Franklin: A Boston Mafia Romance (The Boston Wolfes)

by Billie Lustig

  “So, it’s all an act?”

  I huff in response, annoyed with this conversation. I’m doing what he wants me to do. I’m getting Franklin Wolfe to trust me, even though it’s killing me inside. I’m putting on a show like Josie told me to. I’m putting myself on the line here, though there is a big chance my heart will be shattered after this. Not to mention my brain. But I’m doing it, anyway.

  “Yes, Em. It’s all an act.” I may be able to trick my head into thinking I’m being honest, but my heart is calling me a stone-cold liar.

  He gets up, sauntering towards me with a grin on his face that used to turn me on, before he links his fingers with mine and guides me to the breakfast bar as if I’m still his girl. I let him because even though I feel more confident after feeding off of Franklin’s interest in me and having Josie here as a backup, I also know how incredibly unpredictable of a character Emerson Jones is. That knowledge is what has kept me on edge for many years now. He grabs my hips and guides me onto one of the bar stools before he kisses my neck. I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to hide my discomfort.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. I get it. You’re alone now; any attention is tempting to give in to.” The way he talks to me makes my blood boil. This is what he’s always done, talking down to me as if I’m some naïve little girl, unaware of how the world works. I know how the world works. I know it’s a world full of assholes and people trying to take advantage of you. Making you feel smaller with their words so they will feel bigger. I’m not stupid, even though he likes to pretend I am. There are a bunch of words sitting on the tip of my tongue that I want to voice right now, but my brother’s smile, still fresh in my memory, keeps my lips sealed.

  He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a set of photos, placing them in front of me.

  “I just wanted to remind you that the Wolfes are the enemy. Explain to you what kind of people they are. The kind of person Franklin Wolfe is.”

  The moment I peer down at the images in front of me, I gasp for air and press my palm against the cold surface of the bar to prevent myself from falling off the stool. The images show a dead man with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, sitting in a desk chair, the rest of his face covered in blood. His eyes are wide open, staring at me, his soul undoubtedly long gone from his body. I try to take shallow breaths to keep myself from gagging, even though I’m nauseous as fuck.

  I am not cut out for this shit.

  “Do you know who this is?” he asks, pushing back a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  I hate that he’s mimicking the act of affection Franklin gave me last night and today, tainting a wonderful memory with his appalling touch.

  I shake my head, barely capable of voicing anything right now, while I look at Emerson. Anything to stop looking at the photos of the dead body in front of me.

  “This is David Callahan.” Em looks sympathetic, but I know him well enough to know he’s full of shit. He feeds off of my fear, knowing he can scare me with stuff like this. I’ve seen more than one dead body, countless people who’d been beaten. I’ve even watched Emerson torture his men when they were disobedient. More than once. You would think I’d have gotten used to it by now, but I definitely haven’t. It made me feel horrible every single time it happened. It still makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about what I’ve seen. A few years ago, he skinned one of his men because he suspected him of talking to the police. I can still recall his excruciating screams, bringing goosebumps all over my skin just thinking about it. He made me watch, telling me he needed me close ‘for support’, but really he just wanted to scare me, to make sure I would never betray him.

  It worked.

  “W-who is that?” I push out, my voice cracking.

  “David was the latest accountant for the Wolfes.” My eyes widen in horror, immediately understanding why Emerson is showing me this. “That’s right, sweetheart. They aren’t any different than I am. If anything, they’re worse. They don’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who gets in their way. Women, men, children,” he emphasizes, “it’s all one and the same for them. Don’t get too comfortable behind that desk, because before you know it, you may end up like David.”

  My mind goes back to Matt and how his little boy was killed just a week ago, blaming the Wolfes for his death. Franklin in particular.

  “Why are you telling me this, Emerson?” I whisper, confused about the last twenty-four hours. Not knowing what to believe.

  I know Emerson is not flat out lying about the Wolfes being dangerous. I’ve heard about their reputation. The entire city has, but after the last twenty-four hours, it’s hard to believe Franklin is more ruthless than my abusive ex-boyfriend.

