Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  His grip on me tightens, and I cry out as pleasure spreads through my body. That small jerk, how the thick flesh drags across my clit, has me gasping for breath. I’m wound tight. I’m in need, and he knows this.

  Revels in it.

  “That’s my Venus. Work me between those soft lips…” his exhale is rough, his touch a bit savage the next time I circle my hips “…I want to feel you come on me. I want to watch you lose control.”

  “Oh God,” I whimper, picking up speed—rubbing my sensitive flesh over the hard flesh. It’s all I can do with the limited movement he allows, and I press harder. Hump a little faster, my movements jerky and uncoordinated, but the rush of pleasure right within my grasp is all I can focus on.

  It’s right there.

  He thrusts against me, and my eyes roll back.

  Another pump and my fingernails dig into his shoulders, breaking the skin, and I use the anchor as leverage and bear down. I feel every ridge and vein, how he throbs and then his desperation to come undone.

  “Motherfuck, baby girl. That’s it…fucking feel you.”

  “Come with me.” Eyes on his, I bite down hard on his chin. Gem-like eyes blaze at the move, and his cock slides across my pussy angrily before the resounding smack over my left asscheek makes me freeze. Pain blooms over my flesh, sharp and wicked, but then I’m coming hard and nothing else matters but the euphoria burning through my veins.

  I hear his grunt in the background, feel the second spank, but it only serves to prolong my pleasure.

  I’m jittery and breathless and dirty. I’m tender and achy and watching him the same way he’s looking at me.

  In awe.

  In salvation.

  In need.

  His cock jerks between my thighs and his come coats my skin, running down my leg and then mixing with the water below us. It’s a glorious feeling. We are right together.

  After a few minutes, I let my eyes close and rest my head in the crook of his neck. My body is lax, and the exhaustion of the last few days hits me hard.

  Callum cleans us up as best he can because I refuse to let him go. Instead, he lifts me higher and wraps my legs around his waist, gaining the room needed to wash me gently. He doesn’t linger in the bathroom. My droopy body knows we are moving, and I feel the warmth of a towel across my back before he whispers, “Rest, I got you.”

  And I do. I’m out before we make it to the bed.

  21

  “I need you to wake up, sweetheart,” I whisper in her ear, the clock on her bedside table reading six in the morning. I’ll be leaving soon. My flight’s scheduled for eight, but I want to spend a little more time with her.

  Last night was amazing. Each time I’m near her brings me a sense of calm and happiness I’ve never experienced before. Yet, it also brings a level of guilt that eats at me like an infectious wound.

  Leaving her doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t like the separation.

  Aliana stirs but doesn’t open her eyes. If anything, she tries to burrow in deeper, and I chuckle. She’s bloody adorable—this beautiful little doll that I wish I could carry with me everywhere. I find myself being obsessive with her—wondering how she is and if she’s eating or sleeping enough, something the bags under her eyes last night showed me she wasn’t.

  Giannis and Kray have explained that the Conte House has been busy, more so than normal, and long days have sometimes become longer nights. I’m also aware of the man that threatened to shoot the girls, and he’s currently on his way to my plane after being held a couple of weeks in isolation.

  He’s been fed. He’s been given one bathroom break a day.

  I’ve been the model host.

  “Baby, I need you to open those warm eyes for me.”

  “Don’t wanna.” She’s pouting against my skin, lifting the sheet higher to attempt to hide. One second, she’s half over me, leg across my hip, but on her next intake of breath, Aliana’s on her back. I’m hovering, my hips cradled between her thighs—her lack of startling is an indicator that she’s been playing possum the whole time, and I arch a brow. “Don’t give me that look. You’re warm and cozy.”

  “Every time it gets harder to leave.”

  “What time is your flight?” she asks, but her expressions are so unguarded. Open. I notice each: the sadness that flashes, and then the fake smile as if nothing bothers her. Her bravery and the hint of pain that’s always there, lingering, even when she’s laughing. I’m going to uncover your every secret, my Venus. I want to take the weight you carry and make it mine. “Do you need me to take you?”

  “The only thing I want is to spend a few extra minutes with you.”

  “Okay.” Aliana stretches, her naked flesh so bloody soft and sweet. She opens her arms, telling me without words to lower myself, and I do, covering her small form with my larger one. My lips are against her neck, taking her scent into my lungs and tattooing its genetic makeup on my DNA. “God, I need this too.”

  “Soon, sweetheart. Soon you’ll be with me in London.”

  “You mean that? You want me to move across—”

  Pulling back just enough so she can see my face, I stare into her eyes. That slight hesitation in her question—voice—shouldn’t be there. “If I could take you today, I would without a single hesitation. But I will. We’ve taken care of everyone but the man who shot her. I left Casper yesterday to handle the facilitator to come be with you, but I do have to go home now and handle work. We’re so close, baby. Just please be patient with me.”

  “I could never fault you for what’s happening.”

  “Thank you.” Retaking my place on her neck, I place a chaste kiss there. “By the way, when’s your family holiday?”

  “You remember that?”

  “I do.”

