Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  He laughs. “Relax, I’ll be fine. I just need an ice pack for the bump on my head, and…. do you have a first aid kit?” He asks.

  “Um, not for whatever happened to you,” I say.

  “Just bring me whatever you have,” he says. He looks up at me and catches me ogling his abs. I can’t help it. The man is a walking thirst trap. He gives me a wolfish grin that I feel reverberate all through my body. I need to get him patched up and out of here before I lose my sanity all together.

  I turn around and start fumbling through my freezer for an ice pack. I am glad for the sudden shock of cold air, hopefully it helps to reduce my flushed cheeks. He smiled at me like he knew exactly what was on my mind; I hate feeling so transparent. I grab a bag of frozen corn and hand it to him. His eyes are still on me and I can feel them wandering, exploring. I can almost feel the tingle on my skin where his eyes linger. This man makes me feel totally out of control. Then he grins again. “The first aid kit?”

  “Right! Yes!” I hurry over to the little bathroom and pull out my ballet injury kit, rushing it back to the kitchen table. He fishes around, pulling out lots of gauze and dancer’s tape, some wound ointment and band-aids.

  He eyes the gauze and tape.

  “Sprains are a professional hazard,” I shrug.

  “You often hurt yourself bartending?” He asks.

  “Bartending is a new gig. I was a dancer. A ballet dancer.”

  He nods. He sets down the ice pack and tries to wrap the gauze around the wound on the side of his lower abdomen while wincing at the pain.

  “Let me,” I say. “I may not have experience with knife wounds, but I know how to wrap an injury. We should clean it first too.”

  I pull down a bowl from the cupboard and fill it with hot water. Meanwhile, he fishes through my first aid kit and swallows down a few painkillers. He may have been downplaying the amount of pain he’s been in this entire time. I grab a washcloth from the bathroom and some antiseptic from the first aid kit. Then, before I start, I grab a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard. The man watches in amusement as I pull off the top and take a big swig.

  “This is going to sting,” I say, handing him the bottle.

  “So why did you need the drink?” He laughs.

  “Because I hate hurting people.”

  “That’s fitting.”

  “Why do people keep talking to me like that tonight, like I’m so innocent or something? I can land a punch!”

  He takes a hefty swig from the bottle, eyeing me as he gulps it down. “I’m sure you can,” he laughs.

  I kneel down on the ground next to the chair and begin to gently pat his wound with the warm washcloth. He flinches but takes another swig of the bourbon. He’s right that the cut isn’t as bad as it seemed, or at least not as deep, but still I move slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt him. His skin is hot and his body rock hard, I can feel him inhale as I press the washcloth against his skin. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man and my current proximity to motorcycle hottie is doing nothing to quiet my raging sexual frustration. When I look up at him, he is staring at me with lustful, dark, hooded eyes. I look away quickly. Don’t do something stupid Hannah. I can feel him tighten in pain, but when I look up at him again his eyes are still watchful; watchfully looking straight down my Spotted Owl tank top. I blush as he drags his eyes slowly from my breasts up to my face and our eyes meet. He’s got one thing on his mind, and I know exactly what it is. I feel my inner thighs clench at the idea.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “Much better,” he says. “Beautiful women have that effect on me.”

  I stop and stare up at him, my mouth agape. If he realizes the effect that the unsolicited compliment had on me, he doesn’t acknowledge it. I take some fresh gauze and begin to try to wrap the wound.

  “I bet you say that to all your nurses,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, the way I imagine Kiki would, but I feel anything but nonchalant at the moment.

  “I can honestly say this is a first.” He stops my hand and lifts me to standing. “But it would be easier if you wrapped it this way.” He takes my arm and leads me directly in front of him, scooting forward a little in his chair. He’s right, obviously. It would be easier to wrap the gauze around his torso facing him, but it feels so intimate to lean over him this way. This way, we’re face to face. Nearly mouth to mouth. I’ve never felt less in control of my need.

  “One more thing,” he adds.

  I look down at him.

