by Lea Griffith
His tone was so casual she almost didn’t understand what he’d said. When it finally dawned on her she opened her mouth to protest, but Tobias tsked and she snapped it shut. She wanted to scream it wasn’t fair, that it was his hands she wanted on her body, not her own. Instead she remained silent, determined to win this test of wills.
“I can see the stubbornness riding your face, baby. I want to laugh, but it really isn’t goddamn funny. Because you disobeyed me three times, making a mockery of my earlier statement that you obeyed so well. I wanted to be the one to make you come this morning. Instead, you punish us both by not doing as I’ve instructed.” He took a deep breath and something akin to dread rolled through Ruthie’s body. “I don’t get to touch you as I wanted and you’ll ride the edge of release, but you won’t be coming, Ruthie.”
Her mouth fell open as her mind raced. Because she hadn’t maintained position, she hadn’t immediately sat on the table, and she’d demanded instead of asking, he was now going to deny her orgasm?
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, sub,” he bit out. “Oh, and I’ll be using a crop to reinforce your obedience in this matter.”
She’d spoken aloud? Ruthie barely cut off a curse. She heard him leave the living room and return moments later. A loud thwack right beside her startled her, and she almost jumped up.
“You don’t move unless I tell you,” he demanded in a cold, hard voice. “Now, what do you enjoy best about my hands, Ruthie?” he asked, voice once again casual and unaffected.
“Their strength,” Ruthie said automatically. She hadn’t even had to think—the whip of the object through the air cut off her thoughts. The crop he held struck across the flesh of her upper thigh. “Holy shit, Tobias! That stings!”
And it did indeed sting, but as with his flogger, what remained after the pain dulled was a heat that was indescribable.
“Sir,” he said viciously.
“Holy shit, Sir! That stings!” she yelled again, only this time it lacked the ferocity of before because what she wanted to yell was “Do it again!”
He trailed the head of the crop along her collarbone, the feel of it there sensual for an instrument designed to enforce compliance. “Back to my question. What do you like about my hands, sub?”
She quieted her mind, needing more of the heat but determined to show him she could be what he needed. “Their strength, Sir.”
He trailed one hand over the mark he’d left on her thigh. He whispered a touch over her pussy and she moaned. “This was mine to enjoy this morning, and now…” He trailed off as he ran the crop over her clit. “Now, I can’t touch it.”
“Please, Sir, I didn’t know,” she pleaded, suddenly ravenous for the feel of his callused fingers running over the lips of her pussy.
“I laid out the basic rules. But just in case you didn’t understand them fully, we’ll go back over them one at a time,” he whispered above her. “Open your pussy for me, Ruthie. Show me what I’m missing.”
Ruthie slowly lowered her hands, hesitation making her tremble, anticipation making wetness leak from her pussy down between the cheeks of her bottom.
Tobias trailed the crop down her thigh to her knee and back up. She must have hesitated too long because he brought the crop down on her other thigh. Ruthie grunted at the unexpected strike. But once the sting faded, there was so much heat.
“When I tell you to do something, I expect immediate compliance. Whether it’s moving, speaking, hushing, or coming—when I say, you do. Now stroke that clit for me, Ruthie. Show me how you make yourself come when I’m not around to do it for you.”
His voice was a caress of dark silk over her nerves. It was beautifully erotic, the deep notes of it soothing even as it built her desire higher. His words were a taunt, ever expanding her need for release. And he didn’t stop wielding his voice as a tool.
“First you broke position,” he stated. “I told you to stay as you were and you lifted your head. Do you know what your defiance does to me?”
Ruthie heard the question, but it came at the same time her fingers settled on her clit. Stars burst in her mind, colors breaking in waves as pleasure coated her, stealing her breath. A loud thwap! and Ruthie was brought back to reality.
“Answer me, sub,” he demanded.
“I do not, Sir,” she answered.
“Did I tell you to stop stroking your clit, Ruthie?”
There was the dread again, but holding its hand was anticipation. She wanted him to strike her with the crop because the heat was beginning to radiate from the point of impact to her core. The touch of the crop was a fire-breathing dragon and she wanted to revel in the flames.
