Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  My bow dragged along the notes, playing everything out slower than my intention.

  Jean-Pierre moved his hand inside his pocket.

  The vibrations stopped.

  I cleared my throat and picked up the pace.

  Shit.

  My pussy was swollen and tender from the steady humming. All I could think of was Jean-Pierre’s thick erection in the other room, and how I wanted to feel it inside of me. And he didn’t have to pay one dollar for me to bounce on that cock.

  I switched the song, unsure if I finished the other one or not.

  Rafael rocked his head to the rhythm.

  Interesting. He looks like he knows it.

  Perhaps, he’d been a classical fan. Or maybe Jean-Pierre had put him on to it.

  I’d been staring at Jean-Pierre, but I’d turned my attention to Rafael, watching as he moved his head perfectly to the beat.

  He definitely knows the song.

  Jean-Pierre must’ve not appreciated my attention on Rafael. The vibrations returned and on a stronger level.

  Oh my God.

  My pussy pulsed against the toy’s drumming. My body grew ready to explode.

  “Oh.” I stumbled on the notes, paused, and was close to doubling over.

  The vibrations stopped.

  “Are you okay, mon amour?”

  Panting, I looked at him.

  Lust covered his face, and deep within the shadows of his eyes, I swore I saw anger.

  Are you mad, that I was looking at Rafael?

  I thought about what Shalimar had said.

  “I think to keep Jean-Pierre’s attention, you must be cerebral like him. . .The woman he will chase is probably one that pours all her attention on him, then later excuses herself to do something else.”

  Our gazes met.

  Amusement cornered his eyes. “Do you need to take a break, mon amour?”

  “No, monsieur.”

  With his other hand, he gripped the thick length on his lap.

  The men studied our exchange.

  Returning to the violin, I tried to focus on my breathing instead of on the liquid heat building between my legs. It wasn’t easy.

  For some reason, I decided to play dirty. He had me in front of his men, friends, co-workers, whatever. Either way, he enjoyed turning me on in front of others and having the full control.

  How can I control him?

  Clearly, he enjoyed my playing.

  What would make him intrigued or turned on?

  I considered a sexy tune, but the whole time I kept thinking about Jean-Pierre’s song.

  And so, that was what I played.

  I went into the notes.

  He’d been pouring himself a generous serving of whiskey.

  When Eros and I began Iliad, he turned to me. Heat blazed in his eyes. The look was a punch to my gut. He craved me. It was all over his face.

  I knew as soon as everyone left, he would fuck the shit out of me.

  Yes. Sign me up.

  But I noticed something else too.

  Rafael had paused from drinking too. The scarred man held a curious expression, leaned over to Jean-Pierre, and whispered something in his ear.

  Jean-Pierre frowned.

  The vibrations returned.

  I skipped over notes.

  I couldn’t tell, if anyone noticed. I tried to play his song some more. Jean-Pierre increased the level. Jesus Christ! My vision blurred as robust vibrations pulsated through me. Fumbling over notes, I squeezed my thighs and began playing a new song. I wasn’t even sure of how it went, I’d just had the harmony memorized.

  The vibrations ended, as soon as I switched to something new.

  I paused from playing altogether, needing to catch my breath.

  Holy shit.

  I bet I looked like I’d just come. Gaze wide open. Face flushed. Mouth parted. Nipples poking stiff through my dress. Curious stares hit me.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a break, mon amour?”

  I looked at him.

  He wore a grin as that wicked hand remained in his pocket.

  I blew out a long breath and placed my violin back into position. “No, monsieur.”

  He delivered a wicked grin. “Play something sexy for us, bébé.”

  Some of his guests snickered.

  A silly smile came on my face, no matter how much I tried to wipe it away and focus.

  I began a new song and then remained in some of the more popular ones.

  A few of the dancers clapped along. Servers brought around drinks. Chatter ensued, and everyone moved deeper into the party. Thankfully, all attention left me.

  Everyone except, Rafael and Jean-Pierre.

  They both had me in their view.

  But while Jean-Pierre’s held lust.

  Rafael glared.

  I don’t care. I just want this party to end.

  My body was no longer under my control. Jean-Pierre had become its authority. I couldn’t execute my finger placements as I would’ve liked. The whole time I focused on the anticipation of sex with Jean-Pierre, versus any of the songs.

  My arousal soaked the bodysuit’s crotch and had probably stained the inside of the gown. The sewed-in bra pressed against my tender nipples.

  And Jean-Pierre continued to watch me with desire.

  I didn’t think I could wait any more.

  For the rest of the evening, he tormented. Sometimes he switched it on then off. Other times he left it on through the whole song. And during those times, I rocked against the stool unable to keep my gaze open. Jena-Pierre pushed me to the edge again and again, and then yanked me away right before I fell over into orgasm.

  Slowly, men left the penthouse with women. A few went into the other bedrooms further away from mine.

  And then Rafael rose, called two women over to him, and walked away. Everyone followed his cue instantly after his exit. They all gathered their things and were gone within minutes.

  That left me alone in the room with Jean-Pierre.

