by Renee Rose
“Then, no. I won’t touch him again. So long as he gets his ass out of there.”
She twists her fingers in her lap. “What if he doesn’t?”
I grind my teeth. “Then I’ll make sure he does.”
“Not by killing him.”
I look over. Sondra Simonson put her foot down about something. I rather enjoy hearing the steel in her voice, almost as much as I like it when she yields to me. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just relocate him.”
She wipes at the drying tears on her face. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Bellissimo. I’m going to get you a suite there—no charge, no obligation. You need a decent fucking bed to sleep in.” I tinge my voice with finality and she doesn’t argue. I can’t stand knowing she’s been sleeping in the townhouse with that asshole hovering nearby.
After a long moment, she gives a soft, “Thanks.”
The squeeze of my heart surprises me. “For what?”
She picks at a thread on her jean shorts. “I’m glad you showed up when you did.”
Now I want to go back and kill the guy. Not touching her is definitely no longer an option. I reach over and palm her nape, stroking my thumb along the column of her neck. “You tell me if you see that guy again.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Sondra pales again and I feel a little shudder run through her.
Hell. She’s scared of me. But maybe that’s for the best. She should be scared of me. She should lock her door and stay way the fuck away.
Sondra
I’m shaky and shocked. Maybe that’s why I’m not at all afraid of Nico Tacone this time. I’m actually feeling strangely comforted and cared for, which is stupid, because I know this man is incredibly dangerous. Heck, I just saw him pull a gun on someone. Again.
And yet, he was defending me, so suddenly his danger shifted into heroism. I know Corey would say I’m listening to The Voice of Wrong again.
And oh God! What will Corey say about Dean?
Will she blame me for this? Blame Nico when Dean leaves? Will Dean leave? I hope, for his sake, he does. Actually, I hope for all of our sakes.
Tacone pulls up to the front circle of the Bellissimo and steps out of the car. The valet rushes over to open my door. Tacone tosses him the keys. “There’s a suitcase in the trunk.”
“Of course, Mr. Tacone.”
He escorts me inside, bypassing the line to reception and walking straight up to an empty station. The bellhop trails us with my suitcase. One of the employees rushes over.
“I need a comp suite for Ms. Simonson.”
Tacone’s employees are well-trained because there’s not a trace of curiosity in the receptionist’s expression, only an efficient, eager-to-please attitude as her fingers fly over the keys. She looks at me and smiles. “How long will you be staying, Ms. Simonson?”
“Um…one or two—”
“Indefinitely,” Tacone cuts in. “Close it off for the next few months at least.”
Months? I was going to say nights. A suite at the Bellissimo runs $450 a night high season.
“Okay, I just need a picture ID and credit card for incidentals,” the receptionist says, gaze sliding to Tacone.
I reach for my purse, but he gives an impatient shake of his head. “No charge for incidentals.”
The buzzing that started in my chest when he said I could stay here for months gets louder. Nico Tacone is going to let one of his housemaids stay in a luxury suite and order room service to her heart’s content for free? I know he likes me, but the warning bells are going off.
Tacone seems to notice, because he shoots me a look. It’s one part warning, one part reassurance. Just take it, he seems to be saying.
“Okay, you’re room 853, that’s in the north tower. Take the elevator to your left.” When the receptionist slides the card to me, Tacone takes it and hands it to the bellhop, dismissing him with a jerk of his chin.
The bellhop rolls soundlessly away with my bag. Tacone places a hand at my lower back and guides me toward the bank of elevators. People glance at us as we go by. He’s dressed in his beautiful suit and I’m in cut off jean shorts and a halter top. Crap, do I look like his whore?
My steps falter.
Tacone stops and turns me to face him. A muscle in his jaw tightens. “Take the fucking room,” he snaps, like he already knows I was about to bail. He releases me and holds his hands up, fingers spread wide in surrender. “I’m not gonna go up with you. You don’t have to see me again. You don’t work for me. In fact, you’re fired. And now you have a place to stay while you figure your shit out.” He jerks his chin toward the elevator, where the bellhop is holding the door open for me. “Go.”
