roll my eyes. “Would you hurry this up, please?”
“Can’t hold your load when it comes to Chicago, huh?”
“No,” I bark out in frustration. “I can’t.”
Her lips curl as she rises to sit up and my hands tighten on her hips. “I followed her through the store and pushed her against the science fiction case. The display of Isaac Asimov hit the floor with a thud.”
“I swear,” I threaten with a low growl. “I’m about to flip you over and let my dick have its way with your hot cunt and my hand with your ass.”
“What’s wrong with Isaac?”
“Nothing!”
“So, I ended up going south…”
“It’s always pink,” I remind with a smirk.
Her pointer finger lifts up. “Very good. One point for you. I dropped to my knees fast, undid those jeans with lightning speed, and dove in tongue first. I didn’t bother with gentle. This wasn’t about to turn into some sappy lipstick lesbian shit. We were fucking—hard. With my fingers deep inside of her and my tongue on her clit, that bitch ended up coming all over my lips.”
Suddenly, I have a strong desire to kiss my wife until her last breath.
“The hell!” My body pushes forth as the imagery comes to life in my mind. I can see my kooky wife eating out the darling cupcake of Iris. “Where the hell do you get off doing something so…brazen?”
“Maybe this is news to you, Raniero, but I’m dying,” Kaci elaborates, living it up in her goodbye. “I stopped giving two fucks about what people think when Jack told me we had reached a dead end. I have less than three months—tops. I made him tell me the truth because I didn’t want to hear it from Dr. Weathers.”
“Impressive, Hope.”
“Thank you,” she says gleefully. “You want the details of how lush and silky her wet pussy was against my mouth?”
“Fuck! Don’t do that to me!”
“Don’t you dare blow your load,” she warns, taking the lead role. It is rare these days, and I feel immensely gracious for the opportunity. “It’s not coming time yet.”
I snicker with the knowledge of my secrets. “About time you told me.”
Her expression shifts to one of amazement. “Wait… You knew?”
“I knew you weren’t with Fink,” I confess, rolling my hips steadily.
“How could you possibly have known that?”
I mischievously snarl. “Because I was.”
“Motherfucking bastard!” Kaci screams, swatting at my chest playfully. “Tell me!”
“What do you want to know?” I ask elusively. “You wouldn’t want the details, would you?”
With a look like she is about to implode with anticipation, Kaci says, “What do you think?”
“I knew you wanted Fink and me to have some bond, relationship, or what have you, so we’ve been texting. He messaged to tell me you canceled and I invited him over to the hotel suite.”
“… And?” She cries out in desperation as her puss soaks around me.
“And we had some whiskey and smokes, and he did a couple of lines of coke,” I mutter with a suggestion.
“Tell me you didn’t,” she panics.
I shake
my head. “Not yet. I make no promises after the fall.”
“Thank god, you have to be careful,” she says with the guidance of an incredible Mistress. “And?”
“I let him suck me off. No biggie.”
She flurries her arms, unable to speak, and finally settles against my chest. “You let Jonathan Finkle give you a blow job? Why the hell did you do that?”
“Simple,” I say, increasing the tempo of my thrusts. “I want Cristos' spot on the map, and I need his right-hand man thinking I’m the best fucking thing since he put beignets in all his renfest carnivals.”
“God, he went on and on about that for hours,” Kaci laughs in the safety of my arms. My bucking pulses into her as we bounce and reconnect on a carnal level. “I thought he would never shut up. Delarte Cristos is a weird one, Sal. You need to be careful, or you’ll end up on one of those spinning wheels with him throwing knives at you just for fun!”
I chuckle. “It was a good play.”
“Impressive, Raniero.”
“Fair enough, Hope,” I say, clenching into her ass cheeks as we skyrocket off in a spindling torrent of rocking to another stratosphere. We are erratic and under my command, speeding up and slowing down, until we are glistening with perspiration and wanting more. “The thing with Fink wasn’t that bad.”
“Did he swallow?”
