by TL Alexander
“His words, not mine.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Oh my God, this is decaf heaven. What is it?”
He smiles. “A Melya, extra cream, extra honey.”
“Fabulous, keep them coming.”
He frowns.
“What?”
“Marco called me and said that I needed to cut down on your decaf. Something about babbling and intervention.”
“Nathan, Nathan, Nathan. My dear boy, who bought you the Mini Cooper Convertible?”
“You did.”
“Who pays for your loft in Soho?”
“You do.”
“And the gaywad gym membership?”
“You do.”
“And who not only introduced you to Henry, but let you sit next to him at lunch, thus allowing you to brush the back of your hand over his perfect bicep.”
“You did.”
“Need I say more?”
“No.”
“Continue.”
He sighs and looks at his list again. “Jules called me and wanted me to remind you about your waxing and pedi appointment next Tuesday with her and Sam. If you don’t show, she said, and I quote ‘I will come over and pull out each and every pube with tweezers. And I’m not kidding—bitch.’“
“That slut. Anything else?”
“No, I just need that list.”
“Okay, I’ll work on it at the doctors’ office and text it to you. Oh, and before I forget, call Chase and ask him what kind of car we should buy his dad for Christmas.”
“Matchbox?”
“No. A real car.”
“You want me the ask a toddler what kind of car to buy?”
“Do you know anyone who knows more about cars than my son?”
“No.”
“Enough said. Call Chase.”
* * *
I look at my watch. It’s just past eleven a. m. “So what did you find out?” I ask Lee.
“Are we going to wait for Mr. Ryan?”
“No, he texted and said Gram made an early lunch appointment and he would be late.”
Lee hands me a picture of a very attractive, tall, blond haired, blue-eyed man.
“That is Carlo Coletti.”
“He certainly doesn’t look Italian.”
“Irish mother, takes after her.”
“Carlo’s kind of hot. How old is he?”
Lee frowns.
“What? You don’t think he’s hot?”
“He’s a gangster, a mob boss.”
“I know that.”
“Carlo just turned thirty-nine. He had three older brothers that are deceased—one younger brother and three sisters who are still living. A DEA agent killed the oldest brother in a drug raid twelve years ago. The next brother was stabbed in a fight. The third brother, Leo, killed himself. Supposedly, Carlo was close to Leo and it was shortly after Leo’s death that Carlo began steering the family away from illegal activities and into more legit businesses.”
Lee pauses and hands me a picture of a tall, thin, red-haired man. “This is Mia’s godfather, James Martinson. James is married to the oldest Coletti sister, Maria.”
“So, that’s the connection.”
“Yes. From what I could gather, it seems that Carlo and Martinson have been at odds for years. When Carlo started moving the family out of illegal businesses, his cousin Frankie Coletti didn’t take too kindly to it, and now the family is divided in two.”
Lee hands me another picture. “Frankie Coletti.”
“Oh my, look at that nose. He must get that from the Coletti side of the family.”
“Frankie and Martinson are close. They met at Yale where they both studied law, and they share things.”
“Like...what kind of things?”
“Like vacation homes and mistresses, whores.”
“I see.”
“Because Carlo and Martinson are at odds, I’m thinking that the threats that Jaxson received came from Frankie.”
“But didn’t the man that met with Jaxson say he was a friend of Carlo Coletti?”
“He did, but the way Jaxson described that meeting, it was like the guy didn’t really know who was really giving the orders.”
“Yeah, the driver was reminding or telling the Armani suit guy, about which Coletti.
“Yeah, that was weird.”
“So Carlo’s name was being used because he’s the boss, but Frankie is the guy making the threats for Martinson?”
“That’s what I think.”
“How does Mia play out in all this? Do you think her relationship with her godfather seems...off?”
“I think we need to ask Jaxson about that and get his take.”
“Speaking of,” I say as I hear Jaxson talk with Amie just outside my office door. Both of my PA’s have a crush on him. They think he’s ‘dreamy.’
There is a quick knock and my door opens.
“Hey, you,” I say as he walks toward my desk.
“Sorry I’m late. Our lunch meeting was switched to a brunch meeting, and that Mr. Makinoto sure likes to talk.”
“Not the Makinoto I know. I can barely get ten words out of the guy.”
“Well, Lizbet seems to have taken him out of his shell. I had no idea she could speak Japanese.”
“She...can’t.”
Jaxson gives me a hot, quick kiss. “Missed you.”
“You have no idea, Mr. Ryan.”
He smiles. “I think I do. The boys aren’t the only ones who love snow days.”
Lee clears his throat.
“Sorry, Lee. Didn’t see you sitting there.”
“Yeah, it must be hard trying to see past that inflated ego of yours.”
“All right, you two.”
“So, what did I miss?”
Lee updates him as he looks over the photos.
“Lee and I were discussing the relationship between Mia and Martinson. Do you think it’s...appropriate?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said that they were close.”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean that kind of close.”
“What are you thinking, Alexia?” Lee asks me.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure, just a feeling I guess.”