He turns and walks away, not waiting to see what I’ll choose. I hesitate. The bellhop has my suitcase, so I have to go get it, regardless.
I might as well find out what it’s like to sleep in a Bellissimo suite.
Just for one night.
Tomorrow I can figure my shit out.
Chapter 6
Nico
Because I’m way too obsessed, the next day I check to see if Sondra quit or checked out. She didn’t, but she did call in sick.
I search the casino video feeds until I eventually spot her lying out by the pool.
I smile. Good for her.
But then I wish I hadn’t found her, because the urge to go out on the pool deck and rip that string bikini off her body and lick every place the sun hasn’t touched overwhelms me. And that’s closely followed by a blast of white hot jealousy. Because every fucking guy on the pool deck is seeing the same thing I am.
And something about a scantily clad Sondra Simonson is way more risqué than the showgirls and cocktail waitresses who parade around my club with more of their asses and tits showing.
I do the only thing reasonable—get the hell away from the security feeds and out on the floor, terrorizing my employees.
I see Corey on the floor and her eyes meet mine, bold and confrontational.
Yes, I handed your boyfriend his ass and told him to get out of your life. I may have a bit of a god complex. Sue me.
Because I’m feeling like a tyrant, I head right over to the floor manager, Ross. “Stand in for Corey Simonson for a moment. I need to have a word with her.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Tacone.” Ross hustles over to Corey, who’s working the roulette wheel, and murmurs something in her ear. As soon as the play is over, he steps in for her, making all her customers groan. People get superstitious about their croupier, especially when she’s a tall, gorgeous redhead.
Corey lifts her chin and strides over to me, wearing the hell out of a pair of pumps and a slinky black dress with a plunging neckline.
“You have something to say to me?” I demand as soon as she arrives.
Her eyelids flare for a moment before she hides her surprise. She’s silent a full beat. “No, sir.”
“You sure?” I challenge.
Another beat, then she shakes her head. “I don’t give a shit what you to do him.” Disgust infuses her voice and I experience a flash of sympathy for her. It’s a wonder how beautiful women end up with losers for boyfriends.
Cazzo, now I’m getting soft for other people, too. What in the hell is wrong with me? I definitely need some fucking sleep.
Jenna
“It’s time to seal the deal,” my father pronounces. He’s sitting behind his great walnut desk, snipping the end off a cigar. I’ve been summoned here, to his office, the mafia princess to the king.
The knot of anxiety I’ve carried under my ribs from the time I was old enough to understand my future cinches up so tight I can’t breathe.
“Junior Tacone asked about you. He knows you graduated college. I can’t put it off any longer.”
I curse the tears that spring into my eyes. But it isn’t fair. I’ve been trapped into this marriage since I was nine months old. Signed over to marry a man ten years older than I am. A man who never wanted me, either.
I
guess that should be my one comfort.
“Did Nico ask for me?” My voice wobbles.
My father lights the cigar and puffs.
I hate cigar smoke. I can’t stand the way my dad blows it in my direction like he’s never heard of second-hand smoke health issues.
“No. I don’t know what the fuck Nico’s problem is. If he thinks he’s going to disrespect this family by refusing to marry you—”
“But I don’t want to marry him,” I wail, for the four hundred and fiftieth time.
My dad points an imposing finger at me. “You’ll do what you have to do to solidify the bond between our families. That’s the one fucking thing I ask of you. You don’t have to get your hands dirty, don’t have to be a soldier like your brothers. You marry who I fucking tell you to marry, and you do it with class. The way your mother raised you.”
And this is the answer I’ve heard my entire life.
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.
“The families have been bonded all these years just with the marriage contract. We don’t need an actual wedding to solidify things.”
“Enough.” My father waves a hand. “I’m sending you to Vegas. You tell Nico Tacone to start making wedding plans. The time has come.”
