Biker Daddy: Devil's Mustangs MC

by Paula Cox

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you come and see me?” I ask.

  “I thought you hated me,” Aedan says. “After the car...the alley...when you just left like that, I thought that was it.”

  “I did, too,” I say, honestly. “I thought I could just forget about you. I was wrong.” I take a long sip of my champagne. “Dad’s missed you.”

  “He has?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “He’s a good man, better than Patty ever was.”

  We stop talking for a while, just sipping our drinks and watching each other. I look within myself, search for any sign of that tortured uncertainty which follows me wherever I go. When I search—and search and search, looking into the deep corners of my subconscious—and don’t find it, I gasp. There’s nothing there but the glow of the champagne and the hot flush of seeing Aedan again, a hot flush which turns my cheeks red, which makes my body feel hot and alive. I realize that for the past month I have been a zombie, barely feeling anything, and now that Aedan is here I can finally live again.

  I’m about to say something to Aedan, something nice, something flirty, something which tells him I could never hold a grudge, when a drunken woman stumbles onto the scene. She’s glamorous despite her age and wobbles on pearl-white high heels as she braces her hands on the table. Her lips pull back over her teeth, and her fingernails bite into the wood of the table. I study her rings, look up her arm to her face.

  “Mom!” I cry, pushing my seat back in shock, which makes a loud scrrrrrreeeeeecchhhh noise.

  “Isn’t this nice?” Mom says, her words heavy with alcohol.

  Just behind her, one of the Hummingbirds stand, hands clasped to her chest as though afraid Mom is about to start a fight.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your sweet father told me what was happening tonight and I just couldn’t believe it—couldn’t—and so I came here, and had a few drinks, and now—and now—” She turns to Aedan with a look of twisted hate. “This is him, then.”

  Aedan glances at me. I shrug, caught off guard, and then Aedan faces Mom.

  He stands up slowly, walks around the table, and offers Mom his hand. For a moment, he doesn’t look like the rugged Aedan I know, but a respectful businessman. The change is disconcerting until I look at his beard, wild and tangled, and remind myself that no matter how respectful Aedan might sometimes seem, he’s always going to be my wild man, my hitman, my killer.

  “Mrs. Russo,” he says. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Mom stares down at his hand, her mouth falling open. “Um...”

  If there’s one thing Mom has always been a sucker for, it’s what she and her friends call a polite young man. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard Mom or one of the Hummingbirds say: “Oh, he was such a polite young man!”

  When Mom doesn’t take his hand, Aedan goes on. I sit with my hands in my lap, wringing them together, sitting on the edge of my seat, ready to leap up and catch Mom’s wrist if she makes as though to slap Aedan.

  “I know you’re not a big fun of me, ma’am,” Aedan says. “And I know it’s because of my Irish blood. I’m afraid I can’t help that. My hair is red, my skin is white; I don’t tan too good. I don’t speak your language, I’m afraid, and I don’t wear too much flashy jewelry. But I care for your daughter very much, Mrs. Russo, and I think your husband is about the finest man I’ve ever met. Maybe this isn’t enough. I’ll understand if that’s the case. But, I’m just asking for a chance, a chance to prove that I care about your daughter more than I’ve cared about anyone in my entire life.” He stops, looking down at his hand, which Mom looks at with something between a bemused smile and a sneer. He looks back to Mom, now with his confident smile on his face. “And, Mrs. Russo, I hope I’m not out of line when I say you’re about the most attractive mother I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my life.”

  I bring my hand to my mouth, stifling a giggle. When Mom turns to the Hummingbird, Aedan tosses me a wink. I clamp my hand down hard on my mouth. This is the man I want to be with, I think. I’ve forgiven him, I go on, the certainty of it refreshing. I’ve forgiven him. I know what I want. For the first time since we met, I’m not confused. My belly feels light, as if where the knot of butterflies and nerves should be there’s now nothing but champagne and affection. I’m so proud of Aedan right now, that’s the truth, proud in a way only a woman can be when she sees her man—my man!—make nice with her mother.

  “You’re a charmer, then,” Mom says, her words coming clearer. She stands up straight. Is this real? I ask myself, hardly believing my eyes. Mom stands away from the table and twists her heeled toe into the carpet. She looks like a high school girl who’s just been asked to the dance. “Livia didn’t tell me you were a charming young man.”

  You never gave me the chance. But I’m too stunned by the scene for bitterness.

  “I only want the best for your daughter, ma’am,” Aedan says, hand still extended. “That’s all. I would never let anything happen to her.”

  “You’re not Italian,” Mom says, her voice strained. Hearing Mom’s voice, I can’t help but think how similar we are. The conflict which has only recently left my body is now thick in her tone, pulled between her Italian pride and her instant liking of Aedan. If there’s one skill Aedan has, I reflect, it’s that he can make women like him just by being himself.

  “No, ma’am,” Aedan says, “but I love your daughter.”

  Love!

  I gaze up at him. He flinches, as though as surprised as me, and then his face sets into a steady expression as he accepts the knowledge. He glances at me.

