This place was the home equivalent of her weird hippie van, and Tony was starting to understand that Billy was a lot more complicated than he’d at first thought. She was more than just a rich-bitch heiress playing ‘nightclub’ like little girls played house.
The thought made Tony remember that her father was sleeping outside in the parking lot. He’d not spared a thought for that sfigato since Billy had opened the door and let him in. That guy was someone to understand, though, particularly if Tony meant to spend some real time with his daughter. He did not fit into Tony’s image of Billy as a trust-fund princess, either. Cain Jones reeked of bad news. Tony knew the scent intimately well.
As if the thought had conjured him, a buzzer sounded near Billy’s desk, and the wide-screen monitor popped to life, showing the view of her back door. Cain stood there, scratching his head sleepily. He buzzed again.
At his side, Billy started awake. With an irritated moan, she rolled out of bed and slumped naked across the wide space to her desk. She squinted at the screen, then pressed on a key and said, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay, Wild Bill,” her father said back.
It was then she remembered she wasn’t alone. Tony could tell, because she stood upright with a jerk and then froze.
Her back and legs were athletically contoured, firm and sleek. And she had a fucking glorious ass—small and pert, topped with two perfectly round dimples. Goddamn.
“Wild Bill, huh?” Tony said, amused and aroused. “And you haven’t stabbed him?”
She looked over her shoulder as she picked up her robe and slipped it on. “You, I’ll stab. That’s my father.”
“I know. Met him last night.”
Now she faced him completely and closed her robe. “You did?”
He nodded. “Saw him outside in the dark. Thought he was trouble.”
“Well, that remains to be seen. For now, I’ve got to let him in, or he’ll take a dump in the bushes. You want some coffee?”
Tony checked his watch. Fuck. It was almost nine o’clock, and it was Sunday. He’d missed confession, and he was about to miss Mass with Nick and the other Paganos. He could make the eleven o’clock service, but he was missing face time with the don, and that was most of the reason he went at all. You didn’t rise in the Paganos unless Nick believed you were a man who reckoned with his life and understood what was greater than himself. Like the Church, and tradition. Brotherhood and family. Loyalty and faith.
Tony doubted that Nick would notice his absence, but Angie would, and that was just about the same thing, practically speaking. Angie had the don’s ear.
Well, there was nothing for it now. Rushing in late would get him noticed for sure, but not in any way he’d want to be.
With his Sunday morning suddenly free, Tony sighed and relaxed into it. “Sure. Coffee’d be great.”
“How do you take it? Black?”
“Regular.”
She smiled at that, as if the fact he liked his coffee with cream and sugar had pleased her. “Okay, back in a few.”
“You mind if I jump in your shower?”
“Make yourself at home. Fresh towels are in there.” With that, she headed down the stairs to let her father in, and Tony rolled himself out of her bed.
The bathroom wasn’t much, but it had everything necessary. A shelving unit over the toilet held towels and plastic organizers full of makeup and all the other concoctions women seemed to need. Tony flipped up the lid and seat and pissed, studying all those brushes and tubes and jars. What a weird bundle of conflicting things this woman was. Lacy underwear beneath butch clothes. Makeup and high heels, polished nails and cologne, but hair shorter than his. An heiress in a billionaire family, with a father crashed out in his beater van on her parking lot. Owner of the hottest nightspot in town, living in what was barely more than a squat on her own property.
After he flushed, he plucked a pink, square bottle of cologne off the shelf. Gucci Bloom. He removed the cap and sniffed at the nozzle without spraying, and went hard. Yeah, that was what he smelled when he got up close with her, nuzzling her neck. Nice. Soft and flowery. Entirely feminine and delicate.
Tony’s bisnonna, his great-grandmother, had lived with his family for a while when he was a kid. Tony’s father has been born to a single mother and didn’t know his father. His mother died when he was little, so he’d been raised by his grandparents. Tony had known his great-grandmother as Nonna. She’d come to live with them right after his great-grandfather died, until she’d passed when Tony was six. He didn’t remember his bisnonno at all, and only remembered Nonna a little; she didn’t speak a lot of English, and he hadn’t known very much Italian. But she’d been nice.
