No Limits: A Dark Romance

by Lauren Landish

  “But, why?” she whined, still climbing off. She knelt in front of me, reaching out and cupping my cock through my pants. “Your big friend here says he wants me, and he's bigger than I've ever had. Please, Papi? You've got me so hot. I need it. A real man, for once in my life.”

  Carmen lowered her eyes and leaned forward, kissing the crotch of my pants. She was moaning, and I could tell she was serious about it. She would have fucked me even for no money by that point, but I couldn't. For the first time in my life, I had a willing, desperate woman there, ready for me to fuck her, and I couldn't do it. “No, Carmen. Go away.”

  “Come on, I need you,” she said, reaching for my belt. Her hand froze and her eyes jerked up when she heard the click of the hammer on my Beretta.

  “I said go, Carmen,” I said evenly, with no inflection in my voice. It was my enforcer voice, the one that made men a lot more hardened than Carmen piss their pants in terror. The barrel pointed between her eyes, an inch from her forehead, probably looking like a cannon from her perspective. “Get the fuck out.”

  She whined in fear as she scooted back and ran from the room, not screaming but clearly scared out of her mind. I stared at the fucking gun in my hand and shuddered, lowering the hammer carefully before putting it on safe and placing it back in my holster. Had I really just done that? I must’ve been fucking losing it.

  I grabbed my coat and put it on, not caring about if my tie was screwed up or not. Walking out, the manager looked at me with fear in his eyes, and I knew Carmen had told him what just happened. “For your troubles,” I said, pulling out the rest of the bills I'd brought and handing them to him. “Tell Carmen . . . tell her I'm sorry.”

  His fingers shook as he took the pile from me, and he didn't even count it as he tucked it in his shirt. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. “But sir—”

  “You take five hundred for the trouble and half a bottle drunk, and give her the rest. Fair enough?”

  He nodded, his eyes still wide in fear, and I left the club, stalking out into the night. I climbed into my BMW and started the engine, leaving twenty feet of black rubber on the pavement as I peeled out of the parking lot.

  What the fuck had I been thinking? Pulling my pistol just because a girl wanted to suck my cock? The worst part was, I was ready to pull the trigger. All because it was Carmen who was on her knees and not who I needed. Fuck, it wasn't even that I wanted her anymore. I needed her. I needed Adriana.

  And I couldn't tell Don Bertoli. If I went to him and told him that I couldn't continue to protect his niece because I wanted to fuck her more than anything else in the world, I wouldn't even be able to get the sentence all the way out of my mouth before my corpse hit the floor. I couldn't quit.

  “You're in deep shit,” I whispered to my reflection in the rearview mirror as I drove. “Deep shit indeed.”

  Chapter 7

  Adriana

  I was excited to be waiting in the parking circle of the house Wednesday when the long, black Cadillac pulled into the driveway and Uncle Carlo's driver got out, going around to the back and opening the door for him. Carlo had been out of town for nearly a week, soon after assigning Daniel to be my bodyguard, and I was glad to see him. “Uncle Carlo!”

  “Bella!” he replied, letting me give him a big hug. “How is my little one?”

  “Class today was a total bitch, but that's all over now,” I said, smiling. He laughed and wiped at my hair with a chuckle.

  “I can see that. Are you choosing to color parts of your hair green now, or is that just the result of your hard work?” he asked. He reached into the back of the Caddy and pulled out his personal bag, a habit he'd always had. The driver and staff might be permitted to handle his suitcases, but Carlo always kept certain personal effects in a tan leather bag that he carried with him nearly everywhere outside the house. “By the way, I got you something.”

  “Really? Cool!” I replied, immediately transported back to my teenage years. “What?”

  “Well, a friend of mine knows of your appreciation for fine art, so he sent this along with me,” he said, taking out a metal tube about two inches wide and just over a foot long. “He said this was the best way to transport them for you.”

  I popped the cap on the canister and carefully took out the lithographs, amazed by the photographic images. The first was a black and white photo of a mostly nude woman with her arms around her knees, hiding her body and looking at the camera with such pain in her eyes it was hard not to want to reach out and comfort her. The second was the same woman, this time from the collarbones up, her face turned to the sky and wearing such an expression of joy that you knew she was having the best moment of her life. “This is amazing.”

