Indecent Protection: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Frankie Love

  “The palm of your hand is pretty comfortable.” Then his strong fingers start to move.

  “You want to play games?” his voice carries a powerful menace.

  Sensations from the movement in his fingers travel up and through me like fire and water. I hold my breath. Grip the side of the table. My lips press and squeeze.

  He says, “Want to play, ‘who can be more outrageous’?”

  Delicately, like an expert, a connoisseur, he explores me. His touch is tender and precise. I twitch, shudder, and jump at every move.

  He knows exactly what he’s doing. He finds his way around me, seeks out my paths, and exposes my secret trails and triggers. I can’t sit still.

  Heat gathers in prickling tingles everywhere his fingers press. I could make him stop. Could I? I look in his eyes. Then I have to look away again.

  I’m living the cafe scene in Harry Met Sally, but in reverse. I’m not faking. And I’m struggling not to do what Meg Ryan did. I’m fighting to keep it inside.

  I gasp. My insides tighten. In my core, I’m weak. Wet. Trickles of clenching start in the backs of my thighs. My throat thickens and my breath starts to shake.

  My thighs part, and I slide down the bench. He follows me.

  I don’t know if I can make him stop. If I tell him to stop, then what if he doesn’t.

  OHMIGOD, I just have to clamp my eyes shut for a moment. Hold on. Try to breathe.

  His voice is like a grin in a black velvet river of the worst kinds of sin. “Any time you like,” his breath is hot on my neck. “You can always move off my hand.”

  But I can’t. Of course I can’t.

  OH! and his fingers stretch up inside me. I bite my lips in between my teeth. Now I’m leaning forward. Trying to keep all the explosions inside. The bursts in my core, the rumble in my pussy, all of the crackling and fizz in my nipples, all of it. OhmiGOD!

  I need it to stop. But I don’t ever want it to end. Fuck him. He’s a total fucking beast. He’s a monster.

  And I jump. Nearly out of my seat. His fingers spread out. Circling my mound. My hood. Pulling my lips apart. And his THUMB reaches inside.

  I’m soaked. If he keeps this up, I’ll bite through my lip. Inside me everything swirls, gathers and brims, holding back like a sea wall, bulging, cracking.

  “Imagine what my tongue can do,” he rasps in my ear. “I have the longest tongue. Do you want to see?” His thumb reaches, presses higher. Deeper.

  I hardly dare lift my eyelids to look. When I do, he’s teasing the tip of his tongue against the end of his nose. I look away, but my eyes go straight to the hard cock of the tool guy. He’s waving it.

  It’s a fabulous cock. But it doesn’t look half as big as the roadrunner’s.

  And the desert boy’s eyes sear into me. Like his hand.

  I implode. Shaking. Trembling. Dropping. A waterfall.

  He trills his finger right under my clit. Like a vibrating feather. Like he knows the way I do it. When I want to make it go on. Make it last longer.

  Damn him.

  When I finally move, I’m drenched.

  He says, “Want to play again?”

  I wrap around him. Devour him. Wet. Brutal. Push my flesh against him. Shove my tongue on his. Steal his breath until I’m panting again.

  There’s no point me watching sexy people and getting worked up. I hate him, but he’s what my body wants. And I’m determined not to give him any more of me.

  Well, not much.

  Less than he wants.

  I’ll show him.

  Chapter Six

  Giovani

  As the limo pulls away from Kings & McQueen’s, a black van with blacked windows drifts out behind us. In the rearview, I watch Bruno, the driver. He saw it too.

  We exchange a look. By that, I know it isn’t the Franconis, and he knows it’s not us. Not good.

  He doesn’t seem eager to share the news with Lily, so I don’t either. Not for the first time, I’m wondering why Leo wanted her to have another bodyguard. Bruno seems more than capable.

  She says, “Maybe I should try the thing that people really come to Vegas for. I don’t think it’s my kind of thing, but who knows? Maybe I’ll discover what I’ve been missing out on.”

