Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2)

by Alice May Ball

  They were pathetic, and they made me sick.

  When I got near enough to the table to see, he stood behind Alix Mayburn, one of the fashion-plate cheerleaders. Teased and pampered peroxide-blonde hair and butterscotch skin, she had on way more jewelry and makeup than the rules allowed.

  A thin golden rope chain rose and fell on the tops of her breasts. Her shirt was open to the bottom of her cleavage.

  “See these thick red lips?” he held her jaw, moved her face from side to side and said, “I thought I might fuck her, Sis.” Right from that moment and for all the time we were at school together, he never once called me by my name when anyone could hear.

  “She’s got good enough tits, look…” his hand slid slowly down along her throat, then into her shirt and her eyes rolled as she sighed. All the girls around rolled their hips and clenched their asses. Their scent was like a cloud.

  Her face and body folded as he squeezed her breast, “and her ass is suh-weet.” As he took his hand up her skirt, her mouth drooped and her tongue lolled, soft, limp and wet.

  She turned her head and her eyes pleaded up at him. He wasn’t looking, because his focus was still on me. “Only, I want her to suck my cock first, and I need her to get it all the way down her throat. She says she can do it, but look at those lips.” He lifted an eyebrow, “You think she can do it?” My panties were soaked so bad by this point, I’d have given anything just to get them off.

  “Hey, I think your sis might want in on the action, too.” Gutbucket raised his nose to make a show of sniffing the air and he craned his neck down in a big, theatrical gesture to sniff at me.

  He pulled a face and grinned as he said, “Eeew, gross!” and they all laughed. Gutbucket said, “I’ll fuck her for you. Just to do you the solid, y’know?”

  All the fun drained out of his face, and his eyes popped as my stepbrother’s arm whipped out and his hand clamped on Gutbucket’s throat.

  “You don’t so much as look at her,” he hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You don’t get within breathing distance of her, get me?”

  I had never seen eyes blaze like that before, or felt a tremble of rage like the one in his voice. He spoke in a low snarl through his clenched teeth. My throat was tight and my heart thumped.

  I heard one of the cheerleaders mutter, “Well, who’d want to?” and they all doubled over in giggles.

  The next time I saw him was that night at home. I knew that what I felt was wrong, although I probably wasn’t even old enough to know why. Was it wrong then, if I didn’t know? I never really got why it was all supposed to be so dreadfully wrong anyway. It was all way too complicated for me.

  I’d heard about him from Mother and father. Lord Chatterton told me since I was tiny, probably since the day I was born, all about my brother back in England. He was in a fee-paying boarding school there, called Cricket or something like it.

  I sat on the top of the stairs in our old house and he came in the door. He stood at the bottom of the stairs looked so much older than me that he was like another kind of species.

  I was kind of scared. I knew that Lord Chatterton, the asshat called him ‘Baz,’ but I didn’t know why, of course I didn’t. It would be years before I found out.

  Standing in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs with his shaggy, curly blond hair, he looked angelic. At least, he had, until he turned to look up at me and I saw his eyes and his cunning smile. I felt like my insides melted and splashed out of me, and cascaded down the steps.

  It was then that I realized he could see straight up my skirt. I knew that I should move, to close my legs or pull my skirt tighter. It was kinda hard not to. But it gave me a dark sensation, a thrill that I had never experienced before that moment. It was something I have never forgotten. It was so very wrong. And I wanted it, again and again.

  As his eyes lingered on the bottoms of my thighs, I could almost feel them, like he was touching me, just by looking. I knew that I needed to press my thighs tighter together and to sweep my plaid skirt tight underneath them.

  That wasn’t what I did, though. As I felt the caress of his gaze sneak higher up my legs, farther up my skirt, I let my thighs part. Just a little. Just enough. His stare scraped like a fluttering touch up even more. I felt he wanted to get all the way up. Up to the very tops of my thighs.

  I let my legs slowly part and his eyes widened and glowed as they came to probe and hold on the soaking, hot fabric of my knickers. The air in all my body had come to life. I panted hard and my chest pressed out.

  My hard nipples were sore and an unbearable ache began between my legs as I saw the effect that the sight of my knickers had on the swelling, lengthening, hardening flesh inside the front of his bluejeans.

  Father was in the kitchen. I overheard him telling Mother, “His mother was a cruel and callous bitch and I hope the school has knocked every part of her out of him.” His eyes blazed at me and his lips drew back.

  His blond curls bobbed as he came slowly up the stairs. An electric tingle ran from my stomach down into my panties as he came nearer. That tingle I had only felt a couple of times before. Times when something good somehow felt really bad, or when something bad felt really, really good. Now it made the whole of my body jolt.

