“Merrow?”
Quaxo leaped onto the bed and padded over. He sprawled beside her, and she scratched his ears.
“Hey, buddy. We’re gonna party today. I think we deserve a treat, what about you?”
He purred in response, tacitly agreeing. Dix might’ve bought him some snacks, but there was a cupcake with his name on it at Sugar Daddies.
The phone rang, and she hit the green button without fear.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Belle glanced at the number—unknown caller.
“Hello?”
A raspy breath.
A pervert—fantastic. Belle ended the call and turned the phone off to be safe. The last thing she needed was to be a masturbation aid. Besides, she had a full-time job as a mistress, a fancy title for “masturbation aid.” Hmph. While her financial troubles were over, she’d signed on for a whole host of new problems.
And what if you end up so depressed you can’t function? Like Carolina.
Belle shook it off. No gloom and doom this morning—it was time to celebrate.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s get some breakfast.” Quaxo followed her into the kitchen.
Belle brewed a cup of freshly ground Starbucks while the cat devoured his wet food. She lingered over her coffee, idly surfing the net and not thinking about much of anything.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
After breakfast, she logged on to her bank account and paid the bills—credit cards, reinstated her satellite service, rent for the upcoming month as well as her utility payments, and then bought herself a couple of Kindle books because she’d been frugal for months and deserved the indulgence.
Then she got dressed and filled Blueberry up with gas. It’d been a while since she could afford a full tank. Afterward, Belle went to the store and bought some badly needed cleaning supplies. She’d considered them non-essential when she’d been struggling to buy food. After stopping off at Sugar Daddies for a tuna fish cupcake for the cat and a mini apple pie for herself, she’d gone home and given her apartment a good scrub.
It had helped get her mind off Dix and the devil’s bargain she’d made, but tonight, she’d give the devil his due.
***
A bit too sexy.
Later in the evening, Belle walked down the corridor to Dix’s office while Vick led the way. She paused to glance at her reflection in the hallway mirror. To please Dix and honor their arrangement, she’d dressed like a mistress.
The red dress seemed longer when she’d put it on earlier. It came down to mid-thigh so it wasn’t indecent, but it showed more flesh than she’d intended. She’d paired it with a red and white cardigan, which covered the laces on either side of her torso and obscured the nape of her neck where the dress tied together. Beneath it, she wore matching lacy underthings.
All in a day’s work...
“Have a seat while he finishes his meetin’.” Vick opened her office door, which was next to Dix’s.
“Sure.” She was in no hurry to get this evening started.
Belle took a seat, while Vick walked behind the desk. The rest of the house resembled a Southwestern hacienda, but Vick’s office was eclectic and funky. One wall was done in chalkboard paint, and she’d doodled all over the surface—reminders, hearts, and such. A black and white rug covered the tile floor. The desk had a black kitty face painted in the center. More cat drawings decorated the walls, paintings with splashes of bright red and neon pink.
“I’m glad we got the chance to talk.” Vick laced her fingers together. “Before I forget, these are for you, from Dix. It’s for Tucker Cobb’s birthday ball.” She retrieved a black garment bag from behind the desk along with a sleek, silver shoe box and handed them to Belle.
“How does he know my size?”
“Dix knows everythin’.”
Of course, the nosy bastard did.
“So the ball is a big deal?” She placed the clothing on the chair next to her. Ever since Dix had brought it up, she’d been nervous.
“Yep. It should be a real show—everyone in the outfit.” Vick tugged at the hemline of her black polka-dotted dress. With the matching bow in her hair and pin-tucked curls, she resembled a thirties glamor girl. With the woman’s Mae West figure, she certainly had the body for it.
“But that’s not what I wanna talk about. I’m sorry for invadin’ your privacy.”
“My privacy?”
