Brant

by D. B. James

“I’m nervous,” we both blurt out in unison, causing both of us to break out in anxious laughter.

  “Cherry, I’ve never been with a woman I loved sexually before. I’m afraid I’ll do it all wrong. I know it’s asinine to think like this, but I want it to be perfect for you.”

  “It’s already perfect…it’s with you.”

  “Screw it,” he says as he tosses the box of cherries on one of the bedside tables. “I was going to go slow, starting off by undressing you, kissing every inch of your body, maybe adding a cherry here or there, but I can’t wait for all that. I need to taste you now.”

  He reaches for my shirt and jerks it up and over my head, tossing it to the floor. The zipper on my jeans doesn’t fare too well—he’s impatient and it’s stuck, causing him to rip it down before pulling the pants off my legs. My bra, he doesn’t bother to unclasp, just whips it up and over my head. Once I’m left in only my see-through pink panties, he starts to remove his clothing.

  “Get on the center of the bed, lie down, and spread your legs for me, Cherry.”

  Doing as he asks, I watch him stalk toward me. His hard cock, standing at attention, is tempting me to move forward and lick it. His steel blue eyes have turned dark with lust. Crawling up the bed to me, he stops when he reaches my foot.

  “Did you paint these red for me, Cherry?” I nod. “All I could think about while watching you paint them was you sitting on the sink in my master bath, naked, while I watched you from the shower, where I was stroking my dick.”

  “Mm, I’ll have to do that for you, bring the fantasy to life. Ace, I don’t want to go slow. I need your tongue, cock, fingers, anything—now.”

  I’m impatient when it comes to him, which surprises me. Sex has always been an okay thing for me. I could go months—hell, years without it, but with Brant, I can’t seem to get enough.

  His kisses are a drug, and I always need a fix.

  His fingers are magical, and they play my body like the keys on a piano.

  His cock? It’s pure perfection. It’s lengthy and thick, with veins in all the right places. It strums my insides like the strings of a guitar. With its girth, it spreads me open more than any guy who’s come before him. My thumb and forefinger don’t meet when circling it, and it feels like it was made only for me.

  When we’re connected, I feel…fulfilled.

  The head of his penis is glistening with precum, and I want to lick it off. The tip of my tongue salivates at just the thought of doing it. Gazing up into his eyes, I lick my lips, letting him know I want to taste him, too.

  “You’ll have a turn, Cherry. First, I need to do this…” His hands roam up my body, starting with my feet. One reaches up and rips my panties off my body.

  “Hey, those were ex—” My words are cut off by his tongue making contact with my clit. He moans, and I feel the vibrations throughout my whole body. His hand snakes up to cup my breast, massaging it, pinching my nipple before switching sides, his tongue continuing to explore my pussy. He pushes two fingers inside me, curling them and hitting a spot that makes me lose all control. I begin thrashing on the bed, my back arches up, and I cry out, “I’m coming.” His assault doesn’t let up. He presses his tongue on my clit and gives it a gentle nibble. “Yes—oh my God—I’ve never—don’t stop.”

  As I’m coming down from my high, I hear him opening the cherries.

  “Hey, you promised I could have a turn, and I want to suck your glorious dick.”

  “You will, in a moment.”

  He offers me a bite of the chocolate oozy goodness, and I take a small nibble, the filling dripping down my chin. He wastes no time cleaning it up then places the box of candies next to us on the bed. “I’m going to eat all of these from your sinful body. Have I told you how much I love your breasts?” He takes two cherries, breaks them open, and spreads the contents over my chest, licking up the mess as he goes.

  My fingers reach for him, but he grabs my wrists and places them in a vise grip with one hand while the other begins crushing more sticky candy across my belly. “It’s still my turn, Cherry. Your roaming hands need to stay put. If you touch me, I’ll blow my load before entering you.”

  “You’re driving me insane, Ace.”

  I feel more oozy sweetness dripping over my body, his mouth working magic wherever it lands. “Ooh no, Cherry, we’re on the last one,” he says while breaking it in between my breasts.