“No, Sir,” she managed to say.
“Then I told you to sit on the table and you hesitated,” he calmly reiterated. “Do not stop stroking, Ruthie. I want to see how you make yourself fly apart.”
Ruthie enjoyed a firmer touch, though clitoral stimulation rarely led to orgasm for her. She needed penetration and occasionally used a dildo to effect what she was missing in real life. Right now, though, she was so locked in her body, the pleasure suffusing every part of her so that all she knew was Tobias and pleasure. Her clit throbbed. Her skin was warm and craving more of the crop, and his voice had mini-bombs of intense delight going off in her head.
She was so close.
“Stop,” he commanded in a hard voice.
Ruthie did not stop, truly wondering if he was a madman for asking her to do so. She was running headlong into orgasm. He was insane to ask that of her.
Another sharp sting on the top of her hip and her hand did what her mind refused to allow—it stopped.
“It will be a joy breaking that disobedient streak in you. What prevents you from doing as I say, Ruthie?”
“Pleasure,” she whispered.
“Stroke your clit and insert one finger into your pussy,” he ordered.
She moaned. Her hesitation cost her three more strikes in quick succession on the underside of her breasts. She hissed and mewled as the pain sank into pleasure. The heat built, a cacophony that screamed her name, and still she stroked, her climax building to a critical state.
“Stop,” he said harshly. “Two fingers now, Ruthie. Show me how your pussy stretches to accommodate two fingers.”
“Please, Sir,” she said on another moan.
“Oh, I enjoy the sound of that word from your mouth. It’s instinctive, isn’t it, baby? I’m your Dom and you recognize it in the midst of chaos. So pretty you are,” Tobias crooned at her ear. “So mine.”
So close. She was so close, her hips moved to meet the thrust of her fingers, and for a moment she imagined it was Tobias entering her body and there on the edge of her mind, orgasm loomed.
“Stop!”
She sagged, once again her body doing as he commanded though her mind screamed at her to continue until the colors coalesced and burst into multihued shards.
“You’re so close, aren’t you, Ruthie? So close,” he whispered as he raised her hand to his mouth and licked her fingers.
She came. With the touch of his tongue on her skin she exploded. No clitoral stimulation and no penetration—just with the touch of his tongue on her fingers.
It wasn’t complete but it was there, her body undulating on the table as it sought a deeper stroke.
“That was beautiful,” he said at her ear now. “But you came and I didn’t give you permission to do so.”
“It wasn’t a—”
“Incomplete as it was, it was still an orgasm.” He took the same hand he’d been licking and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight you won’t remember what it’s like to not have me inside you.”
He breathed roughly against her neck, but always his hands stroked her body. Her mind was blanked. She heard him but would have to process his words later. He’d denied her the one thing that could break her. He’d denied her him.
She would strive to do whatever was necessary to
make sure that didn’t happen again. They were both hurting now and that was unacceptable. She’d do better, she promised herself.
Tobias picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and when he placed her on the bed, she immediately turned on her side in exhaustion.
“I’m going to shower and then I’ve got business to take care of. I’ll have Stanton here for you around noon. Sleep, baby. I’ll see you tonight,” he said above her.
Then the lights in her mind winked out and she fell asleep.
Chapter 12
“He’s fucking insane to think that will work,” Tobias told Jeremiah, trying to contain his growl. “And I want him to keep that Sol character kept away from Ruthie.”
Jeremiah sighed and tossed back a shot of amber liquid. “Dante thinks this will kill two birds with one stone and he’s on a fucking mission, Toby, don’t doubt that. He may be fucking crazy, but I’d swear it’s crazy like a fox.”
Tobias grunted, recognizing that Jeremiah didn’t touch the topic of Sol. “A rabid fox. Just what we need. Copeland Shipping has to be a neutral party in this.”
“Once the rights revert to us for those berths in the Naples port, Gallo will know we colluded with Dante. It’s a fact we won’t be able to remain neutral,” Jeremiah pointed out.
Tobias rounded on his best friend, fury whipping him into a near frenzy. “And where does that leave Ruthie and Daly?”
