Indecent Protection: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Frankie Love

  Finally, he moves toward me. In one step, somehow he manages to swagger. His head cranes down. Loose. Like he’s playing a game.

  “I’m not an actor,” still like it’s a game, he says, “but I might play a part for you.”

  Like an idiot, I say, “You really don’t recognize me? I don’t remember the last time I talked to someone who didn’t recognize me.”

  With a gleam in his eye that raises the temperature in my panties, he says, “And you think I’m someone else. So this is odd.”

  He’s making me think of secret affairs. Rushed meeting in darkness, in doorways. Stolen moments. Pleasure and pain.

  His eyes flash as I look up and I say, “Interesting, though.”

  “Definitely.” His thumb presses his chin, under the cleft. “I’m the opposite of famous. I could tell you who I am, but it won’t mean a thing to you.”

  “Come on. You’re that actor. I know you are. I can’t think what character you were but there’s definitely a picture in my head.”

  “I’m sure it’s a great picture.” Oh, he is smoking. “But your picture is definitely not of me.”

  “It is.” It is now. Oh, my. “Tell me. Come on.” But he’s shaking his head. “And you seriously don’t know who I am?”

  His lips pull back for a slice of smile like a blade. “I don’t. You should give me your number though.”

  “Not if you don’t know who I am.”

  His voice is a low scrape. “Oh, you are such a tease.”

  I’m liking that.

  “But seriously, give me your number. I have to meet someone here tonight. It’s business. But we could get together another time. Discuss all the kinds of heroes you might think I am.”

  “I think you’re more likely a villain.”

  “Oh. You’re definitely getting warmer.”

  “I really am.” I giggle “But you should break your date. I won’t be in Vegas for long.”

  “I would if I could. Like I said, it’s business.”

  “Are you for hire, then? I could promote your services.” I take out my phone and start to turn. Holding the phone at arm’s length, I start to say, “I’m here in Vegas with…” and he snatches my phone.

  His voice is a low rumble of thunder. “What the fuck are you doing?” His face has turned to fury. My insides shake and collapse. I’m in shock.

  “You took my phone.”

  “You were about to take my picture.”

  “You’re an actor…” I’m starting to think he really isn’t. “It was just a selfie. It’s what I do.”

  “You take people’s pictures without their permission?”

  “I make video. For the web.”

  “What?” He says it like it’s something dirty.

  “I’m an influencer.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Don’t tell me. You’re not from Los Angeles?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here with your daddy? While he has meetings?”

  “Everybody knows that. It’s on my channel.”

  His face turns gray as stone. “Lily Franconi?”

  My stomach drops through the floor. “Oh, no.” I say, “I do know who you are. You’re…”

  He takes hold of the back of my head. Pulls my face to his. Says into my ear. “You need to learn discretion. You were about to say my name out loud.” His voice buzzes low in my ear. More an electric charge than a sound.

  I nod. My voice skips, like a juddered sample. “You said mine.”

  “As you said,” he glowers. “You’re an influencer.”

  He makes it sound like a disease.

  Chapter Four

  Giovani

  I hold her phone out for her. “I don’t have to take the card out of this, do I?”

  She pouts.

  Funny thing is, before I realized who she was, I was so getting into her. Her eyes pulled me like magnets. When I felt a connection, I really thought about how to make it happen.

  Pale green eyes framed by perfectly messed up black hair, with fine red and orange tips. Silver streaks. A black dress, tight at the waist with a flared skirt and small, vivid, red, orange, gold, and purple print. I looked longer than I should to see the pattern, but I kept getting distracted. The top hugged and emphasized her breathtaking curves.

  A rebel couture dress and shiny Doc Martens boots.

  Seeing how she moved, fluid and sinuous, sin portrayed in flesh, I imagined how soft and warm she would feel. How the spark in her eyes would melt into lewd and wanton motion.

