“Yeah, well, I’m not much of a dirty texter and things are about to get dirty as fuck.” I tip my chin toward the screen. “Move your hand, I want to see your mouth.”
Her eyes light up as she continues to chew and slowly lowers her hand from her mouth.
“That your first bite?”
She nods just before her eyelids start to close.
Here it comes.
The fucking sound I’ve been waiting to hear.
I sit up as she swallows, and I swear my fucking dick swells in anticipation—a sure sign I need to get laid. It’s probably a good thing we left Luigi’s, there was no way we were making it to the bathroom. I would’ve thrown her on top of the table and given the poor old man a hard attack.
Her eyes pop open and she shrugs noncommittally.
“It’s good,” she says finally. “I’ve had better.”
Better, my ass.
She’s full of shit.
“Take another bite,” I growl, reaching for my beer with my free hand. I bring it to my lips and take a long pull as she sighs and places the phone down, giving me an aerial shot of her ceiling. A second later her face reappears.
“I had to prop the phone on something so you could see me.”
She lifts the sandwich to her lips and the sight of her mouth widening hits me just as hard as the initial picture she sent. My fingers tighten around the beer, and I bite back a groan as she takes a huge bite. Dropping the sandwich onto the foil wrapper, she meets my gaze and chews.
Three…two…
A moan sounds from the back of her throat. Raspy and full of pleasure, totally worth the torture.
“You win,” she says, licking her lips.
“If that was true, I’d be the one licking my lips.”
Her brows furrow as I lean against the back of the sofa and take another pull from my beer.
“You didn’t eat yours yet?”
I lower the bottle an inch and stare at her through the phone.
“I’m talking about eating you, Antonia, fuck the sandwich.”
Her eyes widen for a split second before she quickly looks away, but there’s no mistaking the tint to her cheeks. Satisfaction fills me before I press her.
“What?” I press. “Too bold?”
Tucking her hair behind her ears, a grin toys on her lips as she brings her eyes back to me.
“I can’t figure you out, Pirelli,” she says with a sigh, the smile still in place. “Are you a good guy or just another pig?”
“Is this a cop joke?”
“No, I’m serious. One minute you’re sending me fruit—”
“Aha, so you agree it’s fruit,” I interrupt. The whole melon versus fruit thing was driving me insane. I had to google what the fuck a pineapple was when I got home.
She rolls her eyes and fixes me with a look.
“You opened the door for me.”
Peering at her, I try to decide where she’s going with this. What’s wrong with opening a door for a woman? The last I checked, they dug that shit.
“So?”
“Good guys open doors for girls. Pigs play them to get laid and then leave them high and dry. If they’re a real douche, they leave a sexually transmitted disease as a party favor.”
Whoa.
This conversation derailed from the tracks.
“Are you telling me you have an STD?”
“God, no!” she shrieks. “I’m clean as a whistle. No party favors left here.”
“Well, then are you asking me if I have one, because I don’t, and I get checked every six months.”
“No, I mean, that’s good, but I…well…”
Then it hits me.
I sit up and place my beer bottle on the coffee table, giving my undivided attention to the pretty girl staring at me through the phone. The girl who just revealed in not so many words, she isn’t as tough as she looks.
“Has no one ever held a door open for you?”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she lifts her eyes back to me.
Oh, girl.
Where have you been?
“I see,” I say, pausing a second to find my words. I’m about to school her and send her strict no cop dating rule straight to hell.
“A guy can hold a door open for a woman, Antonia. He can walk on the curbside of the street and sit with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door while they’re out to dinner. He can send her fucking gifts and call just to hear her voice. He can do all those things and still fuck her like it’s his job once she’s in his bed.”
She releases her lip and draws in a deep breath, but I’m far from finished.
“He can talk dirty to her, tell her he wants to eat her pussy until his tongue goes numb and still be a good guy because the truth is, only a gentleman can fuck a woman properly. So he’s respectful, it doesn’t make him any less of a man. He’ll still pull her hair and smack her ass while he bites her lips and sucks on her neck. And after he’s fucked her with his mouth, he’ll flip her over and pound into her like it’s his God-given talent. She’ll bite the pillow to keep from screaming and thank her lucky stars for the gentleman who made her come three times before he even thought of himself. So, yeah, I’m a good guy. I talk dirty and I fuck like a gentleman. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
That last bit comes out harsher than I intended, but my cock is about to fall off, so excuse me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow, but I know what I’m doing tonight,” she mutters.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
My dick hardens even more against the zipper of my jeans that I lower my hand to undo the top button, hoping it gives me a little relief. It doesn’t and I realize the only thing that’s going to cure my throbbing cock is sticking it deep inside Antonia.
All she has to do is say the word and I’ll blow every light in Brooklyn to get to her as fast as I can. Yes, I know that makes me a hypocrite, but I’m not in uniform right now and I really don’t give a flying fuck.
“Masturbating.”
“You going to let me watch?”
“And ruin the surprise? Never.”
