MOB BOSS 2

by Monroe, Mallory

  It hit against Trina with a hard whack, it had been too long encaged, and Trina placed her arms completely around him as she felt his presence against her stomach. He lifted her and then slid his hand underneath her skirt and removed her panties, sliding them off, placing them in his pant pocket, and then opened and wrapped her shapely legs around his body.

  He placed his hand between her legs and began rubbing her, one finger and then two entering her womanhood and massaging her. He couldn’t stop kissing her as he felt his woman’s clit for the first time in half a year. This was his woman, this was his clit, and he felt as if he was going to wiggle it off the way he couldn’t stop rubbing it, couldn’t stop experiencing its rough edges, couldn’t wait to taste its wetness.

  He carried her into his bedroom, still fondling her, still kissing her, still feeling his penis press against her in a cry for release. He had dreamed of her, of her body for so long that this felt so unreal. But he didn’t think about it, he just felt it. This was a bad move, he knew it was the worst move he could possibly make. But what did they expect from him? How could he be expected to see the love of his life and not want to be with her? Not want to make love to her with a tenderness that captured their long separation.

  He laid her on his unmade bed and swiftly removed his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Then he lifted her own blouse over her head, removed her bra and skirt, and began kissing and sucking her breasts, one at a time, from one to the other, then both nipples in his mouth, his hand on her long neck as her head lobbed back in anticipation.

  He moved down her body to her womanhood, his mouth so ready to taste her that he had to slow his flow, that he had to make sure he didn’t harm her. And when he tasted her, when his mouth finally made its way to her womanhood and he felt her creamy perfection on his tongue, when he inhaled that wonderful scent he still knew so well, his heart began to hammer. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be so close to wonderment after all the pain he’d caused. But he couldn’t feel pain, not with Trina laying and wiggling right in front of him, her legs gapped open so wide, her womanhood so ripe and ready. He couldn’t feel anything but joy, but lust, but complete love for this woman who was still his woman and would always be his woman until the day he died.

  He stood up, dropped his pants, and stared at her. She stared back, her eyes first staring at his massive, stiff rod she still knew so well, and then into his face. There was pain in both their eyes, and anguish about the moments after, but their love for each other, their lust for each other’s bodies, was all they wanted to handle right now.

  Reno moved her further onto his bed, got on it himself, and entered her. Her legs were wide and lifted high up when he entered her, when they both experienced his stiff rob moving inside of her with a familiarity so sharp, so pronounced that both found themselves making those sounds of elation on entry.

  Reno began sliding in and out, in a rhythmic slide, his hands on either side of her legs as he fucked her. But he needed to feel her too, not just her pussy. He needed to feel her. He leaned down on top of her, wrapping her tightly into his arms, as he moved in and out, in and out, feeling her breasts rammed against his chest, her stomach against his stomach, her body safe and warm in his protective arms. Tears were in his eyes as he fucked her. Because he loved this woman. Because he wanted this woman. Because he needed this woman.

  Because he knew she didn’t need him.

  But even with that truth he couldn’t stop making love to her. He couldn’t stop holding her tighter and tighter as his white body melted into her black body and he fucked her harder than he’d ever fucked another human being before. He couldn’t stop sliding in and out of her, in and out, his rhythm increasing more and more, going from a slow drumbeat to a wild, syncopated pound. His lovemaking once prose, now poetry. Her wetness and his wetness meshing together in loud, sexy splash sounds that echoed throughout his once sleepy, now fully vibrant and alive, house.

  And he couldn’t stop pounding her.

  SIXTEEN

  The morning after was like waking up from a wonderful dream, and your eyes are still adjusting, still attempting to focus, still trying to believe that the dream is more real than the reality facing you now. Reno was the first to wake up and see the reality. He was the first to realize that their all-night lovemaking was all so in the moment, where he fucked her while she was on her back, and then was on her stomach, and then up her ass. He couldn’t stop fucking her. He couldn’t stop kissing her. He couldn’t stop loving her. And then later when she gave him an oral and he gave her an oral, they started all over again.

  But then they fell asleep, and the harsh light of day arrived. Reno showered while Trina still slept. He stood over her naked, wanting to enter that ripe body of hers again, knowing he couldn’t. Not while she was still in dreamland. She gave so much. He knew she was tired from trying to run a place like the PaLargio, he knew how stressful that could be. But she still gave her all to him last night, allowing him to do her over and over, and then, after only a few minutes rest, doing him. Damn straight he wasn’t about to wake her up. She probably couldn’t even will herself to wake up yet. Not yet. She wanted the dream to continue.

  Reno sat at his small kitchen table and sipped coffee, the Seattle Times open but unread, as he looked out at the lumberyard; at the men in colorful hard hats carrying metal lunch boxes clocking in for work; as the loud saws began to shave and split. He would normally be at work around this time, reviewing yesterday’s receipts, preparing to open, reviewing inventories.

