Year of the Scorpio: Part One

by Stacy Gail

  The only thing it didn’t do was mute my voice.

  A whimpering cry escaped me, my head falling back against his shoulder and my eyes closing as a wave of pleasure tried to drown me. The heavy beat of my heart pulsed between my legs, increasing my sensitivity until those intimate tissues felt so swollen and achy I couldn’t be still. My hips undulated in small, slow rolls that built until I was rubbing with wanton abandon against his hand while moans whispered from my open mouth. I rode his hand without even thinking about holding anything back; it felt too damn good to do anything else.

  “That’s it,” he breathed, his voice a growling thread of sound that was so hungry it made me shiver. “That’s my fearless Dasha. Fuck my hand the same way you’re going to fuck my cock. You on the Pill?”

  The pleasure was deepening, folding in on itself like an imploding star and drawing me further and further away from the world of sanity. “N-no.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be, would you? You’re a cautious, choosy girl, with only two lovers in your entire life. News flash—I fucking hated both of them. Very nearly killed one, just because he breathed.” His tongue slid along the side of my neck before he sucked in my taste, making my skin tingle in what I knew would be a pretty spectacular hickey by tomorrow. “I want you to get on birth control as soon as you can, yeah? I don’t want anything between us when I’m inside you.”

  The statement—coupled with the erotic imagery of that powerful, stiffened flesh impaling me—pushed me over the edge. A startled gasp broke from my throat as the sweet release snapped inside, unleashing a shuddering wave of pleasure that threatened to break me in two. I was lost in the center of it, mindless, loving it, and thoroughly at his mercy. My knees gave way, and suddenly I was slung over the metal table, with my Capri cargos and thong peeled down my legs.

  “Damn condom’s going to have to keep me from you for now.” I was still floating along the shattering eddies of my orgasm, and I barely registered the rustle of a wrapper being hastily dealt with. “I want to be buried inside you, Dasha. Inside you so fucking deep you’ll feel me every time you move. God, just thinking about that makes me want to come.”

  “Do it, Polo. I want you inside me.” My breath left me in little panting bursts of excitement, and impossibly my body thrummed with a lusty resurgence of desire. One of his arms snaked around me from behind and yanked my hips higher, bringing me up to my tiptoes, while the other hand left my breast to guide his cock between my legs, rubbing it in my hot slickness.

  God, that was so hot.

  Sensory feedback told me I hadn’t imagined the size of that spectacular bulge of his. Polo was built like a freaking porn star, a fact that took my breath away on many levels. First and foremost was profound excitement, so I reached between my legs to bring him to where I needed him most, and I bit my lip when the head of his cock entered my threshold.

  “That’s it, my beautiful Dasha.” His words ended on a harsh groan, as if he were being tortured, and I understood immediately because I felt it, too. His poker-hard shaft was seriously impressive, stretching me, stretching me, pushing me to the edge of believing I couldn’t take him in any more. “Oh God, Dash... fuck me, you’re so tight. Fuck.”

  “I want all of you. God, I need all of you inside me.” I didn’t pay attention to the words tumbling out of me; my whole attention was focused on deepening our connection. I leaned my weight on the table in front of me, gripping its edges for leverage as I rocked back into him. I gasped when he at last filled me so completely his hips brushed against my ass.

  Bull’s eye.

  Just to make sure I had all of him—I’d never been so greedy to have all of a man like I was at that moment—I rolled my hips once more, then again because I couldn’t believe how full my body felt.

  Damn, he felt...wonderful.

  A deep grunt escaped him at my move, and that surprised sound of pleasure worked on me like a drug. I repeated the motion again and again, chasing my fix and wanting to get drunk on knowing that I gave him so much pleasure he couldn’t be quiet about it. But my determined movements slowly evolved, becoming more about what he made me feel, rather than the other way around. As my body adjusted to his magnificent invasion, the jolts of pleasure that my rocking motions had sparked became more pronounced. Before I knew it, those rhythmic mini-explosions of pure heaven became the most important part of my world, and I needed them just as much as I needed to breathe.