His parents had made their tiny spare room into a bedroom for her. It wasn’t much, but she’d kept it tidy and sparkling clean like it was her own little palace. Every morning, she’d make her bed and put a little red lacy pillow, shaped like a heart, to rest on her regular pillows. More than anything else about her, Tony remembered the quilt she used as a bedspread. Made of a seemingly infinite number of different-sized squares, each one a fabric unique from any others, encompassing every color Tony had known to name and more besides. The whole thing was framed in solid black. She’d called it, in English that rolled around on her Sicilian tongue, a crazy quilt.
As Tony set the cologne bottle back on its shelf in Billy’s bathroom, he thought of his Nonna and her marvelous, fantastical quilt. He’d sit in her room with her, cross-legged in the middle of her made bed, and listen to her talk in words he couldn’t understand, and stare in endless fascination at all the patterns and colors.
Billy was a crazy quilt of a chick. And he was fascinated.
Fucking her had been ... not what he’d expected. He’d gone to her door with an intention, and he’d carried it out, but not as he’d thought. She hadn’t needed much persuasion, for one thing. Tony got off on breaking down a woman’s defenses. He liked a little challenge—not to say he wouldn’t fuck an easy lay, too—but Billy’s challenge had been different. He couldn’t think why; on the surface it was the usual ‘I want you, but you’re so bad’ bullshit. But there had been more to it. Like her conflict was about her more than him.
Whatever it was, when they got down to it—holy hell, it was intense. She gave him what he wanted, but she took, too, matching him at every step. Down in the kitchen, and again on her bed, she’d met his force with fierceness and his ease with calm. But it wasn’t violent at all. There’d been no frenzy, no undercurrent of anger or spite. They’d simply been in sync. Completely.
Alone in his head, he could admit that it freaked him out a little bit, how good it felt to be with her.
They were taking it day by day. Okay then. He could do another day. At least.
He got the water to the temperature he liked and stepped into the shower. Her shampoo was a salon brand, the same one he used, and her soap was some French-milled variety that just smelled like soap, luckily. He stuck his head under the spray and soaked his hair.
Just as he was lathering up with her shampoo, the shower curtain rustled, and cooler air wafted in, and he knew he had company. Surrounded by all the scents of her, and swaddled in the heat of a shower, a situation in which he usually jacked off, his cock was almost fully loaded anyway. When Billy’s hands curled around him, that finished the job. With a groan, Tony tipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo out. He wanted to watch this.
Her nails weren’t long, just barely past her fingertips, but they were polished with a dark, iridescent color that changed with light and movement, making rainbows writhe over their surfaces. Watching that play of color distracted him just enough from the gliding, twisting ministrations of her hands to prolong their pleasure. He set his hands on her shoulders and began to rock his hips; she stopped and gave him a sultry smile, then got the soap. Once she lathered up, she picked up where she’d left off, with firmer hold now, sliding him through the clench of her fists, circling her thumb over his t
ip.
“Ah yeah, that’s it, that’s good.” He gritted out the words as pleasure rolled through him in tidal surges. He wanted to pick her up and fuck her, but he didn’t want her to stop. He wanted to kiss her, but he wanted to keep watching those rainbow-tipped fingers, moving through the suds of fancy soap. Brushing over his tip. Sliding over his shaft.
Skimming over his balls. Shit. Shit. “Shit!”
He came, unexpectedly fast, shooting straight out, hitting her chest with the force of arterial spray. Tony’s mind emptied of all thought, and he let his body tip to the wall so he could take a beat and recover. She kept her hands around him, gentling her touch, bringing him down easy.
Then Billy looked up at him and grinned. “Damn. I meant to make you beg.”
He chuckled and cupped her cheek against his palm. “You’re sexy as hell, and fucking great at that, but I don’t beg.”
“Not yet. But you haven’t seen how I give head.”
“Looking forward to it. But I won’t beg.”