  “It seems wrong that only one of us should be shirtless,” he says. “What are your thoughts?”

  I nod, a little dumb with desire and take a moment to respond. “I do think being fair is important,” I say. OMG! Do you hear yourself? Abort, abort! You’re losing control!

  He leads me forward and places one hand on my hip, guiding me so that I am straddling him on the chair. Then, with the arm opposite the injury, he lifts my tank top up over my head and tosses it to the floor. My resolve is weakening. Hell, let me be more accurate. My resolve is dead.

  “Better?” I say, my voice trembling with desire.

  He leans in and kisses my neck, his lips moving down to the indentation of skin between my cupped breasts. His breath is hot against my skin and I wriggle on his lap in response. This feels so good. He feels so good.

  “Not quite even yet,” he says as he moves his hand behind my back and easily unsnaps my bra. He leans back and admires my naked skin, running his fingers against my very taut, very tender nipples. My breath catches in my throat and he smiles. He’s enjoying the power he has over me. He’s in total control even though I’m the one on top.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s get you bandaged up.”

  He takes my hips in his hands as I tip forward on his lap and reach behind him to wrap the gauze around his lower back and the wound on the lower side of his abdomen. I have to rise up and down to work the bandage around him and as I do his hands grip my hips. He lets his tongue languish on my nipples as I lean in and it takes everything I have to suppress a groan. I fasten the dancer’s tape to hold the gauze in place and as I take a seat on his lap again, I feel his erection, big and bulging, beneath me. Whatever pain he was in, he seems to be in control of it now. In control of both of us now.

  I take my hair and scoop it up into a messy bun and he takes the opportunity of my back being arched to pull me closer. God, I’m panting with desire and we haven’t even kissed yet. I can feel his breath close to mine, and I instinctively rock back and forth on his ever-growing cock. I close my eyes in pleasure as I feel the friction of his body against mine. He kisses me and at first, it is soft, even tender, but as our tongues meet, I can’t stop myself from groaning in his mouth. His left hand clutches my ass, squeezing hard.

  “We still have too much clothing on,” he says between kisses.

  I have never in my life had a one-night stand, but suddenly all of my rules seem to be flying right out the window. Kiki warned me not to get involved, but I don’t even know this man’s name, so technically, I’m not involved with him at all. In the haze of lust, it feels like a perfect compromise. I nod and climb off the man. I unzip my jeans and pull them down. He looks at me hungrily.

  “All of it,” he says.

  I feel a twinge of embarrassment. I like sex in the dark where I can stay hidden, but he shakes his head, as if he knows what I am thinking.

  “You’re fucking stunning,” he says. “Don’t hide it.”

  He reaches out and gently, teasingly pulls my panties down. He unzips and pulls off his own pants and then sits back in the chair, naked. His erection is massive. I grab the only condom I have, some random brand in a bright pink wrapper that Kiki left for me as a joke about my nonexistent love life, and hand it to him.

  “I hope it fits,” I say dumbly.

  He slides it on and I climb back on top of him as he gently lowers me down onto his cock.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he says as he begins to move me roug
hly up and down.

  “I don’t normally do things like this,” I whisper, nearly breathless. The pleasure of his cock is like nothing I have ever felt. He’s so big and I am so tight, the orgasm builds in me effortlessly.

  “Me either,” he says.

  “Judging by how easily you unhooked my bra, I sincerely doubt that,” I laugh between my gasps.

  He lowers his mouth to my nipple and takes it roughly between his teeth. He flicks his hot tongue around the already hard bud of my breast causing me to moan. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a man, and I’ve never been with a man like this.

  “Well, I’m not completely inexperienced,” he says. “But I promise, I don’t do this kind of thing often. Really.”

  He uses his hands on my hips to guide me as I rock up and down. At first, we go slow, but as our kisses grow deeper and more desperate, so does my body. I want him harder and faster, and I begin to move with an urgency I’ve never known. My whole body feels flooded with molten, liquid heat. I arch my body back and let the orgasm rip through me as I cry out. He’s holding on to me tightly around the back of my neck with his right hand on my ass, spreading my cheeks to go even deeper. His breath is ragged as my second orgasm builds and as I cry out, I feel him moan and shudder beneath me. He slams me up and down on his cock as he comes inside me.