  He muttered in that whisper of his, said that his Mother was the better part of him. That she knew what she wanted and how to get it. And that he knew that, too. As it slipped out under his breath, he told me that he cursed his father, our father, for depriving him of his mother for almost the whole of his life.

  As I heard him, I cursed our father too, but for a different reason. This manboy, this vision, was the only boy I had ever wanted. I sensed that he wanted me, too. Not only to leer up my skirt, which I was happy for him to do, whenever and however often he wanted to, but more. I knew that he wanted much more. As I did.

  And our father had made it so that he was the one, the only boy I could never have. Not without the most dire of consequences.

  That first night he was in our our home he shared my room. There wasn’t another room spare, although he could have slept on the couch in the living room. But he didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to do that, either.

  We all ate dinner together, with father at the head of the table, just like we always did. The only difference was that, this time, I was able to spend the whole of dinner gazing at the most beautiful boy I had ever, ever seen.

  Father was talking about the new house. “Should have got us moved in before the boy came, of course. Damned inconvenient. Blasted contractors. Can’t get the staff for love nor money.”

  I saw a strange expression light up Mother’s face at that moment, but it passed quickly and she was obviously keen to hide it from Father. Father was looking at Roger. “Settling in at the school alright? Not what you’re used to, obviously. Much for the better I’m sure.”

  Roger’s voice was hard, “Cheaper is what you mean, isn’t it?” he stared hard at his father and Lord Chatterton stared hard back at him. It was like watching a bull and a young stag locking horns. “Although why you care what anything costs,” Roger said, “with all of your money, beats me.”

  Between my legs I throbbed and buzzed like a tugboat.

  “What number are you in line to the throne?” Roger taunted father.

  “Not something a chap thinks about,” father lied, “About a hundred and thirty seven.”

  “So!” said Roger triumphantly, “You do think about it.”

  “No point dwelling on it. Never going to happen.”

  “But if, just for instance, if all one hundred and thirty six of the others were on the same plane,”

  “Which would be treasonous,” Father thundered, “Endangerment of the realm act, fourteen ninety three.”

  “If the plane went down,” Roger pressed on, “And then you happened to be in a car crash,” he lifted his glass of water, “then I would be King of good old merrie England!”

  My thighs tightened as I tried to con
tain the liquid streams of tingling sensation. I hadn’t ever heard anyone speak to father like that. His face darkened.

  “It isn’t something you would understand, obviously. Still, proves that I made the right choice pulling you out of that school. Clear to see they didn’t teach you anything of much value.”

  “Your values,” Roger snarled, “wouldn’t be anything much to treasure. Still, I’ll be able to make my own judgement when I inherit all your of money. Do you have any plans to die in the near future? Is there anything I can do to assist?”

  Father snarled at him, “Don’t be so sure about the inheritance, boy,” his eyes burned, “I may have found a way to fix that.” And his eyes slipped over to me.

  I wasn’t really listening at this point. All of my concentration was on keeping my hands on the top of the table and not letting my fingers plunge into my panties.

  ~

  After dinner, Roger and I went upstairs to the bedroom. My bedroom. We both stood in opposite corners of the room. I wanted to undress, but I was afraid to. Even more, I wanted to see him undress.

  I wanted to see the buttons on his crisp white shirt pop, to watch his chest and his stomach, and to gaze as his bluejeans slid down over those hard, muscular thighs. My throat dried and my mouth watered at the thought of seeing a pair of soft cotton briefs, with the firm bulge of him inside.

  The firm roundness of his plummy voice set my insides quivering. “We aren’t allowed to touch each other,” he said. “In fact, I think we may be about to commit a crime just by sleeping in the same room together.”

  His eager eyes ran over my young breasts over my soft, pulsing throat and down. Down to where my shaking thighs buzzed under my short plaid skirt, over my watery, unreliable knees.

  The tip of his tongue slipped out between his full lips. “We can’t touch each other, especially not in the places I want to touch you,” his eyes were still on the insides of my thighs. “And we definitely can’t have sex.” I nearly collapsed when he said that.

  Then he said, “At least, not with each other.”

  I knew it was wrong. I knew that I shouldn’t do it. I knew that I wanted it so bad I had no way at all to resist. He said, “Let’s not turn the light on.”

  The silvery moonlight was enough to see the room, but bathed the raw ordinariness in a magical blue twilight.

  His hands were on his hips as he faced me, his broad shoulders back and his proud head high. A bulge strained the denim at the top of his powerful thighs, a bulge that slowly moved. Lengthened as I stared, wide-eyed at it. Thickened as I licked my cherry-red lips.