“We’ll see. I like a challenge.”
So did he. Having regained full control of his senses and functions, Tony turned them both and put Billy under the spray. He picked up the soap and lathered his hands. Then he washed himself from her chest, and continued on, soaping her arms, her shoulders, her belly, hips, ass, back, leaving her tits for last.
Oh, she had great tits. Firm but natural, not huge, but substantial. Pale brown nipples in perfect circles. Her whole body could have been molded from clay, each muscle firm to the touch, but without bulk in the look of her. Her belly was sleek and solid. Not perfectly flat, but lean. And she was entirely shaved. Damn, he loved a bare pussy.
He soaped up those wonderful tits and plucked at the nipples, making them hard, making her gasp and arch. And he was shocked to feel himself fill out again. The sudden resurgence of blood through an organ still sensitive from an orgasm only a couple minutes old made him grunt and shudder.
Billy felt him go hard and chuckled. “Damn, boy.”
“I can’t seem to stop fucking you.” He put her against the wall, lifted her off the tub floor, and pushed into that beautiful, hot, bare pussy. “Oh, fuck!” he groaned as her sheath slicked over his throbbing rod. “Jesus motherfuck.”
For a minute, Tony was overcome. All he could do was lean on Billy, his forehead on her collarbone, holding her against the wall while the shower ran over them both. If he moved, he thought his cock might just explode. Billy didn’t demand anything. She relaxed in his hold, her legs around his waist, her weight on his hands, and was patient. She combed her fingers through his wet hair, feathered kisses over his temple.
Those tender touches both calmed and stirred him, and he began to move without making a conscious decision to do it. He was simply seeking—to be closer, to feel more, to have more of her. It wasn’t until she moaned, a hoarse, earthy purr, and her body began to flex in his hands that Tony understood they were actively fucking.
He went slow, taking his time. All he wanted was to stay like this, and so fresh off an orgasm, he could go for a good long while. Billy was with him, moving in sync, spiraling upward in slow steps, until she began to quiver and gasp, and move in contrast to his rhythm, turning each of his thrusts into an impact.
“Oh shit, oh shit, you’re so deep,” she gasped. “Oh fuck, right there. Don’t stop. Jesus, please!”
The water had gone cold, but that was a newly exciting sensation, not a quelling one. The sudden cold brought him focus, gave him energy, and Tony shifted gears, turning their sultry, sensuous joining into a hardcore fuck.
Billy changed gears with him. Her whispered words and moaning gasps became cries and shouts as he slammed his body into her over and over, clutching his fingers in the firm meat of her ass, latching his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder.
“There!” she cried, the word echoing against the tile walls. “Now! Harder! Fuck, RIGHT NOW!” Her body arched and spasmed like an electric charge was going through it, and her pussy clenched around him so hard that she fucking squeezed another finish out of him. Tony, not expecting to come again, roared in shock and explosive bliss. His body doubled over, while he still held her, and they nearly fell into an awkward, likely painful heap into the tub, except Billy grabbed the shower head and kept their shared balance.
Tony pawed at the tap and turned the water off. He still held Billy, was still inside her. He put her on the wall again, and leaned in. Christ, he felt like he’d been torn apart and reassembled.
As his mind returned to reason and his body became his own again, Tony felt a strange ripple of adrenaline in his chest. The same ripple he felt when his gun was drawn. The thing that made him ready for danger.
Naked in Billy’s shower, inside her, her body wrapped around his, her hands skimming possessively over his skin, through his hair, Tony had never felt so vulnerable in his adult life. He’d given up too much of himself. He needed to take control, to be in charge, to be the threat, not the victim.
He had two choices to make that happen: to be mean, or to be offhand.
“You know,” he whispered at her ear. “I took you for a lesbian at first. I don’t know what it was about you, but I was sure you liked pussy.”
He’d hoped to offend her—not much, just enough to dull the edge of this too-emotional moment. But once again, Billy surprised him.
“I do like pussy.”
Shocked—and vulnerable again, goddammit—Tony leaned back so he could see her face. “You’re bi?”