  My body is limp with pleasure and I sink down on top of him. I have never experienced sex even close to that good before. Then it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve been riding him like a wild animal without even considering his injury. I lean back and touch the gauze.

  “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” I ask, bashful.

  He chuckles. “Never fucking apologize for what we just die. And no, you didn’t hurt me. But if you give me a few minutes,” he kisses me with a tantalizingly rough and playful touch. “I’m game to try again.”

  Chapter 6

  Hannah

  The next morning, or afternoon, if I’m being precise, I wake up to Samson snorting near my cheek. Hot motorcycle man and I had spent the rest of the night together, only taking a breather from the mind-shattering sex to wolf down the frozen pizza I keep for midnight snack attacks. I have no idea what time I’d actually fallen asleep, but one thing I do know is that there had been several more shots of bourbon taken and way too little talking. I still don’t even know his name, a fact that didn’t seem so problematic in my desire-induce haze last night. Sadly, I got the sense that he preferred it that way. Or maybe not so sadly, given that I really shouldn’t get involved with a guy like him. Wasn’t that the promise I made myself?

  When I finally roll onto my side, my body is sore and deeply satisfied from the wild night I just had. But the feeling of contentment doesn’t last long. I sit up in bed, sheets held up to my naked chest, and look around. From the lack of places there are to hide in this tiny apartment, it’s obvious right away that he’s gone. A quick chill washes over me, making me feel small and suddenly more alone than ever in my tiny apartment. A part of me wants to believe he went out to get us breakfast, or at least coffee, but that’s the same part of me that Kiki always teases me for, the part that always likes to look for the best in people. But who am I kidding? I don’t even know his name and he doesn’t know mine, if that doesn’t clearly spell out ONE-NIGHT STAND in big, bold letters, I don’t know what does. I may not have a ton of experience in this department, but I don’t think one-night stands are usually that amazing, otherwise people would turn them into million-night stands. I may never have sex that good again as long as I live. Shit.

  I slump down in the bed and frown. There had been something between us, hadn’t there? I hadn’t imagined that magnetic attraction… that heat, right?

  I climb out of bed and quickly throw on some clean underwear, leggings, and a t-shirt. That’s when I notice that the glasses from the night before are washed and drying on the small rack next to the sink, the first aid kit is packed up, and there’s even an empty can of dogfood on the counter.

  “God, he even fed Samson?” I say aloud to myself.

  I find a note scribbled and stuffed under the nearly empty bourbon bottle.

  “Thanks again for the rescue. I owe you. -D”

  I stare, flabbergasted at the note. Thanks for the rescue? I owe you? And he didn’t even sign his full name! Unbelievable! So much for me being a good judge of character. He chose an injured walk of shame over me. What a dog. Probably, worse, a married dog! I grumble at Samson. “This is your fault,”. But then I feel immediately guilty and kneel down to pet him. “Sorry I lost my temper,” I sigh. “He’d be lucky to be a dog. At least dogs are loyal!” I stand up and toss the note and the bourbon in the garbage, stomp into the shower and spend the next hour using every last drop of hot water to clean myself of any trace of him. At least my mind will be fully occupied with mixing bad drinks while I’m at work tonight. Kiki was right, I should never have gone anywhere close to the rose tattoo.

  By the time I get out of the shower, I’ve never been cleaner. I even straighten up my apartment, dusting and vacuuming as if I can angrily erase every last hint of him. It’s only then that I realize he didn’t leave empty-handed. I stand up on a chair to check all of the cupboards and the top of the fridge but it’s definitely gone. That son-of-a-bitch has taken one of my music boxes. The one I’d been trying to fix. He stole a fucking family heirloom from me?