  The hot, wet gleam in her eye signaled an eager, weeping pussy, yearning to grip on my hot, hard rod that had straightened out, fattened and filled, all ready for her. A wild, filthy beast, hidden under her beautiful clothes and her perfect poise.

  That was when I thought she was probably one of the smart, sexy lawyers. Or a video games exec. Maybe an entrepreneur. I definitely have a soft spot for a strong woman.

  I thought, After I get done sheep-dogging Franconi’s brat, I can give this gorgeous minx a call. Then maybe things won’t seem so bad.

  And I even asked her to give me her number. The first woman I’ve done that for, the first woman I felt a strong connection with in living memory, and she turns out to be the last person in the world I wanted to see.

  An influencer. And I’m practically manacled to her for as long as she’s here in Sin City.

  FML.

  She says, “You’re not going to stop me videoing for my feed.”

  “Do what you like. Just don’t point your camera near me.”

  Her pinched face darkens. “To think I mistook you for somebody famous.”

  “No, you got me all wrong. In my line of work, famous the last thing you want to be.”

  Her chin juts. Pretty chin. “Exposure is always good. Doesn’t matter what you do.”

  I let out a hollow laugh, “Oh, it really does.”

  “Tell me what jobs you can do, where exposure won’t do you good.”

  “Assassin. Kidnapper. Bank robber.”

  “Oh, Like my family.”

  “Right. Your family are some big-time crooks out west. I know.”

  “You could say that. We are one of the top five families in Los Angeles.”

  “Number five, then.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, let me see. How about if I put it this way; here in Las Vegas, my family is one of the top two.”

  “I see. So, like, as in; my daddy is here meeting with the top one family in Vegas. And he’s going to eat them for breakfast.”

  “You think?”

  “And then we will be one of the top five families in Los Angeles, as well as one of the top one families in this mess of broken glass in the desert.” She smiles. “There. Did I apply the rule correctly, teacher?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Aren’t you going to mark my work?”

  “Do you want me to mark you?”

  “You could be taking a big risk, big boy.”

  “I know about your family. I know about you, too.”

  Her eyes blaze as she straightens up. “You really do not, desert boy. I promise you, whatever you think you know, you don’t know anything about me.”

  “You put your whole life in feeds on the internet.” I say, “You hang out with ‘reality’ ‘stars.’ What is there to know that I can’t see on TikToob?”

  Her eyes blaze. I hit a nerve. I try not to enjoy her firm head shake and the clench of her jaw.

  “I put a whole life on the internet. That’s entertainment. Showbiz. Infotainment, strictly. But that’s not who I am. My whole life is something I can tell you for sure, that you know nothing at all about.”

  My eyebrows lift and I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “The InstaTokker who lives in absolute privacy.”

  “So.” She sniffs. “You are a bodyguard. I was right about that much.”

  “Today, I am a
real bodyguard. Not one in a movie. Yours, as it turns out.”

  “Today?” Now I think she’s trying to hold the edge of scorn in her own voice back. “Are you a man of many talents?” She looks me up and down.

  My eyes narrow. “I expect your daddy told you all you need to know.” And I’m wondering what he did tell her. Still, it doesn’t matter to me. I just have to get through however long this is going to be.

  “He didn’t warn me I’d fall head over heels in hate at first sight.”

  “You’re too sweet. But I hate you more.”

  She takes another look at me from head to toe. “At least you’re going to make me look good. Although I’m starting to think there’s nobody in this town I would ever care about impressing.”

  Still holding her phone out to her, I think, Man, you are going to be hard work.

  She reaches out to snatch the phone back. My fingers touch her palm and a flash pounds through me. A liquid electric cascade shakes me, plunging from above my head to the depth of the Earth.

  She seems to pause, frozen for a fraction of an instant. Then she blinks. “Tell me where the interesting people go in this kiddie-colored hell-hole.”

  “Define ‘interesting’?”

  “Sexy, rich, beautiful, and fun. And preferably famous.”

