Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  I flew blindly behind him, through a living room, a glimpse of a kitchen, down a short hall – to the left, into a bedroom and then he was pulling me on top of him on a giant, unmade bed.

  It didn’t seem enough to take our clothes off or even strip them – we clawed like mad animals at each other's clothing. His sculpted, naked body was lain out like a map from God himself – the black ink weaving its way around rock hard miles of muscle. He was huge and ready – pulling me onto him while ramming inside of me so forcefully that we both moaned – and I remembered the absolute ecstasy of riding Mr. Maximo Fanucci. I worked my bare body up and down, up and down, squeezing tightly to his shaft and feeling each thrust demand to go deeper inside of me with absolutely no mercy – no pity. I arched my body back, and his hands pulled me down by my hips, digging fingers into my soft flesh and forcing me to move faster and faster while my breasts bounced freely – wildly before him.

  That thirsty fire was beginning to blaze hot and sweet inside of me – my insides turning to quivers as I felt his throbs becoming larger and crazy with power. We were both screaming now – oh’s that escaped unhindered, laced in ecstasy and need. I was coming – furiously bursting with internal rapture – and he pumped, so swiftly now, erupting inside of me with his own euphoria and letting out an animal’s growl that echoed off the walls like a symphony.

  I collapsed on him, soft breasts against that rock-hard chest, still feeling his last shaking quivers inside of me – like the happy aftershocks of a magnificent earthquake. Sweet streams of come – the mixture of our bodies’ insatiable desires, crept slowly down my thighs, making a steaming, beautiful mess of our lower halves.

  I exhaled, feeling my heart trying to catch a regular rhythm again.

  This. This is what we just could never get away from.

  This is what I never want to get away from.

  I smiled, satisfied and exhausted, and Max whispered in my ear, “Best run ever.”

  The rest of that day and night went by like a dream. At some point I texted Dario and told him I wouldn’t be home. At another point Max called his mother and asked her kindly if she could keep Nic overnight. Everyone seemed more than pleased with the situation.

  And when it came to pleasure, we were redefining the word.

  Some carnal psychosis had possessed me, and I desperately needed to physically fuse – make love – be fucked in every position, in every room, repeatedly – ruthlessly. We were two fleshly parts of a powerful whole, and we had been separated for far too long. The erotic energy between us crackled like a wild electric current set completely free. Max was larger, harder, even more beautiful than I had remembered – and I needed him in me just as profoundly as he demanded to be in me. His hazel stare hypnotized me – making me embrace the love and passion I had hid from for so incredibly long.

  When we finally began to fall into a deep sleep sometime as the sun started to rise, I realized, naked and bare in Max’s arms, that I could have been this incredibly happy for the last six years – and he could have been too.

  I had stolen that from both of us.

  When I woke, I had the hazy memory of Max leaving a while earlier. He had stood over me – half dressed, shirtless, chest and arms massive – but with the most gentle, happy expression on his face, saying quietly, “I’m going to go pick up Nic. You get some rest.” Then he had kissed me on the forehead and lips, and I had dozed back into oblivion.

  I now heard their voices from somewhere in the house.

  “He said his puppy is going to be in shows ‘cause his mom only raises show dogs, and I said that wasn’t very nice. Then I told him that poodles aren’t very exciting, and when I get a dog, he’s gonna be a big dog and he’s gonna protect me like real dogs do. That’s what real dogs do, right, Daddy?” Such a little voice, and so much to say. I smiled, listening.

  Max was laughing, but very obviously trying to remain neutral and fair. “Nic, poodles are real dogs. You have to be nice to Mike about his puppy – he's probably really excited, just like you’ll be when you get your puppy,” he chided.

  Nic sighed – a dramatic four-year-old huff of surrender. “Yeah, okay. I guess you’re right.”

  “But... I promise you that we won’t get a poodle, okay? We’ll get a real dog,” he added, laughing again. Now I could hear Nic joining him, realizing his father’s viewpoint on the subject wasn’t that far off from his own.