  But on this particular morning he couldn’t care less about that restaurant. He had his wife in his bed. A wife he never planned to give up, but had decided he couldn’t see again. It was unfair and unkind, but what could he do? He was no saint. He was a very bad, selfish man. He’d done very bad, selfish things in his life. And his son’s death, a son he had only just known even existed, paid the ultimate prize for the sins of his miserable father.

  And Tree. What pain and anguish he’d caused her. Staying away from her was the least he could do for her. Divorcing her would be the ultimate selfless act, the best he could do for her. But he was no saint. That was asking too much.

  Reno closed his eyes as the pain pierced through him. He didn’t ask for any of this. He had no beef with Frank Partanna. Had never even met the man before. Only knew him by name and reputation. But Partanna iced his father and brother. What did they expect him to do? Nothing? He had to fight back. His baby brother Joey hadn’t done anything to that sick bastard. Pop hadn’t either. He couldn’t let a thing like that happen and he do nothing about it. He just couldn’t do that.

  And then to target his wife and to kidnap and kill his son. What in the world did they expect of him? He didn’t ask for these fights, none of them, but when bullies pushed him, he pushed back, and then knocked them out. That was how he was raised. That was all he knew how to be. Then he caught himself. He was rationalizing again, trying to put lipstick on that pig, and no matter how much he convinced himself that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, it still looked bad.

  “Good morning,” that wonderful voice said and he thought he was in the fog again, dreaming once again. Until he looked over near the kitchen entrance and saw her, in one of his shirts, standing there.

  He saw first her gorgeous brown legs going up to his shirt, knowing that nothing was underneath, knowing that she was still wet and ripe from his pounding, and then he saw that face. He knew it was no dream when he saw her face. She looked angelic at that moment, her dark skin so smooth to the touch, her big, hazel eyes so expressive, so loaded with emotion even when the last thing she wanted to be was emotional. And he loved her so much he could hardly catch his breath. What in the world did they expect of him?

  “Good morning yourself,” he forced himself to say. “Sit down,” he said, rising, “I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Trina didn’t argue with him, she certainly needed something, and as they passed each other they instinctively st
opped, kissed on the lips, and then continued their progression. She sat across from his seat at the table and watched him stand at his drain board and pour her a cup of coffee.

  Her emotions were like a rag in her throat. She could barely speak, could barely breathe, could barely comprehend what last night truly meant. They hadn’t done anything but muddle the waters. They threw sex back into the mix, just when she was beginning to be able to live without his touch. Now it would be impossible. How was she going to leave him now? She was prepared to in that restaurant. When he said he was this awful person and she’d be wise to understand that, she kind of disliked him at that moment in time. That was why she cried. It was as if he had decided her life for her, what she could have, and what she couldn’t, and she didn’t like it. Who was he to tell her what she could and couldn’t have?

  He was Reno, that’s who, she thought as she watched him, as his hair dropped down along his forehead, as his muscular arms still shone through his shirt, as his face still tried to shield his pain when pain was all she saw when she looked at him. Reno was the most domineering force in her life, and she knew that. No matter how she tried to forget him, to separate her heart from his, she couldn’t pull it off. She tried, with all she had within her she tried. But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

  When he handed her the cup of coffee, he lingered over her, watching her, but she didn’t look up. She, instead, sipped her coffee and watched the lumberyard across the street. “Why here?” she asked as he finally sat back down.

  “You mean the lumberyard?”

  “The lumberyard, the isolation, all of it. Why this dump?”

  Reno smiled weakly. “It’s not very polite to call somebody’s home a dump.”

  Trina studied him. “So this is your home now?”

  Reno’s heart began to pound. “It’s my home.”

  “Your permanent home, Reno?”

  “Don’t ask me that, Tree.”

  “Well what do you want me to ask you? I need to know. I can’t go on like this, Reno. I haven’t seen my own husband in six months, he hasn’t called me, he ask about me third person, what is that? I’m tired of telling people that I can’t make a decision because I want you to make it when you get back, and they look at me like I’m a fool! I see their looks, I hear their sneers. Jazz said some of them are calling me Delta Dawn.”

  Reno frowned. “Delta Dawn? Who the hell is that?”

  “It’s an old song, Reno. About this middle-aged southern lady still waiting for her long lost lover to return. And she’s pitiful. They call me Delta Dawn now, Reno.”

  Reno put his hand across his forehead. “You aren’t middle-aged,” he said.

  His joke was so lame, so hurtful to Trina that she stood to her feet. “Okay, Reno,” she said, “it’s a joke. My pain is funny to you.”