  “If you look on the back, all of them are signed by the artist,” Carlo said. “I thought you'd appreciate that.”

  “I do. Thank you, Uncle,” I said, not pausing to look through the rest of the images at the moment. “So you're back in town for a while?”

  “I have nothing for at least the rest of the month,” he replied. “But the first thing I want to do before I go into the office tomorrow and find out that the clerks have robbed me blind and left me penniless, is to have dinner with my favorite niece. Tell me you can spare the time tonight.”

  “Of course,” I said, laughing. “I was planning on staying the night here in the mansion, actually. The apartment's nice and all, but it doesn't have the aura of family, you know?”

  “I do, and like Judy Garland said long before even I was born, there's no place like home. Come, let's have dinner.”

  Dinner was actually light, some panzanella and salmon with vegetables that had me looking at Uncle Carlo in surprise. “Did you see your doctor recently or something?”

  He laughed and cut into his salmon with his knife. “No, Bella. But as I've gotten older, I've learned a few things about my body. After flying, I've come to understand that my stomach takes a while to settle down and can’t handle the oregano, tomatoes and other things I normally enjoy. But I can at least still have my olive oil.”

  I laughed and took a bite of my salad, crunching on the crispy pieces of bread that had been sautéed in olive oil. “Food of the gods there—as you've told me my entire life.”

  “I spoke with your mother while I was on the plane. She says your readjustment has gone well?”

  “It has. Thank you.”

  “And your classes? I hope they’re teaching more than how to mix paint and slap it on some canvas.”

  “Oh no, they've done a little more than that,” I teased, a glint in my eye. “They've taught us how to use our fingers to smear it on walls and paper, too. You should see your study; I've done some redecorating for you.”

  He laughed and took a careful bite of his fish. “Sorry, I went in there earlier before dinner or you might have gotten me. But seriously, Bella, how are your classes?”

  “Pretty good. Actually, I'm signed up for a few business courses this semester,” I said. “I put them off for a while, but the university thinks that it is important for us artists to have some business knowledge. So I'm taking a digital marketing course as well as business math this semester.”

  “That's good. Too many artists end up starving, not due to lack of talent, but lack of the ability to keep two pennies in their pocket,” Carlo said. “Listen, I wanted to ask . . . have you been contacted again by that freak, Drake?”

  It was one of the gray clouds hanging in the sky of my time, and one I wanted to be gone more than anything else. So far, the police hadn't found a single clue as to the whereabouts of Vincent Drake. “Not so far. The police detective in charge of the investigation called me yesterday and said that they are doing their best to find him. They think he might have fled the country, but he wouldn’t say why they think that.”

  “There’s a chance of that,” Uncle Carlo said. He sighed and set his silverware down. “I've had some of my people looking into his background. It was surprising, considering your description of him, but he�
�s a scary man.”

  “Besides being a psychopath? He's a fifty-year-old man with a tub gut and bad taste in clothing and music. What else is there to worry about now that you’re on to him?”

  Uncle Carlo shook his head, sighing. “Vincent Drake is more than that, sadly enough, and he's fifty-three. I'm not surprised the police didn’t tell you, or perhaps the fucking morons don't know yet, but Vincent Drake is former military. His public service record is fairly tame. He was in the Army for eight years, getting out just after the first Iraq War. According to the public record, he was a Public Relations Specialist, and reached the rank of Staff Sergeant before an honorable discharge.”

  “You say that like he’s more than just a former journalist,” I said, my mouth going a bit dry. I took a sip of my water, trying to clear the knot in my throat. “What is it?”

  “The posts that he was assigned—they don't have media specialists,” Carlo said simply. “My sources dug some more, and found that Vincent Drake was more than that. He was in the Psychological Warfare division and was involved in the capture and interrogation of Noriega back in the Panama invasion. He was Special Operations, Bella. We don't know exactly what training he went through, or what it did to him, but the man is not some artsy palooka who just went off his rocker.”