  “They go lots of different places. Some to private gaming rooms, some to VIP bars and private or invitation-only clubs. Or they go to parties.”

  “Okay. Take me to a party.”

  She turns to reach for her drink. As her body twists, her ass brushes against my cock. It inflates, like it’s been breathed on by an angel. And she turns back, slower. Her eyelashes make a make slow, exaggerated bat. The pulse in my cock is a hard ache.

  I clear my throat. “You must have misheard me. I said I was your bodyguard. Not your tour-guide.”

  Lily is upset when I tell her that, most of the places she would want to be, she can’t flash her camera around. She worries about her ‘feed.’

  She pouts prettily. “It’s not like that in L.A.”

  I don’t believe her. But I let it go, and tell her, “You want to be with the beautiful people, exciting crowds of the rich and glamorous at play?”

  She nods.

  I explain, “Entertainers, performers, dancers here, they’re already in the public eye. Being seen and photographed is business for them. It’s work. If they come out to a club or a party, they want to let their hair down.”

  She frowns.

  I ask her, “That’s your life goal? Selfies?”

  “I would need to know you a lot better before I told you that.”

  I tell her, “Okay. FYI, anywhere they let you wave a camera in this town, that’s not where you want to be.”

  She brightens. “Take me to the places where you go.”

  “Lily,” I almost don’t have the heart to say it, “being seen with someone whose business is being seen is definitely not for me.” It’s like telling a little girl she can’t have an ice-cream. Doesn’t matter how much she’s been screaming and wailing and making your life hell, it still twists your heart.

  She sniffs.

  Then she lifts her phone and turns her back to make a call. As she does it, she very deliberately rubs her ass against me.

  I try hard not to like it.

  Chapter Five

  Lily

  With my back to desert boy and my voice low, I instruct Bruno, my driver, to find me a strip club. “Find the best and most outrageous bar in this town.”

  Unfazed, Bruno asks, “Men strippers, women, or trans, ma’am?”

  Grinding my ass gently against his cock is supposed to be throwing him off his game. It can’t be having much more of an effect on him than it is on me, though. If I grind slower, it turns me on more. So I grind faster, and it turns me on more. Then I stop still and just press, and that makes me so hot I’m afraid I’m going to lose it.

  If I got him on a dance floor, I could twerk hard on that stiff bulge. The unexpected thought makes me gasp. I would come in no time.

  I swallow before I tell Bruno, “All of ’em.”

  If that doesn’t shake desert boy’s stony face, I don’t know what will. I have to take a moment to try and cool down. When I turn, his eyes are a firestorm.

  I even think about making him ride up front with Bruno. I hate him. And it would serve him right.

  He’s pretty inspiring to look at, though. Facing me in the limo, it’s like riding with a movie star. Bigger than life and twice as hot. And so unimpressed.

  I wait for him to ask where we’re going. But he doesn’t. Well, it can be a surprise.

  For the sake of any kind of conversation, I ask him, “So you live out here? Are you a Nevada native?”

  He says, “Sure.”

  “Not much lives out here in the desert, though. What are you, a rattlesnake? Nothing else lives out here except scorpions. Right?”

  He shrugs. “Mountain lions. Bighorn sheep.”

  “Bighorn. You’d like it If I called you that.” Then it occurs to me, “Roadrunner! You’re a roadrunner, baby.”

  He lifts a hand. “Okay, okay.”

  “Can’t stay in one place too long.”

  He takes a slow breath. I’m getting in. I found a chink in his armor. “Meep Meep!”

  He tries not to react. But I’m not buying it.

  “Not going to lie,” I tell him, “That’s a fine and rare cock you have there.”

  An eyebrows lifts, but his voice is steady. “Thanks.”

  “Any time you feel like you don’t need it.”

  “No, where it goes, I go.”

  “Mm. Shame, really.”

  There’s no trace of recognition on his stony face when we pull up outside Kings & McQueen’s.

  He jumps out and holds the door for me like a proper gent. I have to say I like that and he does it with style.

