“Wow, she’s beautiful.”
“She sure is, isn’t she? Cala is just like her mother too. They’re my fucking world.”
I hand him back the phone and swipe at my face.
“I can see why. I’m glad you have them.” I step back, needing space. “I’m just going to go—”
“Hey, what’s wrong? This is good news.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” I tug at my arm he’s grabbed hold of. I’m embarrassed at how foolish I’ve acted. A goshdarn hussy. Lost in this fantasy that I truly am on an adventure, with this amazing, strong-willed man who just may like me. Those photos are the reality check I needed to remember he’s taken, and this is no adventure. My sadness morphs into anger. I may be naïve, but he’s also the one who’s been leading me on. Using his charm to sway me. Kiss me. Confuse me!
I rip my arm out of his grip and grab for the bottle. I splash the liquid into both glasses, slamming the bottle on the dresser. With each hand I grab the glasses and turn, shoving one in his hand. His eyes are calculating, watching me, waiting.
I raise my glass. “Never have I ever cheated on my wife.” I keep my eyes trained on his. They widen but fill with anger.
“Come again?”
“You heard me. Aren’t you going to drink?”
He takes a step toward me, causing me to cower a tad. His free hand reaches for my glass, ripping it out of my hands. Tossing both on the dresser, spilling the contents, his focus never leaves mine. One step, two steps, he’s prowling toward me, forcing me to walk backward until my back hits the wall. His head bows down, his lips so close, his breath is warming my already flushed cheeks. “You think that’s my wife? My daughter?”
“Well—Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” My voice is shaky.
His hand comes up, slowly, yet dangerously, sliding up the side of my ribs, brushing against the side of my breast, until he’s wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck. “Lindsay’s my sister. That little girl is my fucking niece.”
His words cause a tremor to shudder down my spine. His voice low and laced with anger. I don’t know what to say. How did I misinterpret? “I might be a lot of things, but I am not a cheating asshole. If I were married, I wouldn’t have fucking laid a hand on you. Are we clear?”
I nod quickly.
His fingers tighten, squeezing the pressure point at my neck. He leans in more, bringing his lips to my ear. “So now that we have that out of the way, I’m going to kiss you. And it’s going to be because I’ve been craving those lips all day. I want to taste the sweetness of your tongue, hear the sexy sounds of you whimpering when my fingers travel to a place I believe has never seen a man’s hand, and when I get there, I’m going to pleasure you until you forget about that fake romance bullshit and know what a real man feels like. Again, are we clear?”
My voice doesn’t work. Nor my mouth, my lips, the thing inside my throat that creates saliva. All broken.
“Frannie?”
“Mmmm?” That’s all I got.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Mmmm…”
His lips, just as warm and inviting as I remembered, press against mine. He doesn’t waste any time. He’s parting my own and his tongue finds its way inside. My legs give out and a small moan travels up my throat. His arms are at my hips, lifting me up against the wall. My legs curl around his thick waist and he’s hard as stone in all places. With a steady, slow thrust, he grinds into me. He dominates me with a deep, ravenous kiss. I kiss him back with the same intensity, as if I’ve been doing this forever. My arms find their way around his neck, my fingers travel into his hair, and I hold on tight.
“Tell me to stop. Or tell me to keep going. But I need to know now if I need to stop,” he growls against my lips, opening my mouth wider.
“Keep going.” I feel like I would die if he stopped.
His chest rumbles in approval. He sucks in my bottom lip, biting down. His hand frees from my hip and slides up my side until he’s cupping my full breast into his hand. “Fucking perfect. I’ve thought about how perfect your tits would feel in my hand.” There’s pressure in his grip, squeezing my breast. Using his thumb, he starts to caress my swollen nipple. I’m all out of sorts. I’m struggling to concentrate on our kiss, when too many emotions are rushing through me. My skin feels too sensitive, yet I’m in such a need to be touched everywhere.