“Does that mean you’re breaking your ‘I don’t date cops rule’?”
“I broke that rule the minute I decided to go to Luigi’s with you.”
Thank fuck for that.
“When can I see you again?” I ask her, my voice huskier than earlier.
Dragging her fingers through her hair, she hesitates.
“I know another great place. Italian too, and the chef will make you moan even louder,” I say.
That earns me a chuckle.
“Oh, yeah? This place wouldn’t happen to be called Pirelli’s would it?”
Winking, I grin at her.
“How’d you guess?”
“I’m lucky like that,” she replies. “How’s Thursday?”
Thinking about my work schedule, I cringe. Richie and I are working mostly nights this week. Aside from tomorrow night, I’m not off until Saturday and while that’s a perfect night for a date, I hate that I have to wait that long to get my fill of her.
“I’m working nights this week. How about Saturday?”
“That works,” she says. “Text me your address.”
“Why don’t you do all New Yorkers a favor and stay off the road. I’ll pick you up around seven.”
She shakes her head.
“No, that won’t work.”
“Why not, I know where you live, remember?”
“You know on second thought, Saturday isn’t good.”
“Antonia…”
“Monday,” she suggests. “After work, I can come to you.”
I don’t know if she’s trying to hide something from me or if she’s got an issue with surrendering control, but the girl is hell-bent on meeting me and I don’t like it. If it’s a control thing, we’re going to have to kick that habit real quick. When we finally fuck I’ll be the one controlling the show.
“I’ll pick
you up from the office,” I tell her. “Oh, and take the subway to work, Antonia, you’ll be spending the night at my place.”
“Is that so?”
I nod.
“And because I’m a gentleman, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”
“Before or after you eat me?”
Now, she’s getting it.
“After of course.”
Always after.
Chapter Twelve
Marco
“Pay up, Pirelli,” Judy says, shoving her open palm in my face.
Flashing her a smile, I lean back in my chair.
“Is it Friday already?”
Every two weeks a couple of us pool our money together and buy a bunch of lotto tickets. We’ve hit a couple of numbers here and there, but nothing life-changing. I think at this point we do it just to keep Judy happy. The broad loves to take our money.
Lifting my hips off the seat of the chair, I dig into my pocket and pull out some cash. The smile falls from my face when I notice I only have large bills.
“I only have a fifty,” I tell her.
She plucks it from my fingers.
“I’ll bring you change.”
She walks away before I can object, not that I would. She can keep the fifty bucks if it keeps her off my back.
Turning my attention back to my screen, I crack my fingers and attack the keyboard, typing the Corrupt Hellraisers into the search engine of our database. I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, that whatever Antonia had going on with that guy Hound was no business of mine. But after spending the last three days talking and texting, something just doesn’t add up.
The first clue came when she dodged any attempt I made to pick her up for our date. I shrugged it off and decided it was nothing out of the norm. There are plenty of girls who prefer to drive themselves, especially when things are new. No judgments here, and not because I won that battle. If I really believed she was more comfortable driving herself, I would have relented. But Antonia wasn’t throwing off that vibe. She wanted a man to pick her up and hold doors for her. Hell, I think she craved it more than anything.
The night before last, while we were on the phone, someone came into her bedroom. She muted the call and when she returned, she quickly hung up, using the excuse she had to walk her dog. The night before she told me she didn’t have any pets. She had a fish once, though. Petey was his name, and he died after she tried to feed him a cannoli. So, she definitely wasn’t walking him.
I called her back a little while later and she sent my call straight to voicemail. I woke up the next morning to a text. It was a picture of her tits covered in a red lace bra and like a horny teenager, I forgot all about the fake pet.
But this morning my suspicions were confirmed when I stopped by her office on my way home from work. Something wasn’t kosher, and it wasn’t the bagel and lox I decided to bring her for breakfast. It was the fucking guy with the leather vest tailing her. My first thought was that it was Hound, but once I pulled my car into the garage, I got a better look at the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as the fuck who punched me in the face and where Hound’s arms were the only visible part of his body with any tattoos, this dude had ink crawling up his neck. He also had two teardrops tattooed beneath his left eye—a calling card that told me he either took two lives in prison or was fronting like he did.
Now, I don’t know much about motorcycle clubs, but I know the basics. A prospect must prove his worth before he receives his patch. I’m guessing two bodies would prove a man worthy or at least put him in the running.
Instead of making my presence known, I left the scene and took my ass home. I had barely known Antonia a week, and I decided I had long crossed the point of no return where she was concerned. I was fully invested, and not just for the sake of fucking her. The more we spoke, the more I found myself wanting to know everything about her and without even realizing it, I was becoming protective over her. Crazy, considering we barely had one date.
Before I get in any deeper with her, I need to uncover whatever it is she’s trying to hide from me. I need to know if Hound is more than just a piece of her past and what her connection is to all these fucking bikers. For fuck’s sake, one of them is a self-proclaimed murderer. What if she’s in some kind of trouble?
