Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE

by Veronica Lancet

  "I'd like that then," she says softly, fluttering her lashes at me.

  It's all the encouragement I need to get to my knees.

  She's watching me closely, her eyes glazed with desire as they follow my every movement.

  Slowly—tantalizingly so—I lift her dress until it rests over her hips, getting her to hold on to it while I stare at the wonder in front of me.

  She's wearing a pair of white silky panties, her arousal evident as I see them already molded to her pussy lips, already drenched.

  Now that I have her in front of me, spread open like this, I want to take my time learning her—learning her reactions.

  I take one finger and I dip it between her legs, slowly stroking her over her panties.

  The effect is immediate as her knees buckle, a tremor going through her entire body.

  "Bass," her throaty voice is only urging me on, the thought of making her come on my tongue enough to make me come.

  "I got you, pretty girl," I murmur, bringing my nose to her pussy and inhaling her musky scent.

  Fuck!

  This right here is going to drive me mad. Because one taste isn't going to be enough. I'll need to fucking feast on her forever.

  I slide her panties to the side, gently probing her folds. She's so fucking wet, her arousal immediately coating my finger.

  I don't even think as I bring it to my lips, tasting her essence.

  Damn, how am I supposed to last if just the taste of her is enough to make me combust?

  I quickly palm my cock through my pants, adjusting my erection.

  This is about her. All about her.

  Sliding her panties down her legs, I quickly pocket them, my gaze riveted on her small pussy, her lips glistening with need even in the dimly lit room.

  Fuck, but I don't think I've ever seen a more perfect sight.

  Once I've looked my fill, I prop her against the wall, cupping her ass as I lift her legs and place them over my shoulders.

  She's light enough and I'm strong enough that the position isn't uncomfortable. In fact, as my tongue makes contact with her pussy, I'd say it's the most comfortable position I've ever been in.

  Her hands find my hair as I give her a long lick, her gasps and whimpers my guides as I try out things she might like. And when I wrap my lips around her clit, sucking it into my mouth before gently biting it, her loud moan tells me everything I need to know.

  "Bass, that feels..." she trails off on a moan as I continue to make love to her pussy with my mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, concentrating my attention on her clit until it's swollen and crying for relief.

  "I think..." she doesn't get to finish her sentence when she starts coming, her thighs clenching around my head, the opening of her pussy spasming around my tongue.

  More juices gush out of her and I continue to lap at her, swallowing it all.

  Fuck. Me.

  I'm an addict. One taste. That's what it took for me to become wholly and irreparably addicted to her.

  "Bass," she cries out when I continue to suck on her clit, wanting to see if I can wring yet another orgasm from her.

  My scalp is all but sore as she continues to tug at my hair, all of it telling me that her pussy and my tongue have just become best friends.

  I only release her when she's begging me to stop, telling me she can't take it anymore. Reluctant, but already looking forward to my next meal between her legs, I place her feet back on the ground.

  She's shaking and she can barely stand upright as I move up her body. I snake my arm around her waist, letting her hold on to me for support.

  "Wow," she breathes out, her skin shiny with perspiration. "That was wow," she continues, shaking her head in disbelief.

  "I'll eat your pussy anytime you want me to, sunshine. Any time," I drawl suggestively. Her face is flushed, some of her make up already ruined.

  She looks like someone who's been thoroughly fucked. And pride swells in my chest that I did that.

  The evening ends uneventfully as we all get back to the house. Benedicto is visibly upset that his attempt at selling his daughter wasn't as successful as he'd wanted it to be.

  And as I retire to my room, I can't help but reminisce the way she'd felt against me, the taste of her as she'd come undone all over my face.

  "Damn," I shake my head at myself in the mirror, slowly unbuttoning my shirt.

  I have it bad.

  There's this aching vulnerability to Gianna that sometimes makes me want to take her in my arms and never let go—show her that the world doesn't have to be an awful place.