“I can feel how restless you are. I know what you need.” He hums against my lips, taking his mouth to my neck. With such strength, he continues to hold me up, dropping his mouth to my covered breast. I yelp when his teeth clench around my nipple, but squirm as he sucks at me through my dress. “Are you going to be wet for me, Frannie? Are you soaked between those sweet innocent thighs?”
I’m embarrassed at how he knows exactly what I’m feeling. How my body is shamelessly reacting to him. His hand releases my breast and works down, lifting my dress. A small sense of panic sets inside me at the unknown, but to be touched and allow this built-up tension inside me to release overpowers any nerves.
“That’s it. Open up for me.” His words are like foreplay. This isn’t like any book I’ve read. It’s real and it’s so much better. I do as I’m told and before I know it my head hits the wall as a warm, thick finger enters me.
“Luca…” I can’t, maybe this was too— “Oh yes,” I moan like a wild feline. His lips are back on mine, swallowing each whimper of arousal as his finger pumps in and out of me.
“You’re soaking me, babe. Fuck,” he grunts, working me faster. My body begins to quiver, a tightness in my belly threatening to make me pass out from pleasure. He must sense it because his thrusts become harder and deeper. He quickens his pace and I’m squeezing my eyes shut as I clench around his fingers, white lights exploding behind my eyelids.
“That’s it. Come all over my fingers.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. I ordered no such thing!” a muffled voice from next door shouts. “Get your manager up here right now! Check your surveillance, and sure believe I’m being comped for this inconvenience.”
We both freeze against the wall.
“Fun’s over. We have to go.”
Luca
#AliensInKansas
Yap. Yap. Yap.
I crack my eyes open as a wave of nausea washes over me. What the fuck? Where am I? The sun is bright and I’m convinced I’m in hell. The yapping is in tune with the throbbing in my skull.
Yap. Throb. Yap. Throb. Yap. Throb.
“Chandler,” my crotch whines. “Hush your mouth.”
My crotch?
What kind of fucking hell is this?
Yap. Yap. Yap.
“Listen, Bing,” my crotch growls. “I’m going to put you in puppy time-out for this if you keep at it.”
My crotch has a sexy, feminine voice.
My cock is a woman?
This is hell.
“Behave, demon dog,” I warn.
My crotch bites my thigh.
Ow!
What. The. Fuck?!
“I’m his mother, so I’m allowed to talk to him that way, but you…”
I peek open my eyes and am met with a beautiful face. Not my cock. Not hell. Now that I’m looking at her, I’m pretty sure it’s a fucked up realm of heaven. Frannie. Beautiful fuckin’ Frannie.
“Hey, squirrel,” I rumble out, my voice hoarse from a night of bad decisions.
Her hair is messy and her eyeliner is smudged. Plump lips are parted as she stares at me. A smile tugs at her lips.
“I’ll forgive you,” she preens. “Being an angel and all.”
I blink away my sleepiness and frown to see a giant drool spot on my jeans. Nice. Lifting a brow, I smirk at her.
“That wasn’t me,” she lies, her eyes shifting away to focus on her furry hellion.
Reaching over, I swipe the saliva from her chin. “Right. Must have been the mutt.”
“He is not a mutt! Apologize to Mr. Bing. Right now!”
C
handler, ever the dramatic like his human mother, gives me the widest, buggiest Chihuahua eyes and I swear to fuck he frowns.
“Ahh, Jesus, Bingman. I was kidding. Everyone knows you’re a princess.”
He yaps happily and runs around the front of the car, wreaking havoc. It’s too early for this chaos. My head agrees, but my heart thinks the madness is a little fun.
“Where the hell are we?” I demand.
“Last night was sketchy,” she says, her brows pinching. “I remember you paying some teenager to drive us to Taco Bell after we blew out of that hotel.” She pats down her messy hair. “You ate a lot of tacos. A lot, Luca. Like how are you so fit?” Her head cocks to the side, her gaze trailing up my front.
“Then what?”
“Rude much?”
Chandler yaps, tilting his head to the side as to agree with her.
“Good genes,” I grumble. “Now get to the part where we ended up in the middle of a field.”
