Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  I knew he was stating facts, and I knew it all related to the simple and unnegotiable act of protecting Gia. It was the part where the need for such protection came in that made me uneasy.

  “Well you’re here now. You should try actually meeting some of them.” I let the obnoxious suggestion hang in the air and smiled sweetly.

  “Another time, maybe. I have pressing business to attend to,” he rebutted, then nonchalantly stood and pushed the chair back to its original placement.

  “Oh?” I queried as he approached my desk again.

  “Yes. It seems there is a situation with my daughter’s teacher.” He was pulling me up to him now, and I saw his eyes had grown dark and hungry.

  “Oh. I see. And what seems to be the problem?” I nearly moaned when he put his hand in my hair and pulled me against him.

  He leaned into me, mouth on my ear, and gave the lobe one little bite before whispering, “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  At that point, I was a goner and I knew it. Marcello released me and walked calmly to the open door, pulling it shut gently and locking it. He reached out a hand to me, and I eagerly went to him and let him lead me to the back of the classroom. He pulled me into the tiny nook behind one of my bookshelves. It was decorated with rainbows and smiley faces, and I giggled.

  “Here?” I questioned, thinking of how the students used this space to huddle up during free reading time.

  “It’s the only place the cameras can’t see in the entire room,” he offered lightly. My eyes widened and I opened my mouth to speak (what cameras?), but Marcello put a finger to my lips and shook his head. “We can talk about that later.”

  With that his lips were once again consuming mine, and I surrendered instantly. I was pulling his clothing off this time – though not in the calm manner he had undressed me that first night. There was an uncontrollable appetite roaring inside of me, and every inch of his skin that bared itself while I ripped away at buttons and zippers made the heat grow furiously. I pulled my own shirt off, thankful that today’s top had no buttons to deal with. My bra disappeared in record time, and as I went to remove my skirt, Marcello grabbed my hands. I looked up at him, impatient and nearing tantrum-throwing levels of feistiness.

  “Let’s leave that,” he suggested, his voice much huskier now. He slipped his hands up my skirt and yanked my panties down, letting them fall to the ground around my heels. With intense aggression that both shocked and thrilled me, he lifted me up by my hips and pushed me against the wall, thrusting his shaft into me immediately. I was already a wet and ready mess, and the initial feel of him surging inside of me turned me feral.

  This was different than the last time. My breasts were beating against his chest with every thrust of his body, his muscles were taut and covered in a thick, angry sweat. He held me like I weighed no more than a leaf, and every lunge was harder and deeper, making me moan so loudly I clamped a hand over my own mouth. I had never been fucked quite like this before. In fact, I wasn’t sure that I had ever known that it was possible to be fucked like this. My pleasure was rising with every relentless attack of his insatiable body. As I began to come, hand still stifling what now was closer to a scream, Marcello locked eyes with me, still thrusting and watching every last rapturous gasp of my climax. He kept the eye contact through the rapid, lust-crazed releasing pounds of his own ecstasy, and I held a hand over his mouth while he roared his conclusion into my tiny palm.

  For a few moments, he rested his head against my breasts, breathing heavily and still holding me tightly between the wall and his bare body. Finally, and with seeming reluctance, he gently lowered me to the floor and grabbed my face in his hands, eyes wild and stern. “You... Are... Mine...” he panted heavily as he dove deeply into my eyes. “Just mine... You understand this?”

  I felt electric waves shooting excitedly through my body, returning his gaze and realizing that he was incredibly serious. I nodded, too exhausted to speak and still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

  “Mine,” he repeated. One last long look and then he released my face and began the task of pulling his clothing back on, piece by piece. I watched his tattooed back flex and flair magnificently as he did so, and then it too disappeared beneath his crisp, white shirt. He handed me my bra, smiling now and looking again like a mischievous little boy. “You dropped that.”

  I giggled and held it loosely, feeling weak and worn yet wanting more – always more. Putting anything back on seemed like a task I did not currently have the energy to complete.