  She hums for a second, her fingernails scraping down my back. I don’t miss the way she tenses, but I’m not going to call her out on it. Not today. “Dad hasn’t said anything yet, but I think in a week or two.”

  “You sure?” She’s hiding something, and I will find out what.

  “I’ll ask and get back to you. Just give me a few days.”

  “Aye, love.” The rhythmic way she touches me is soothing. Almost lulls me, and I go to move and lie beside her, keep from crushing her, but Aliana makes a noise of complaint in the back of her throat. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

  “I already am.” She pulls me closer; her leg hooks mine behind the knee to keep me in place. Silence fills the room after that. We just lay while the early morning rays filter into the room, and my second alarm goes off. This is a text, the ringtone belonging to Kray, and it means he’s waiting outside. “Already?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Hey, Callum?” she asks, but I don’t move from my place at the crook of her neck. Instead, I close my eyes and nod, drowning myself in her warmth for another minute. “When will I see you again?”

  “Soon.”

  “Can I get a timeframe?”

  “I’d like to have that second date in two weeks, Miss Rubens. Do you accept?”

  “Aye.” Her attempt at my accent is atrocious, yet lovely.

  She has me by the balls and doesn’t even know it.

  We arrive at the airstrip two hours behind schedule, but fuck it, I couldn’t leave her yet. Not when she was all warm and sweet and clinging to me while her mouth lied. Aliana says she’s okay, understanding and unaffected, but I see her.

  All of her.

  But it’s not just our situation. Something or someone here upsets her.

  We need to talk. ~Callum J.

  Pocketing my mobile after messaging Giannis, I exit the vehicle to an already waiting Kray while ignoring the responding buzz of a message. He’s become someone I trust, reliable, and soon enough he’ll have a decision to make.

  “Thank you for the change of clothes and accessories, mate.” I’m pulling the Glock provided out of the small case it came with and checking the magazine. It pops out and in easily e
nough, but I’m not one for deviate from my norm and my Ruger is predictable. Its accuracy is unparalleled, something not needed right now. “I’ll leave the latter for you to dispose of.”

  “Will do.”

  “You can also bring her on.”

  The look of surprise on his face is almost comical. “What? How—”

  “The Jamesons are good at what they do, my friend. We have eyes and ears everywhere.” The meaning behind those words dawns on him and he nods, accepting that a life around my family means no privacy. We take no chances. “I won’t hide who she is or what from Aliana, but Lindsey could keep close during the day without drawing too much attention. I’ll video call you this week to discuss further, but I agree with it so far.”

  “Thank you, Callum.” He steps back, and I walk toward the jet where a man waits for me. On his knees and on the left—away from the stairs—the arsehole that tried to hurt Aurora and Aliana at work waits while the flight crew looks straight ahead. “I’ll personally handle this cleanup. No one will get this close to her again.”

  “You make sure of that.”

  From pilot to attendant, they stand side by side and I don’t pause to acknowledge anyone.

  I pull the trigger. And again.

  Bullet after bullet empties into the man’s head, and he drops sideways as the gun meets the tarmac.

  “No one threatens Aliana.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  No one moves as I enter the plane and sit.

  No one talks to me as they finish prep and then take off.

  “Good to have you back, sir,” Jeffrey says, greeting me at the family’s private airstrip. His hand’s outstretched at the bottom of the jet’s steps, a cuppa in his other from my favorite shop. It’s for me, and after a quick shake, I take a hearty sip. “Miss Langley sends her regards.”

  “Cheers, mate.”

  “There’s also a bag of biscuits in the car.”

  I nod, smiling. That woman is something else. “Did the old bat flirt?”

  “Of course. It’s what she does at the ripe old age of eighty.” His laugh is loud, catching the attention of the flight crew beginning their clean-up procedure. “Says it keeps her young.”

  “As long as she makes me this, I give no bloody fucks.” I make my way toward the black Lincoln he’s driving but notice he’s not behind me. “Something wrong?”

  “Did you not bring a bag?”

  “Casper has it. I had a secondary stop to make.”

  “Understood.” That’s what I like about Jeffrey. He doesn’t pry. Doesn’t meddle, and it also shows me Ezra continues to be loyal. He’s the only one that knew of my stop in Chicago, although the reasons elude him too. “By the way, your father and uncle are at Sr.’s home. They’re both living there now.”

  “Since when?”

  “About a week ago.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Your mum doesn’t think so.” He’s not being disrespectful. That’s a warning of the situation I could be walking in to.

  “How bad?” My tea is getting cool, and I drink half the contents in a few deep sips. “She still around?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great.” I walk toward his vehicle and slide into the passenger side, Jeffrey just a few steps behind me. Once inside, he’s quick to put the already running car in drive and exit the airstrip. “Head to my uncle’s house first and then take the rest of the day off. I want no one inside, just leave two guards on the grounds, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “As you wish.” Traffic isn’t too bad today, just a few slow drivers that don’t understand the move the fuck over policies of the road, but within thirty minutes, we’re pulling into the long driveway where sure enough, my father’s car is present. Jeffrey parks behind him, car idling. “What time do you need me tomorrow?”

  “Ten.”

  “Here?”