  “I love your daughter,” he repeats.

  I love you, I mouth, feeling as though an invisible rope has just been looped around us, binding us.

  Slowly, Mom reaches down and takes Aedan’s hand.

  “I suppose,” Mom says, “if you’re a charming, polite young man, that will be enough.”

  I breathe a pent-up sigh of relief as they shake hands. Then Aedan steps back and gestures at the table. “Please, Mrs. Russo, join us.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I wouldn’t get in the way of young lovers,” she says.

  She’s about to leave when she stops, leans down next to me, and places a kiss on my forehead. “Friends?” she says, which is the closest Mom will ever get to apologizing.

  I kiss her on the cheek. “Friends,” I say.

  It’s only once she’s left and Aedan and I are alone again that I realize tears are sliding down my cheeks. I dab them with a napkin.

  “I meant that,” Aedan says. “I love you, Livia.”

  “I love you,” I say. “But if you ever even think about betraying me again, I’ll take my Mont Blanc pent and bury it in your balls. Is that understood?”

  Aedan snaps off a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

  I giggle, and laughing with Aedan, knowing that later we’ll be in the throes of passion, is the sweetest feeling there is.

  Epilogue—One Year Later

  Aedan

  The truce has come a damn long way, I think, sitting in the backroom in my tuxedo, getting ready for the most important day of my life. It’s strange, ’cause I always assumed the most important day of my life would be when Patty threw me a shred of fatherly affection. But the truth is, as this year has gone on and I’ve spent more time with Livia, Bruno, and even the old Italian monster Claudia, Patty’s become a dot on the horizon in my mind, growing smaller the further time separates us. I have more important things to worry about now, like being the boss of the mob—and marrying the boss of the Italian mob, which will forever unite our families.

  I sit on my own, twiddling my thumbs, thinking over this past year and getting damn happy at the thoughts which fill my head, thinking about all the nights shared with Livia. One weekend, we just stayed in her apartment, in bed, fucking and falling deeper and deeper in love. Just lying with her in my arms, stroking her hair, being close to her—tha
t’s enough to make a man dream of a new life. It wasn’t hard, deciding I wanted to marry her. The only hard part was wondering if Claudia would go nuts. But, apparently, killers can be charming, and I’ve succeeded in the impossible: charming an Italian madwoman. That’s unfair, I think. She isn’t so bad.

  I get up, walk through the hallways of the Ritz, creeping along until I come to Livia’s room. I press my ear against the door, knowing that it’s bad luck and all that but unable to stop myself. “Livia,” Claudia cries. “You chose it—you really chose it!”

  I smile to myself. Livia is wearing one of Claudia’s old dresses as her wedding dress, a peace offering, an offer to close the distance between them. Consider it closed, I think. Damn, though, I wish Claudia wasn’t in there right now. I’d like nothing better than to fuck my fiancé while she’s wearing that dress before we got married. Probably for the best, though...the way me and Livia fuck, passion exploding between us, that dress would end up in shreds.

  I go back to my room and wait, and before I know it, Mona is poking her head around the door, little Gwenn in her arms.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asks.

  “Good,” I tell her. I misjudged Mona; that’s one thing I’m sure about. I used to think of her as a bitter woman who hated me because of what Patty did to her with my mom, but that’s not the truth at all. She’s a funny, quiet, loving woman. If Bruno’s become a father figure, Mona’s become a sort-of mother figure.

  “It’s time to go,” she says. “So if you’re going to make a run for it, now’s the time.”

  Gwenn lets out a little cry, as though the thought terrifies her.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I say, rising. “Very damn funny.”

  I go walk down the aisle, Italians on one side, Irish on the other, and wait. The Catholic priest nods and smiles at me. Bruno’s a damn impressive man; he managed to find an Italian-Irish Catholic priest right here in New York City.

  I look over the crowd, one side red- or brown-haired, rugged, Irish in the extreme, the other slick and sharp with jewelry and expensive suits. Two different armies, about to be joined forever by mine and Livia’s love. It’s enough to get even a hard killer like me a little choked up, and I’m not afraid to admit that.

  Then, the music starts, and my vision hones down to the door, just the door at the end of the aisle, waiting for Livia.

  When she walks through, Bruno on one arm, Claudia on the other—they couldn’t decide on who should do the honors—I can’t help but feel a twinge in my cock. She’s beautiful, angelic, gorgeous, but she also wears this dress like the sexiest minx who’s ever lived. A cream dress, cut just above the knee, giving a man all sorts of thoughts about those fleshy, incredible light brown legs. And she’s going to be my wife, I think, still hardly able to believe how lucky I am. Goddamn, life has its turns.

  When she reaches me, the music cuts short. Claudia offers me a small smile, and Bruno passes Livia’s arm into mine. Even now, over a year later, a thrill moves between us when we touch. She giggles, and I think: All the killing, all the pain, all the madness was worth it.

  Then, instead of stepping to her side, Bruno steps over to mine. He pats me on the back. “You need a best man, don’t you, son?” he says. “Mind if I do the honors?”