  As I looked up into his eyes his hand slipped across and the tips of his fingers began to trace the line of the long, fat bulge. My eyes popped wide and the insides of my legs trembled. My hand, on the top my thigh began to move of its own accord, without my willing it. It pulled the hem of my skirt higher.

  “See,” he said, “We can have sex,” my other hand clawed at my breast through my white cotton shirt and my bra and I gasped as he went on, “Only not with each other.”

  Now I knew what it was that I wanted. Now that it was crystal clear that I could never, ever have it. My finger touched the front of my knickers, just exactly where he had stared at them while I sat at the top of the stairs. My finger felt the hot, thrumming wetness and inside my pants I ached so hard the buzz was almost a sound.

  My thighs flexed as I watched him noisily drag his nail, over the rough denim and up and down the length of his hardening cock. My chest swelled like it would burst. His eyes widened as he watched the rise and fall of my breasts, as I squeezed through the cotton and the padding of the bra.

  I moaned as I rolled my hardening, stinging nipple between my thumb and forefinger. The look in his eye reminded me, we mustn’t let the parents hear. Certainly not Lord Chatterton. Mother, who knows what Mother would think.

  He flipped open the buttons of his shirt and I was transfixed in the half-light by the glistening muscles of his chest and arms. I drew breath at the definition of his abs. “That boarding school phys ed must be pretty good,” I mumbled, inanely.

  My fingers had slid inside my panties. Absently I rubbed around the hood of my clit. My other hand pressed my lips apart and pushed softly up the insides of my lips and traced around my folds. I was so hot and so wet, the scent made me giddy.

  As he dropped the white shirt down his arms and it fell to the floor, I buckled at the waist and had to lean back against the wall. My fingers were flying, rubbing inside, far up, and outside. My thighs shook as they parted.

  When he popped the buttons of his bluejeans, I chewed my lip and ran my fingers around and around my lips. I pressed either side of my clit to make it pop in and out. I fought to keep the sound of my shaking moans from gurgling out too loudly.

  When I saw his soft, silky boxers peep out of the open fly and the pole of his cock thrust the fabric out, I folded and I sank to my knees. My face contorted and I couldn’t keep my eyes open to stare at him as he unsheathed himself completely and I collapsed.

  Slowly I lifted myself from the floor. My clothes were wet and my face was, too. He stepped out of his pants and my eyes fixed on his gorgeous ass, his fine, strong soccer player’s legs and the rigid telegraph pole that swung at an upward forty-five degrees from his groin.

  So badly I wanted to grab the two almost ‘s’ shaped indentations, either side of his hips. To grab and squeeze the wonderful rolling globes of his ass and to stroke that fine thrusting flesh, that magnificent, proud cock. More, I wanted to lick it. Taste it. Beat it against my tongue and slide my lips over it. My fingers were up inside me again as he threw back the sheets and blanket and climbed into bed. Into. My. Bed.

  Seeing his fabulous, sculpted body there, there against my wall, on my mattress, my fingers flicked and I squeezed my lips together as I came again.

  It took a moment for me to get up to my knees, but I didn’t take my eyes of his thick, pulsing cock as he stroked it, grasped it, gently, so softly brushed the skin underneath it and drew his thumb along the gentle curve at the top.

  I almost ripped my panties puling them off. He squeezed the underneath right below the bulb and then slid his hand down again. All the time his eyes stayed fixed on mine.

  His honeyed voice melted me inside, “You can’t touch it. Not now, not ever.”

  I gasped for breath as I lay beside him, so close that the heat of his body caressed my breast and my tummy.

  “You can come as close as you like to it, though.” My heart thundered as I bent near to him and smelled his dark, musky scent. “I can feel your breath.” He whispered, and I felt his breath, too, in my hair. He said, “I think it’s alright for you to touch me with your breath. While the air is still in your body, it could be considered apart of you, couldn’t it? But not after it’s left your soft, warm throat and passed your lovely, wet lips.” I breathed hot and heavily on him as the sensations inside me rose and swirled again.

  He said, “Oh, yes, you can blow on me. OH! Just that touch, the caress of your sweet breath, that’s wonderful. Oh God, oh, yes, oh,” and he clamped his lips shut, his eyes squeezed tight and then popped open as he grunted. “Honey!” his cock lengthened still more, it reddened and pulsed and a fountain of thick, white juice burst out in bolts.

  A drop landed on my tongue.

  His voice grated as he gasped for breath, “You mustn’t taste that.” Too late, “You certainly mustn’t lick the long sticky strand from your lips.” Oops! “Oh, and you definitely mustn’t swallow any of it.”

  The taste was salty and electric. I wanted to peer up and give him a naughty little girl look. Fluttering have-I-been-bad eyelids. I couldn’t because once again the swirling tides of ecstasy blasted through me.