  I wasn’t sure when or if this was the right time, but I took my chances and walked quietly down the hall and into the kitchen, where the two of them turned as one and stared at me with identical sets of large, hazel eyes.

  Nic was so beautiful, and looked so much like Max, that for a moment I was struck speechless. He gazed at me with open curiosity and an unabashed smile.

  “I’ve seen pictures of you! My Nonni showed me! She said you were the most beautiful girl in the world and I think she was right!” He spilled all of this out with excitement, and I was sure my heart was actually, instantly melting inside of my chest.

  Max was beaming across from him, staring at me with worshipful eyes – as though I had dropped straight from heaven itself. The combination of their adoration was over-powering, and I knew this was its own unique mixture of love and belonging – something that could never be replicated.

  “Hi, Nic. I’m Natalia. It’s really great to meet you.”

  After a rather conversational breakfast, Max and Nic had driven me home. Nic’s little voice in the backseat never really stopped, and I found it delightful – his energy and his innocence. He was genuinely interested in anything and everything. And Maximo’s face when he looked at Nic – it was something so priceless and endearing that it almost hurt my heart.

  It was the same way Pop looked at me – a father’s love.

  Max gave me a reasonably long kiss before I left them, and for a split second that woozy delirium crept back into my brain. We both recovered though, realizing a very inquisitive set of hazel eyes were fixed on us.

  “Call you later,” I said sweetly, suddenly feeling like a teenager all over again. And Maximo’s returned smile spoke volumes. I knew what he felt – I was feeling it too.

  I entered my home, the dear old Angelone house, with a new thought in my mind.

  Maybe you CAN come home again...

  Glimpses of my life in California flashed across my brain and I realized clearly for the first time that I was considering leaving all of that behind... for Max.

  Dario didn’t seem to be home – he would have greeted me by now with his big stupid grin, asking questions immediately. I made my way quietly to Pop’s room, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping.

  He looked so peaceful, laying in his bed, eyes closed and hands relaxed at his sides.

  He doesn’t look like he’s in that terrible pain when he’s like this.

  The thought had barely warmed my mind when another thought followed it.

  But he ALWAYS looks like he’s in pain these days.

  I suddenly ran to the side of his bed, grabbing his wrist, checking for that reassuring thump against my fingers. It wasn’t there. My hand flew to his neck, searching, pressing, begging the pulse to meet me there.

  It didn’t.

  Pop was dead.

  Chapter 12

  Maximo

  My mother was sobbing in the kitchen – harder, I thought briefly, than when her own husband had died. I was staring at my phone, trying to decide whether or not I should call Natalia again.

  She hadn’t answered the first three times I had called two hours ago. She hadn’t called me back. I had just tried again – no answer. Of course, I knew she was now in her own personal hell of grief, but being shut out by Nat was a sensation I was all too familiar with. It caused an instant panic to rise up inside of me that I had never known how to control.

  “I’m going over there for a minute, Ma. Just to check on them. I won’t be long,” I said, striding into the kitchen and putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up
at me with swollen eyes, unable – or unwilling – to stop crying.

  “Yes, Maximo. Make sure they are okay. Tell them I will come by later when I – when I – ” Elena Fanucci could no longer speak, and I hugged her firmly.

  “I’ll be back, Ma. Nic is still napping in his room. Try to hold it together as much as possible for him, please?” I was throwing my coat on and grabbing my keys, casting a last worried glance at my mother.

  “Eso no tiene sentido, Maximo!” She now wailed at me. “Grief should not be hidden! Grief must be shared! It must breathe!”

  “I’m sorry, Ma. It’s gonna be okay,” I conceded, nodding and knowing she was, on some level, quite correct.

  “He was a very good man, Maximo,” she said, for about the billionth time sense Pop Angelone had been diagnosed, putting her silk handkerchief to her eyes.