  Because from everything I've seen so far, Gianna isn't living. She's just alive.

  Despite her glamorous lifestyle, her fancy clothes and cars, and all those ostentatious social media pictures, she's not enjoying any of it.

  She's simply existing.

  I take my clothes off and hop into the shower, all the while my thoughts revolving around her and trying to understand her better.

  There's just something about her that awakens a part of me I thought did not exist. A gentle part that wants to protect and not destroy. In truth, every time I'm in her presence, my heart clenches in an unfamiliar way, the need to shield her of the evils of the world so overwhelming, it makes me want to act out of character.

  Stopping the water, I put on a fresh pair of boxer briefs before going back to the room.

  But just as I exit the bathroom, I stop dead in my tracks at the vision in front of me, daintily sitting on my bed.

  "Oh," the word flies out of her mouth as she takes me in, her eyes greedily roaming all over my body in an appreciative manner.

  It's times like this that I'm thankful I had the foresight to work out and keep in shape, because I love having at least something that's pleasing to her eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask, my lips quirking up in amusement.

  It's the last place I expected to see her, especially since she'd suddenly gotten very shy after what happened at the gala.

  "I was wondering..." she pauses to wet her lips, her eyes fixed on my chest as if she's making a conscious effort to not let them go lower. Catching herself staring, she fakes a cough before continuing. "I was wondering if I could sleep here again."

  "Why?"

  Her eyes widen at my sudden question but I feel compelled to ask.

  "It's not that I don't want that, sunshine. Hell, I'll be a lucky bastard if I get to sleep anywhere near you. But what prompted this?"

  She releases a breath, relieved.

  "I think I sleep better with you," she admits, a blush staining her features.

  "You think?"

  "I do," she amends, "I can't remember the last time I slept that well. You make me feel safe."

  "I make you feel safe?" I repeat, pleased with her words. And as I come closer to her, that night gown she's wearing is teasing me to perdition with the way her body peeks through, her nipples hard and puckered against the material.

  She nods, looking up at me with those big eyes of hers, and suddenly I'm struck by the innocence and vulnerability I see reflected in them.

  "I'm glad," I tell her, moving to drop a kiss on her forehead. "That's the highest praise a man could get from his woman," I tell her, wrapping my arms around her and gently placing her in the middle of the bed before stretching out next to her.

  "I'm your woman?" Her lashes flutter as she looks at me in wonder.

  "Of course," I reply, almost incensed. "I told you, sunshine. You were mine from the moment we met. You just didn't know it then," I smirk at her.

  "Yours... I think I like that," she whispers, borrowing deeper into my chest. "I think I like that very much."

  "Sleep," I murmur, holding her close until her breathing starts to regulate before joining her too.

  Gianna wasn't wrong, though. Sleeping next to her is, indeed, the best sleep I've ever had. And for the first time since I got out of prison, I feel like a normal man again.

  It's the followi
ng day that I find out that Gianna's demons might run deeper than I'd thought.

  She'd already gone back to her room early in the morning, so I'm surprised to see her knock on my door again, asking me to accompany her downstairs.

  "My father says he wants to speak to me, and I'd rather you were there," she tells me, her voice lacking her usual confidence.

  "Do you know why?" I ask as we make our way downstairs.

  She shakes her head.

  "I can only hope it's something trivial," she sighs, and she looks like someone heading for the guillotine, her features pale, her lips pursed.

  But as we enter the living room, her expression worsens tenfold. She stops in her tracks, looking as if she'd seen a ghost.

  "Ah, there you are, Gianna," Benedicto exclaims as he gets to his feet, coming over to our side and gesturing to his guest to do the same.

  A man around Benedicto's age, his body is on the leaner side, his features smooth and attractive.

  "You remember Clark Goode, don't you? He used to come with us to Newport a few years back." Benedicto starts introducing Goode, a former associate of his.

  "Right," is the only word that comes out of Gianna's mouth, and I note distress in her body language.