  “I...”

  But I’m too touched for speech, and Bruno gives me the smile I’ve been waiting for my whole life. A smile which means I belong. A smile which means I have a family. A smile which means I might be, every now and then, more than a killer.

  I turn to Livia, take her hands, and whisper: “This is just the beginning, baby.”

  She gives me a flirty and yet somehow also fierce smile. “It better be, you Irish dog.”

  Livia

  Aedan lifts me off my feet just as easily as he did last year, throws me over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs of my apartment building. I let out a squeal, gripping onto his muscles, holding on for dear life and loving the way his tuxedo does nothing to soften his rock-hard shoulders.

  “Still can’t handle your liquor, eh, wife?” he quips.

  “Shut your face.” I giggle, and slap him on the back. “And put me down, you animal. I don’t want to be carried out by a beast like you.”

  He laughs, holds me one-armed, and opens the door to my apartment, carrying me across the threshold. He kicks the door closed behind him and carries me to the couch. He lays me down and I look up at him, weaving from side to side, champagne coursing through me—but lust courses with more fire, heating up my body, burning to my fingertips. As Aedan stands over me, he looks like a man who could be on the front of a magazine, rugged as all hell and handsome, too.

  “You better fuck me hard tonight,” I say, smiling up at him.

  He leans down, placing his hands on my legs, high up on my bare flesh near my pussy. At once, my pussy gets wet, so wet an ache moves through me, right up to my nipples, to my face; champagne and tingles mix until I can’t tell the difference between the two.

  “Maybe you’re too drunk,” Aedan says. “Maybe I’ll have to play the gentleman again. Maybe I’ll have to let you get some sleep and wait until you’ve sobered up.”

  He smiles at me with that wicked, cocky grin which even after a year hasn’t lost any of its effect.

  “Don’t play with me,” I warn him. “I’ll claw your eyes out.”

  “I thought you were more of a pen-stabbing sort of lady?”

  I dart my hands up, clutch onto his beard—now wilder and madder than ever—and pull him close to me.

  “Wait a sec,” he says. “I have a wedding present for you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Look.”

  He dislodges my hands, falls to his knees, and yanks my underwear down.

  Then he pushes my dress up, revealing my bare, hungry pussy, and puts his head between my legs. His beard tickles my lips, my clit, but his tongue is what I feel the most, poking through the tickling hairs and rubbing hot against my clit. He licks slow, at first, and I’m so caught unawares I just sit there. Then the lust builds inside of me and I reach down, grab onto his hair, and push his face close into my pussy. He grabs my thighs and pulls me, a cry of surprise escaping me, close to him, so close that it feels like his tongue is inside of me... No, his tongue is inside of me!

  He tongue-fucks me, tongue-fucks me hard, the tip of his tongue going all the way to my burning spot—a spot he knows intimately by now, a spot he knows well how to please. He waggles it around inside of me, my wetness covering his tongue, his beard, his chin, and then—and then—

  He lifts me, spins, lies on his back and maneuvers me with all his hitman’s strength so that I’m sitting on his face.

  I grip his abs through the fabric of his jacket and ride his tongue, ride and ride as the orgasm hits me. Hits me hard, barrels into me.

  My pussy goes tight around his tongue, trapping it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  I tear through Aedan’s tuxedo, my clawing fingernails turning it to tatters, and shift my hips on his beard, feeling his tongue writhe deep inside of me. I float, higher and higher, and then something strange happens. I giggle, giggle in a carefree way, giggle like I could never giggle with anybody before—before I found somebody I was infinitely comfortable with. I giggle as the orgasm takes me, whisks me away, whisks me away into our new life...

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cry. And then: “I love you, you dirty fucking Irish bastard.”

  He lifts me up, stands, and then begins to unbutton his trousers. “Do you think we’re done, baby?” he says.

  I grab my dress and pull it over my head. I’ll never get used to the way he looks at me, I think.

  “Not even close,” I reply.

  Aedan

  “Aedan!” she squeals, causing the other airline passengers to twist in their seats. “How did you do that!”

  I take her hand, give it a squeeze. All through the flight, Livia’s been thinking we’re on our merry way to Italy, but in truth I switched the tickets and n
ow, looking down at the beautiful Irish landscape, she sees the truth.

  “I’m sorry, princess,” I say. “But what did you expect? I took you to an Irish restaurant; why not take you to Ireland itself?”

  She slaps me on the arm, her cheeks flushed. For a half-second, her lips tremble. “I should be angry with you,” she says. “Do you know how excited I was to go to Italy?” But then she smiles, and my whole damn world lights up at the sight. My wedding band still feels a little alien on my finger, but I know I’ll get used to it quick, just like I’ll get used to having a family quick. “But,” she goes on, “I think I could love you just as much in Ireland as I could in Italy.”

  I lean across and kiss her, softly, on the forehead, and then kiss her on the cheek, and then move down her face in quick kisses until I reach her lips, where I kiss her long, and passionate, and soft, our love and our lust flowing between us.