  I shuddered, my appetite suddenly lost. “That’s not good news, but I’m confident Daniel will keep me safe.”

  Uncle Carlo nodded, taking another bite of his fish. “Your mother and I talked about this yesterday on the phone. She told me how highly you spoke about Daniel, and she was a bit worried. After a phone call I got this morning, I am too.”

  “Why are you worried?” I asked. “I mean, me being at odds with Daniel would only make things more difficult.”

  “Getting along is good, but you sounded to your mother like a girl with the beginnings of a crush,” he said. “I have to caution you on that.”

  “Uncle,” I said, trying not to whine. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I'll admit, Daniel’s a handsome man. But I don't have a crush on him. Even if I did, is that really a bad thing? You said yourself that he is a man of honor, and I could probably do a lot worse.”

  Uncle Carlo sighed and rested his forehead in his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “Bella, I know what you’re saying, but Daniel, at least when it comes to ladies, is not to be trusted. And even if that wasn’t the case, it won’t change what he does for a living . . .”

  I sat there, fuming, feeling like I was being talked down to, and not liking it too much. Godfather or not, leader of the Sea-Tac families or not, I was a twenty-three-year-old woman, not a twelve-year-old-girl saying she had a crush on some television heartthrob. “Well, maybe he can change. And he doesn’t have to do that for the rest of his life . . .”

  He shook his head. “If it was anyone other than Daniel, I'd have pulled him from the job already. But with what I’ve learned about the man who’s stalking you, I can’t afford to have anyone other than the best of my men protecting you. In terms of doing his duty to protect you, I can trust him, and his honor will make sure that he does the right thing. But outside of that, Adriana, he knows the rules. No man under Bertoli family employ is to touch you. They do, and they will pay with their lives, very simply. I won't compromise on this, nor will I listen to any arguments otherwise. Now, I would like to finish my dinner. Is this conversation finished?”

  “Yes, Uncle,” I said, staring a hole in my fish. I waited for him to finish his, then wiped my mouth with my napkin. “May I be excused?”

  He gave me a long look, then nodded. “I’m sorry that I have to be so strict on this, Bella, but it is for your own good. Thank you for the meal.”

  In my room, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It was too early to think about going to sleep, barely past eight in the evening, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to go to the family room. There was nothing I wanted to watch on TV, and the odds were that either Uncle Carlo or Mom would be there. After what Carlo said, I didn't want to talk to either of them, not with the way they were trying to run my life. I wasn't in the mood to work out, either, as just the thought of the gym sent memories of Daniel's body in his tight workout gear through my mind, and I was aroused enough around him as it was.

  Was I really developing a crush on Daniel? I wondered. We'd known each other for most of our lives, and I knew as kids we'd played together. In a house with a lot of Italian men with a slightly skewed view on social rules, he was one of the few kids in the house. He'd been the kid who'd helped me learn how to ride a bike for the first time, and he'd even shown me how to shoot a basketball. Sure, after we hit our teens, we'd drifted apart, but it wasn't like he was a stranger.

  But I couldn’t deny that even thinking about him was making my body yearn for things, sensual things that made me want to touch my body. I knew it could put us both in danger, him more so than me, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was selfish, but the urge was strong.

  My hands took on a life of their own as I imagined Daniel, his muscles hard under my hands, his sensuous lips tasting my skin, kissing down my neck to my breasts. I could hear the muffled gasps and moans of our passion as if it were real, stifled only because we knew the risk we were taking but didn't care. His fire for me was too much, unable to be denied, and it fueled us both, driving us crazy with lust. I let my fingers run down my neck to the V of my shirt, stroking the suddenly hypersensitive erogenous zones and adding to the heat burning inside me.

  In a semi-trance, I lifted my shirt and bra up, cupping my right breast in my hand and rubbing the stiff nipple until I was moaning, unable to stop the deep cry in my throat. I wanted him so badly, I wanted to feel what it was that made his name a whispered legend. “Daniel . . .” I whispered as my right hand stroked down my stomach to creep inside my pants. “Oh yes . . .”