  Goode immediately goes for the kill, taking a step towards her to give her a hug and kiss her cheeks.

  One step back, and I can tell Gianna is beyond uncomfortable, so I promptly place myself between the two of them.

  "If you could keep your distance," I say, knowing I'm courting Benedicto's anger for my interference.

  "And who are you?" he frowns at me.

  "Her bodyguard." I reply tersely.

  There's something about the man that doesn't sit well with me, from his overly familiar gestures with Gianna to the way he regards me now, as if I weren't fit to lick the dirt off his shoes.

  "Mr. Bailey, Clark isn't a danger," Benedicto tries to make light of the situation.

  "Miss Gianna is my charge and I need to ensure her protection at all times, Mr. Guerra. It's what you hired me for."

  "Bah! Danger in my own house! As if," he exclaims, shaking his head. "Besides, Clark here might very well join the family soon."

  "What do you mean?" It's the first time Gianna speaks up, and I note a tremor underlying her tone.

  "He's been widowed for some time now, and he's decided it's time to find a new wife." Benedicto continues, and I don't like where this is going.

  Worse still is Gianna's reaction and the way I know there's something wrong with her but I can't openly comfort her and ask her what's happening.

  "Widowed?" She snickers. "How come? Didn't you rob the cradle? What was she? Eighteen, nineteen? How could she be dead unless you killed her yourself?" She asks, condemnation clear in her voice.

  It also tells me all I need to know about the man in front of me and Gianna's stance towards him.

  "Gianna!" Benedicto is quick to call her out, telling her to behave herself. "Don't be rude! Clark has offered to merge our businesses. You know what that means for this family," he raises an eyebrow at her.

  "So that's it," she shakes her head in disbelief. "You found me a husband."

  "Gianna," Goode addresses her, a sinister smile on his face. "I know you're a willful young lady. But I believe we'll suit perfectly." He smirks, before turning to Benedicto and adding. "Why, I know just the way to make her behave, Benedicto," he says with a creepy laugh, as if he's not openly stating his intentions with her.

  My fists are balled in my lap, and it takes everything in me not to get up and smash his head against the glass table in the middle of the room.

  In fact, that image continues to haunt my mind as I imagine myself holding him down and cutting him to shreds for even daring to imagine that he'd get to Gianna—ever.

  Not while I'm here.

  But I know I can't act. I can't give away my feelings for Gianna, or our relationship.

  I need to bear it.

  Fuck! Restraint has never been my strong suit, but if I ruin everything right now, then I won't be able to help Gianna from behind bars, or worse—dead.

  Her back straight, she keeps on looking from her father to Clark, her eyes moist as if she's barely holding out her tears.

  Benedicto and Clark continue to talk, but my focus is wholly on Gianna and the way she's trying her hardest not to break down in front of them. And the way Goode is looking at her as if he can't wait to get his hands on her does nothing to calm me.

  "We can hold the engagement party in a month, and the wedding soon after," Benedicto suggests, and Gianna's sudden intake of breath alerts me to her distress.

  Fuck, how I wish I could at least hold her hand so that she knows I'm here for her. Instead, I can only search for her eyes and give her a small nod, wanting her to know I'm here for her.

  A few more tense minutes, and Gianna excuses herself, all but dashing towards her room. I don't look back at Benedicto or Goode as I follow after her.

  There's a loud thud as she shuts her door with a bang.

  "Gianna?" I knock on her door, worried about her vehement reaction.

  "I need a moment alone," her voice comes from the other side of the door. "Please," she adds, just as I want to insist.

  "Are you ok?" I ask, needing that for my peace of mind.

  "Yes. I'll see you in a bit," she mumbles.

  With a sigh, I leave her, heading downstairs to where Benedicto is seeing Clark out.

  "She'll come around. Besides, she knows you. Better than a stranger," Benedicto tells Clark, trying to appease him.