  “Right. Theme park rides. Great idea. Where do you want to start?”

  “No, idiot. The thing that was here long before there were theme park rides.”

  “Excellent. You absolutely will feel it’s worth the trip. A helicopter is the fastest way to go, and there are views you’ll only get in a chopper. But they’re noisy and bumpy. If you want my recommendation, you can’t beat a small plane.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a pal who can take you. I’ll call him up. I wouldn’t say a night trip gets you the best experience, though.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Grand Canyon.”

  “I’m not interested in sightseeing.”

  “Oh! Oh, well I do know what you mean, then. And I’ll bodyguard you, obviously, but that’s as far as I’m going, okay?”

  “What? Sure. Whatever.”

  “I mean, if you really want me to I can help you make the arrangements, but I won’t participate.”

  “I don’t care. You can just watch.”

  “I might pass on that, too. You’ll definitely need to find someone else to do it with.”

  “Okay.”

  “Elvises or not?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “A lot of people like the Wee Kirk O’ the Heather. Some prefer the Little Vegas Chapel. They get a lot of repeat business, or so they say. But do you have someone in mind, or will you just grab a guy out of a bar?”

  She’s red in the cheeks. “Shut up!”

  “Hey, we can go back and you can ask the guy with the tool belt. You liked him, didn’t you? And he’s already seen your ‘O’ face.”

  It gives me a perverse satisfaction when she punches my arm. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. “I want to go and gamble you moron. Take me to the casinos.”

  “Oh. Okay. Do you want your driver to pick the room for you? I mean, he’s never been here before either, right?”

  “Where would you suggest, roadrunner?”

  “I think I preferred ‘desert boy.’ Though probably not by much.”

  “Yeah? Well, I preferred you when I thought you were Richard Madden. Does that make us quits?”

  “Only if you’re about to turn into an attorney or a tech whizz.”

  She looks me in the face. “You’re saying I’m dumb? You think I’m shallow and stupid, just because some of my friends are soap and reality stars? There’s more to people than what’s on show, roadrunner.”

  Her color is up. She is fantastic when she’s angry. “What was the last book you read?”

  “I don’t get a lot of time to sit around and read.”

  “This just in; reading is the food of wisdom, Mr. Desert Storm. If you want to be smart, read smart people. Always be stretching yourself.”

  “Stretching myself like you were stretching your ass around my cock, back in the Astra Bar?”

  “I can see there’s no point trying to talk to you.”

  I tell her driver to take us to Spades Royalle.

  And I tell her, “You can knock yourself out on the slots. Oh, but you’re the big thinker. Maybe you can out think the video poker machines.”

  Then, as we’re driving, she asks me, out of the blue, “You and McQueen have some history?”

  I don’t feel like sharing secrets with her. What I do feel like, I can’t say.

  What I did in the club, I did it to teach her a lesson. I wanted to show her that if she plays games with me, she’ll get a lot more than she bargained for.

  Maybe she did, I don’t know. But somehow I think I did.

  I can’t stand her, and I can’t wait for her to fly back to the land of sun-bunnies and me-me-me. But I want to fuck her first. No. I really don’t want to fuck her. />
  But my cock wants to fuck her. My mouth wants her. And all my muscles want to grab her and rip her clothes right off and dive into every part of her silly bouncy gorgeous plump flesh. My hands want her. And my tongue really wants her.

  I tell her. “McQueen and I know each other. Have done for a while. Since he came to Vegas.”

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “Okay. McQueen is married to JoJo O’Malley. My family has some history with the O’Malleys. We’re only beginning to get straight now.”

  “Liam O’Malley is who Daddy is meeting, right?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I sure hope they know what they’re doing. Daddy is not a man to be trusted.”

  I’m wondering what made me think of Spades Royalle. Another O’Malley joint. First time I set foot inside one in more than a year was Kings & McQueen’s. Now Spades Royalle makes the second time today.