  My panties were soaked, and I shivered as my questing fingers rubbed over my wet lips, the friction sending sparks of heat up and down my legs. It had been months since the last time I'd had sex, a side effect of the creepy behavior from Vincent, and I needed a man, a man like Daniel so badly that I could taste it. Daniel was all that and more, and the thought of him left my head spinning.

  Pushing my panties to the side, I imagined Daniel’s cock, how hard and huge it must have been when he got aroused. I imagined holding it in my hand, the warmth and steel rigidity as we would kiss, his strong hands crushing me to him as he held me tight, whispering in my ear that he's always there to protect me and to take care of me. My legs parted as I fantasized that it was for him that I was opening myself. Fear and desire mixed as my mind's eye imagined the intimidating presence of his manhood, but I needed it so badly.

  My finger was a poor substitute, I knew, but still, the feeling of penetration knocked all the breath out of my body. My hips lifted to meet my middle finger and I stroked in and out, the heel of my hand rubbing against my clit in slow circles. My finger pumped in and out, now rubbing over the tip of my clit, soaked in my own juices and reducing the friction to an amazing lightness that made me bite my lip. It felt so good. I shuddered, imagining Daniel's hard stomach dragging over my clit as he pulled out, teasing me momentarily before he lowered his head to between my legs. He had such a sensuous tongue, I was sure it would feel amazing on my skin, and the image of his mouth fastened over my pussy drove me the rest of the way up.

  My mind went into rapid-fire slide-show fantasy mode, and images of Daniel naked, fucking me in every position imaginable, using his tongue, his hands, his amazing cock everywhere he could flashed through my mind as I trembled on the edge of coming. Then, in a voice so clear I swore it was the real thing and not just my imagination, I heard Daniel whisper in my ear, “Come for me, Ade. Come for me.”

  I clenched, my pussy clamping around my finger as my hand ground against my clit, gritting my teeth as I rode out my orgasm. Daniel's blue eyes were in my mind the whole time, his little cocky smile that promised me more pleasure than I'd ever felt in my life,
and as my hips slowly sank back into the bed, I knew that I was in trouble. Crush or not, I knew I wanted Daniel, and bad.

  I lay there for a while, the smell of my sex heavy in the air, wishing it was more than just the solitary musk of my masturbation. I wanted to smell the salty sweet tang of a man's body with mine, and I knew there was only one man whose aroma I wanted to smell.

  Sighing, I looked over at my clock. Eight forty-five. Still far too early to go to sleep. I decided to get out of bed and try and do some homework. I had some marketing homework I could prep for, even if the class was pretty much a cakewalk.

  I opened my laptop, pulling up my school email. There were three messages, the first two normal class notes and announcements that I quickly read and noted in my mental itinerary. The third was a personal message, supposedly from another student at the university, a Mike Rutherford. The title was “Strength in your time of sadness.” Curious, I opened it.

  The screen of my laptop flashed, and the normal desktop was replaced by a slide show of some kind. Music started, and I immediately started backing away as Phil Collins' voice started. It was the song “In Too Deep.”

  The slide show changed from the lyrics of the song to images from my apartment, of Angela being stabbed, and her blood being smeared on the walls. I screamed, hysteria taking over for me as Phil's voice launched into the chorus of the song.

  I screamed again, and suddenly, Uncle Carlo was at my side, with Mom next to him, holding me and rocking me gently. He looked at the computer, which was looping around to the chorus again with its grisly imagery, and he slammed the lid shut. Still, the song wouldn't stop, still audible through the built-in speakers, and I sobbed, panic stricken and desperate. He pulled the plug out of the wall and flipped the computer over, picking it up. He held it over his head for a moment, and I could read in his body language the desire to smash the offending chunk of metal and plastic down on my desk, but in the end, he set it down, savagely flipping the tabs that let him yank the battery out. Once all power had been cut, the computer shut down, and the three of us looked at the laptop, my sobs still racking my body while Mom held me. “It was him,” I wailed, pointing at the computer. “Vincent. He's still out there!”