  He doesn't seem very pleased by Gianna's reaction to him, and the more I study him, the more I get this feeling that there's something wrong with him.

  "Never do that again, Mr. Bailey," Benedicto warns after Goode leaves, telling me that my outburst had been out of place.

  "I need to look out for Gianna's welfare, as I've been hired to do," I answer curtly.

  "And Clark is not a danger. From now on, consider him an exception—to everything. He can see Gianna whenever he wants, and you have my permission to give them time alone."

  My nostrils flare, my lip twitching as I barely contain my anger.

  The fact that I still need to keep up my ruse is the only thing that's saving Benedicto from an untimely demise.

  Certainly, the more he talks about the upcoming marriage between Gianna and Clark the more I want to rearrange his face and tell him that there isn't going to be any marriage.

  After he's done with his monologue, he dismisses me, leaving the house.

  One look at my watch and I realize Gianna's had enough time to calm herself. Because I need answers, and fast. So that I know when to plan Goode's funeral. Because her reaction had been unusual—too unusual for someone who's usually the first to show her claws. She'd been eerily quiet in his presence and that tells me that he scares her.

  What did he do to you, Gianna?

  From what I'd gathered, that's the only explanation. And I feel a pain deep in my chest at the thought of anyone harming her.

  "Gianna?" I'm back at her door, knocking.

  The first knock goes unanswered. The second too. It's only when I start banging against the door that I realize something must be wrong.

  "Gianna!" I yell, getting more worried by the second. Without a second thought, I take a step back, placing all my strength in my leg as I kick against the door. It gives way immediately, the lock broken.

  "Gianna?" I call out as I enter her room, frowning to find it bare.

  "Gianna, where are you?" I continue to ask as I look everywhere.

  The sound of running water draws my attention to the bathroom, and as I take a step towards the closed door, I feel my heart plummet in my chest.

  She's just taking a shower.

  But as I open the door to the bathroom, it's to find a naked Gianna in a half filled tub, her eyes closed, her breathing labored. The water is a murky red as blood flows freely from two cuts in her wrists.

  "My G
od," I mutter, barely finding my voice.

  My body mind goes into action mode as I rush to her side, scooping her from the water and taking a few towels to press to her wrists, carefully bandaging them to stop the blood loss.

  "What?" I hear a gasp from behind me, the housekeeper mumbling something as I bark at her to call the ambulance.

  "Pretty girl, I got you," I whisper to her, brushing my hand over her pale features.

  "Don't you dare leave me, sunshine, or I'm going to fucking come after you and I'll make you regret this," I rasp, my voice thick with emotion.

  My own eyes feel watery as I feel for her pulse, relieved to see it's there—weak but there.

  "I got you," I continue to talk to her, saying a small prayer in my head so that she'll be all right.

  She needs to be alright.

  "Sunshine, I didn't find you just so you could leave me..." I mumble, my entire being overtaken by the most intense feelings I've ever felt in my life.

  I hold on to her frail body, slowly rocking with her and praying I wasn't too late. That the ambulance isn't too late.

  You need to live, Gianna. For me. For us, and for everything I never got the chance to tell you.

  It feels like an eternity before the ambulance arrives and we're rushed to the hospital.

  Neither Benedicto nor Cosima were at home when it happened and I couldn't reach either of them on the way to the hospital.

  In a way it's better, since I'm sure Gianna can do away with their fake concerns.

  But as they hurry her to the emergency room, I'm not exactly welcomed since I'm not family.

  "I'm her fiancé," I lie. "Please just... make sure she's ok."

  The waiting is the worst.

  Every single scenario crosses my mind, and I have a hard time dealing with everything that's happening.

  "Damn," I curse out, resting my head in my hands.

  The adrenaline from finding her almost dead in her tub starts wearing off, and a deep pain takes root instead. Because what would I have done if she'd...

  Fuck, but I can't even say the word. I can't imagine her being there one minute and gone the next.