  He sucks up the cherry, licking up the filling, slithering his way up to my mouth. Before kissing me, he reaches a finger down and gathers up some of my wetness. Sticking the finger in my mouth, he orders me to suck, and I do, tasting my own essence on his skin. Pulling his finger out, he crashes his mouth to mine, pushing the last cherry into my mouth with his tongue.

  “I wanted you to taste my favorite flavor in the world: you and chocolate-covered cherries.” He gathers more sticky goodness off my body with the same finger I just sucked and places it back inside my mouth. “Do you taste the heaven I do?” he begs.

  Instead of answering him, I suck his finger harder into my mouth, moaning my reply. His finger pops from my mouth and his lips descend on mine once again. His breathing is labored. His hands cradle my chin, and with one swift thrust, he’s home.

  There’s nothing slow about our lovemaking—it’s not like I expected there to be anyway. He’s pushing in and out of me at a steady pace, and before I know it, I’m on the verge of another orgasm.

  “Ace, I’m there again,” I warn, but I needn’t worry, because he’s exactly where I need him: on the edge with me.

  With another pump of his hips, we both jump over.

  It’s perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

  Not even the cherries.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brant

  The next few days pass by in a blur.

  As plans are made, I get antsy.

  Things are moving too slow.

  I’m over this whole situation.

  I miss Cherry.

  Rhys has kept his promise by taking the girls south. They’re staying in a small coastal town in Alabama, and he sends me daily pictures of the girls lounging on the beach, enjoying the sunshine. I wish I were with them.

  Since coming back to San Diego, I’ve been staying at a new hotel and rented a different truck, because I know the last one was bugged. How else would Martinelli know of my nickname for Tessa? I’ve never spoken it to anyone associated with him. As far as Mick goes, she’s Theresa, not Tessa, and she sure as hell isn’t Cherry to him.

  It’s been hell only talking to her for a few minutes each night, but I don’t want to chance her being found. We limit our talks to five minutes and switch out burner phones every other day. Paranoid? Maybe, but like I said, her safety means everything to me. It’s the most important thing, her staying safe and out of harm’s way. If anything happens to me, so be it. I’ve thought about dying for months now.

  I’m on my way to a meeting with Justin. We’re meeting at the zoo, of all places. To an onlooker we’ll look like two guys chatting it up on a bench near the giant pandas. Shaving the beard actually did change his appearance, an excellent move on his part; he looks like an entirely different guy. If Mikey were to spy him, he’d never think he was the guy I was kissing that night long ago. To the others who’ve seen him, he doesn’t look like FBI agent Justin Milks.

  Pulling into the zoo’s parking lot, I spy a spot near the front. Parking the truck quickly, I use my newly acquired donor pass and enter through the gates while others stand in line. Stopping at a food booth, I grab two soft pretzels and proceed to the panda habitat. The crowd here today is heavy; must be because it’s a Saturday afternoon.

  Seeing Justin already sitting on a bench off to the side, I casually walk over and take a seat.

  “Cockbreath, great to see you.” I offer him the extra pretzel, and he grabs it then takes a bite before greeting me.

  “Thanks for the noms, dickhead.”

  “Dickhead? Are you tired or somethin
g? Because dickhead isn’t creative, like at all,” I tease.

  “I’m stressed. This case is running me ragged. I’ve been putting in more hours and could use a day off, but that’s beside the point. Are you ready to take down your flesh and blood? The lightest charge against him is the murder charge. All I’m asking is, are you emotionally ready to put the bastard away?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask.

  “Because he’s your father, Brant. I know you’re not close to him, but it’s a lot to take on, not to mention you’ll be the star witness when he goes to trial. We’re not arresting everyone in the family. Fuck, we don’t know them all, barely half. I’m asking if you’re ready to have your world turned upside down.”

  “Hell yes I am.”

  I’m more than ready to take him down, to have his murdering ass tossed in a cell. It’s been a long time coming. The sunglasses I left in his office produced a shitload of intel. Combined with the information I’ve given over the last couple months, that in itself would be enough to put him away for the rest of his pitiful life.

