Mob Mistress (10 page)

He held them locked together that way, his cock still embedded deep within her, her ass still hot from his whipping, her upper body restrained under his palm.

He stroked slowly in and out, caressing her with his cock, or maybe better put, caressing his cock with her.

She made a contented noise and he pulled out, removed the condom, tossing it in the trash, and settled beside her, drawing her into his arms.

“Thank you, Lexi. You are the best thing in my life right now.” He pushed away the comparisons, because the shit storm the Feds were bringing down on him was nothing he wanted to think about. Lexi had relieved every ounce of tension he’d brought over.

He drifted into sleep, his girl locked in his embrace, right where he wanted to be.

* * * * *

He woke to the feel of her nails scratching his back. “Mmm,” he murmured.

“Did you mean to spend the night?” she asked, a worried tinge to her voice.

“Yes,” he said simply, knowing she still believed he was married. “I wanted to be with you.”

She ran her nails up his back again. “It’s nice to wake up with you,” she offered shyly.

“Yeah. I like it, too.” He rolled on top of her and kissed her neck. “You’re special, Lex. I really like you.”

“You like me?” she asked pushing him away with an exaggerated sense of offense. “And whipping me is a sign of your love, right?”

“Uh oh,” he said, sitting up and dragging her over his lap. “You’re not sulking are you?” He landed a flurry of spanks on her beautiful backside, loving the way her cheeks flattened and sprang back under his palm.

“Ack! No!” she screeched, reaching back to protect herself.

He leaned over and kissed one cheek, then the other, then released her. “Good,” he said. “Because that would tell me you need more.”

“What do you like for breakfast?” she asked, rolling away and climbing off the bed.

He turned lazily to watch her. “Want to go out for something? What time do you work?”

“Not till 11:00. But I want to make you breakfast. What do you eat?”

He grinned broadly, loving her attitude of service. “Anything you’re making, sugar.”

“You’re easy? No diet restrictions? Anything you hate?”

“Nope. Bring it on. You make it, I’ll eat it.”

She threw on a short robe and bounced off, looking enthusiastic.

He found his way to the shower, still groggy from lack of sleep and the relaxation of good sex just a few hours before. He hadn’t arrived until after 3:00 a.m., and then spent another hour making love. Well, maybe that wasn’t the right term for what they’d done—
fucking
, to be crude.

He took a long shower and by the time he got out, he smelled the scent of bacon and something savory. Dressing, he padded into the kitchen. “Whatcha making?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

“I made a goat cheese, mushroom and asparagus frittata, with bacon on the side.”

“No shit,” he said, impressed. “I didn’t know you cooked.’

She flashed her model-perfect smile, beaming. “Do you mind if I take the world’s fastest shower first? I made you coffee.”

“Make it snappy,” he said, only because he loved to watch her scramble to please. In reality, he could care less if she took her time and their breakfast got cold. He wasn’t much of a breakfast guy, anyway. “I’m timing you!” he called after he back as she dashed toward the master bathroom. He sat down to drink his coffee at the glass table situated near the wall-sized windows overlooking the city where she had set two places.

She returned with her thick hair dripping, in a short denim skirt and tight t-shirt.

He looked at his watch and whistled. “Five minutes, three seconds. I think you deserve a reward for that.”

“Oh yeah?” she purred, coming to stand over him and pressing her cleavage in his face.

He nipped at her breast. “And for that outfit…”

She giggled and moved away, going to the kitchen to pick up the casserole dish with the frittata and bringing it to the table. “Help yourself. I’ll be right back with the bacon,” she said, speeding off.

She returned with the bacon and slid into the chair next to him. “This is an incredible view. I’ve really enjoyed staying here, Bobby. Thanks.”

“I love having you here, little girl,” he said and took a bite of the frittata. “Mmm, this is amazing!” he praised.

She looked happy. Genuinely happy. He realized he hadn’t seen her so relaxed and contented before. It made him want to do everything in his power to keep that smile on her face.

He took a second helping because it was truly delicious and also because he wanted her to know how much he appreciated her efforts. When they finished, he helped carry the dishes into the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher.