  He turns my stool so I’m facing him, then cups my neck and leans in before pressing his forehead against mine.

  “Don’t fall for his sweet words, Kenny.” It’s like the asshole can read my mind, unsettling me even more.

  “Uh, guys?” Josie chimes in from behind us, causing us both to turn our heads towards her. She’s looking outside the window with a troubled look on her face. “He’s here.”

  “What do you mean ‘he’s here’?” I squeak in disbelief, grateful that Emerson lets go of my neck.

  “Franklin!” she hisses. “His car just pulled up.”

  “Oh, my God.” The panic is engraved into my words as I look at Emerson, who’s currently looking at Josie with a tight face. “You have to go. You have to go now before he sees you.”

  “Leave, Emerson,” Josie agrees, her fear as loud as mine as she pushes out the words. I start pushing Emerson towards the door, wanting him out of the house, while my heart starts to race like it’s going to tear through my chest.

  “Move, Emerson. GO!” I keep pushing him towards the door, even though he’s obviously in no hurry to leave.

  “Relax, sweetheart. I’ll hide out in your room until he’s gone,” he says with a smirk I wish I could tear off his face.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” I hiss before I frantically look around, glancing at Josie, hoping for an answer.

  Her eyes widen before she quickly walks towards us. “The fire escape beside my bedroom window. Come on, let’s go.”

  “Oh, your bedroom? I’ve always wanted to see that, Josie,” he taunts her in a husky voice that makes my skin crawl.

  “Shut up, Em.” She grabs his arms and leads him out, leaving me alone in the hallway while they disappear inside her bedroom. My heart is pounding against my rib cage and my hands are shaking while I press my forehead against the cold wood of the door, trying to give myself a moment to calm down and put on a straight face. I suck in a few deep breaths and am wiping my sweaty hands on my sleeves when I’m startled by a knock on the door.

  When I look through the peephole, I find the man who just ordered me to go home. The man who makes me feel worthy but thinks very little of human life if I’m to believe Emerson Jones. I glance at Josie’s bedroom, unsure if Emerson is already out, waiting for her to come back. It feels like forever until she peeks her head around her bedroom door, giving me a thumbs up. After she shuts it again, I open the door to Franklin with his head hanging, one arm pressed against the doorpost. When he hears the door opening, he brings his head up and gifts me a sweet smile. It melts my heart, even though I know it shouldn’t after what Emerson just showed me. His face is laced with fatigue, and my hands want to reach out to cup his face, to kiss it all better. Since I’m still not sure why he’s here, I keep my hands to myself.

  “Hey, pretty girl. Can I come in?” His smile leaves as quickly as it appears, leaving me with the expressionless face he’s known for.

  “Of course.” I open the door wider, and he immediately wraps his arm around me, pressing me against my hallway wall. He’s totally crowding my space, like Emerson did just minutes before, but when it comes to Franklin Wolfe, there isn’t a hair on my head that doesn’t want him to be there. He lowers his lips to mine. Without a second thought, I bring m
y arms up to his neck and slowly part my lips before my tongue meets his, and he deepens the kiss. The fluttering feeling inside my stomach gets heavier the moment he lightly massages my tongue with his in a tender way. His kisses are sweet and full of intention, but never demanding, as if he’s asking me if he can continue with every move he makes. When he grabs my butt and lifts me up, I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. I moan against his lips, the traumatizing photos completely forgotten when the bulge in his pants is pressed against me in just the right spot.

  “Where is your room?” he murmurs while he nibbles my lower lip.

  “Second door on the right.”

  We don’t stop kissing as he walks us through the open door of my bedroom. I literally bounce when he tosses me on the bed, making me screech. I watch as he walks back, closes my door, then locks it. The lustful look on his face has me gasping for air.

  Holy hell.