  “I know, Ma. I know.”

  The short drive over gave me a second to process Pop’s death myself. When Dario had called, Nic had been right beside me, and I hadn’t wanted to lose it in front of him. He knew Pop, too, and it would be a delicate situation to guide him through. I had spent most of the afternoon trying to reach Natalia, consoling my mother, and trying not to think about the fact that Pop was actually dead.

  Dead.

  He was as close to a father as I had known, since my own passed away when I was thirteen. While my actual father had shown me, as a small child, that many things were awaiting me “when you become a man”, it was Pop who had actually been there to guide me through those things at the appropriate times.

  Now they were both gone. Johnny withstanding (and he was a rather frail support at this point in his life, if he was anything at all), the “elder generation” were done – retired, or simply dead. Gone.

  I sucked in a deep breath, feeling my own grief hit at the same moment as the terror of truly being in charge of the business took over. I thought I might vomit for a second, and quickly pulled over. But all that came out was a maddening rush of tears and agony.

  I needed Pop. We all did. I loved Pop.

  We. All. Did.

  The added realization that it was still possible to lose Natalia on top of Pop being gone and my freedom being completely over actually did make me vomit now. Door cracked, head hanging out like a drunk, I felt like – for the first time ever – I was losing control of every aspect of my life all in one day. I threw up again.

  It was a solid fifteen minutes later before I made the rest of the two-minute drive to the Angelone’s. I could see a few random cars parked along the street that were most definitely here for mourning purposes. It happened so fast in the neighborhood, and it always went the same. The ambulance came and then everyone, everyone knew within the following half hour.

  I spotted Dario standing around the side of the house – the side away from the front door. He was smoking a cigarette – something I hadn’t seen him do in years. It seemed an odd choice now, as Pop had just passed from lung cancer that was most certainly brought on by years of chain smoking; but I figured Dario could give a fuck right now. Let him have the damn smoke.

  I walked through the snow-covered yard to him, holding up a hand in greeting. We had barely spoke when he called, as he then had so many calls to make. But those were either over or he was giving himself a mandatory break.

  He looked at me with wide, alert eyes. I couldn’t tell if the chaos had sparked some natural adrenaline-like response in him or if he was in actual shock. “Nat won’t come out of her room. They took Pop away, and she just walked up to her room, shut the door – she won’t come out. She told me to go away once. Now she won’t even respond. But I can hear her in there, Max. She’s crying into her pillow. She’s always thought that covered up her crying – since we were little kids. It never did. I can hear her. I’ve always heard her.”

  He was speaking very rapidly, moving back and forth from one foot to the other, taking occasional quick drags, and all the while seeming to never blink.

  “Dar, I’m so sorry, man. I loved Pop - we all did,” I spoke slowly and cautiously, unsure as to what might set him over the edge at this point. Or maybe he needed to go over the edge – I couldn’t tell which would be better. I could only see clearly that he was not himself. He was not okay.

  “Yeah. Everybody loved Pop. Nicest mafia boss in history, I’d bet,” he joked, laughing absurdly loud and nodding his head in agreeance with himself.

  “Dar...”

  “There’s people inside – paying their respects, I guess. To what, I’m not sure. He’s at the morgue by now. Can’t they at least wait for the wake? The funeral? It’s like fucking vultures, man. Sad, depressed vultures that all say the exact same fucking thing and not one of them – not one of them makes you feel even a tiny bit better. Worse. They make it worse, I think,” Dario rambled off, still bobbing his head in authority. “Maybe I’ll walk in there and tell them all to fuckin’ leave. Or I could just hide in my bedroom and lock the door. Works for Nat, right? I should be able to run away too, right?”

  He paused for a second and looked at me directly, and I knew he was cracking. He’d smiled and joked and laughed through Pop’s entire sickness. He’d kept the mood up when everyone was dark. He’d changed the topic when no one could handle the truth. He was like our own, personal, human band-aid – and it had worn on him more than I realized. I felt a sudden rush of guilt.

