“You keep looking at it. Then, I start thinking. And then, my mind goes somewhere it shouldn’t. Next thing I know—” He glanced downward. “This happens.”
I reached over, untied the drawstring, and started wiggling the sweats down. After reaching his hips, there was nothing else I could do.
“Don’t help,” I said with a laugh. “I mean, if you were thinking about it.”
I stood up and knelt in front of him. “Lift your butt up.”
He arched his back and straightened his knees. “There. Pull on ‘em.”
I pulled them to his ankles, then past his feet, and tossed them aside. My eyes fell to his lap. His throbbing cock reminded me of just how much I’d been missing. With my eyes fixed on it, I reached toward the stiff shaft.
I wanted it to be about him, and not me. I wanted him to know just how much I appreciated his hard work, his dedication to my father, to the family, and to me.
I stroked up and down the soft skin. “I want to suck your cock.”
“I’m not going to fight with you. I’m too tired.” He chuckled. “So, go ahead.”
“I’m just telling you. No sex. Just a blow job.”
“I’ll fuck you if I want to.”
“No. Just a blow job.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
Having our lives return to normal was going to be a process, and I realized that. As odd as it seemed to admit, having Michael’s cock in my mouth was an assurance that we were on the right track. Having reached the point that intimacy was a part of our lives caused me to ache from places it seemed I’d forgotten existed.
I inched my way between his thighs, licked the tip, and then took a few inches of him into my mouth.
I met his gaze.
He grinned.
After a few practice runs, I forced all of him that I was able into my throat. And then, again. And, again. And, again. I met his gaze with watering eyes.
“Give it up,” he demanded.
I pulled my mouth free and swallowed. “What?”
“Bend over.”
“Let me—”
He wiggled in his seat, and pointed to his side. “Bend over.”
“Give me five minutes.”
“Two.”
I widened my eyes. “Three.”
“Two and a half.”
I grinned. “Okay.”
He looked at his watch. “There’s no way you’ll make me come in two and a half minutes.”
“Tell me when.”
He gazed at his watch, pushed a button, and smiled. “Go!”
I engulfed his cock, and started sucking as if my life depended on it. Banging the tip against my throat with each downward stroke of my mouth, I fought against the clock to prove my point, and my abilities.
I cupped his balls and began softly massaging them.
Eager to make him come, I continued my open-mouthed assault on his stiff dick, hoping I could bring him to climax before he told me to stop.
As I pressed his cock against my throat, I met his gaze. I knew it made him weak when I looked him in the eyes while I sucked him off, because he made the mistake of telling me.
He grinned and closed his eyes.
I forced my mouth further, and growled, or did my best to growl with a mouthful of cock.
And then...
Pop.
His entire cock popped past whatever in my throat had always obstructed it, and the entire length went into my mouth.
His eyes shot wide.
I pressed my lower lip against his balls, met his gaze, and then slowly lifted my mouth up his shaft.
While he stammered I tried again.
Pop.
His eyes widened.
He knew he was in trouble. He glanced at his watch.
I continued. Over, and over, I took his entire length into my throat until I was breathless, and then after taking a breath, did it again.
With him deep in my throat, and his balls against my bottom lip, I pressed my tongue against the bottom of his cock, and then attempted to jack him off with my mouth.
A few seconds into my experiment, his muscles tensed.
Then, his breathing became labored.
I wanted desperately to satisfy him.
Please, for me.
Do it, Michael.
He let out a moan, arched his back, and burst his excitement into my throat.
I pulled my mouth away, gulped a breath, and took his length into my mouth again.
“Goddamn it, Terra. Stop!”
I didn’t bother acting like I’d even heard his request. I continued to suck and slurp until every drop of cum was gone.
Then, I lifted my head.
“How’d I do?”
He looked confused. “Huh?”
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “What’s the time?”
“Two minutes and ten seconds. Give or take.”
I grinned and then stood. “Don’t ever doubt me again.”
“I wasn’t doubting you; I was just—”
I shot him a glare, and arched an eyebrow.
“I’ve been saving that little trick for a while,” I said. “And, I’ve got a lot more of them up my sleeve, mister.”
“You’ve been saving that all this time?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Jesus,” he gasped.
“Precisely.” I sat down beside him and crossed my arms. “Don’t question me again.”
Having our sexual relationship on the mend filled me with hope. For the first time in months, I felt like we were in a loving relationship again. I realized it wasn’t our only connection, but it was one of them that I truly enjoyed. I looked straight ahead and tried not to smile. I had no idea what happened to allow me to deepthroat his entire length, but it happened, nonetheless. Now that it had, I was pretty sure I could duplicate it again.
If not, I was confident I could come up with something else he enjoyed just as much.
But I might need more than two and a half minutes to do it.