  The casino is plush. Classier than I remember. When Lily sees the roulette wheel, she makes straight for the table.

  While she plays, I stand off. Call Dad. I get his voicemail.

  “Hi, Dad. Checking in. I’ll make it quick, and there may not be anything to it. I’m just getting the idea from Lily that her dad plans to widely and comprehensively shaft the O’Malleys. And I don’t have any details. I don’t know what it would mean for us, anyway, but I wanted to let you know. She was talking about Liam, and she said, ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing,’ and, ‘Daddy is not a man to be trusted. Could be that it’s just talk.”

  By the time I’m done, Lily has had enough of roulette.

  “It looks glamorous in movies and videos, but it’s boring.”

  A yelping shout goes up. A lot of flesh slaps, high-fiveing. She says, “Whats all that noise?”

  I tell her, “That will be the craps table.”

  “I hear the call of my people.”

  She’s at the side of the table, in the jostle. Exactly where a bodyguard would want her not to be.

  But there she is, getting the hang of the game. The come-out line, pass and don’t pass. All the basics of the bets. Craps can be as simple or as complicated as you want.

  I stand behind her. She leans back. As she does, she grinds her ass against me. Each time she moves back to the high-sided pit of the craps table, her feet are a little farther back.

  Her ass shoves and rocks progressively harder against my pelvis. She’s aiming for revenge for me bringing her off in Kings & McQueen’s. Well, good luck with that, baby.

  I move forward.

  She doesn’t move. I feel her take a long breath in. Then her ass rolls. Just a little. Would anybody here see it?

  No. But only because they’re all more interested in the action on the table than in anything that’s going on around it.

  So, as she rolls and twists, I grind and saw. Slow. So slow, no-one can see. Not unless they were watching really closely.

  But she feels it alright.

  Soon enough, she gets to be the shooter. Before she moves to stand at the end of the table to throw, she reaches back for my hand. And when she slips her fingers in mine, without looking round, she pushes my hand back to hook behind my ass. Gives a tug at the top of my thigh. Squeezes us together.

  While she rolls for a dozen throws, she makes sure I’m right behind her. As she bends over to throw, each time she wiggles her ass against my cock.

  She’s making it a contest now.

  Picking up how the game works, she wins a few hundred dollars. When the croupier shoves a pile of chips at her, she turns and wriggles in my arms. She holds my face and her lips glisten as her eyes sparkle into mine.

  Her lips shape for a kiss. I shouldn’t, I must not let it happen. I start to list the reasons why. Her father being an obsessive psychopath is high on the list.

  Then she pulls away, laughing.

  “I know to quit when I’m ahead.”

  She pulls out her phone for selfies.

  Pit bosses and security converge, smooth and fast. Before they can surround her, I make a firm eye contact with each of them and put out my hands.

  “What?” she says, looking around. She holds up the phone to video the scene.

  They close in.

  There are three now. But I’ll need to get us out. Fast. That will mean getting through their backup, too.

  In close protection, you learn prompt, clear announcements. I should say loudly, ‘It’s only a phone. I’m her bodyguard. Do not approach.’

  But they’ve got their jobs to do. So I have to do mine.

  The nearest security guard is stocky. Moving fast, coming low. As I swing and jab my elbow hard under his ear, I reach for the guard on the far side. Pull him hard by his wrist. He turns, surprised. I slam the side of my forearm into the side of his head.

  The pit boss is big and coming head-on. As he sees what happened to the guards, he’s reaching back.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “It’s my job.”

  His eyes stretch wide in shock. I grip one hand on the crook of his neck, one on his crotch. I lift him for a body-slam to the ground. Damn, he’s heavy. I give his balls a squeeze to crush them up for good measure.

  Lily is looking round. The only way out is to pull her with me. I yank her wrist and run to the lobby. As soon as we’re out of the gaming room, I slow us to a saunter.

  I pull Lily close. “Weave with me. Act drunk.”