  I shake my head, hand on the door handle. “My penthouse overlooking Parliament. We have a lot to discuss.”

  “Of course, Callum. And if you need me—”

  “Take the day off, mate. You never stop.”

  He laughs at that, his age showing in the crinkles around his eyes. “Old habits.”

  “Old being the operative word,” I deadpan before getting out and closing the door, his laughter following me up the steps to a grand manor that seems cold and empty now. My aunt’s flowers haven’t been taken care of and the wreath at the door is faded and old, something she’d never allow if alive. “She’d be pissed at the sight of this.”

  The front door is unlocked, and I step inside, listening for noise. And it doesn’t take me long to find the two old men whose ruckus makes my ears bleed. They’re in the kitchen and arguing about something—more than likely politics—and sharing a bottle of whiskey without any glasses.

  “Oi, isn’t this a sight.”

  “My son returns.” Dad stands, then sits, a little on the wobbly side. “Where have you been?”

  “None of your business.” Looking at the man beside him, I walk over and squeeze his shoulder. “You okay, old man?”

  “Day at a time.”

  “That’s all you can do.” Grabbing the bottle, I walk over to the sink and pour it down the drain. “But this isn’t going to help. You need food, a shower, and then we need to talk.”

  “My son made up his mind?”

  “He did.” There’s a pod in the coffee maker and I press the start button, grabbing two cups from the cabinet above the machine. And while it brews, I grab the fresh bagels and cream cheese, popping the bread into the toaster. “Where’s the house staff? Why are you two having a liquor-filled breakfast?”

  Casper’s dad nods, scratching at his unshaven jaw. “She’ll be good for him. Has given him purpose.”

  “The staff?”

  “Gave them the week off. It’s been a loud one.”

  “What the bloody hell are you two going on about?” Dad asks, but I pay him no mind. Our dynamic has always been strained—like associates rather than father and son. “Who will be good for who? Who is she?”

  “My son is taking over Boston, and my nephew is now the head if this family.”

  “Since when? Why am I just finding out now?”

  “Because you have no say.” Both turn to look at me, one with pride and my father with surprise. “That conversation was between Casper and me, the two who matter.” The ceramic mug in my hand shatters upon sudden impact, the shards flying through the air and across the quartz counter. A piece slices across my knuckles, the blood pooling beneath my fingers. “We ran this syndicate for the last five years. We bathed London in the blood of our enemies while you spent your time between golf games and drinking with members of the house.”

  In the background, I hear the toaster pop and the coffee machine beep, but fuck it all—I couldn’t care less. What this arse has implied won’t be swept under the rug. Fuck him. Not this time.

  “Callum, I think we should—”

  “Stop protecting him from me,” I seethe, flicking my heated gaze to my uncle. “You always step in, saving him from hearing the shit he doesn’t want to hear. He was a horrible father, a messy right hand to you, and always unable to admit his wrongs. He’s as bad as Mum, but at least her excuse is being absent and not just the self-centered nature neither grew out of.”

  My uncle tries to interject again, but Dad holds his hands up. “Let it be. He’s right.” There’s no hiding the surprise on my face at that. He’s not a man to ever admit his wrongs. “I’ve been an arse all these years, have missed a lot, but let me be clear here, son. Not once have I doubted you or implied that you’re not capable of running this family. On the contrary. I know you’ll do better than those before you.”

  I relax my stance and take the offered towel from his brother. “Then what did you mean?”

  “I’m a member of this family, Callum. That’s what I meant.” Dad walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen. “I’d like
to be kept up to date, not shoved aside. That’s it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You also need to know one more thing, lad.” When I don’t answer, he gives me a sad smile. “I’ve never…not once, doubted you or what you’re capable of. You’ve always been bloody brilliant and responsible, you excel where I lack, and I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t. I’m a shit parent, if you don’t already know this.”

  “Speaking of parent,” I say, changing the subject. That, and I need to move this along and get my hand stitched up. “Where is she?”

  “At the house, fuming.” Dad lets out a loud, long sigh. The sound heavy and full of exhaustion. “It’s over. I’ve given her the divorce papers.”

  Motherfuck. “Great. I’m sure she’ll call me to complain soon enough.”

  “And I apologize for that ahead of time.”

  22

  “Socks. I need socks,” I grumble under my breath, heading toward my small laundry room. I’ve done nothing but wash, fold, and arrange for the last two days—since getting the news— and my closet has never been so clean. I’m not a neat freak or anal over what goes where, but right now, I rival professional organizers. “Socks. Must get socks.”

  This is a coping mechanism, a way to distract myself from the inevitable. I know this. I’m not unaware of my faults and the role I play in this mess.

  I’m leaving.

  I’m doing this, even though every fiber of my being hates it.

  I’ve lied to my friend. I have no choice but to lie to him, a phone call I’m dreading.

  “Today.” I’ll call him today and just get this over with.

  In a small way, I find reprieve in our long-distance relationship. The weeks without him near have made the lies a little easier to say—the phone calls and video-chats hide more than just a person’s true feelings. He didn’t see my reaction after having no contact with my family for months. He didn’t see how physically sick I became after the instructions were delivered.