Chapter Seventeen
Michael
Cap looked around the office and then shifted his eyes toward the desk. “I’m tellin’ ya, Tripp. It’d seem weird as fuck to be sittin’ at that desk. That’s your desk.”
He was right. It would seem strange seeing him sit there. I’d spent all my post-military years behind that desk, making deals, crunching numbers, and solving the world’s problems one bottle of scotch at a time.
I hadn’t set foot in my office in more than two months, and being there made me feel out of place. There was a void that needed to be filled in the grey market weapons trade, and the family needed to fill it before someone else did.
I couldn’t think of a better man to take over the operation than Cap.
I walked to the edge of the desk and opened the drawer. Half a bottle of scotch stared back at me. I pulled it from the drawer, poured two glasses, and sat in what had been Cap’s chair for years.
“Seems appropriate, your name being Cap and all,” I said.
He sauntered toward my old chair, studied it for a moment, and then sat. “What the fuck’s that mean?”
“Tonight. We’re meeting with Anthony at 7:00. You’re being promoted.”
He reached for his scotch, took a long drink, and then met my gaze. “To captain?”
I nodded. “He told me to tell you.”
He kicked his feet onto the edge of the desk. “Like the sound of that. Captain Cap.”
“There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with the position.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You sayin’ I’m irresponsible?”
“Not at all.”
&n
bsp; He reached for the bottle. “What are you sayin’?”
“I already said it. It’s not an easy set of shoes to fill. You’ll have men under you, you’ll be responsible for making profit, meeting quotas, the safety of your men, planning your day-to-day operations—”
“Basically, I’ll be back in the Corps, but making money.”
I chuckled. He was right. It wouldn’t be anything new to him. “Basically.”
“But I can lean on you if I’ve got any problems, right? We’re still tight like that, right?”
“We’re brothers. We’ll always be brothers, Cap. Anything you need, you can come to me. Now, and always.”
He took a sip of the scotch and then looked around the office. “Can I use Lucky, Trace, and the Snowman?”
I gave a nod. “Couldn’t imagine using anyone else.”
“Well, fuck. I didn’t know if there was some kind of stupid fuckin’ rule that said they had to be made men or some shit. I can’t imagine that Cupcake fella deliverin’ a truckload of MP-5s to the Argentine Army. Sal maybe, but not Cupcake.”
“You can use whoever will make your operation run smoothly. Whoever will make you the most profitable.”
“And who will I answer to?”
“The man himself,” I said.
His eyes shot wide. “Agrioli?”
“Yep.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
He took another sip of scotch, peering over the rim of the glass at me as he did so. As he lowered his hand, he nodded. “I can handle that. Kind of funny now that I know him. He ain’t who I thought he was. You know, when we first bumped into him, I thought he was a shit hat. Man’s just trying to run a business. His men need some trainin’, though.”
He was right. Most of the lower tier, the soldiers, could benefit from some basic training. Cap’s suggestion caused me to wonder about the improvements that could be made from providing the men with a military-type training program.
“I might suggest that,” I said. “A training program. I’d hate to be shot by one of my own men some night if things got hairy.”
“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.” He glanced around the office. “I’m actually gonna be in charge of this operation?”
I took a sip of the whisky. “Solely.”
“Seems weird.”
“Does on this end, too. Just a little.”
He locked eyes with me. “If you’re a captain, and I’m a captain. We’re equal. How come you ain’t runnin’ it?”
It was a good question. A question I couldn’t accurately answer. “I’m not sure. Even though we’re equal, I’ve got other responsibilities.”
“‘Cause you’re dickin’ his daughter.”
I let out a laugh. “That has nothing to do with—”
“Bullshit. If you wasn’t nuts-deep in his daughter, he wouldn’t be as tight with you as he is. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, but accept it, Tripp. You’re his golden-haired boy. He put your ass in charge of the operation. You ain’t Italian. I bet I can count on one fuckin’ finger how many times that’s happened in the history of the mob. There’s benefits of pokin’ his daughter.”
Cap didn’t mince any words. He wasn’t delicate in his display of his thoughts, either. I grinned. “You’re probably right. It’s neither here nor there. You’re going to be in charge of this, and I’m going to rub elbows with Anthony.”
He chuckled. “Sounds about right.”
“How’s things with Michelle?”
He shrugged. “Good as ever. Her mom’s cool as fuck. Been goin’ over there a few times a week. One of these days they’re gonna figure out that Gino’s not coming back.”
“You’re okay with that? When the time comes?”
“Gino was a no-good son of a bitch. If he had his way, we’d all be rottin’ in jail. Am I okay that he’s gone? Sure as fuck am. Am I okay that I’m the one who whacked his ass? Yep. Am I okay that the girl I’m seein’ is gonna hurt when she finds out he’s gone? No, and you can’t expect me to be. I care about that girl, Tripp. Seein’ her in pain ain’t on the list of things I like.”