She nodded. “Dix asked me to follow your digital trail. I mean…it wasn’t hard. You post to social media profiles without any privacy settings, so it was there for the takin’. You geotag things, tellin’ people exactly where you’ve been. I’m gettin’ a caramel macchiato at Starbucks. Yum.” As she spoke, she pantomimed typing on a keypad.
Belle groaned. “None of those accounts use my real name.”
All of her screen names centered on musicals. When Belle got home tonight, she’d tighten up her internet security measures and delete Twitter and Facebook.
“No, but you’ve had the same email for years, and all your social media accounts are attached to it.”
Definitely deleting Facebook.
“And your passcodes are all related to musicals, too.”
“You know my passwords?” Belle was floored.
“I got a program from a friend of mine.” She snapped her fingers. “Broke ’em in ten minutes flat.”
And Belle thought she’d been so cagey.
Dix’s office door swung open, and he walked out with the town selectman, Tom Rogers. The town selectman was the equivalent of a city mayor, only it was a part-time position and didn’t pay very well.
Rogers was cozied up with the Dixie Mafia? She shouldn’t have been so surprised—the corruption in this town was astonishing.
And Belle should know—she’d been despoiled too.
***
Dix shook hands with Rogers, who headed for the door. The meeting had droned on forever, and all Dix could think about was getting it over and done with so he could spend time with Belle.
And there she was, waiting for him in another mouth-watering dress. Oh yeah, he liked in her red. He made a mental note to get her some scarlet lingerie.
“Hey there, Red.” He leaned down to kiss her, and Vick gave him the evil eye over Belle’s shoulder. Dix settled for a quick peck on the cheek instead, then ushered her into his office to avoid Vick’s scorn.
“I didn’t know you worked with the selectman.” She sat on a Queen’s Anne chair while he took his place behind the desk.
The way Belle said it gave him pause. The tone was light, but he could read an accusation in the statement.
“Yes, I’m on the town council, and he asked for my support on a road project.” It was the truth, more or less. They’d also talked about less wholesome projects, but she didn’t know need to know about it.
“Oh, so you have a partnership?” Her nose wrinkled, and he had an urge to kiss the spot between her eyes.
“You think politicians get elected without corporate support and sponsorship?”
Belle lifted a shoulder. “No, I guess not.”
Dix dropped the subject. He didn’t want an argument. Belle disapproved of his job, and he didn’t blame her. He’d known what he signed up for all those years ago and had no plans to go legit.
Tonight wasn’t about his black soul, though; it was about flirtation and passion.
“Whatcha fancy for dinner? The cook could whip up somethin’, or there’s a diner in the town up the road. Everyone raves about Hades.”
A group of bikers ran Hell, Texas, and the town businesses all had a hellacious theme—a bar named Perdition, Seventh Circle Motors, and Inferno Firearms, to name a few. The Dixie Mafia had an arrangement with the Four Horsemen MC, even though the bikers hated the gangsters’ guts.
“I’m in the mood for something light. Why don’t we go to Sugar Daddies? Get some soup and a pastry?”
“Sounds fine to me. Let me finish up.” Dix pulled up
his emails and started to read one when she moved.
Belle fidgeted in her seat. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, occasionally running a hand up her thighs. Then she licked her lips.
Their eyes met, and the fire between them flared to life.
And he recognized the hunger immediately. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and she worried her lower lip. Belle wanted him.
Thank God. He gripped the mouse in his hand. Decisions, decisions. Should he take her to dinner, then take her upstairs to his bed?
Or should I skip right to dessert? Well, Dix had a sweet tooth.
“I know what you’re thinkin’.” Dix rounded the desk until he stood in front of her.
“And what am I thinking?” She stopped squirming and glanced up.
“You’re ready. You want it.”
“Want what?” Her mouth parted.
“Don’t play games with me, Red. You won’t win.” Damnation, but she loved to tease. He wished he could say it was a turn-off, but he fucking loved the chase.
“I’m not.”
“No? Me neither.”