Jeremiah’s face went hard, his blue eyes smoldering in the artificial light of the conference room. “They’ll be as safe as they’ve always been. Fuck with mine and you’re fucking with the devil.”
Tobias felt the same, but they were treading into waters of unknown depth. Play with the mob and sugar could turn to shit real quick. And now that he knew what he did about Dante Shaw, Tobias knew that’s exactly what they were dealing with—the goddamn mob. “Why does he want us?”
Tobias witnessed the hesitation on Jeremiah’s face and crossed his arms. “I want to know what the hell’s going on, Jeremiah.”
“I owe him.” The admission cost his friend—Tobias could see it in the way he held himself.
Tobias rubbed his eyes. It all made sense now. Dante had called in a favor. “For what?”
Jeremiah’s chest swelled, his breath was so deep. “I let his father get away the night he killed Dante’s mother.”
Confusion kept Tobias’s feet planted where they were. “I don’t understand.”
Jeremiah poured another whiskey and downed it in a single shot. “Cavill Shaw came to me for help one night ten years ago. He was bloody and drunk and rambling, and because he’d always had ties to the DM, I helped him catch a plane and get the hell out of Dodge. I didn’t question why he was bloody. He’d done me a favor when I was younger. He’d terrified some boys in his gang who wouldn’t leave David alone—they were beating him up as he walked home from school. Cavill handled it for me. So I owed him and I paid the chit back.”
Tobias lifted his hands and shrugged. “So how the fuck does that favor bleed over to Dante?”
“The reason Cavill was bloody? He’d just sliced Dante’s mother open from throat to gullet,” Jeremiah said in disgust. “I let him get away.”
Tobias’s stomach somersaulted. “No way you could have known, Jeremiah,” he said baldly.
“I let the bastard get away. I fucking helped him get away. Dante’s mother was his world, Toby. Doesn’t matter how you crack that nut—I owe him for that.”
Tobias steeled his heart. He understood, but that didn’t make it palatable. “What does he want to ship?”
“I don’t know yet and to be honest, it doesn’t really matter. I owe him,” Jeremiah said again.
“Not at the cost of Copeland Shipping and your family’s safety, you goddamn well don’t,” Tobias responded, letting the anger flow into his tone. “This isn’t just your company, Copeland. It’s ours.”
“That’s why I’m asking for your cooperation. It isn’t just my risk to take.”
Tobias wanted to punch some sense into Jeremiah. Sometimes he wondered about his common sense. “He’s planning to just walk up to the Axe Man, who just so happens to be his grandfather, and request the rights to the Port of Naples? He’s going to cut out Vessi Gallo, who just so happens to be one of the Axe Man’s underbosses, and what? The Axe Man’s going to offer up the port on a silver platter? Gallo is just going to gallantly step aside? This shit will cause a war, Jeremiah. A war that will bleed over onto us.”
“Dante runs the Dixie Mafia now and has kept the larger East Coast Mafia families out of this area. He’s ready to take the helm and do what needs to be done, Tobias. If we benefit in the process, and we only have to offer the use of a single ship to the man, I think gaining access to the Naples port is a fair trade,” Jeremiah intoned.
“Then you’re a fucking moron. Nothing is ever so cut and dry with them. There is no fair when you’re talking Mafia. The DM is Mafia—it’s just based in this goddamn city and happens to employ some good old redneck boys to do the scut work. Shaw is Mafia, and God help me, had I known exactly how deep his roots go I would’ve stayed as far away from him as I could get.”
Tobias pushed up from his seat and began to pace. Outside the windows the rain continued to fall and he was reminded of Ruthie. He glanced at his watch and grabbed his cell phone, calling Stanton. The man answered on the first ring.
“I’ve got her, Mr. Edwards. We’re heading to her apartment, and then she wants to head back out to the warehouse.”
“Sounds good. Stay close to her, okay?” Tobias requested.
“Yes, sir.”
Tobias ended the call and sighed again. He wished he were with her instead of discussing this shit with her brother. The mention or thought of Vessi Gallo was enough to send Tobias into a rage only Ruthie could bring him down from.