  “Dario. It’s okay to let go now. You can let go. Your father just died. Let it out,” I said this quietly, thinking of my mother’s words.

  Grief must be shared. It must breathe.

  She had been right on all levels.

  Dario was still nodding – still smiling – as though I had just said something pleasant about the weather that he thought quite accurate. And then he broke.

  His cigarette dropped and he lunged forward, throwing his arms around me, heaving with instant, racking sobs. I hugged him – helpless and crying now myself.

  Brother. He’s my brother as much as any blood could ever be. Even if Natalia never speaks to me again. This is my brother.

  I wasn’t sure how long we stood there. My face and hands had grown numb from the cold, but Dario didn’t seem to take any notice of the frigid air. I had only ever seen him cry once when we were kids, and his snow-sled had taken an unplanned detour into a very thick tree trunk. He broke his arm that day.

  Today it was his heart.

  He seemed to calm eventually, enough to pull back and say through ragged breathing, “She won’t see you today, Max. She won’t. You gotta give her time. She’s not herself.”

  I nodded, knowing he was right, and aching inside with a growing sense of doom that was crawling across my mind like a thundercloud.

  I could still lose her.

  Pop had left no particular burial requests. In the end, Dario and Natalia had decided to forego the wake, opting for a short, closed casket funeral.

  “He doesn’t look like Pop. He wouldn’t want people to remember him like that... like that skeleton of what was left of him,” Dario had said blankly over the phone. After his complete breakdown, he actually had asked everyone to leave, and as he told it, “pulled a Nat” by truly locking himself in his room to grieve.

  At some point they must have obviously made their way to each other and forgone their hideaways. There were things to do, and no one else to do them. At some point the mind stilled itself and practical matters were handled as necessary. I knew from experience that the emotional stillness was only temporary. The screaming grief would be back, and it would be fierce. But the human psyche did what it had to do to make it through such things.

  Natalia would not speak to me. It was obvious now, two full days later, that she did not want to – or was not able to. I had tried to call her one last time the previous evening, and then decided to let the situation alone. I could only be there for her now if she wanted me to be. I refused to force myself into their home, into her life, or into her sadness without her approval.

  If thi
s was the grief, and was temporary, it would be okay – I held nothing against her. If she had changed her mind and heart completely about me – well that had never been something I’d been able to control, had it? We had spent nearly twenty-four hours making love – reconnecting in every way possible. She knew what we had, what we were. She knew it as straight as I did. She would do with it what Natalia Angelone decided to do with it.

  And I would be waiting for her, as always. I would wait forever, if necessary. I had no more illusions of getting past her enough to love someone else. It wasn’t going to happen. I had Nic, and that was enough for the rest of my life – if it had to be.

  I arrived at the cemetery with my mother in the cold, January wind. Snow was coming down in what would have been a very pretty scene, were we not surrounded by graves. We both turned our heads slightly as we walked to the burial, seeing my father’s grave – snow covered and desolate – in its eternally appointed place. Ma leaned into me then, and I was glad that Nic was with his mother. He just didn’t need to see this.

  Let him stay innocent a little longer...

  Dario greeted us somberly, but Natalia never so much as stood from her chair. She wasn’t interacting with anyone at all, and past the fact that I wanted her so badly, I was worried about her. Being a psychologist didn’t mean that she was immune to being overwhelmed to a point where she just wasn‘t going to be okay.

  Nat didn’t look even close to okay – not at all. She sat, striking in all black, and nothing covering her head or face – just letting the snowflakes settle on her dark hair. It looked like a very grim scene from a dark, macabre version of Snow White. She wasn’t crying either. She was still – completely still.

  The priest spoke, my mother cried, and others sniffled along. Natalia stared at Pop‘s coffin the entire time. Not once did I see her break that stare.