“That reminds me,” Jaxson says.
“Of what?” Lee asks him.
“After the mob guy in Vegas showed me those photos of Alexia, I had a fleeting moment of déjà vu and I just had it again.”
“Okay,” Lee says.
“The photos were the same.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“Similar to the photos that were taken and then sent to you at Ryan. The ones with expletives.”
“They were the same ones?”
“Not exactly, but similar enough for me to think of them. Like maybe the same photographer took them, or the same camera or developer was used. “
“Do you still have those photos?” Lee asks him.
“Yes. I put them in a safe deposit box.”
“Get them for me, I’d like to see them.”
“Okay, I can get them later today.”
“Did anything ever happen with that investigation—the photos and the loft?”
I look at Jaxson. “Did you find out any more after I moved back to London?”
“No. The case remains unsolved.”
“I’d like to talk to the investigator that you hired, Lex...and to the police.”
“I’ll look into it and text you all the information that I have.”
“I just remembered something,” Jaxson says, “Mia said something to me when we were in Vegas. She went off on one of her crazy rants about lawsuits and shit and then she mentioned the photos and the e-mails. I’d never told her about them, she swore that I did, but I know I wouldn’t have ever mentioned them.”
“Who else knew?” Lee asks.
“No one that would have told her.”
Lee looks at me. “What do you think?”
“Jaxson and I suspecte
d her at one point but, we had no real evidence. But we now know that Stephens is behind Jaxson’s parents’ deaths, and that all of them were involved with Will Harris to some extent.
We also know Martinson does what Mia asks him, so yeah, I think they’re behind everything that happened to me.”
“I think you’re right, Lex,” Jaxson adds.
“So what’s our plan?” I ask Lee.
“For now we stick to our current plan—extra guards at your townhouse, at the estate and here at Grant. I’d also like to put a guard on Jules and Nick and Marco and Henry.”
“Do you really thinks that’s necessary?”
“Yes. They’re family.”
“What do you think?” I ask Jaxson.
“I think the more security the better.”
“Good,” Lee says, “I have a meeting tomorrow morning with the feds, so we’ll meet again in a couple of days.”
Lee looks a Jaxson. “Are we still going to stop by your apartment and pick up the rest of your things tonight?”
“Mia called me a couple of hours ago and told me not to bother. She said everything has been incinerated.”
“Anything you need babe, just get it. Remember my casa your casa.”
“I remember. Does that also extend to PAs?”
“Nate?”
“Yeah, I need a few new suits and I don’t have the time to shop for them.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?” he asks me.
“Now I don’t have to buy him a Christmas present.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just text him or stop by his office and tell him what you need.”
Jaxson’s cell rings. He looks at the screen. “Lizbet. We have a late lunch meeting. What time are we leaving tonight?”
“I have a dinner meeting and a few late night calls to make. It’s going to late before I get home.”
He gets up and gives me a quick kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home for dinner and I’ll keep the sheets warm.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“Lee,” he says.
Lee nods and Jaxson leaves my office.
Lee stands. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Lee, could you do something else for me?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I’d like you to find out if Martinson or anyone in his immediate family has any hereditary heart conditions.”
“Okay...are you going to tell me why I’m looking into his medical records?”
“Let’s just say I might have information that Carlo Coletti might like to know.”
Two More Shopping Days
Alexia
The lights are out when I step into our bedroom. Fuck me if that doesn’t sound wonderful— “our” bedroom. Now that Jaxson is living with us at Grant House, it’s a home. He was the missing piece to our puzzle. I walk to the bed and turn on a lamp. All three of my boys are fast asleep. I turn the lamp off.
“Babe.”
I turn it back on and sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey, you.” I bend and give him a kiss. Sweet Jesus, he smells good.
I look at our sleeping sons. “No luck getting them to sleep in their room?”
“After reading You Want A Giraffe For Christmas, The Merry Mall Rats, Santa Moves To Miami, The Reindeers Go On Strike, Homer The Hippo Hates The Holidays, The Kid That Ate Fruit Cake And Lived To Tell About It, Mrs. Clause Saves Christmas Again, Elves Love Eggnog, and a hundred questions and fun facts, they finally fell asleep. I tucked them in and came in here to shower. And when I got out...”
I raise what I hope is a sexy, suggestive brow. “There are ten bedrooms in this house and only half of them are occupied.”
“That’s an idea.”
“A good one.”
“I missed you by the way.”
“You have no idea, Mr. Ryan.”
“Did you pick them up?”
“Yes, and oh my hell, are they adorable. I swear they grew and inch in two weeks. The owners of the shelter are wonderful. They are now potty trained, can roll over and play dead.”
“Is that all? You’d think that after you gave them enough money to keep the shelter running for a century or two, they’d teach them to clean up after themselves.”
“Aren’t you the Grinch that stole Christmas?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Stop saying, then.”
“Sorry, I’m just tired.”
“You’re tired?”
“I’m sorry. Can we start over?”
