by T Steele
In my hazy state, I notice his pants are still on, and I pull my leg from his grasp and slowly scoot up to unbutton them. My fingers are clumsily touching the clasps, but then he stops me, shaking his head.
“Not yet,” his voice comes out strangled and surprised, like he can’t believe he’s stopping me. “I need to taste you first.”
Excitement and heat spark in my core, and I feel more wetness gather between my legs from his words alone. I eagerly lay back as my heart starts beating wildly in my chest.
“Lay back. Get comfortable,” he says.
I rub my chest consolingly, and his eyes track the movement.
“Touch your nipples,” he demands roughly once I’m laying flat on my back and staring up at him.
My one hand gradually slides up my stomach while the other moves down my chest. When they glide over my breasts, pleasure jolts through me. John’s eyes leave mine for a moment to watch my movements.
The feel of my own hands against myself, while John watches, feels so erotic and nervewracking. Yet when I hear him hiss in a breath through his teeth—his teeth which are biting his bottom lip—I feel satisfied and powerful. John elicits feelings in me I’ve never experienced.
He moves closer now, his giant hands resting on my knees, pulling them apart.
“My, my,” he says darkly, “look how wet my little Ruby is.” He cups my ass, his thumbs resting on the lips of my sex, and I whimper. “How rude of me to keep her waiting,” he rasps before his thumbs spread me wide and his tongue runs along the length of me.
I cry out, my hands gripping the sheets.
“Keep touching yourself,” John says savagely. “It’ll make it better.”
And he’s right. My fingers gently tweak my nipples as his tongue dips in and out of me, rolling around my clit, then quickly filling me up again. He goes so deep that I feel his nose moving and vibrating against me with the rest of his ministrations, and I fall apart.
His tongue moves quicker, licking and sucking, and the pleasure I feel is almost an out of body experience where I can’t even control myself. My lip stings and I feel blood well from biting it so hard to keep the screams from escaping my mouth. My hips are bucking against John’s face, but his firm hands hold me in place as my back bows off the bed.
I’ve barely come down from my orgasm when I feel John’s tongue and finger sliding inside me. My eyes open and John’s are feral, already staring back at me. I clench around his tongue inside me, and his lashes flutter. It’s as if he’s enjoying himself just as much as me. The sight spurs me on, and I’m already close to my second orgasm.
He lowers my hips back to the bed and my limbs feel like jelly, but the pulse between my thighs is so powerful that I know my next orgasm will be stronger than the last. The breathy little moans I’m making come out higher as John unbuckles his pants and pulls them down slowly, never losing eye contact with me.
The boxer briefs he’s wearing leave little to the imagination, and I’m curious and scared. I want to see him. No, this feels more like a need. It’s primal and instinctive. I need to see him and touch him. Period. But I can tell he’s well endowed, and when the briefs fall to the floor, it’s clear that I wasn’t wrong.
“I’ll make it as painless as possible for you,” he says, seeing the fear in my eyes.
“I trust you,” I say, and his lips part, his eyes looking pained before he shakes his head and crawls up the bed, hovering over me.
His finger softly starts its circular dance again, and I close my eyes, arching my back. John’s lips capture one of my nipples, and it feels incredible. He slides another finger in, and it doesn’t hurt, but I can feel the stretching. I open my eyes, and John’s are already on me, watching my every move.
He adds a third finger inside me, and I tense. He stops moving. Then, his thumb, ever so softly, massages my clit. I feel myself clench around his fingers, trying to adjust, but it’s difficult because of my discomfort. I try not to show how much pain I’m in, but I don’t know why I even bother. John catches everything.
“You’re so tight,” he whispers, licking his lips, my moisture still glistening on his face.
John’s face is hard, and his jaw is clenched so tightly that it looks like whatever he’s about to say will be a struggle. “Do you want to stop?”
“No,” I say, my voice breaking because, despite the pain, I want this, and I know John does too. “Don’t stop.”
“Thank fuck,” John mutters, bringing his mouth down to where his fingers are.
His tongue licks around my entrance, and I sigh, starting to feel the heat I felt before.
His tongue and fingers work in tandem slowly, stretching me, helping me adjust to the bigger size I’m about to feel.
When I know I’m getting close again, John lifts his face and slowly removes his fingers from me. I almost whimper.
My eyes travel down his beautiful body to the thin trail of dark hair, then his hard length standing tall. He positions himself and I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance. As soon as he comes in contact with my warm heat, John groans, and the muscles in his body go taut.
His eyes are squeezed shut, and it looks as though he’s trying to control his breathing.
When he opens his eyes, they’re fully dilated, none of the blue showing. He leans down to kiss me, his hardness pushing into me more.
My nails dig into his back, and he pushes in further. His hand lightly pinches one of my nipples, and it feels good, but I still have a slight ache in between my legs.
John doesn’t want to hurt me, and I’m grateful, but I just want the painful part over. Finally, I cup my hands around his face. “Do it,” I whisper. “Rip off the bandaid.”
John’s expression is unreadable, and when I think he’s going to continue with this slow torture, he slams into me, and I wince, tears springing to my eyes.