“That’s where it gets sketchy…”
“How sketchy?”
“Aliens.”
A pause.
“Aliens?”
“Dennis said—”
“Wait? Who’s Dennis?”
“Someone say my name?” Dennis chirps from the back seat.
What. The. Fuck?
I whip around to meet said Dennis. A huge guy with kind eyes and face tattoos. He lifts his arm, sniffs his pit, and then shrugs.
“Did you do this, Bingy?”
Chandler yaps.
“He says you did,” Frannie says, not meeting my glare.
Right. This has Francis written all over it.
“Taco Bell retweeted our crop circles,” Dennis says, thrusting his phone between us.
“They what—” I start as Frannie squeals out, “They think it was aliens!”
Chandler loves this and practically does fucking somersaults.
“Hashtag aliens in Kansas,” Dennis and Frannie both say in breathless fascination.
“We’re in Kansas?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Don’t worry, compadre,” Dennis says. “I drove Blanche like she was my own.”
“Her name isn’t Blanche, it’s Miss Russ—” Frannie starts, but I don’t have time for this madness.
“Why are you with us, Dennis?” I blurt out.
“Rude much?” Frannie grumbles again.
I feel like I’m in some bad remake of The Hangover. Instead of some random baby, we have Dennis. Fucking crop circle making, face tattooed, armpit sniffing, Taco Bell tweeting, Golden Girls lovin’ Dennis.
“Oh,” Frannie cries out. “I still have it.” She wiggles her wrist at me. “It’s all coming back to me! We made these friendship bracelets and—”
I didn’t make shit—oh. I’m wearing a fucking friendship bracelet too. Dennis waves a meaty arm, showing off his. And fuck if the dog isn’t wearing one tied to his collar.
Hell is preferable to…this.
Whatever the fuck this is.
“Right, so before we go down The Yellowbrick Road to Fucking Crazyville, I need coffee. A shower. A toothbrush. Dennis, my man, point the way.”
“Truck stop in three point two miles,” he tells me. “Oh, and hashtag aliens in Kansas is totally trending right now.”
“I feel bad about leaving our bestie,” Frannie says. “I miss Dennis already.”
Like a good best friend, Dennis led us to the nearest truck stop, bought breakfast, and made us promise to follow him on Twitter. Now that he’s gone off to do whatever the fuck it is Dennis does, we’re back on the road just outside of Kansas City. With full bellies and having cleaned up, I’m feeling better. Still have a goddamn headache, but the scenery sure is nice.
My eyes drag over to Frannie as she absently strokes Chandler behind the ears. At the truck stop, Dennis hooked us up with more best friend gifts. I’m wearing a Kansas City Chiefs T-shirt and ball cap. Frannie, though…
Fuck.
“I keep thinking about death,” she says absently.
Morbid little thing. Fuck, her legs are smooth. The car bounces when I go off into the median and I jerk it back onto the road. “Why are you thinking about death?”
“Not like real death. Like Mr. Death. I feel like he’s a mystery we need to solve.”
“This isn’t one of your sexy mafia novels,” I grumble. “He’s a bad guy, babe. A real one.”
She flashes me a shy smile that wakes my dick right the fuck up. “I know, but we can figure out who he is. Get the jump on the guy.”
I get the weird feeling of being watched and I glance down to see Chandler with his head cocked. Reaching over, I pet his head and accidentally-on-purpose brush against Frannie’s tit that looks all too good in her tight Chiefs tank. The little red and yellow shorts she’s wearing quite possibly might have me meeting the real death soon because they’re distracting as fuck, which makes it hard to keep my eyes on the road.
“Eyes that way, buddy,” she scoffs, pointing at the windshield when she catches me checking her out.
I smirk but continue watching the road.
“I should Google him.”
“Google who?” I ask, frowning.
“Duh. Death.”
I laugh. “Not that easy, babe.”
She smiles shyly again. Noted. She likes it when I call her babe.
“We don’t know until we try,” she tries. “I mean, how many bad guys in LA could there possibly be?”