“So, when should we go shopping for your interview clothes? Tonight after you get off?”

She lit up. “Yes! That sounds great!”

He smiled. “Okay, I’ll pick you up. And I want to see the portfolio you put together for this job.”

“You do?” she asked, looking surprised.

“Yeah. Bring it to me.”

She gave him a curious look over her shoulder as she retreated to the bedroom. When she returned, she carried a sleek black photo album. “This is my look-book, but I submitted a digital slide show with the application.”

He leafed through the pages, admiring each hairstyle. “Who took the photos?”

“Well, I did. I wish I could have had them professionally done, because you can see here how the shadows fall on her face. I didn’t have the right lighting.”

“Next time we’ll get you a professional shoot, sugar. Your work deserves to be showcased with the best tools available to us.”

“We?” she said faintly.

He looked up to see her staring at him with an odd look on her face.

“What?”

She gave her head a quick shake. “Nothing. Just that sometimes I wish you were more of an asshole.”

“Oh, I am an asshole, believe me,” he said lightly, but he could sense a wistfulness from her and she didn’t smile.

* * * * *

“What do you think of this one?” she asked, prancing out of the dressing cubicle in a fitted purple miniskirt, wide black belt and black silk tank top.

Bobby lounged on one of the benches in the dressing room, looking casually elegant in one of his designer suits. It had been shopping as foreplay, and she was about two seconds away from dragging him into a cubicle and dropping to her knees to suck his cock, because he’d bought everything she showed the slightest interest in, and more.

He gave her a heavy-lidded gaze. “I think, if I were God, I would ordain that this song be playing every time you entered into my visual field in a short skirt.”

She giggled, listening to hear what song played on the mall speakers.
Sex and Candy
by Marcy Playground.

“Little girl, those legs ought to be illegal. In fact,” he said, motioning to her outfit. “We’ll take those clothes, but you are not wearing them to your interview.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, strutting slowly to where he sat. “What am I wearing to the interview?”

He smirked. “I’m not sure, but I think you already have something in mind. You just keep dragging me around to turn me on with your dress up show.”

She laughed. She never got anything by him. At least he hadn’t accused her of working him for the clothes, which was also true, and she knew he understood perfectly.

“All right, baby, I’m almost out of cash.” He pulled out three hundred dollar bills. “Where do you want to spend these?”

“Shoe store,” she said without hesitation. She gestured down at her outfit. “Should I get these?”

“Yes,” he said, raking his eyes up and down her appreciatively. “I thought I already said so.”

“Sorry, boss,” she said with a wink as she turned to strut back to the cubicle and change out of the clothes.

In the shoe department, she picked out a pair of wedge sandals and a pair of strappy heels. “How much is left?” she said, grinning like a spoiled child after he paid for the clothes and shoes.

“Sixty bucks.” He folded the bills and slid them into her bra. “But I’m all shopped out. Let’s go, little girl.”

“Yes, sir.” She traipsed beside him giddy with her new purchases and the attention of her lover. She hooked her arm through his. “May I make you dinner?”

He looked down at her, thoughtfully. “Sure.”

They walked to his car but he hesitated when he unlocked the door. “Why don’t you drive?”

“What?”

“Have you driven at all since your accident?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Get in,” he said, waving her toward the driver’s seat. “I want you to drive. Let’s test your EMDR session.”

She climbed in, feeling shaky. She adjusted the seat and mirrors, trying to get everything just perfect, as if it would make driving easier. Taking a deep breath, she started his Mercedes, checked for cars in her mirror and pulled out into the stream of traffic. Neither of them spoke for the next ten minutes as she navigated her way through the city streets, but after a while, she relaxed her hands on the steering wheel.

She experienced no panic and with each mile she drove, it got easier. By the time she pulled into the underground parking garage at her building, she felt more confident about driving. She found a parking spot and turned off the car, turning to grin at Bobby. “Just like riding a bike,” she declared.

“Good job, baby. I’m proud of you.”