  Reno began standing too, shaking his head as he did. “No, Tree, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He took her by her hand, and she just stood there. Like the fool they said she was, she thought, she just stood there. And to her disgust, the tears returned.

  “Oh, Tree,” Reno said, pulling her into his arms, tears appearing in his own eyes. “I just don’t know what to tell you.”

  Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes tightly shut. “Tell me you love me, Reno,” she said, pain in her voice.

  “You know I love you,” Reno said, “what are you talking about?” He pulled her back, to see her face, a frown piercing his. “What are you talking about, Tree? I love you. You know I love you. Don’t you?”

  Trina played with the button on his shirt, saw his broad chest, looked into his eyes. And the doubt in those eyes of hers stunned Reno. “How can you think I don’t love you, Katrina? How can you think something like that?”

  “You left me, Reno,” Trina said. “What was I supposed to think?”

  Tears began to appear in Reno’s stormy blue eyes. As he realized a truth. Even in trying to help her, by leaving her, he had hurt her even more. He was a bastard. It was beyond question now.

  “Oh, Tree,” he said with anguish as he pulled her back into his arms.

  And they stood there, in that tiny kitchen in that tiny house across from that noisy lumberyard, and held each other. Until Reno, panic in his soul, pulled back again, to see her face.

  “I love you with all of my heart, Katrina Gabrini,” he said, his hands now on each side of her face, his finger wiping her tears away. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

  Trina stared into his eyes, and just like him, panic began to surge in her soul. This was it. They both knew it was. “Are you coming back to me, Reno?” she asked him.

  Reno closed his eyes, then opened them back again, his pain undeniable. “I can’t, Tree,” he said, anguish in his voice.

  Trina nodded. Words were fine, powerful even, but they were just words.

  She pulled out of his arms and began to leave the kitchen. He pulled her back. “Tree,” he said, unable to stop his own tears.

  “You’d better get to work, Reno. It’s late. I’ll lock up after I’m gone.”

  Their eyes met, but it was too painful for either one of them to handle.

  And he let her go.

  EPILOGUE

  She walked across the casino floor, small-talking with Jeffrey Graham, speaking to the hundreds of patrons packed in and coming and going as the entire place was wired with the excitement on a bustling Friday night.

  She made her way around corridor after corridor until she was headed for the Taffeta. She hated getting this call, and would have avoided it if she could, but somehow, deep inside of her, she knew it would eventually come.

  Karl Montana, the new manager of the Taffeta, met her in the lounge and escorted her to his office. Inside his office was Jazz and Lee Jones. Lee was seated behind the desk.

  “Hey, boss, what’s up?” he said.

  “Hello, Lee,” Trina said, her eyes set on her old friend Jazz. “Hello, Jazz.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Tree,” Jazz said. “These crackers trying to set me up.”

  Trina frowned. “What crackers? Lee?”

  “Very funny. You know I know Lee is black. Montana, that’s what cracker. He been on my case since he been here. Lee put in his mind that I was a fuck up and he’s been trying to prove it’s true ever since. But what he want from me? What that cracker got against me?”

  “Maybe the fact that his employee is referring to him as a cracker?” Trina asked calmly.

  Jazz bristled. “I wouldn’t call him no cracker if he didn’t act like one. He wanna get rid of me and replace me with some white girl, that’s what this is about. Mark my words.”

  “So his allegation is unfounded, Jazz?” Trina asked, hoping against hope. “Is that what you’re saying to me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying! It’s completely unfounded.”

  “So earlier tonight you didn’t have sex upstairs in one of my hotel rooms with one of our guests?”

  Jazz folded her arms. “This is a witch hunt, that’s what this is.”

  “Were you in one of those hotel rooms tonight, Jazz, having sex with one of our guests?”

  “Yeah I was up there,” Jazz said defiantly and Trina’s heart dropped. Everybody she let into her heart had let her down. She was hoping Jazz would be different. “I was on break,” Jazz continued. “I can do whatever I wanna do on my break. Am I wrong? Am I mistaken?”

  “Stunningly so,” Trina said. “You’re fired, Jazz. Effective immediately.” She began to leave.

  Jazz, stunned herself, stood to her feet. “What are you doing, Tree? How can you fire me? You gonna let this cracker break up our friendship? How can you do this? Tree! Tree! Trina!

  But Trina was gone, through more corridors, up to the private elevator, into the elevator, to the penthouse. Her home.

  As soon as she got inside, she wanted to cry. A month ago, she would have cried. But she didn’t think she had any more tears left. Jazz had brought her downfall on herself. She
had warned her, had urged her to get her act together, but she didn’t believe it, didn’t want to get it together, or just flat didn’t care. In any of those scenarios, however, Trina thought, she had sealed her own fate.