John’s lips part in bliss before his face tightens and his head bows. “It won’t always be like this,” he grits out.
His chest is heaving, but he’s entirely still, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. This tough man, who could kill in the blink of an eye, is being so gentle with me. He’s trying so hard not to hurt me, though he’s clearly feeling pleasure.
“Move your knees up and bend them,” he breathes, his voice guttural. “It won’t hurt as much.”
I do as he says, and he’s right. He finally opens his eyes to stare down at me as he slowly pulls back out, his hand comes between us, gently massaging my clit, and he slides back into me.
We do this for a while. He works on me slowly, letting me accommodate his size, and suddenly, I do start to feel pleasure.
John studies my every facial expression, and I see the male pride in him when my mouth falls open. My hands start to wander from the place on his back, causing his muscular arms to flex and tense with every movement. Then, I explore his chest, his neck, his soft and messy hair. I scrape my nails along his scalp and watch as John’s brows lower, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, making a noise I’d never thought I’d hear from someone like him.
His hips start moving faster, slapping against my skin with every thrust. Our bodies are slippery with sweat. John’s eyes are only opened in small slits, and I can tell he wants to shut them in pleasure, but he keeps them open. He wants to watch me.
The thought brings an orgasm to my body so forcefully that I throw an arm over my mouth and bite into it, cutting off the start of my scream. My inner walls clench around John so tightly I hear him groan as he throws his head back, and the warmth of his release jets into me.
I take my arm away from my face, leaving a bite mark in its wake, and John’s face looks magnificent, but there’s a slight streak of blood running from his lip, and I realize he had to suppress his sounds just as much as me. Our heavy breathing echoes in the room, and John stares at me in awe.
But then I see shock and panic take its place.
He pulls out of me slowly, and I feel so satisfied, but that doesn’t stop th
e worry gripping me when I see John’s expression.
“What is it?” I ask hoarsely. My voice sounds raw, and my eyes widen when I see not only that John is still hard, but the blood covering him and my sheet. My cheeks heat. I feel mortified, even though I knew this was a possibility.
“Be right back,” John says gruffly.
He goes into the bathroom, and I hear water running. When he comes out, his pants are back on, and he has a washcloth. He bends down in front of me. “What are you doing?” I squeak.
“Cleaning you up.”
He says it softly, but his eyes look lost, and I feel so vulnerable and cherished that he’s offering to do that. It almost causes tears to well in my eyes, but I keep my emotions under control.
I sigh in relief when the warmth of the washcloth brushes against me, between my legs. It’s like a soothing balm that helps the soreness that isn’t extremely painful, but it’s definitely not comfortable, either.
“We didn’t use a condom.” John breaks the silence.
“I’m on birth control.”
John sighs in relief. “I never forget a condom,” he mutters.
“I should have remembered. I need to be more responsible.”
“We both do,” says John, his hand still gently cleaning the area between my thighs.
Then, he stands and glances around the room before his eyes land on my dresser. He opens the drawer, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. Shutting the dresser drawer, he walks back to where I’m sitting on the bed and puts the shirt over my head and then he inserts my feet into the panties.
I could have done all those things myself, but I don’t tell him that. It’s almost as if he needs this. Needs to take care of me since he saw my blood.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly.
He nods, and then we just stare at each other. It’s somewhat awkward. I don’t know what to say or do in this situation. The after. Isn’t this the part where we’re supposed to cuddle and pillow talk?
The horrible thought of “Was I good enough?” pops into my head and I cringe, looking away from John. I stand up, feeling the need to move.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I can barely look him in the eye when the words spill from my mouth like word vomit. “Was that good enough for you?” My voice is small and I sound very, very young.
John laughs harshly, running a hand over his face. “Don’t ever ask that. If anything, no one is good enough for you.” He straightens, looking off into the distance. “But to put all your insecurities to rest, you were fucking perfect, and I’ll never be able to get the sight of you cuming while my dick was inside you out of my head.”
Blood rushes to my face as I swallow thickly, and John grins at me, brushing my cheek with his thumb. “So fucking sweet,” he murmurs.
His hair is tousled and wild and his bare chest and black, ripped pants gives him a more rugged appearance and in this moment I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.
“John . . .” He looks up, his icy eyes no less intimidating even after what we’d just done. “How did you become my father’s assassin? Why are you guys so close?”
John stiffens. “This is exactly the type of shit I don’t do, Ruby. Just because we fucked,” I flinch at the word, and guilt quickly flashes in his eyes before it’s replaced with coldness, “doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you all my secrets.”
Hurt and anger war inside of me. “I didn’t know asking you a simple fucking question was the equivalent to a marriage proposal,” I say before storming into my bathroom and starting the water.
I don’t cry as the hot water trickles down my skin. I’m too numb to cry, too stubborn and prideful, but dammit, the image of John watching me while we’d made love, the fierceness in his gaze and satisfaction that poured from him, is enough to make me admit that some of the water going down the drain may also be tears.