That last question weighs heavily on me as I click search.
As a cop, it’s my duty to protect, but Antonia isn’t official police business, she’s just a girl I’m dating. A girl I was supposed to take to bed and forget. Now, I’m doing background checks on gangbangers and looking up recipes for chicken piccata because she mentioned it’s her favorite. How we got here, I’m not sure. All I know for certain is this isn’t the normal behavior for Marco Pirelli.
The computer screen loads with the information, and I lean over my desk to get a better look. There are mugshots, arrest records, and a fucking family tree on the ranking of every member, but only one name stands out.
Antonio DeLuca.
Or more commonly known as Tank Deluca.
I click on his file, and his face immediately fills the screen. Eyes that resemble Antonia’s stare back at me. Only where hers are full of fire, his are cold and menacing. I continue to scroll and discover the man is the president of the Corrupt Hellraiser’s Brooklyn charter. He’s also Antonia’s father, and he has had a shit ton of charges put out on him.
Drug trafficking.
Attempted murder.
Possession of firearms with intent to sell.
Prostitution.
Money laundering.
You fucking name it and this guy has been charged with it, but from the looks of it, nothing sticks.
Forget O.J. Simpson, whoever DeLuca has on retainer is the real dream team.
I keep scrolling, bypassing all the arrests and the list of criminals he’s been linked to and freeze when I spot the one charge that actually did stick. Thirty years ago, DeLuca did a bid for aggravated assault on a cop. He had no priors at the time, so he was out in five years. That should be a crime in itself, yet all it appears to be is the beginning of DeLuca’s affair with breaking the law.
It’s no wonder his daughter doesn’t date cops.
The question is, now that I know who her father is, what the fuck am I going to do with her?
“Pirelli!” Judy shouts, tearing my attention away from the screen. “Here’s your change,” she says, throwing a twenty at me. “I bought myself a cup of coffee and a danish too.”
* * *
Pulling the beer bottle away from my lips, I glare at my cousin, Tig, as he continues to ignore my rant.
“Did you not hear a word I just said? Her father is a fucking convicted felon.”
He pauses with the tattoo gun in his hand and lifts his eyes from his client’s back.
“So?”
“So, I’m a cop!”
Sighing, Tig takes his foot off the pedal, powering down the gun. The buzzing sound dies, and he pats his client on the shoulder.
“Gary, give me a minute,” he says, pulling the rubber gloves from his hands.
“Sure, bro,” Gary replies. “I’m going to go out for a smoke.” He pauses in front of me and shakes his head before glancing back at Tig. “Good luck with this one.”
This coming from a guy who is tattooing a tarantula to his back. When Gary is out of sight, I turn back to Tig.
“Your client is an asshole.”
“Same could be said about you.”
I bring the beer back to my lips and take another long pull.
“You’ve been going on about this girl for a week,” he points out.
“Six days,” I correct.
“Soraya says you sent her a fruit basket and took her to Luigi’s,” he pauses, crossing his arms against his chest. “You took the girl to your favorite restaurant, seems like a big deal to me.”
Lowering my beer, I raise an eyebrow.
“Good to know you and Soraya have nothing better to talk about,” I mutter. Droppin
g my eyes to the bottle in my hand, I start to pick at the label. “You’re no fucking help.”
“You don’t need my help,” he says. “You need to pull your head out of your ass. You’re not dating her father, you’re dating her.”
“I hate that word.”
“Dating?” he questions.
“Yeah,” I admit. “All I wanted was to get her out of my system. One fucking night.”
Tig laughs, and my gaze snaps back to him.
“It’s not funny,” I argue. “I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s not like any other girl I’ve met before. She’s a firecracker wrapped in leather, with wild hair and beautiful eyes. Complete with a smart mouth and a fucking ass you just want to sink your teeth into.”
She’s every man’s perfect fantasy, but she’s my reality.
Or at the very least, she could’ve been.
“She comes off like she’s tough as nails and at first glance, you think a man can’t break her. That she chews them up and spits them out when she’s had her fill. But the more you learn about her, the more you realize under all that leather there is just a girl. No one’s held a door for her, Tig. No fucking man has ever shown her that simple respect.”
“I’m not really sure where you’re going with this,” he says. “I think you want to hold her door open for her, am I right? She’s got a great ass and you want to hold doors for her, that’s gotta be it.”
“Yeah, I want to hold her door. I want her to know there are guys out there who recognize her worth and respect her. Maybe then she’ll stop dating fucking felons like Hound.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem? Take her out, show her a good time and see where it goes.”
“It can’t go anywhere.”
“Because you and her daddy play on opposite sides of the law? Who gives a fuck? You aren’t building a case against the man. You’re fucking his daughter.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I hiss.
“Well, that’s just ignorant. What are you waiting for?”
I was waiting for Monday and Chicken Piccata.
“She hasn’t told me who her father is,” I tell him. “There’s a reason she doesn’t want me to know and my guess is, it has a lot to do with him doing time for assaulting an officer.”
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