Things were about to get down and dirty. He thought about going upstairs, but it was too far away—Dix wanted her now, right here. The table was sturdy, made of a thick wood, which would bear their combined weight. He loved a good, hard, rough fuck, and it’d been ages.
Dix started peeling off layers. First, he removed his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. Then he took off the monogrammed gunmetal cufflinks and placed them in the pen holder on the table. They were a favorite of his, and he didn’t want to lose them in the confusion. His movements were slow and deliberate.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like, Red?”
“You said we’d have dinner.” She stood, backing toward the door.
He stalked her, and she kept moving just out of his reach, playing an erotic version of keep away. Belle wasn’t his type—too young, too innocent, and too good for him.
And right now, he didn’t give a damn.
“We can’t do this here.” Belle glanced around the room, wild-eyed.
“I don’t see why not.”
She made it sound as if his office was some sort of holy place and they’d be drenching it in sin. Damn, he kinda liked the sound of that. He concocted most of his sins in this very room, but taking her on the table would be his favorite.
For a moment, she stared at him, mouth agape, searching for an excuse.
“Well?”
Then she pointed to the door. “Vick’s out there.”
“Allow me to remedy the situation.” He sauntered over, flung it open, and walked to Vick’s office. “We’re done for the day.”
She squinted at her computer screen. “It’s only seven. We usually work late.” Vick loved schedules, and she always stuck to them.
“Not tonight.”
Vick opened her mouth then grimaced. Somehow, she must have been able to sense his lustful intentions because her lips drew into a thin, reproachful line.
“I have one more email to send—”
“Go now. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”
“Fine, but I’m not comin’ in until I feel like it.” Vick stood up, slung her bag over one shoulder, and brushed past him. She marched down the hallway regally, head high and shoulders set.
Oh, he’d be paying for this tomorrow. Dix had more of the silent treatment in store, he could feel it.
But he’d worry about it later, much later.
Dix strolled back into his office and shut the door behind him. It sounded loud, final. She was seated again, and he closed the distance between them in a few strides.
“Problem solved. Any other objections?”
“I—”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Dix seized her by the shoulders and hauled her out of the chair and into his arms. His mouth was on hers before she could speak. And Belle kissed him back, every bit as eager for him. When he mouthed the side of her neck, she tried to speak again, and he silenced any further protests with another punishing kiss.
“No more talkin’.”
Belle nodded, hands fisting in his shirt.
He backed her toward the table. With a growl, he turned and swept everything off it with a swipe of his arm.
Dix picked her up and then sat her down on it. He pushed the cardigan off her shoulders, then snagged the string ties of her dress and tugged until the neckline tumbled down, baring her lace-covered breasts.
She sucked in a breath, making them rise.
He palmed the tops, enjoying the view—creamy skin framed in crimson.
Dix unhooked the front clasp, and her breasts fell into his hands. Belle had milky-white skin dusted with cinnamon freckles. Stiff, pink nipples begged to be sucked, and he fastened his mouth onto one. Dix sucked slowly as he weighed the other breast in his hand.
He nibbled and teased them both, then pulled back to stare at his handwork.
Good enough to eat.
Dix kissed his way down her trembling stomach, not stopping until he reached the juncture of her legs. He pressed her thighs further apart and rucked the dress up. His hands were trembling as he snaked fingers underneath the fabric. Her thigh-highs were silky smooth, a whisper against his skin.
“Lean back.”
Belle hesitated, watching him with wide eyes.
“Give in, Red.” Dix brushed a thumb over her lips. “You’ve got the big bad wolf between your thighs, and he’s gonna eat you up.”
Shivering, Belle leaned back on the desk, propping herself up on her elbows. God, she was so fucking beautiful with her breasts thrust out and her hair a wild tangle of curls.
Dix was hard and thick in his trousers—he doubted he’d last long.
He pushed the dress further up, revealing tiny lace panties. After rolling them down her legs, they dropped to the floor. He licked his lips. Not all women had a pretty pussy, but Belle did. She was wet, the pink folds glossy and puffed out as if begging for his mouth.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Dix gritted his teeth. “Vick, I said I’d see you tomorrow!”