“I’m sorry that ended up the way it ended up. You know if I knew then what I know now—”
“We’ve already talked about it. I’m fine with it,” he said. “The man was a walkin’ turd. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Watching the woman you love writhe in pain wasn’t an easy thing to do. To think Cap was going to go through even a portion of what I went through with Terra saddened me. Arguing with him, however, was going to be impossible.
With reluctance, I conceded. “I’ll give it a rest.”
He stood. “So, when do I get to start runnin’ this show?”
“Right now, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What are the rules?”
I stood, shrugged, and looked around the office. Everything that once seemed close to my heart now felt so far away. My life was changing, and I wasn’t in complete control of the outcome.
Yet.
I didn’t seem to care.
“There aren’t any,” I said.
He shot me a look. “None?”
“I made up my own rules when I was in charge. You can make up yours,” I said. “You’ve got a good moral compass. I trust you.”
“Might wanna get a few truckloads of wheelbarrows,” he said flatly.
I scrunched my nose. “Wheelbarrows?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a playful nod. “Yep.”
“What the fuck for?”
“For all the money,” he said with a dry laugh. “To haul it out of here.”
I coughed out a laugh. Cap’s way of dealing with life’s stresses was to laugh about everything. To see him cutting jokes was a reassurance that he was hurting, but I simply couldn’t tell how much.
In respect to the comment he’d made, I hoped he was right. Nothing would make Anthony prouder than if Cap succeeded at the operation.
And, nothing would make me happier than Anthony being proud.
Chapter Eighteen
Terra
It seemed that I looked at my father with different eyes now. Forgiving eyes. Understanding eyes. Appreciative eyes. Having him taken from me allowed me to understand that despite the things about him I’d spent a lifetime judging him about, he was still my father.
A father that I loved dearly.
Now that he’d returned, I appreciated every moment I was allowed to spend with him. Whether my beliefs were accurate or not, it seemed to me that he looked at me—and the world—with different eyes, too.
Maybe the few months he’d spent in jail changed him beyond the ten pounds he lost and the slight girth he’d gained in his chest.
He lifted a forkful of pasta, paused, and smiled. “I want you to have whatever you want,” he said. “This wedding? I want it to be everything you’ve always dreamed. Even more.”
“Thank you. It’s, um.” I twisted back and forth on the barstool. “It’s...it’s important to Michael that he help pay for part of it. He doesn’t want to feel like—”
“He’ll pay for nothing,” he said with a laugh. He slurped the cold pasta from the tines of the fork and then met my gaze.
Laughing was something that my father had rarely done in the past. Seeing him do so was rewarding.
“It’s tradition that the groom’s parents pay for the rehearsal dinner,” I said. “And he was wondering if maybe he could also—”
He lowered the fork. “Whose tradition? Not mine. I’ll talk with him.”
“Papa. He just wants to feel—”
He lifted the fork and wagged it at me playfully. “And I want to feel like a giving father. Michael gave me my life. He gave you your father, and yo
ur mother a husband. I owe him my life. The wedding?”
He twisted his fork into the pasta, lifted it from the container, and shrugged. “I have the money set aside. He needs to save for your vacation home.”
I’d all but forgotten about the property in Belize. I shook my head and grinned. “I’ll let you two argue about it.”
“He’s not an easy man to argue with,” he said. “But I’d rather argue with him than fight him.”
It seemed strange hearing my father express fear, even if it was in a joking manner. It was something he’d never done before. At least for that moment, I was convinced that he was doing so out of respect for Michael.
“He’s pretty convincing,” I said. “It’s tough to win with him.”
“Impossible.”
I let out a laugh. “Pretty much.”
“He’s a good man.”
He said that a lot. He’s a good man. It filled me with pride to hear it. My fears of my father not accepting Michael, of him demanding that I separate myself from him, or that me being with a non-Italian would be contrary to his beliefs were all without warrant.
I wondered how I could be so wrong about my father’s beliefs, and fear something with such conviction that I had no reason to fear.
“He is a good man,” I agreed.
He tossed his fork into the sink, put the lid on the container, and then carried the pasta to the refrigerator.
“You didn’t eat much,” I said, taking slight exception to his eating only a few forkfuls of the carbonara I’d made on the previous afternoon. “You didn’t like it?”
“It’s magnifico,” he said while patting his stomach. “I’m trying to stay healthy. I need to look good for the wedding.”
He wasn’t like most middle-aged Italian men. Although he didn’t exercise as much as he probably should, he did exercise, and he wasn’t overweight, at least as far as I could see. The thought of him dieting, especially for the wedding, was cute.
“You look great.”
“I’ve been eating hard-boiled eggs and exercising for the last few months,” he said. “I want to look just like this for the wedding. I want you to be proud when I walk you down the aisle.”
“Papa,” I said, my tone dismissive. “I will be. No matter what you look like.”
The Good Boss Page 7