Sondra
After three days of a luxury vacation on Nico Tacone’s dime, I decide it’s time to go back to work. And I’m fully aware what that means.
He warned me, thoroughly.
He’s also honored his word and stayed away. No contact, unless you count his talking to Corey. But I haven’t had any leads on a professional job and this one is better than nothing.
Oh, who am I kidding? Going back to work means I’ve decided to offer myself up like a virginal sacrifice to Nico Tacone.
He’s like an addiction. I want to stay away—I really do. I know it’s the right thing. But the excitement produced by the thought of seeing him again is too hard to resist. I want to be near him again, to sizzle and sear under the flame of his desire for me.
Quit the job. Move back to Michigan. Use your degree, the voice of reason argues.
Mine, says The Voice of Wrong, pawing the air in the direction of Nico’s suite with cat claws.
So I show up to work and pack my housekeeping cart like nothing happened.
”Feeling better?” Marissa asks.
“Yep. It was a stomach bug.” I feel a little guilty about lying to her, but what can I do? The real story is too bizarre to share with anyone but Corey.
I’m hoping she bounces back from the Dean thing soon. She came over to the suite the night it happened and the two of us drank a couple bottles of wine until we were cursing all men and vowing to never let each other date a loser again.
Which, of course, meant Corey tried to talk me out of my infatuation with Tacone. So now I’ll have her judgment to face on top of whatever trouble I get myself into today. But she’ll be there to pick up the pieces for me.
Maybe that’s the lesson in all this. I pick shitty men, but there are people in my life who love me and would do anything for me. That’s a gift all on its own.
I clean the other suites first. In the second one, I run into the guys I saw on the first day.
“That’s the one,” one of them mutters to the other as they leave and I go in.
“What one?”
“The housekeeper Nico’s obsessed with.” The door clicks shut. It’s not really new news. I know he has a thing for me. But hearing it from a stranger’s lips makes it more solid. More real. More exciting. I have a bounce in my step as I clean.
When I’m finished, I head into Tacone’s suite. He’s not there, which is definitely for the best. It’s a stay of execution. So why, then, am I so disappointed?
I’m almost finished with the last room when I hear Tacone’s keycard in the lock.
My heart shoots into my throat.
Tacone saunters in and his gaze takes in the housekeeping cart, then swivels around to see me. The moment our eyes connect, a jolt of pure electricity zaps me where I stand.
There’s satisfaction in Tacone’s small smirk, and dark promise in his eyes.
He stalks toward me. “I did warn you what would happen if you came back, right?” His voice is rough, hungry.
I hold his gaze. “You warned me.”
He reaches me, shaking his head. “You asked for it.” He picks me up by the waist and plops me on the barstool that cozies up to the breakfast bar. I reach for his belt, but he grabs my wrist.
“Nuh uh. I’m in charge, baby. I decide when and how I’m gonna fuck you. Whether I’m going to satisfy my fantasy of bending you over that housekeeping cart, or make you put those pigtails back in your hair and take you in the shower.” He slides his palms up my bare legs, pushing the skirt of my housekeeping dress up as he goes. When his thumbs reach my panties, he slides them lightly over the gusset, teasing me.
My pussy squeezes around air. I grab his arms to keep from falling back.
“That’s right, sugar. You hang on tight. Because this time I‘m not holding back.”
The sound that comes out of my throat is unrecognizable.
He brushes his knuckle over my clit, barely making contact, driving me crazy. “Did you bring this pussy to me to get fucked? You knew I wouldn’t let her go empty this time, didn’t you?”
It’s dirty and crude, but God help me, I love it. Lord, if Tanner had ever talked to me this way, I would’ve laughed in his face. But Tacone pulls it off because he oozes sexual confidence.
My head wobbles as I nod.
That’s what brought me back here. I want another Nico Tacone orgasm. I just have to remember to keep my head about me and not let my heart get involved. And to avoid witnessing anything illegal that could put me in danger.