  But, I handed them his head on a silver platter: a video of him pulling the trigger on not one, but four known associates. Four open missing person cases—solved.

  How did I come to possess the video? I recorded it.

  I’ve had the smoking gun for a few months now. I didn’t want to use it, but once he started having my girl followed, all bets were off.

  The video was shot from the inside of a sedan. It was recorded at nearly dusk in a parking lot on Chicago’s lower east side. The audio is nonexistent, but the video shows enough for him to be out of my life forever.

  You can clearly see him pull the trigger and walk back over toward the car, where I was waiting for us to go have dinner. He had received a call while we were on our way and dropped everything to ‘take care of business’.

  Maybe I didn’t personally kill anyone, but I feel like I have. I’ve issued a few orders on his behalf to have certain enemies taken care of.

  “I can’t thank you enough for the offer of immunity. You know I would’ve been all right spending a few years in a cell. At best, when I started giving you intel, I was betting on a reduced sentence, a plea deal or something. I never expected full immunity. Thank you, man. Because of you, when this whole ordeal is over, I get to spend the rest of my days loving Cherry.”

  If he only knew how much the offer means to me. Now, if I could get rid of this lead ball in my stomach, life would be golden.

  “No thanks needed. Truthfully, I didn’t have much to do with it. The suits in the Chicago office along with the guys here decided it was what was best for all involved,” he informs me.

  “I don’t care how it came to be, I’m thanking you. If you hadn’t moved in next door, I never would’ve seen a way out of this fucked-up life.”

  Before meeting him, I never imagined I could get off of this track. He’s changed my life for the better, in more ways than one.

  “You’re welcome, I guess. Anyway, let’s get down to business.”

  We spend the next hour going over what I’ll say in the meeting with Martinelli later tonight. If I can succeed in getting him to say he pulled the trigger and ended anyone’s life, we’re golden—not him saying he’s issued the kill order, but actually killed someone himself and gotten his hands dirty.

  These next couple of hours can’t pass fast enough. Once I get what’s needed, they’ll attempt the arrests. As it stands now, the plan is that it’ll happen Monday night. Technically, I could leave town after meeting with him tonight, but I’m staying to see the cuffs slapped on his fat wrists.

  “Best of luck tonight, asslicker,” Justin says sardonically.

  Chuckling, I nod at him. “Better, but I know you can be more creative, dick wrangler.”

  “Best one yet, not to mention accurate,” Justin quips back. “I mean it though, good luck.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Standing, I give him a fist bump and walk over to look at Cherry’s furry friends, snapping a picture to send to her later—or show her, whichever comes faster: her ability to use her phone or me seeing her.

  Deciding not to bother Louie, I don’t stop in and check on Goa Goa. It’d be too much, would remind me of her more than is necessary at the moment. I have to concentrate on what I’m going to say to get Martinelli to spill his guts.

  Tonight is going to blow ass.

  The drive to Martinelli’s is filled with my rabid thoughts. I’ve been thinking about what to say for damn near the whole day. Hell, who am I kidding—it’s been consuming me for days.

  My first order of business will be to ask him for the background check I know he ran on Mick before hiring him. I’ll make up an excuse of him going rogue and showing up in random places I am. The truth is, I’ve yet to run into him once over the last week. Good ol’ Dad must’ve demoted him hardcore, because he’s been MIA…unless he had him offed.

  Pulling into the driveway, I take in the extravagant house for what may be the last time. This place is ridiculous. His current wife probably picked it out. There are only two people living there, but it’s at least three thousand square feet, with a pool, a pool house, and guest chambers. Who needs this much space? Surely not the people currently occupying it.

  Walking up the stairs, I go over my mental checklist. It’s the only way I can seem to shake my nerves. Trust me, I don’t want him to sense that I’m nervous. I’m let into the house and on my way back to his office before I make it halfway through my list.

  It’s now or never, Ashley. Get your shit together.

  He greets me the moment my feet cross the entryway, when I’m barely a foot into the room.