“It’s Fink,” I remind as the sight of those blue eyes haunt my thoughts. I don’t consider myself to be anything but me. I loathe labels. If I have a connection with someone, I can fuck them. What Kaci doesn’t know is the flicker between Fink and me went much further than I revealed. We didn’t just go for gold. We went to the moon.
“True,” she mumbles as I pull her close and sequester any further inquiry.
With thoughts of Iris’ naked breasts under Kaci’s grasp, I launch an assault on my wife. I close my eyes and remember the night with Fink. All the while, Iris is right there—so close. I cannot touch her as doing so would pop the make-believe bubble where we are nothing but strangers to one another. My mind reverts to the moment.
In black slacks and a white dress shirt, I opened the door of the hotel. Freshly showered and smelling-to-die-for, I had a four-day-old shadow amongst the goatee. My bare feet indicated the casualness in this encounter.
“Hello, Salvatore,” he said, handing the present of a whiskey bottle to me and kissing my cheek. “It was nice of you to invite me over.”
“I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening,” I replied, shutting the door softly and heading to the bar for two glasses. “Ice?”
“Only if it’s about to be hot.”
I laughed. “Could be. Depends.”
“On?” He asked from the sofa, overlooking the Chicago skyline. “Tell me what does the Dark Prince want?”
Kaci’s nickname for me had taken hold in certain circles. Handing him the glass of whiskey with extra ice, I declared, “I want Texas.”
“Hmm,” he said, taking a sip. “I’m intrigued. An interesting move made by the young mafia son. You’re planning on going after your father.”
“You’re smart,” I stated, sitting on the sofa and lighting a smoke. “But it will take years for me to build up the necessary resources.”
“I’m very well aware; you’ll need a small militia and a mountain of money.”
“I think I have enough connections with the underground in Texas to make a play for it, but I don’t want to fight Cristos. He’s not the target.”
With a tip of his chin, he said, “Not yet.”
“I can promise you, Fink. If you help me, I'll shield you from the fire.”
His fingers slithered to mine and stole the smoke from my hand. “But you cannot promise me that my boss won’t end up under your flamethrower.”
“You know as well as I do, in this world it is to each his own.”
He kicked back an enormous gulp of the alcohol. “Tell me. Between you and me, what do you want?”
“I want what Cristos has.”
“Bullshit,” he said with a laugh. “Try again. This isn’t my first turn at this game.”
“Cristos is guarding a certain young woman who is toying with my father. I fear for her safety and would like to take responsibility from Cristos’ hands.”
His expression opened up as his eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. “You want Iris Kettles.”
I tilted my head with an affirmative. “Among other things.”
“You are willing to take on the network of the entire state of Texas for this one girl,” he said with a heavy, astonished breath. “Must be some damn good putang. I can help you with this.”
“And I’m very well aware of that,” I said, lighting another smoke. “So, give me your price for getting word to Cristos that I want it.”
“He won’t just give it to you,” he countered, stubbing his cigarette out. “And you have no money…”
“Yet…” I blinked with the obvious suggestion. “My wife does, and I have other investors.”
“You are going to have to get their major contributors behind you—Delirium and more importantly, Cinco. You do that, and I’ll make a pitch.”
“Any hope of getting Dale Archer to relinquish his pinch of Nola?”
“Not a chance,” I responded, finishing off the whiskey. “Besides, Dom Gennaro is running it for Dale.”
“It would be better if Saint Cruz was out of the picture. His Reckless Rebellion club is small but troublesome. If I could get his son – Deacon – home, things would be much better. The situation is nasty. He’s on the run because of the shit with Krystal Campanelli.”
“Campanelli? As in Marcello Campanelli’s daughter? She’s a fucking junkie.”
“Was…” he corrected. “She died. Since Marcello is Angelo Gennaro’s right and left hand, Deacon went to prison to keep him breathing, courtesy of Dominic, Angelo’s son, as a favor to Saint Cruz. Deacon had Daddy Gennaro, and Campanelli is coming after his ass when they picked him up on some trumped-up charges.”