  He hadn’t moved.

  I was a shaken mess, ready to beg him for sex.

  A few waiters came in and cleared the glasses and dishes. When the final one exited, Jean-Pierre whispered, “Come here.”

  I rose. My legs had fallen asleep and gone wobbly.

  Great. There goes my sexy stroll to him.

  I forced myself to step forward, forgetting about the damn stool under my gown. It took me a few minutes to get free of my predicament. The damn stool kept getting twisted into the fabric. I didn’t even look Jean-Pierre’s way, I was sure he was laughing to himself.

  You’re so smooth and sexy, Eden. Totally worth a 100k.

  Two minutes of embarrassment passed.

  Finally, I walked over to him, unsteady on my feet.

  As I approached, he uncrossed his legs and spread his thighs apart, showing me his hard cock and how it pressed through his pants.

  I had never met a man who was so blatant and comfortable of his sexuality. I loved every bit of his confidence.

  I came near the sofa and stopped.

  He looked up at me and placed one hand on the cushion beside him. “Please, sit.”

  I did.

  “You are beyond talented.” Jean-Pierre lifted one arm and curled it around my shoulders. “I can listen to you play for the rest of my life and be satisfied with my existence.”

  I turned to him.

  He moved his thumb back and forth along my shoulder.

  I relaxed under the subtle caress.

  “How wet is your pussy right now?”

  Taking Leo’s advice, I made sure to look confidently in his eyes. “Maybe you should check.”

  He chuckled. It was the first time I’d ever heard him laugh. It sounded even more beautiful than his accent.

  And then he moved his hand in his pocket.

  The toy buzzed.

  I let my head fall back and moaned, “Fuck.”

  It vibrated with steady power. My pussy was alre
ady sensitive from his teasing while I played. On the couch, I squirmed against him.

  He pulled me closer to him and brushed his lips along the curve of my neck. “Come for me, Eden.”

  I rocked my hips and smoothed my body against his, riding the vibrator against my clit. Red tulle swarmed all around us as he tried to find the hem.

  “Damn this dress. I’m going to tear it off.” He groaned and devoured my lips. And I couldn’t take it anymore. It all felt too good. Perfect. Sensually overwhelming.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I whimpered.

  Fabric tore.

  Still his hands never reached their destination.

  The toy drummed between my thighs. Erotic buzzing. My body melted into liquid pleasure.

  And as soon as his hand slipped between my thighs, I closed my eyes. “Thank God.”

  The toy shut off.

  I opened my eyes right as he tossed it across the room.

  He lowered on the floor. My dress tore next. Bits of tulle scattered here and there.

  And then his mouth was on my pussy.

  It was just one little kiss on my clit by his lips. Akin to the prince’s kiss to wake up Sleeping Beauty©. As soon as his lips touched me, my body spasmed into orgasm.

  “Oh!” I came hard, arching my back and curling my toes inside my shoes. The orgasm rose on waves of pleasure.

  “Oh!”

  “Enfin, tu es dans mes mains.” Then he lifted me up and carried me off in a different direction from the bedroom I’d slept in last night.

  Chapter 18

  The Russians

  Three years ago.

  Jean-Pierre

  The sun set as my limo drove me to Eden’s apartment.

  My phone beeped, signaling a text.

  I checked the screen.

  Rafael: Giorgio tells me that we’ve bought a symphony.

  Jean-Pierre: It’s a smart purchase for ones looking for our type of laundry.

  Rafael: And the violin?

  Jean-Pierre: With the violinist.

  Rafael: Yet, we’re still leaving?

  Jean-Pierre: Yes.

  Rafael: We’re done?

  Jean-Pierre: For now.

  Rafael: I’ll take it.

  Every day he asked where the violin was. Every day, I gave him the same answer. Two weeks had passed. He could’ve gone back to France by himself. Instead, he remained behind to babysit me.

  I switched the screen back to the tracker on Eden.

  She’s home.

  Things had gotten difficult since we’d broken into her apartment. The next day, Russians hung around the space.

  Louis drove me by her apartment.

  “See.” Louis nodded at the black van parked outside. “That’s them.”

  “Who called them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Drive back around.”

  He did. I got a better look at the driver. Tattoos covered his neck. They had a faded gray tint, unlike a typical one.

  “They’re Russian.”

  Louis cursed. “I thought so.”

  “Bratva.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did they show up?”

  “Someone knew we broke into her place. Did you check for cameras?”

  “I did a basic sweep, assuming it would be typical apartment security.”

  “Never assume.”

  Louis drove us back to the Red Light District. “Someone had cameras in there, but who?”

  “Stay here and find out.”

  “I’m not going back with you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Well, she had no idea. There’s a tracker on her phone and we’re listening in. She’s only talked about the performance and practicing. She mentioned to her Dad that she was alone and thinking about getting a pet.”

  “What type?” I asked.

  “Cat.”

  “Color?”

  “Don’t remember.” Louis pressed the button to lower his window, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. “I was more worried about the Bratva.”

  “Does Eden have a link to them?”