  With an earpiece, I talk into my phone. “Dad?” He picks up. I tell him I’m in the O’Malley’s Spades Royalle and explain the situation.

  He tells me, “I’ll call Liam.”

  We keep our faces down, able toward the wall, and I hope Liam gets through before we’re in a gunfight. Security staff dash through the lobby in confusion. With my arm around her, we make our way, slow and unsteady, to lurk by some tall, exotic plants.

  Lily whispers, “All this over a selfie?”

  With a shrug, I say, “I couldn’t protect you if they surrounded you. I had to stop them.”

  She pulls me close. “You really care?”

  “I take my job seriously.”

  I’m still wondering about the black van that followed us out from Kings & McQueen’s.

  Chapter Seven

  Lily

  Back in the safety of my limo, cruising behind the black windows on the Las Vegas Strip, I am really over this town

  When I ask him, “What can we do now?” I hate the pouty droop in my voice.

  He sounds weary and I don’t blame him.

  “Look, if you’re missing your selfies and feed so much, go stand by the big rides or the fountains or the pyramid. Walk around some of the shopping areas. Nobody cares about you taking pictures there.”

  I say, “Of course. Why would they? There’s nothing anyone would care about.”

  “Don’t you do selfies in malls in L.A.?”

  “With stores or brands that I have relationships with, sure.”

  “Oh,” he says, “I get it. You only care when they’re comping you valuable swag.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him, “You totally don’t get it at all. Breaking news: I’m a mob princess. I can buy whatever the fuck I want, or get people to give it to me.”

  “So why…”

  “It’s business, roadrunner.” I tell him, “I’m learning while I develop a business.”

  “As an influencer.”

  He won’t ever take me seriously. My lips are tight. “I’m an influencer for now. It’s only to give me options while I wait for an opportunity in the family business.”

  Now he looks surprised. “You want to be a mobster?”

  “I was born in the life. I want to be a boss.”

  “And in the meantime, you’re uploading selfies?”

  “I’m learning business. Planning, setting targets and deadlines, building relationships. Setting customer expectations, solving problems. I’m learning branding and PR, in race conditions.”

  His eyes open. “You think any of that matters to a mob family
?”

  “Of course, even though most of them are still in the dark ages and they don’t know it. It’s business.” I tell him, “If your family and mine compete for a supplier, how will the supplier choose?”

  “Who they’re most afraid of.”

  I sit back. “That, my friend, is branding.”

  He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Selfies as the MBA for a mob boss.”

  “You’re getting it.” Now I’m smiling, too. “So. What is it you want?”

  “I want the same thing. I want to run the family business.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  He thinks for a moment. “I used to think I was ready and why couldn’t I just have it now. Back when I was about nineteen. Now I know I wasn’t. Now I know you never are and you never will be, so don’t take it on until you have to. In the meantime, learn as much as you can for when the time comes.”

  I’m impressed. “So, you do think occasionally. Perhaps we’re not so different after all. Maybe I should sign you up for my webinar, Marketing the Mafia Way. Only nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars.”

  “But hurry. This offer only stays open for twenty-seven minutes. Tick, tick.”

  “Meep meep.”

  “But you are joking.”

  “Good idea, though. Right?”

  Like an infomercial voiceover, he says, “The Mafia: Who knows business better than us?”

  I pick it up, “This offer, you can’t refuse!”

  He actually smiles for a moment. I tell him, “Hey. You have extra dimples when you smile. I never saw them before.”

  “I only let them out for special occasions.”

  “Is this a special occasion, roadrunner?”

  “You tell me.”

  My voice is thickening. “It feels special.”

  His eyes burn into me. His chin lifts. “Why?”

  Mine does too. I tell him, “It’s special that I want to suck your cock.”

  “You hate me.”

  “Sure. You hate me. I know you still want to fuck, though.”

  I reach for the switch to put up the blind between the front of the car and the back.