  I sit down then and cry. I’ve always considered myself a pretty good judge of character, but clearly, I lost my touch last night. I didn’t really expect that last night would turn into some epic romance, but I never expected the jerk to steal my music box. What kind of dirtbag does that? If I ever run into motorcycle man again, I’m going to make him sorry for messing with me. Next time he ends up bleeding in an alley, it’s going to be me that puts him there.

  Chapter 7

  Dax

  My chief of security, Carl, is less than thrilled about my announcement. It has been three days since he picked me up outside Hannah’s apartment. When my assistant, Aster, had alerted him to the fact that I hadn’t come home he’d traced my phone to Bennie’s Garage. Carl had been scouring the nearby streets trying to locate me when I sent him the text from Hannah’s phone, it only took a few minutes for him to meet me out front of Hannah’s place.

  I knew it was best to leave before she woke up and started asking questions. Questions like, what’s your name… shit that I wasn’t willing to answer, but I still felt like such an asshole for leaving that way. She’d been beautiful, all tangled up in the sheets, her hair loose and wild. And even if she pretended the night we shared didn’t mean a thing to her, the kind of person that hangs ugly art painted by a friend and tries to repair her mother’s old music boxes, also cares if a man walks out on her the way I had.

  What I did was completely selfish, but I couldn’t risk her figuring out my identity. For some reason, Hannah just didn’t seem like someone I’d be able to lie to for long. I couldn’t stand the idea of her changing the way she looked at me. Those sexy, doe-eyes of hers had sparkled, and she wanted every part of me for no reason, no ulterior motive. How would she feel when she discovered I was Dax Hardin? Would she start imagining all the jewelry I could drape her in, the way I could snap my fingers and get her out of that dingy apartment of hers? Or would she look at me with disgust when she learned about my past, of the things I’d done? She’s like a diamond in mud, and I have no fucking idea what had landed someone like that in South Boston. I’ve had to keep reminding myself over for the last three days that one great night of sex doesn’t make her my problem. Doesn’t make her mine at all.

  Carl frowns as he and I both look at the object Aster has just delivered to my desk. The music box. I don’t know what compelled me to swipe it as I was leaving, but I wanted to do something, even if it was small, to show my appreciation for the way she’d help me. So I had a local guy fix it up for her, a thank you for giving me a night I’ll not soon forget. My original plan was to have Aster take it over to h
er apartment or drop it off at The Spotted Owl, but now I find myself telling Carl that I want to drop it off in person. To go back and fucking hand it over to her just so I can see her again. She’ll probably give me that punch she was bragging about being able to land. I’d deserve it. I just want to see her again. This is a fucking problem.

  I remember when Bennie finally quit smoking cigarettes a few years back and I asked him if he could ever have just one. He’d laughed and said, “with some things, once you start, you can’t ever stop”. That’s what I’m worried about. That Hannah has become something I crave. I’m used to getting what I want, but I am not used to needing anything, anyone. I’ll never let myself get hurt like that again. I lost my whole world when I lost Angelina. Six years have passed, but I’ve never once thought about making myself that vulnerable again.

  I don’t tell Carl all of that. Instead, I just tell him I’m taking the car to South Boston for a quick errand, he doesn’t need any more details than that.

  Carl isn’t agreeing that easily. Carl is ex-CIA, ex-marine, current high-strung worry wart, and he is not interested in me heading back to the place I got stabbed just a few days earlier. Whoever attacked me at Bennie’s took my wallet, which means it could have just been a random mugging. But neither of us really believe that. I’ve got more enemies in South Boston than Carl could ever imagine and everything about it felt personal. Plus the mysterious text message from Bennie. He swears he never sent that text. He was at his niece’s wedding and had closed up the garage for the night. Whoever sent me that text had access to Bennie’s phone. Maybe the attack was a warning of some kind, a threat. But for what? Nothing about what happened that night makes any sense. Except what happened with Hannah.

  Carl frowns at me. “You can’t risk your life over a music box.”

  “I can risk my life over anything I damn well please,” I say dryly. Carl’s been with me for ten years, but he should still remember that I call the shots.