  “I don’t see one yet.”

  “Keep checking. It could be through her family.”

  “It’s a small one. Mother died from cancer two years back. Father recently moved out of state.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “She calls an aunt a lot. I’ll look into it.”

  “Good. When you find out something, let me know immediately.”

  “Until then, have everyone stay away from her apartment. The Bratva doesn’t know that we’re tracking Eden. Keep it that way. Let them think that we’re gone.”

  Louis sighed. “Why are we tracking her again?”

  I quirked my eyebrows, shocked at his audacity.

  “This is just new territory for me.”

  “I’m curious about her.”

  My curiosity had dragged on for these two weeks. Tomorrow we would leave.

  Nothing was accomplished.

  Someone had put men around Eden. I’d planned on going to her the next day. I had no idea what I would say, but I couldn’t help myself. And then she was walled away from me.

  While I could handle the Bratva, I couldn’t do it without all my men. Many had remained back in France. God only knew how many Russians watched Eden. Also, now was not the time to start an international war, especially over a strange woman and a violin.

  My phone rang.

  I checked it.

  Louis: She turned off the bedroom light.

  Me: I’m coming. Let me know when the package comes.

  Louis: Okay.

  The only good thing about the Bratva being around Eden was that they kept other men away from her and remained hidden. The celloist had returned with some flowers. The Bratva had hemmed him up before he made it to the steps.

  At the next day’s practice, Felix reported that the celloist avoided Eden for the rest of the week. As far as I’d assessed, Eden had no idea that Russians and French watched her.

  Why and who?

  I didn’t have a plan for Eden, or Belladonna. The goal was to have them remain together. The problem was if I could walk away.

  And now I can’t get close to her without starting a war.

  She’d become the Iliad’s Helen of Troy without even knowing it. Too bad there wasn’t a wooden horse big enough for me to sneak into her home.

  Waiting for a moment with her had turned into torture. While I’d thought I had lived a hard life, these weeks had been brutal. To see her, but not touch her. To listen to her play, but not be able to give her praise.

  I shouldn’t be watching her anyway.

  My phone rang.

  I picked it up. “Yes.”

  Louis spoke. “It should be arriving now.”

  “Good.”

  The limo parked right next to the van.

  The Russians watched it.

  I bet they had an idea of who I was.

  Why else would the person have called the big guns?

  A large white van drove up and parked in front of her apartment.

  A chubby man in overalls stepped outside, whistled, and walked to the back of the van. Headphones were stuck in his ears. The guy opened the back, climbed in, and came back out with a small cage.

  Movement came from the Russian’s van as if they were readying themselves to get out.

  All the lights were off in the apartment. Both Eden and her roommate had a busy day of events tomorrow. The Belladonna Symphony had a kid camp in the morning, a charity event in the afternoon, and then their regular performance that evening.

  I hope she likes her.

  The Russian’s black van door opened.

  The chubby man didn’t notice as he set the cage on the ground, opened it, and pulled a basket out.

  A tiny kitten meowed from the top.

  The Russian’s van door shut close.

  The kitten meowed some more and scanned the big new world around her. A tiny leash attache
d her to the pink collar and basket. A red bow stuck to the side of the basket.

  Whistling, the chubby guy carried the kitten and basket to the doorstep.

  I cursed, when the red bow fell to the sidewalk and the chubby man stepped over it.

  Will anything go right?

  The Russians remained in the van, monitoring the situation.

  What will your report be tonight? Le Boucher gave Eden a kitten.

  I grinned as the chubby man left the basket on the step, knocked really hard, and did a stumbling run back to the van.

  I chuckled to myself.

  He made it to the van in time and started it right as Eden opened the door.

  She stepped out and looked down at the kitten.

  The van sped away.

  The Russians turned their focus to my limo.

  And a lovely smile spread on Eden’s face.

  “Go ahead,” I told the driver.

  Whoever you are. You can surround her, but I can still get to her.

  Chapter 19

  Pussy Serenade

  Eden

  After licking my pussy to orgasm, Jean-Pierre carried me to his bedroom. It was half of the size of my apartment.

  He undressed me. “You played wonderfully this evening.”

  “Thank you.” I turned around for him to unzip me.

  “That song. . .” Jean-Pierre lowered his voice. “You can’t play it.”

  My gown dropped to the floor.

  “Then, I’ll never play it again.”

  “Hmmm.” His gaze slipped over my bodysuit. “No. Only play for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you sleep well last night?”

  Being close to him didn’t help my nervousness. Butterflies bounced in my stomach. “Yes. I slept well.”

  “Tonight, and from now on, you’ll sleep in my room.” He brushed his mouth against mine. “Does that make you nervous?”

  “A little.” I shivered from his touch. “But I’ll. . .get used to it.”

  He undid his jacket and yanked it off. “We’ll take our time. I want to learn how to play your body.”

  I stared into his eyes with nothing to say. I very much enjoyed the idea of him doing anything with my body. Playing it would be a good start.

  He kissed me, twisting his tongue around mine. When he leaned away, he whispered, “What other things make you come?”