  Marcello pulled me to him, his hands on my bare back. “I have to go, Abby. I don’t want to, but I have to. I’ll call you tonight.” He kissed me fiercely, lingered for a moment staring at me, then swiftly turned and was out the classroom door in seconds.

  I laid my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. Here I was, in my classroom reading nook, half-naked, skirt still pushed up to my waist, with Marcello’s sweet cum now dribbling down my thighs.

  Not exactly teacher-of-the-year material, but who the hell cares.

  I began the task of pulling myself back together and a small smile spread across my face.

  Mine.

  I crept around the classroom, silently tending to all the little tasks that I normally would have completed an hour ago. I felt happy, if not a bit sore, and I would have been on cloud nine if it weren’t for that one nagging memory of what Marcello had said.

  “It’s the only place in the entire room the cameras can’t see.”

  Winston certainly had security cameras set up in various places and was not shy about making the staff aware of them. Inside of each individual classroom, however, was not one of the areas that was mentioned in this disclosure.

  It took all of my self-control to not look up and about, scanning for surveillance. I was starting to understand the “rat in a cage” metaphor a little too well.

  It’s for Gia. That made me relax a little, thinking of her little face and feeling a wave of affection roll over me. Gia was certainly worth protecting.

  I was buttoning my coat when Felicity burst into my room once again.

  “Abby. What in the actual fuck?” Her eyes were still wide, her shock still apparent, and something else was on her face that I did not often see.

  Disapproval?

  “Fel,” I began, knowing I was blushing to a deep red and trying to stop the seemingly permanent smile from spreading across my face. “A visit. A surprise visit,” I offered lamely.

  Felicity held my gaze, nodding. “Yes, I saw that.” She had her coat on and a small stack of papers under one arm. “I thought you should probably know that these old brick walls aren’t quite as soundproof as you may have previously assumed...”

  If I hadn’t been red before, I certainly was now. My eyes went huge with horror. I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out.

  “Chill, Abs. Nobody heard. Okay well nobody besides me,” Felicity’s emphatic words caused her to finally grin.

  Was she the only one who heard? Did the cameras record audio as well as video? Who was on the other end of them? Who just listened to Marcello fuck my brains out?

  “Come over to my place. We can talk about it all you want,” I offered, pulling her by the arm out into the hall with me and suddenly wanting very much to be anywhere else.

  Felicity stared at me intensely, trying to read my face. “Okaaaay... Sure. I can come over.” She now walked along beside me silently, and we made our way out of the school and off Winston property.

  It was cold. This was the time of the year when Felicity and I both started breaking down and getting Ubers. This evening we just kept walking. The fresh air felt exhilarating on my face and after everything that had just taken place, I had enough of a natural adrenaline high going that I was sure I could walk much further than the five blocks to my apartment.

  Felicity didn’t seem quite as carefree. She kept her head down, bracing against the occasional brisk December wind and staying uncharacteris
tically silent. It was unsettling, and I almost regretted asking her to come over as I felt a shadow start to creep across my bliss.

  Once inside, I started a fresh pot of much needed coffee and we immediately cozied up with blankets on my couch. “You disapprove,” I blurted, surprising myself by talking first.

  Felicity tilted her head and stared at me for a moment. “No. Not of Mr. Morano.” She paused and seemed to be searching for words. “I think – it seemed a little reckless for Abigail Greene to get a good pounding right in her classroom before the buses had even all cleared out of the parking lot. I’m sure you’ve heard of the concept of schoolgrounds misconduct.”

  I grimaced, and she giggled. “Fel, I know – I wasn’t really thinking, you know, I just was... gone.” This was in no way a satisfactory excuse, and I knew it.

  “Oh, trust me, I know,” Felicity confirmed, wrinkling her nose. “I felt like a fucking perverted sentinel lurking around the hall and making sure no one else joined in for the special radio program.”

  I covered my face with my hands. The embarrassment was excruciating. But I would still do it again – a hundred times over. “I guess I got lucky. I can’t - I can’t see when I’m with Marcello. All I see is him.”