Tobias shoved his hands in his pockets. “If Dante were here, I’d fuck him up but good for calling this favor in. There’s something else going on here, Jeremiah, and I know you see it. Are you just going to ignore what we don’t know in favor of the potential to make a hell of a lot of money?”
“Money is the greatest motivator, is it not, gentlemen?” Dante Shaw’s voice came from the doorway of the conference room.
Tobias turned and leveled a hard stare on the man. He’d never been close to Dante, but there had always been a mutual respect between them. They’d run in the same crowds, worked for the same bastards in the DM, but now Dante was threatening Tobias’s company.
Old acquaintance or not, he’d cut Shaw’s throat and keep it moving. But first, he wanted answers.
“I’ve asked this question a hundred times it seems over the past two days, but what the fuck are you wanting to ship, Shaw?” Tobias asked, unable to keep the rumble of aggression from his voice.
Shaw walked in, taking a seat and a deep breath. “The deal is done, Tobias. What I’m shipping is irrelevant at this point. If, in the future, I determine it’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you. Until then”—he lifted his hands palms up—“you don’t get that information.”
Tobias’s first instinct was to cross the table and beat the shit out of the man, but something in Shaw’s gaze and his tone prevented him from acting on that initial instinct.
“If you fuck up my company or get us embroiled in something that has backlash with the law, I will destroy you, Dante. Mafia or no Mafia,” Tobias promised.
“I think he means it, fratello,” a new voice said. The man Tobias knew only as Sol walked into the room and leaned against the wall opposite Tobias, his negligent posture completely at odds with the cold look on his face. The man had killer bleeding from his pores.
Tobias sneered. “I more than mean it, and if you or anyone else doubts it, perhaps you should ask Dante whether I keep my promises.”
“Gentlemen, meet Solomon Dinapoli, a close acquaintance of mine,” Shaw said by way of introduction. Then he turned his gaze to Tobias. “I would think you�
�d be delighted at a chance to get back at Gallo,” he pointed out mildly.
“This isn’t my brand of get-back. For that I’d have to beat the hell out of him, then kill him. Playing with shipping ports isn’t my idea of paying him back. Bringing down the wrath of the Sicilian Mafia on my head isn’t paying Vessi Gallo back.”
“This is the man, Dante? The man your grandfather spoke of?” Sol Dinapoli asked softly.
Shaw met Tobias’s gaze and nodded. Wasn’t that interesting? It also made Tobias’s skin crawl. The last thing he wanted was to draw the notice of the Axe Man.
Sol cocked his head and narrowed his gaze on Tobias. “Mr. Acciai was very upset at your treatment under Gallo’s hands. He sends his apologies. Should you need him in the future, you only need ask.”
Tobias snorted. He wanted no part of the lot of them.
Jeremiah tapped the conference table, drawing everyone’s notice.
“This is a tangled web you’re weaving, Dante. I owe you, but Tobias doesn’t. This isn’t just my company and I can’t—strike that—I won’t make decisions without a unanimous verdict. So spill the shit, here and now, or I pass on the port offer and you are left trying to find another player for whatever fucking game you’re engaged in.”
Shaw shook his perfectly coiffed head and stared out the window. He straightened his cuffs and his suit jacket and finally leaned back, his posture relaxed but ready. He was a big man with pitch-black hair and soot-colored eyes. He looked like his mother’s people, no doubt. Cavill Shaw’s genetics hadn’t taken hold in the looks department.
“Then we are at an impasse, it seems. Because my cargo is none of your business. Would it help, perhaps, if I offered you my word that you will in no way experience any repercussions from the law with this?” Dante asked quietly.
Tobias knew then that the man wasn’t going to divulge the nature of his cargo. But there was a hint of vulnerability again in Shaw’s words and tone. Whatever the cargo was, it was important to him. Very important.
“What are you doing, Shaw? This is about more than cargo,” Tobias said firmly. “You didn’t finagle an invite into The Underground just to meet your sexual needs. You did it to get the lay of the land and find out how far we were willing to go with you.”