I pondered his words, realizing Kaci omitted one of the key player’s kids—Deacon Cruz. “Can you get him out?
“He’s already out courtesy of Dom. I can provide a safe spot for him to run, but if he steps foot anywhere near Chicago—he is dead. And I don’t want Saint Cruz coming after Cristos. That sounds like a bloody massacre waiting to happen. The thing you must understand before getting involved in all of this is that the Mason-Dixon Line exists. The southern bosses scratch one another’s backs, but the northern ones tend to keep to themselves like Gennaro and Raniero. They’ll help each other if there is a benefit, but there is also a price tag.”
“You are telling me I need to be good and amicable to the men who already respect me.”
“I’m telling you to keep your ass clean, Sal,” Fink added, removing his bright blue sports coat. “You are already seen as a swing vote. Everyone knew Dominic and Angelo were estranged, which put Dom in an excellent position. You maintaining connections with your family is worrisome to most. How do they know you won’t take Texas and hand it over, lock, stock, and barrel to your Daddy?”
“You know I would never do that.”
“I do, but a payment of good faith must come in order for me to vouch for you.”
Expecting no less from Fink, I smirk. After all, I hadn’t decked out like a player for no reason. I knew of Jonathan Finkle’s crush on me, and to be completely honest, he was a good-looking man in his own right.
“You know after your wife’s passing, you could put yourself up for sale…” he suggested, grazing the back of his fingers across my own.
“Why would I do that when you can’t win?”
“Might be fun to try,” he said with a smile.
“Cristos has such a hard-on for me; he would go broke before he let me go to you,” I pointed out. “You don’t have the funds to compete with him, Mr. Finkle.”
He sighed and lifted his hands. “You’re right I don’t, but if he won—as his right hand,
I’d get access.”
“I have no desire to be sold,” I rebuked, knowing the complications a private house could bring to my cover. As soon as Kaci went on her journey, I will be perceived as a young, rich, adrenaline-fueled Dominant, and perception is everything. The last thing I wanted to do was give any conflicting ideas as to who I was. His face seemed to turn sour at the admission. “I’d like to have a more private deal.”
“Oh,” he said as his expression lightened. “For my willingness and generosity of approaching my boss with your offer?”
“Exactly,” I said, lighting up two cigarettes and handing him one. “Tell me what your price is…”
“For quietly working for you, Salvatore?” He inhaled and gazed out the window for a few minutes. “As you know, I’m the Master of the Paddle.”
“I’m well aware, I’ve been there before.”
“I know,” he boasted with a toss of his fluffed auburn locks. “Excellent jerking off material,” he hissed, moving slowly across the sofa to me. “The question is—what would you have to offer?”
“For Iris Kettles, you can have whatever you would like.”
“For Texas,” he recalled with a wink. “We’ll keep the Iris bit between us. You need to spend some time with Cristos, build up the relationship, let him whip you at a Renaissance Faire. He’ll get off on that, and it will make you look, how shall we say, bendable? And right now, Mr. Raniero, your image is everything because you are nothing more than a pest going up against Gods. We need to make you presentable and do things to inspire the southern bosses goodwill to the poor mistreated son of the Italian mafia lord.”
I smirked, knowing Jonathan Finkle’s image consulting could only benefit my actual goal. I stubbed out the smoke and sat up before laying back with my head in his lap. It would have been an odd move for anyone other than Fink, but his flamboyant, well known gay status would play right into my Pretty Boy charms. He would use me; I would use him.
“And for heaven’s sake, Sal… Don’t be fucking Cristos’ daughter…”
“His daughter?”
With a toss of his wrist, he declares, “Yes, either one of them.”
All was fair in love, war, and the uses of my dick as a bargaining tool. A simple blow job, hand job, or hell, even a round with my so-called fantastic ass could put me miles up the mountain with these men and buy me much needed time. It was a strange place. I had almost no time with Kaci left. But with these men, I had stashed reserves of respect that I could use for the purchase of time.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 93