  When I take his hand, there’s another charge of energy between us. Different from the first time. More like a buzz than a flash. Lower down.

  I stand and my hand goes onto his shoulder. For a brief second, I brush my cheek against the bulge of his upper arm. Feel his strength and warmth, through his gorgeous suit.

  The doorman dips his head when he recognizes the roadrunner. As he shows us in, a great-looking guy with the open, welcoming manner of an owner comes to the door to greet my bodyguard.

  “Gio. Great to see you.” His voice has a distinct burr, a smooth brogue.

  “Hi, McQueen.” Giovani shakes his hand and does the man-style half-hug. “Good to see you, too. McQueen, this is Lily,” He turns to me, “Lily, McQueen is the boss of Kings & McQueens.”

  “Lily. Let me welcome you. This club is only recently open, so I’m very proud of it, but I would love to have your impressions. You must tell me anything you see that you like or that you don’t like.”

  McQueen shows us into the club. “Let me get you a table.” There’s a look between them as Giovani nods and thanks him. McQueen takes us to the best booth. I’m impressed.

  He asks what he can offer us to drink. I choose a whiskey sour.

  Roadrunner says, “Water for me, McQueen. With ice and lemon. Thanks.”

  McQueen leaves with a nod to Giovani and to me.

  “Whatever services you want, just tell me. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

  We sit across the table, on opposite sides of the soft horseshoe bench around the inside of our booth. The place is amazing. Like the decor consists solely of lights in constant motion. Reds and blues everywhere, with shiny gold highlights.

  The dancers all look fantastic. A long, deep central podium has poles, suspended cages, and is sculpted with branches, runways, and islands.

  A spur juts out toward our table.

  When I take out my phone, McQueen is back at my shoulder instantly. Smiling sadly, he says, “Sorry. I know you’ll understand.”

  I tell him, “Yeah. But, it’s okay. I’m an influencer.”

  Giovani
laughs. “You make it sound like a first responder service. Last I heard, nine-one-one don’t connect you with an influencer.”

  McQueen almost sputters, too, fighting to keep a straight face. He tells me, “Our customers get all the influence they need from the dancers.”

  Our drinks arrive, brought by a gorgeous waitress. Bubbly and buxom, she tells Giovani she would love to get him anything he wants. “Really,” she flashes her eyes at him with a coy up-and-under look. “Anything at all.”

  He shows her the most courteous reaction. I feel an urge to give her a backhand slap.

  Acrobatic dancers in thin, sheer fragments of costume, or less, spin up and down the poles. They splay and lean for customers to accessorize their straps and flimsy lace and string adornments by slipping in folded money.

  A pair of dancers pull away from the pack and strut toward our table. The woman wears mostly glitter, a wet sheen with some string. She twists and twirls around him, a savage hunk of man. He wears boots, a cap, a tie and a thin white cotton jockstrap, bouncing, slow and weighty, hanging off a heavy leather tool belt.

  I’m getting hot as he approaches. Heating up in the baddest places as he menaces hungrily at me. Then I catch a glimpse of the look in the roadrunner’s eye. My tool belt treat turns on his heel, like a fire found him and started chasing.

  “Are you determined to spoil all of my fun, roadrunner?”

  “My job is to keep you safe. What fun you do or don’t have, doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is keeping all potential threats away.”

  “Well,” I slip around the booth next to him and blow in his ear. While he twitches his head like he’s got a wasp after him, I slide my hand up his thigh.

  “Since you spoiled my chances of playing with that big boy’s toolbox,” his thigh is hard, like a knotted tree trunk. “At least I can get a heft of your hammer to keep me amused.”

  He shows no reaction. Then I find his bulge. Aaaaand there’s his reaction.

  Ohmy!

  He gets up and moves to the other side of the booth. I slip along to greet him. His hand is on the bench. I sit straight on it.

  “It was an accident,” I tell him.

  “Why haven’t you moved, then?”