His praise pleased her and she took his arm, feeling half-giddy with affection.

When they arrived at the apartment, he followed her into the kitchen. “May I help?”

“Do you cook?” she asked in surprise. She realized she knew very little about the man who occupied so many of her thoughts.

He grinned. “I’m not bad in a kitchen. Better on a grill.”

Her heart twisted. Why did these glimpses of domesticity, like seeing him with that baby, cause her so much pain?

She pulled some white roughy fillets out of the freezer and popped them in a bowl of warm water to thaw. “Actually, I have this covered. You could just set the table?”

“Sure thing,” he said, emptying his pockets onto the countertop before taking out placemats and napkins.

The phone on the counter buzzed and she reached for it automatically, picking it up to check the text message. Only when she read the words
Feds picked up Dan
did she realize it was not her phone, but Bobby’s.

“What are you doing?” Bobby demanded in an icy tone from the kitchen doorway. His eyes were wide with shock, his face rigid.

She dropped the phone like a hot potato. “Oh God,” she said, shaking her hands as if to remove all traces of his phone from them. “I didn’t — I wasn’t —”

He took a step forward, looking every inch the dangerous mobster. His face was dark, but the stunned expression conveyed something more—betrayal.

She realized with a spike of genuine terror, that he believed she was an informer, or a rat or whatever they called them.

* * * * *

“I thought it was my phone! It beeped and I just picked it up to check the message. We have the same phones, and the same beeps.”

He worked hard to calm his breathing. Was she telling the truth? She certainly looked terrified. But a snitch who got caught would.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m not a rat, or a Fed. I’m not wearing a wire, I swear to you.”

He relaxed. No. Not Lexi. He would’ve known if there was something off about her. He had excellent instincts.

He walked forward and picked up her wrists, turning her slowly to face the counter. Pressing her hands down on the granite, he pulled up her skirt and lowered her panties. “Snooping is not allowed, Lexi,” he said, reaching for a wooden spoon.

“No, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” she said and he could tell by her relief she understood the decision he had made about her.

He peppered her backside with spanks, the wooden spoon striking only a small area, but making her jump with each smack. It took a several dozen swats to turn the lower half of her bottom red, and she had begun to whimper.

Seeing the bottle of olive oil standing on the counter, he reached for it, pouring a little in his palm. He rubbed it over her cheeks, then slapped, enjoying the stingy-ness the oil helped impart. Dipping his finger in the oil, he slid it between her cheeks, circling her anus.

“What did I tell you would happen if I had to punish you?” he said, pressing his finger in.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

“No, I don’t believe that was it. What happens to this sweet little ass of yours when you’ve been bad?” he asked, plunging his finger into the knuckle, then withdrawing it and repeating the action.

“Ohhh...”

He pulled his finger out and slapped the back of her thigh, hard.

“Ouch!”

“Answer me!”

“Um, sorry! Uh…you, um…”

He slapped her again. “What do I do?”

“You fuck me in the ass,” she mumbled, as if she found it embarrassing to say.

“That’s right, little girl.” He took her elbow and helped her lift her torso from the counter, pulling her toward the living room.

She started to reach for her panties, but he slapped her ass again. “Leave them around your thighs, where they belong. Naughty girls stand with their panties down. Now come here.”

He led her to the bolstered arm of the sofa. “Bend over, little girl.”

She folded her torso down so her bare bottom was raised and exposed.

“Do not move from this position.”

“Okay,” she said in a small voice.

He went to the kitchen to retrieve the olive oil, which he used liberally on her anus and his shaft, while she shivered in anticipation. He rubbed the head of his cock against her entrance and pressed. She tightened against the intrusion.

“Open for me, Lex,” he encouraged. “Push back like you’re bearing down.”

She obeyed immediately, alleviating his concern that she wasn’t mentally ready.

He eased into her, giving her time to get used to his girth and the unusual invasion. She panted and moaned, but remained perfectly still, allowing him to penetrate, centimeter by centimeter. Reaching around the front, he teased her clit, flicking it as he began to withdraw and press in again.