  “Deeper.” My head bowed until my forehead was against the cool metal surface of the table, and I closed my eyes so I could better focus on chasing that elusive bliss. “Harder. Polo...oh, God. Harder.”

  “My Dasha likes me deep inside her.” One of his hands traveled down my stomach to the juncture of my thighs, unerringly diving into my cleft to find my clit even as he surged in and out of me.

  Yes.

  His body began to slam into mine, the sound of skin impacting skin ringing in my ears, and I gripped the table harder so I wouldn’t lose my balance. With each powerful thrust, with each relentless caress against my clit, with each exquisite filling of my depths, I edged closer to a mindless euphoria that I wanted to lose myself in forever.

  Then it was suddenly there, a supernova of sensation that put my earlier orgasm—or any orgasm in the history of sex—to shame.

  I cried out as the ecstasy shattered through me, so piercing it was almost excruciating, and I loved every second of it. I rode that wild crest for as long as I could, unwilling to let it end. It was only when he groaned and thrust into me one last time before collapsing against me that I abandoned my quest for mindless pleasure, utterly spent and more satisfied than I could ever remember being.

  “That was one hell of a prize.” The vibration of his voice rumbled against me while his lips cruised along the line of my shoulder to my nape, making me shiver. “We’re going to have to play again so that next time I can have you face-to-face.”

  The thought of watching him as he came made my slowing heart rate speed up once more. “You’re on.”

  His chuckle was the sexiest damn thing I’d ever heard.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So, you’re saying your non-boyfriend hit the bull’s eye in more ways that one?”

  I lifted a brow at Shona before turning my attention to the pallet of dry cereal that had come in, using a box cutter to slice away the plastic wrap that bound the two hundred or so boxes into a jumbo cube of multigrain goodness. “That’s not what I said exactly, but considering where we were at the time, I’ll simply say yes and offer bonus points for the double entendre.”

  “Yay for bonus points.” With quick efficiency, Shona rounded the pallet while writing on a clipboard. “For what it’s worth, I approve of the sexy-times turn of events in your life. When I first met you, I was thinking it might be too dangerous for me to hang around with you. I mean, riding shotgun with the daughter of Chicago’s most notorious crime boss—”

  “Alleged crime boss. My father was indicted several times, but he was never actually convicted of any crime.”

  Shona rolled her eyes. “The point is, I was worried you were just some crazy party girl and it was going to be one wild trip after another. But it’s been anything but.”

  I thought of how Polo made me come at the shooting range, before he took me to Heaven for more of the same after I’d taken a spin or two for fun around his private stripper pole. “Sorry to be such a snooze-fest.”

  “No drugs, no decadent parties, no gangsters with guns, no drives-bys, no sniper shots. And worst of all, no booty calls,” Shona went on, shaking her head. Today her glorious hair was done up in a massive fall of tiny braids, which were then twisted into an elegant chignon and sprinkled with glittering stones. “You’ve never even gone out with the same guy twice in a row since I’ve known you, so believe me when I say you’ve been a total bust when it comes to fulfilling my expectations of what a mob boss’s daughter should be like.”

  “Alleged mob boss’s daughter.”

&nbs
p; “My point is the president of my high school’s chess club got more action than you, and I should know. He was getting that action from me. Smart is so damn sexy.”

  “Maybe this weekend marks the beginning of something new.” I’d certainly been seeing a hell of a lot of action over the last forty-eight hours. I had spent the entire weekend with Polo, from watching the vibrantly decadent, ever-changing show at Heaven from up high on his private balcony, to spending the night at his penthouse. Sunday had started out with me trying—and failing—to make waffles, something that amused Polo no end. Eventually we wound up going out to eat at a gorgeous little place with a birdcage-like solarium, called The Secret Garden. I instantly adopted it as our place, and we finally got our waffles, plus Bellinis and espresso coffee that was so strong I had a caffeine buzz for hours afterward.