  Felicity nodded and softened a little. “I know, Abs. I actually think it’s great. You’ve needed something or someone like this for a long time – spice it up a bit. Go wild. Just don’t lose your job over it. I don’t wanna be stuck in that goddamn school with all those rich assholes by myself.”

  I wasn’t even remotely worried about losing my job. I was beginning to realize that no one at Winston was probably ever fired or hired without Marcello’s consent. There was a reason he felt he could walk into the place unannounced after hours and fuck the quiet, blonde, first grade teacher in her classroom like a rabid animal.

  He owned Winston. If not legally, in every other way that mattered. And those ways seemed to hold far more weight than a simple deed.

  “You’re smiling,” Felicity accused.

  And I was. I was staring dreamily out the window and smiling without even knowing I was smiling. Fog was settling over my thoughts again, and I spoke in a quiet, happy voice. “Has anyone ever told you that you are theirs? Has anyone ever called you “mine”? You are mine. Has anyone ever said that to you?” I paused, running a finger across the window pane. “Cuz it’s lovely, Fel. It’s fucking lovely.”

  Felicity’s face had become an instant landscape of revulsion and fear, but I didn’t care.

  I was too far gone.

  Chapter 8

  Felicity didn’t stay long after that. The words “creepy” and “fucked up” had been just a few that dotted her response to my comments.

  Her opinion of Marcello, which instinctively I knew was not so high as she had pretended to begin with, had soured considerably in a mere instant. It seemed ironic, considering all of the things about him that she still didn’t know.

  I realized that no matter what space oblivion my brain might be on at any given moment, I was going to have to keep much more of this to myself. I wanted to think that she was overreacting, but I could hear my words, feel my feelings, and knew that whatever the situation was between Marcello and I, it was nothing if not alarmingly abnormal.

  Fel insisted she wasn’t upset with me and protested when I insisted on paying for her Uber. I could feel the new, foreign chasm between us forming, and it was all happening too quickly to stop. I hugged her and watched out my window to make sure she got her ride. I felt misunderstood and foolish for thinking this could be understood.

  Watching the taillights of her car remorsefully, I thought nothing of the dark, nondescript sedan that pulled out quietly from the curb and followed after her. Foolishly, I also completely disregarded the equally dark and nondescript sedan which had been present outside of my apartment the entire evening.

  Marcello made good on his promise and called around 8:00 that night. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding my breath waiting to see whether or not he would until my phone rang.

  “Decent day, huh?” He joked after the initial awkward and giddy “hellos” had been exchanged.

  I giggled. “I guess. It was alright.”

  “Alright?” He knee-jerk responded, making me laugh. There was something triumphant and sexy in getting under Mr. Morano’s cool, calm skin. He recovered and laughed a little himself. “Yes. You seemed to think it was quite alright at the time, Miss Greene.”

  I was momentarily glad that no matter how badly I wanted to be touching him and not having a phone conversation, he at least couldn’t see how stupidly huge I was smiling. Then I was reminded of the cameras and just what could be seen – (oh God, or heard) – in my daily workplace.

  “Marcello. The cameras.” It wasn’t a question, but he knew what I was asking.

  “Abby, relax. I have extra security cameras in Gia’s classroom. Last year they were in Miss Howard’s. This year they are in yours. It isn’t a big deal,” he talked slowly, calmly – trying to sooth me before I could fully freak out.

  It was working.

  “But who sees that stuff? Who’s watching? Can they hear me?” I spilled out all my queries at once.

  Marcello chuckled a little, and I was sure he had that maddening smirk on his face as he replied, “A little nervous about the footage from today, Miss Greene?” I didn’t have time to respond before he continued. “I’m the only one who sees those particular cameras, Abby. Gia’s classroom cameras aren’t immediately accessible to anyone else. And yes. Audio can be turned on or off. I do believe we might have made a number one, top of the billboard charts hit today.”

  He was laughing, and I couldn’t stop myself from joining, very relieved and also still heavily embarrassed. “You’re not going to listen to that!” I cringed, but also felt a little curiosity at exactly how “interesting” that playback might be.