  “Son, it’s nice to see you. Have a seat.”

  “Great to see you, too, sir.” Sir? I rarely call him sir. Great, I’ve blown my cover already.

  “Do drop the formalities. You know how I loathe the title sir, especially from my own son. We have some numbers to go through, yes?” he inquires.

  “Yes. Before we get to them, though, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

  He’s shuffling through papers strewn across his desktop, looking for what, I have no clue. “What is it?”

  Clearing my throat, I stand to make myself a cup of coffee. “I’d like Mick’s information, his background check, and whatever else you may have on him. I’ve noticed him following me more than usual lately. I’d like to know more about him so I’m not caught uninformed, and, well, to be honest, I want to be more informed on the asshole, period.”

  “Ah, I see. If you’d like to add liquor to your coffee, it’s in the cabinet to your left.”

  He says nothing about the information on Mick.

  “And the info, will you give it to me?” I press.

  “If you need it, I guess I shall provide it. Let me print you a copy, it’s saved on my computer. Now, tell me the real reason you want it.”

  “How do you know there’s another reason?” I ask.

  “Because you’re my son. We think alike when it comes to getting revenge. He’s hurt someone you consider yours, and you’d like to issue a little payback, I’m guessing?” He’s hit the nail on the head, but I don’t want him to know it.

  “Actually, I’d merely like to be informed on him in case I ever need the information in the future, nothing more, nothing less. I feel karma will get him in the end. I’m not one to hurt someone unnecessarily—we’re not the same in that aspect. You forget what it did to me to see what you did to those four men. I was sick for weeks afterward, not to mention when a news story would pop up randomly.” I may be pushing it, but I think this is the best way to get him to admit what he’s done, if not about those men specifically, at least that he’s killed before. It’s what Justin needs.

  “Ah, yes, I had forgotten. You’re not much for seeing violence.”

  “It wasn’t mere violence that night, and you know it.” He’s going to know something’s up if I keep going. I’ll drop the subject after this if he
doesn’t comment. I’ll get it another way.

  “I was merely taking care of business. In this line of work, sometimes a trigger has to be pulled by the don. If the members who’ve taken the Omertà don’t see me in action, how else will I keep them in line? There’s a certain level of fear I have to ensure stays intact. Two of those men were made men, sworn outside members of this family. They had betrayed us and needed to be whacked. It’s quite simple. As underboss, the job should’ve fallen to you, but since you don’t want the title, you don’t do the job.”

  Annnnd, pay dirt. He’s in a talkative mood, so maybe I can get more info from him.

  “I understand. Why in ten years did you never force me to take the Omertà oath?”

  “Would you have taken it?” he asks.

  “No, not unless forced to.”

  “There’s your answer. An Omertà can’t be forced. It has to be wanted. If you’d stay on, the title of underboss would be made official and you would take the oath, but since you’re adamant about leaving, it shall never be.” His voice is laced with a hint of sadness.

  “I’m going to ask a question, and if you don’t want to answer, fine, but I’m asking it anyway.”

  “Go ahead. I’m normally forthcoming with you—I see no reason not to be.”

  “Did you kill Vinny? Or merely issue the order?” I’ve blamed him for this for years. I’ve even said as much, because I feel deep down he was the one to murder him. I want the truth, but he’s going to stay silent, I just know he is.

  Sighing, he jams his fingers through his hair roughly and takes a moment before answering. “I’ve never talked about this with you because it’s a touchy subject, for both of us. Vinny was my son, one I’d known for his whole life, from the first breath he took. When I found out he was working with the Chicago police and possibly the FBI, I was heartbroken. If it had been only me to learn these things, maybe I could’ve talked to him and offered him a way out, hidden him somewhere other members of the family would never find him, but when the current underboss is working against you and several members of your family know, you have said person whacked. Because he was my namesake, I was the one to do it. It gives me nightmares, his face when he realized he was going to die. It’s the worst thing I’ve done in my whole life. I’ve never wanted to tell you because you’re my son as well. I didn’t want you to think I’d be as cold-hearted as to someday kill you as well.”