  Konstantin and Yuri Rodin were our shadows, but their presence didn’t seem to faze Polo in the least. When we walked, he had his arm around my shoulders, tucking me in close to his side, and every now and again his hand slid down to cup my ass. When we sat down to eat, his hand tangled with mine. He kissed me every chance he got—my mouth, my temple, my hand, and with each kiss I felt that much more cherished. And it was a joy to see him so relaxed; now that he was a free man, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  Luckily, what he wanted to do was me.

  “Something new, huh?” Shona bent down to make note of the pallet’s lot number. “New is good. Better than living like a nun, anyway. It’s not right, having a fine ass like that and no one tapping it. It needed some serious appreciation.”

  I snorted and scrunched the plastic wrap up into a huge wad. “It’s enough that you appreciate it, Shona babe.”

  “I’m talking male appreciation, and that Marco Polo dude is all male, I spotted that right away. He used to be part of your father’s crew, right?”

  “He worked for my dad, yes.”

  “So you’ve known each other a long time?”

  “Since we were teenagers.”

  “Aha, I knew it. That’s what’s different about him. I get it now.”

  I sent her my very best side-eye. “What are you talking about?”

  “You and I get along so well because we’ve got the same crap weighing us down. You’ve got some big trust issues, like I do, because being a trusting fool when you grow up in a violent world is a quick way to get dead. So, instead of being that trusting fool, you build some pretty damn thick walls to make sure you’re still alive at the end of the day.”

  “I agree with everything you just said, except one thing. I don’t have trust issues.”

  “Oh, don’t you? You mean you think it’s normal for a sexy, gorgeous, intelligent young woman like yourself to not at least date?”

  I frowned, not sure how to take that. “I haven’t ever had a huge dating life because I’m always so busy.”

  “No woman is so busy that she can’t still take a night off every now and again and go see a movie, or go dancing, or get frickin’ laid.”

  Damn it, she had me there. “My life has always been on the difficult side when it comes to getting to know someone, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “Eventually the getting-to-know-you stage zeroes in on family, and when guys find out about who my father was, they run like I’ve set their hair on fire. But that doesn’t mean I have trust issues. I trust the people I have in my life without reservation.”

  “Like Polo?”

  “Like Polo.”

  “You just proved my point,” she announced, smirking. “You don’t trust anyone to be strong enough to accept who you are.”

  “With good reason.” I offered a little huff as I began transferring boxes of cereal onto the nearly empty shelving in our pantry. “You’re right, I don’t date much. I’ve only had two serious relationships in my entire life, and both of those guys dropped me like I was diseased when they found out about my dad.”

  “Found out? You mean you didn’t tell them?”

  “The first one I did, and the words were hardly out of my mouth before he was hitting the door. The second one I played it smarter, but he still found out. Maybe having my well-armed bodyguards around wherever we went clued him in.” Then I shook my head, slamming cereal boxes on the shelf as if they had done me dirty. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Polo knows everything there is to know about me, just as I know all about him. There are no secrets or hidden agendas between us, and I love that. I’m just sorry we didn’t get together years ago, even if it would’ve caused a few problems.”

  Shona paused in her box-counting. “What kind of problems?”

  “The usual.” No way in the world was I going to get into the blood feud between the Vitalievs and the Scorpeones, so I kept it simple. “Remember, Polo was my personal bodyguard up until my father’s death. Getting involved with him at that point would have been awkward.” But totally worth it.

  Shona’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Hold on a second. Was sex machine your bodyguard when you were dating those other guys?”

  I chuckled, trying to imagine Polo’s reaction to being called sex machine. “He was.”

  “That’s how boyfriend number-two found out,” she announced with such conviction I could almost believe she’d been there to witness it firsthand. “I will bet you dinner at Alinea that Polo told number-two who your daddy was, just so he could send that boy running. Damn, your life is a soap opera and you don’t even know it.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Shona. Polo and I weren’t even together at that time, so he didn’t have any reason to scare him off.” But even as I said that, I recalled how Polo said he’d hated my former boyfriends. I hadn’t really thought about that comment at the time, but now I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused Polo to hate the two guys I’d allowed in my life.