  “Winter is cold and lonely, Miss Greene,” he answered, truly devilish and mildly infuriating with his playful nature. He seemed to try to sober up then, and through fading laughter, informed me that it was time for Gia’s nightly story reading.

  I hated myself instantly for the immediate “Awww!” that escaped my mouth. Any woman would have had the same response, and that was what bothered me. I didn’t want to feel cliché. I didn’t want to feel suckered into forgetting reality by the sweet side of this man.

  I also didn’t want to have that voice leave my ear for any reason at all. Ever.

  “I will see you soon, Abby,” he promised, sounding a bit frustrated himself.

  “Will you?” I returned, trying to still be light but feeling that achy, burning need growing up from my stomach.

  “I will. Good night.”

  I couldn’t help but think somberly as I prepared for bed – alone – that no night would really be that “good” from here on out unless I was spending it with Marcello.

  The school day was always my best distraction from any and all concerns involving my private life. Keeping the James O’Connors of the world from mortally wounding themselves with common classroom supplies was enough to consume anyone’s thoughts and energy for hours.

  In and out of my mind like a hazy wave of consciousness, it would occur to me that I was on camera, and that Marcello might be watching me at that exact second. It bothered me at first, but the more it crossed my mind, I realized the image of Marcello viewing me in my pert little private school teacher’s outfit – and knowing he couldn’t rip it off of me – seemed pretty fucking hot.

  I wasn’t sure when “the rat in a cage” syndrome had morphed into this fiery, inner deliciousness at being hungrily viewed, but I was a woman reformed.

  Reformed and insane.

  Felicity didn’t pop in for coffee time after school, and I had the flashing thought that I might have ruined – or at least irreversibly altered – the very dynamic of our friendship. I shook it off as extreme. One weird evening did not immediately undo seven years of friendship. Probabl
y.

  As I completed the obligatory tasks of the day yet again, I was more than slightly aware of the growing disappointment gnawing somewhere deep within me that Marcello had not unexpectedly appeared at my classroom door like the previous day. It was silly, I knew. That scenario would not be a wise one to repeat – Felicity had been right about that – but it was currently the thing I wanted most in the world.

  Buttoning my coat and casting a longing glance towards the reading nook, I nearly ran straight into the school custodian as I approached my door. “Charlie! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, bending to pick up the mop my knee had knocked straight out of his hands.

  “No, no, Miss Greene. Pardon me. I wasn’t watching where I was going!” He laughed good naturedly, holding out a hand to stop me and retrieving the mop himself.

  “You and me both,” I agreed, happy for one split second to have such a normal, friendly interaction with someone as sweet as old Charles McGee to bring me back to reality and out of my torturous, inner world of angst.

  The second was short lived.

  “Miss Greene, would you mind if – would it be okay if we had a little talk?” He asked, his friendly brown eyes now showing hints of something less pleasant.

  Completely caught off guard and struck with a deep panic for no tangible reason I could think of, I nodded, still smiling. “Of course, Charlie! What’s up?”

  The kids are sticking bubblegum on the undersides of their desks. Someone has been stuffing wrappers into the cracks between filing cabinets. Excessive floor scuffing. My brain whirled about trying to think of any reason that Charlie would need a private conversation with me, the unremarkable first grade teacher.

  He came fully into my classroom, pulling his cart in with him. He seemed to ponder closing the door, but left it open at last. I had backed into my room, almost to my desk, and was trying to keep the distress from showing in my expression.

  There was perhaps a two second period of awkward silence (which seemed to last an entire millennium in my brain) where we looked at each other. Charlie cleared his throat, and, speaking in a conspiratorially low voice, murmured, “One second, ma’am,” as he walked to a far corner in the room and flipped a switch on the tiny thermostat carefully. “Okay. There.” He turned back to me and I was actually frozen in fear at this point. I knew without asking that the switch he had flipped had everything to do with surveillance and nothing to do with the classroom temperature; and his reasoning for such a move made me tense and ready to flee.