“Please.”
“Hey, babe, God I’ve missed you. You look tired. Did you pick up the puppies? Where are they?”
“Much better.
He smiles.
“The puppies are at the cottage with Sam and Lanie.”
“How was London?”
“A nightmare, but we managed to settle things. Sam was right about refurbishing the plant. It’s not feasible. I should have listened to her.”
“She is the project engineer.”
“Yes she is and she’s going to have to move there for a while and Lane isn’t too happy about that.”
“You do look tired, my dear.”
“I’m exhausted. I was going to try and sleep on the plane, but I ended up working.”
“Babe, you need to slow down.”
“You know that I’d planned to take the week off, but then the Sheffield plant came up and then the problem in Hong Kong.”
“Nothing is more important than you and the baby.”
“I know.”
He sits up. “You go and get undressed and I’ll run you a bath.”
“No, you sleep. I’m good.”
He gets out of bed, scoops me up and carries me to the bathroom.
“I love you, Mr. Ryan.”
“You better, Ms. Grant.”
He fills the tub while I take off my clothes, makeup and pull my hair into a knot.
When I get done he’s still filling the tub. He turns—oh my. Are we going camping?
“What’s with the tent pole, Mr. Ryan?”
He rubs his hand down the front of his boxer briefs. “Are you referring to...this little thing?” he teases.
“Yes. Your wee one.”
“Can I join you?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Ryan. I don’t think there is enough room for all ‘three’ of us.” I run my hand up and down the wee tent pole.
He moans. “That’s too bad. I really could use a soak.”
“All is not lost. I’ll make room.”
I pull down his boxers and he steps out of them. I grab a towel and place it on the tiled floor in front of him, and then kneel. I take his cock in my hand and look up at him.
“God, I love you.”
“What man doesn’t love a woman kneeling in front of him?”
“Touché.”
I wrap my hand around his wee one.
He mutters some unintelligible words as his head falls back.
I lick, suck, and nip while I gently roll his balls.
“Oh God,” he moans, “so close, baby.”
God how I love those two words—”close baby.” Almost as much as I love those other two words—”I’m coming.” When it comes to giving Jaxson his beloved BJ’s, I’m a Navy Seal. I want to get in, get the job done, and get the hell out. You might be saying to yourself, “Alexia is one lazy cock-sucking bitch.” There are times that this is true. But here’s the thing, not only do Seals like to get in and get out, they want to achieve this without any causalities. The longer it takes to get the job done, the more potential for injuries and or causalities. The same goes for BJ’s. The longer it takes for you to achieve the goal—”orgasm”—the more likely you are to sustain an injury. Another concern is the “size” of the operation. Larger operations are riskier. Larger cocks are riskier. I’m taking great risk by putting his overachieving cock in my mouth, and the longer it’s there, the more likely my uvula will become permanently detached.
> I like my uvula, and I want to keep it, so I’m deploying the big guns. I massage his perineum, and then as stealthy as a bomber, I slide my finger on down to his asshole and circle it a few times. Then I drop the bomb—I push in the tip.
“Oh, God,” he moans and pushes back and down on my finger, impaling himself.
Whoa! This is new territory for me. I’ve never done a full finger—”the nuclear bomb.”
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Yes, God. Please, God. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he chants as he pumps my finger and plunges in and out of my mouth.
He rocks back and de-plunges and then he rocks forward and plunges me hard.
“Holy cock-sucker hell!” I cry out in my head as my right eye tears up. Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission. Uvula down, I repeat, uvula down. Airway has been compromised.
“God, Lex, feels soooo fucking good.”
Not!
I try to disengage from his cock but he’s not having it. He’s got me bunkered down and there is only one-way out. If one finger can drive him to the edge— two should push him over.
I have to time this just right. The next time he rocks forward, it’s going in.
He rocks back then up and...finger number one meet finger number two.
“Oh my God. Yes, yes... I’m coming. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Mission accomplished—Hooah!
* * *
“I think she’s awake.”
“No, she’s not, you dork.”
“I’m not a dork.”
“Yes you are.”
My left eyelid is lifted.
“See, I told you she was awake,” Chase says.
“Well, I am now.”
“Mom, did you know Dad farts in his sleep?” JB asks.
I grin. “No I didn’t. But thanks for the heads up.”
Chase crawls to his dad’s side of the bed and pulls back the covers. “Look, Mom. Dad has a great big pee-pee.”
I laugh. “Yes, he does.”
“It looks swollen. I think it needs medical intention. Or maybe he has a stick up his arse, like Gram does, and it makes his pee-pee swell up like a balloon.”
“Maybe he has a peanut allergy,” JB adds, “we read about them online because Carrie’s friend, Ronny, ate a peanut and almost died. Her airway got constructed.”
“I never thought of that,” Chase says as he continues his inspect his dad’s morning hard-on.
I shake my head. Boys will be boys. “It’s medical ‘attention,’ and her airway was ‘constricted’ and your dad’s pee-pee is just fine. Big, but fine.”