Yeah, I’m stupid. I’m a horny little idiot who’s certain this is going to be the best lay of my life.
He tucks a thumb under the gusset of my panties. “Mmm hmm. You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” I guess I’m readier than I’ve ever been, because he slips his thumb right in me without any preparation needed. He groans, his lids drooping. “Bambina…I’ve been thinking about this pussy every minute of the day since the day I first caught you here.” He holds me around my waist, tipping me back and pumps his thumb. “Whole casino full of pussy, but I only want this one.”
My head falls back. I’m balanced on my tailbone, arched over his arm, my upper body kept up by my grip on his forearms.
“And this is why. You’re so fucking inviting. So receptive.” His face contorts as if it pains him not to be inside me.
I squirm, wanting to take him deeper, get more friction. His thumb is not enough.
“Greedy girl. You want me to fuck you good?”
“Yes, please.”
He gives a pained bark of laughter. “And you fucking say please. Every time. Sweetest girl I’ve ever had.” He withdraws his thumb and pulls me off the barstool. “Turn around, bambi.”
I whirl and put my forearms on the barstool, pushing my ass out. He yanks my panties down and then off before he slaps my ass.
I never thought I’d be into pain, but after that spanking he gave me last time, I’m not just ready for it, I crave it. He slaps my ass again, and again. Each time is a shock of pain, a splash of pleasure. I’m drowning in sensation, falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of lust and desire.
“Please,” I whimper.
He gives a sharp curse. “Push your ass out, beautiful.”
My ass is already out, but I try to arch even more. I hear the snap of a condom wrapper and I wait as he rolls on protection. He rubs the head of his cock along my slit.
I push back at him, trying to get him inside me. I can’t stand another second of this teasing. I need satisfaction.
He pushes into me with a hard thrust and the barstool tips and rights again. “Fuck.” He pulls out and I nearly weep. I must’ve whimpered, because he soothes me. “It’s okay, bambi. Lay over the arm of the sofa here. I need to
fuck you way harder than I can here.”
I toddle to the sofa and he pushes me over the arm and slaps my ass again.
“You look so goddamn perfect with my handprints on your ass, Sondra Simonson.”
I don’t know why he always says my first and last name, but I love it. It makes me feel like someone famous. A movie star or a superhero. As promised, he plows into me so deep I cry out.
He stays there, cupping my throat to lift my head. “Okay?”
He’s checking in with me. He may talk a tough game, but Nico is considerate. When he’s not pointing a gun at someone’s head.
I arch back. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t move. “Yeah, what?”
My mind stutters, not sure what he wants. “Yes, sir?”
He chuckles. “Baby, you keep calling me sir and you’re going to get fucked until tomorrow. Ask me for what you want. I want to hear you say please again in that sweet little voice that makes my balls so tight.”
“Please, Nico.”
“Fuck.”
He withdraws and slams into me, taking my breath away with the force of it. It’s too rough, too hard, but I wouldn’t complain if it killed me. It feels so right. So good. He fucks me hard, his loins slapping against my ass like a second spanking, his cock drilling deep inside my sopping channel.
“Please.” Now that I know what he wants, what makes him crazy, I’m going to keep saying it.
He curses again and grips my upper arms, arching my upper back as he pounds into me.
I whimper but I spread my legs wider, work to relax my muscles to better receive the full force of his thrusts. My mind is lost. I haven’t even come yet, but I’m rocketing into outer space. No, somewhere better than outer space. The place of no thought. Only pleasure. Only ripe, juicy, satisfying, pounding pleasure.
“Yes, Nico, please,” I whine.
“Stop begging, baby.” His voice is rough. “Stop begging or I won’t last another—fuuuuuuuck.” He buries himself deep and bucks his hips against my ass, coming.
Somehow, he still has the wherewithal to remember I haven’t come and he lifts my hips away from the sofa enough to get his hand under me and rub my clit.