  Before I could put a voice to that question my phone sounded from my back pocket. With a quick glance at the screen I frowned, then quickly thumbed the screen while anxiety crept in. “Is everything all right?”

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” came my brother’s familiar drawl. “You need to brush up on your greeting skills, Dash.”

  “Sex machine?” Shona mouthed, looking hopeful.

  I scrunched my nose at her and shook my head before turning away for a semblance of privacy. “Think about it. The last time you called me was because two of your people had been double-tapped in the head and you wanted everyone to go on lockdown until you figured out who did it. And the time before that was to tell me to get my ass home because Papa was dying. So my question stands—is everything all right?”

  “As far as I know, everything’s cool, but with the Scorpeone family trying to stir up trouble, I want to keep a closer eye on you. Why don’t you swing around the house around lunchtime, just to touch base?”

  I glanced at my watch and did the calculations. “See you about twelve-thirty, but only if you’re going to feed me.”

  “Deal.”

  Long before my father had died, I had moved out of the family home in Barrington Hills, while my brother remained for the sake of continuity in the business. At least, that was what everyone assumed. But there were also practical purposes for the new head of the Vitaliev Bratva staying on in the swank Tudor mansion that had been built by Borysko Vitaliev.

  The house that Borysko Vitaliev built was a fortress.

  The overall property was surrounded by high fencing, a fast moving creek and state-of-the-art security features, like motion-sensitive cameras, infrared monitoring, alarms, floodlights, and a small platoon of armed security personnel. Half a dozen highly trained dogs had been added the day after Polo and I met, and they patrolled the grounds along with their well-armed handlers around the clock.

  The grounds themselves were vast and seemingly picturesque, but the heavy tree cover that led up to the circular driveway was there to both shield what was down below from any overhead observers, and to camouflage the redundant su
rveillance cameras located within the trees to give the house advance warning of intruders. If anyone was stupid enough to try to sneak up to the house on foot, they had a quarter-mile of rugged terrain to travel, with electronic eyes, dogs and guns trained on them every step of the way.

  The family estate wasn’t impregnable, of course. Nothing was.

  But it was damn close.

  The massive front doors, carved to depict Artur Orlionov’s painting, Battle of Berestechko, opened before I could reach for the doorbell, and my brother stepped out, arms wide. “I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Will that do?”

  “You suck.” With a laugh I gave him a hug, knowing full well that Knives was just as hopeless in the kitchen as I was. Our father had been the same way, but he swore that his mother, the woman I’d been named after, had been a genius in the kitchen. Whenever I was stuck for something to fix for dinner, I always lamented that I hadn’t inherited any of that particular talent; I might not have been so bad that I could burn water, but I was close.

  “I don’t think you’ve been back home since Papa’s wake, have you?” My brother led the way through the two-story high main entrance hall that was flanked on either side by fireplaces and capped by an atrium at the end of the hall that led to the formal living areas of the house. Instead of heading there, however, we moved into the sunroom, now white-washed and filled with plants and strangely reminding me of The Secret Garden. There was even a wrought iron table with matching chairs, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and picture-perfect in its tranquil, sun-washed setting. “I’ve made a few changes around here, but nothing too huge. I hope it still feels like home to you.”

  “Thank you for getting that damn grand piano out of the entrance hall.” As I sat at the table, an unfamiliar older woman with a cap of iron gray curls and squeaky orthopedic shoes served a spinach salad with hot bacon salad dressing, chicken and asparagus crepes with hollandaise sauce, and a pitcher of iced tea within reach on a silver-accented teacart. “Every time that hideous thing came within my line of sight, I’d break out in a cold sweat. Why Papa had it in his head that young ladies of privilege knew how to play the piano is beyond me. Every party that was ever held here, he made me play some kind of classical piece to greet the guests. It’s like he was deaf to all the clams I hit.”