Still panting from his touch, Billy opened her eyes. “I guess. It’s more complicated than that. I like getting off with women, too. But I’ve never felt like I could be in love with one. That’s only happened with guys. So I don’t know what I am, really. But if it needs a label, then I guess bisexual is it. Is that a problem?”
It was. Not because he had an issue with people fucking whomever they wanted—whatever stuffs your cannoli, man—but he didn’t like the thought of Billy digging chicks. Because it made him jealous? Was that it? Shit. He’d tried to claim the upper hand, and here she was, coming out on top again.
He pulled out and set her down. “No, it’s not a problem. It’s just a surprise. You’re not easy to figure out.”
“Good. I don’t like to make things easy.” She gave him a conflicted little smile and stepped out of the tub.
Tony stood there for another second or two, watching her, grappling with himself. He should leave now, before she had him completely by the balls.
But he didn’t want to.
As they dried off, Tony caught Billy’s reflection in the mirror. She was looking at his back. It brought back that brief blip last night, when she’d felt his scars.
In general, unless Angie was being a jackass and trying to turn him into some kind of beast for a mark they were working, Tony didn’t think much about his back. He was thirty; the last time his father had whipped him was well over a decade ago, and he’d flipped the script since then. Now, he was the shark and his father was the chum. The scars weren’t pretty, but he couldn’t see them unless he made a real effort, and the rest of his body was in damn good shape. They didn’t hurt. He usually stayed at least partly dressed for quick fucks, so most chicks didn’t know they were there. In the gym, people didn’t talk to him, certainly not about that. His Pagano brothers had little cause to see them, but those who had were used to them. He wasn’t ashamed, or traumatized. Not anymore. So he ignored them.
But he didn’t like it when those chicks who did see them got all puppy-eyed and pitying. Before Billy got that look in her eyes and fucked up this very excellent, but already plenty confusing, morning, Tony stared at her reflection in the mirror and said, “My old man’s a bastard. That’s what they’re from. But they don’t matter, and neither does he.”
Her eyes shifted to his in the glass. “Okay.”
That was it. She wrapped her towel around her chest and left the bathroom.
Goddamn, he could not figure this woman ou
t.
Tony stood with his towel hanging from his hand and watched her walk to her desk, where a tray with a carafe waited.
Right. Coffee.
~oOo~
Tony pulled his jeans on and Billy brought him a diner-style mug of coffee, poured straight from the carafe on that tray but already clearly made with milk. He took a sip—the perfect mix of cream and sugar. “It’s good. You made the whole carafe like this?”
“I like regular coffee, too, so yeah, I mixed up a batch in that pot, so it’d stay warm. I brought up some brioche, too, if you’re hungry. There’s better breakfast to be made in the kitchen, but my father is rooting around down there now.”
He grinned and took another swallow of excellent coffee. “Not feeling a family meal this morning, huh?”
“I am never feeling a family meal. Probably not you, either, huh?”
“Not if I can avoid it, no.”
“Well, we have that in common, at least.” She sat down on the bed.
Tony followed and sat beside her. “Do we?” He doubted her family was like his in any way.
“No one in my family’s ever hit me, if that’s what you mean. But there are other ways to fuck a kid up.”
“True.”
She was quiet, and Tony could sense she had more to say, so he let the pause grow until she did. “My dad’s an addict. He got me started, too, when I was in high school. Coke, pills, acid, weed. Just about anything you don’t have to shoot up.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. I don’t think I was ever an addict, but I used a lot for a few years.”
“Sounds like an addict to me.” Another piece of her crazy quilt. This piece, he hated. This piece could ruin the whole thing.
Or give him a way to get on top again.
“I’m not in denial about it, but ... it didn’t really fuck up my life much, and I didn’t have trouble going cold turkey when I wanted to stop. I’ve never felt like I needed to be high again, and it’s been years. I don’t know. Anyway, while I was trying to figure myself out and be a rebel and whatever, I was fucked up a lot of the time, and it was Cain who got me started.”
Accidental Evils Page 13