Dark laughter filtered into the room.
“It ain’t Vick.” Byron’s slow drawl was unmistakable.
“Can’t it wait?” Dix rested his forehead on Belle’s thigh.
“’Fraid not, the big boss wants to see us.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Belle sat up then pushed her dress down.
Dammit.
Dix heaved a sigh. “Not sure, but I doubt it's good news.”
He kissed her temple because he didn’t trust himself with her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses. The temptation to give in and fuck her, regardless of the audience, gnawed at him.
“I’m gonna have to cut this short, Red.”
Damn, he’d bet money she’d have let him take what he wanted.
And he’d have to let her go.
Fuck it all.
They both put their clothing to rights. It wasn’t an easy task for Dix, considering he had a big dick and one hell of an erection. When they were both decent, he opened the door.
“Did I interrupt somethin’?” Byron stood there, smirking.
Belle walked to the door. Her cheeks were as red as her dress, and she kept her head down.
“Evenin’, ma’am.” Byron tipped an imaginary hat to her as she blew past him. Belle grabbed her dress and shoes for the ball then raced down the hallway.
“Sometimes, I hate your ass.” Dix leaned against the wall.
“No, ya don’t.”
They both grinned.
A good fifteen years separated the men in age, but they’d become friends despite the age difference. Dix had mentored Byron when he first started in the organization, but now they were on level ground. Dix served as Negotiator, which meant he mitigated conflicts between members and reported directly to Tucker Cobb. The rest of the bosses reported to Byron, since he’d becom
e the new Underboss. And he, in turn, worked for Tucker, as well.
Byron’s daddy had been in the Dixie Mafia long before Dix joined, and Dix had never met a bigger SOB. As a new soldier, he’d served under the bastard. Buckley Beauregard had died in prison after killing his wife—and the world was a better place because of it.
RIP, asshole.
“So, what’s goin’ on?” Dix asked.
“Lord only knows what kind of bee settled in the man’s bonnet today.” Tucker Cobb had a reputation for being tetchy. He’d once shot a man for playing his music too loud. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
It was a shitty way to end the day, especially given Dix’s other plans.
***
“Don’t go pokin’ the bear.”
Twenty minutes later, they were in Tucker’s driveway, lollygagging in the SUV to avoid going inside.
“I ain’t gonna.”
Dix didn’t believe Byron for a second. Something was brewing—he could almost smell it. While Dix wouldn’t dream of crossing Tucker, Byron had no such qualms.
Tucker lived between Hell and Crimson Creek in an enormous Tuscan-style mansion. It was ostentatious, even by Texas standards. At least Dix’s Southwestern house blended in with the surrounding area. With the nude classical statuary, colossal fountains, and over-the-top marble staircase, Tucker’s place could be mistaken for the home of a Roman emperor. Come to think of it, Tucker had a lot in common with those boys—ruthless, conniving, and crazy as bullbats.
“The boss man didn’t get to be the head of the outfit by bein’ Mr. Sweetness and Light. Most of his dirty deeds happened before you joined up, so you don’t know who you’re dealin’ with.”
When Dix lost his wife, he’d buried himself in work and the occasional woman, but when Tucker was widowed, he’d chosen bloodshed and decadence.
“Ain’t afraid of him.” Byron snorted.
“You should be.”
Dix hoped his friend heeded the warning, but he doubted Byron would. Tucker had ordered Dix to “reign in” Byron Beauregard, but like his poetic namesake, he was mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Byron was too ambitious for his own good, and it might do him in one day.
Eventually, they walked inside and found the boss lounging poolside in a white robe. The floors were marble, and a disturbing fresco was painted on the ceiling—Rape of the Sabine Women, a legendary tale from Roman history. The women were abducted to become “wives.”
Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1) Page 9