Chapter Eight
The next two weeks pass in a blur. John and I barely talk except for a snide comment here and there from me, which he dutifully ignores. And I’m pissed and sad and embarrassed, but mostly, I just want him to kiss me again. To say the crude words that somehow sound beautiful when coming from his lips. I want to feel his hands on me again, and I hate that I’ve already fallen so hard for him. It’s only been a month, but when you’re with someone day and night—someone you already have a strong connection with, no less—time doesn’t seem to matter when it comes to feelings.
Liz notices my sullen mood and makes jokes and keeps me company. I appreciate her so much, but guilt would still creep up and show its ugly head when I thought of Daphnee. Almost like I was cheating on my best friend. The pang of loss when I thought of Daphnee turned even more painful when I realized this was the longest we’d gone without talking to each other, and that I may never get to speak to her again. The thought makes me furious.
“Ruby,” Liz says softly, bringing me out of my reverie.
“Hmm . . .?”
“You and I have become pretty good friends, right?”
I smile at her in earnest. “Yes.”
She nods, her face thoughtful, instead of the shit-eating grin she usually wears. “Then you won’t mind me asking what’s going on between you and John?”
I inhale so quickly that I choke. Pounding on my chest and coughing, I try to gauge her reaction through my watering eyes. She’s merely staring at me with a raised brow and crossed arms.
“Oh, fuck,” I croak out, still trying to gain control of my sputtering.
“That’s right, ‘oh fuck,’ girl, what the actual fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t know!” I throw my head in my hands, then peek through my fingers at her. “How did you know?”
She blows a raspberry, leaning back in her seat. “How does everyone not know? You follow him around with heart eyes like a blushing little school girl, and then there’s him. The dude hasn’t shown any emotion probably since the late ’90s.”
“He was a child then.”
“Exactly! That’s my point, but there’s something different with him now.” She shrugs, shaking her head. “I don’t know, he just seems less . . . murdery? Like, I stole a roll from his plate the other night, trying to test the theory that you two were fucking, ya know?”
“Ah, yes, the standard test of ‘are they fucking?’, got it.”
Liz’s brows raise on her expressive face. “What I was saying,” she says, speaking over me, “is that he just rolled his eyes and huffed. Like he was definitely annoyed with me, but that huff, man. I swear that huff was a little laugh.” Her eyes are wide, and she’s nodding her head slowly like she’s on to something.
“I’m not following. Are we fucking, or are we not?”
Liz let’s out a dramatic sigh. “You’re obviously fucking because we’re friends,” she motions between her and me. “And John knew you wouldn’t like it if he was mean to me. So, that was him acknowledging me and letting me live even after my thievery.”
“John wouldn’t seriously kill over a dinner roll, would he?” I ask, genuinely fearful of the answer.
“Yeah, but not any of us,” she says with a sweet smile as if that makes it better. Then, her face grows severe. “What are you going to do about your dad?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know. Do you think he’ll actually kill John?”
She studies my face before her eyes lock on mine. “Yes.”
I think back to the way John has acted since we’d made love. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach over how things had ended. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have to worry,” I say. “I don’t think John is as into me as you say.” I shrug, trying not to appear as hurt as I am.
Later that day, I’m playing with the twins while talking with Evangeline, who insists on me calling her Eva. She tells me what a great Boss my father is and that he is one of the only Capo Dei Capis who allows women to work and get an education and basically do whatever men are capable of if they so wish. Apparentl
y, most of the mafia was still living in the 1920s. My feelings are split between feeling grateful that my father is at least trying not to be a patriarchal douche. Then, being pissed that I have to feel grateful about that.
I roll my eyes. “Everyone knows women are way better than men at most things.” Eva laughs, and I see John move from the corner of my eye. It’s subtle, but I see his head perk up at my words. He’s still my bodyguard, but during the day my father mostly just makes me stay inside the house at all times. For christ’s sake, I’m barely allowed to take a piss in private. But usually, the “Ruby midnight shift”—as I decided to call it in my head—is reserved for John.
There are prominent circles under his eyes, and considering its midday and he had watched me sleep all night, I know he couldn’t have gotten much rest. The pang of concern in my chest bothers me and I continue talking to Eva. “For instance, no one would expect someone like me walking in with my father for a deal. Not only would that surprise them, but also it would distract them, and they wouldn’t see it coming. They’d think I was there to pass out Girl Scout cookies or something. They’d never notice if I stole anything from them until it was too late.” I grin cheekily at Eva, and she smiles back.
“You really are your father’s daughter,” she says.
“Where would you even hide anything on your person?” John’s low voice rattles through the room, surprising us. He nods his head to what I’m wearing: my standard outfit of the Ralph Lauren skirt and turtleneck.
I smirk smugly at him. “That’s the whole point.”
John clenches his jaw, and I can tell he’s fighting not to let his eyes stare at anything other than my face. The longer his eyes bore into mine, the more lost in his gaze I become. My body heats, and the smile vanishes from my face.
John looks away, and then my father enters the living room. He smiles when he sees me on the floor with the kids who have fallen asleep at odd angles on the soft, damask rug. As if their little bodies had run so much that they literally just passed out from exhaustion.