“It’s LA,” I say with a laugh. “Probably most of them are.”
“Let me see your phone.”
Before last night, I might have hesitated. Not anymore. I hand her the phone and she starts scrolling through the texts from last night.
“Looking for clues,” she says absently. “Aww, Billy really is a handsome guy. When this is all over, I’m stealing him. Juniper too.”
“I’m sure Ross will love sharing the spotlight with Buddy and June.”
“Chandler. Billy. Jun—whatever. You’re distracting me.” She gasps. “Oh. Ohhhhhh. Ohhhhhhhh.”
I look at her expectantly and Chandler cocks his head, yapping. “And?” I implore.
“Billy has the same collar as Mr. Bing. Looks like a PetSmart special to me. Should I call all the PetSmarts in California? Do you think—”
“Focus, squirrel girl,” I tell her, my eyes glancing in the mirror at the suspicious black vehicle a half mile back or so. “Calling all PetSmarts to hunt down a collar is a waste of time. What did your bad guy Google search pull up?”
She stretches her legs out and rests them on the dash. Chandler, no longer comfortable, comes to sit in my lap. Now I’m free to stare at her pretty legs for the remainder of the drive. She’s tapping away, searching for clues, when I get the strange feeling again. When I glance in the mirror, the car is closer.
I don’t like it.
Last time we were followed, we were nearly killed.
Slowly, I accelerate as not to alarm Frannie. I like her looking relaxed and happy in the passenger seat. I’d like to keep her that way. I’d like to keep her…
“Oh my,” she gasps. “Mr. Death is Andy Garcia.”
“What? Like the famous actor?”
She shoves the phone my way to show me a picture of some older gentleman on Wikipedia.
“You know that’s not a reliable source. You said so yourself—”
“Says right here, ‘Vincent Lamberto shakes hands with the mayor.’”
“Right because shaking hands with the mayor proves guilt.”
“Oh! And, fun fact, Vinnie boy here has connections with…” She gasps. “Everyone.”
“Jesus. Here we go…”
“Fun fact, he actually is friends with Andy Garcia. Vinnie, you found your doppelgänger.” She laughs.
“His what—”
“Owns a bunch of restaurants in downtown LA—”
“Fuck, we’re being followed.”
“A Rolls Royce—”
“Who are these guys?”
>
“Ooh, fun fact, Queen played at one of his restaurants before. I know the perfect song to fit the mood,” she chirps, her fingers flying all over the screen.
Seconds later the phone starts thumping out “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen. The dog bounces around the fucking car like he’s dancing and Frannie bobs her head to the bass.
“Another one bites—”
“Stay down.” I accelerate faster.
“The dust—”
“They’re gaining on us!”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The car behind us gasses it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Another one bites the—oh, wow, and fun fact, a vineyard! Vinnie owns a vineyard!” She cackles with laughter, head still bouncing to the music. Thump. Thump. Thump. “Slow down, buddy—”
“Goddammit, more of Arlo Rossi’s men!”
“It’s him! Vinnie is Mr. Death!”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Not now, babe, not now,” I growl as I swerve, whipping around a minivan.
She topples my way and Chandler hits the floorboard.
“Stay down,” I bark out.
Of course she doesn’t fucking listen, peeking her head up and looking behind us. “Just one car. We can outrun them!”
I gas it hard and then the wheel jerks.
Pop!
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now. A blowout. It takes everything in me not to wreck the big mauve boat of a car. I’m forced to pull it off to the side of the road as metal screeches across pavement.
“When I stop, you stay down. I’ll wait until they get close and then I’ll attack,” I instruct. “Just stay in the fucking car, babe. These men are dangerous.”
“No,” she whimpers, turning the music off. “Don’t leave me.”
The car rolls to a stop and the car behind us stops a hundred feet back. I grip her jaw and draw her to me, kissing her pouty mouth hard. She tastes like syrup and a little bit of heavenly hell. If that’s the last thing I taste before meeting the real death, it’ll be a great parting gift.
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