  He saunters back towards the bed while taking off his coat before he drags his pullover over his head. He throws it across the room, then starts unbuttoning his shirt. I get on my knees, kneeling on the mattress, and softly push his hands away so I can finish undressing him. He leans in, placing small kisses on my neck while I slowly unbutton his shirt. My fingers intentionally grace his hard chest with every button I undo, making him grunt with every touch. I’m at the last button when he can’t handle it anymore and pushes me back on the bed, making me chuckle as I stare up at this intimidating man. When I was with Emerson, there was always fear. Fear of what he could do to me if I upset him, fear of what he would do to me if I didn’t do whatever he wanted. Even though Franklin Wolfe is supposedly more dangerous than Emerson is, there is not an ounce of fear in my body when this man looks at me as if he’s about to devour me.

  As if I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen.

  I’m ready for him to take me in whatever way he wants.

  I gnaw on my lip, watching as he rips his shirt off before removing his pants and dropping them to the floor. I lick my lips at the sight of his hard dick pressing against the fabric of his boxers. He crawls over the mattress, his weight making me sink deeper with every move, before he tugs his fingers between the waistband of my skirt and tights. With his eyes pinning me to the bed, he softly starts rolling the fabric down my legs. He does it excruciatingly slowly, ensuring that I relish the sensation of every light touch, making me wetter with every second that passes.

  “Take off the rest,” he growls as he removes my skirt, adding it to the pile on the floor.

  I comply without any reluctance and pull my sweater over my head before unclasping my bra and throwing it at him in a seductive way. He catches it with a gorgeous smirk before dropping it on the floor in front of him. He grabs my ankle and tugs my body towards him, my legs now hanging between his legs. Forcefully yet not painfully, he pushes them open, then reaches out to pull me up by grabbing the back of my neck. I look up at him as he grabs my hair and fists it in a dominant way, turning me on even more.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” His eyes stay locked on mine.

  “Well, you do call me pretty girl.” I smirk in response, feeling completely surrendered to him.

  “True.” He leans in softly, pressing his lips against mine while his fingers rub the fabric between my legs. He smiles against my lips. “Your panties are wet.”

  “I blame you,” I tell him as I lick his lower lip, resulting in a groan from him.

  “You better.”

  He straightens his body, standing in front of the bed. Eager to taste him, I drag his boxers down his hips, exposing his throbbing cock as it bobs against his stomach. My confidence rises sky high when I see the way he’s looking down at me with hunger clear in his eyes, biting his lower lip as he cups my face.

  The mix of pure lust and affection saturating my system makes me want to please him like he pleased me. I want to bring him to the edge and make him come undone. With a seductive smile I get up, getting comfortable on my knees, sitting on the bed. I lean in, taking the tip of his cock into my mouth, tasting him before I drag my lips along his shaft, all the way down to his balls. When he growls, I look up and see him throw his head back at the sensation, a sense of pride forming inside me. I do this a few more times, and each time his growls become more feral. I then take one of his balls into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it.

  “Jesus Christ,” he rasps while he starts pulling my hair.

  I hated giving head to my ex-boyfriends. It always felt degrading, as if they saw me as nothing more than someone meant to please them. This time it’s different. Feeling, hearing, and tasting how this man loses control from every move I make makes me feel empowered and confident. Plus, it makes me hot as hell. I take him into my mouth again, and he slowly starts fucking my mouth, finding his rhythm. My left hand massages his balls while my right reaches down to touch my folds, desperate to reach the same high.

  His moans become more frantic as he starts thrusting into my mouth faster, while I do my best to relax every time he touches the back of my throat. My eyes start to well up, my climax racing towards me when his face goes rigid. He looks incredible when he lets out a ferocious roar just before the first spurt of his cum touches my tongue. I eagerly swallow his salty sweetness while his eyes find mine. He pants, his chest heaving as he cups my face, brushing off a tear that runs down my cheek.

  “That. Was. Phenomenal,” he whispers while he examines my face. “You’re gorgeous.”

  The look on his face makes me want him to fuck me more than anything, yet his words and the way he says them make me want to take him in my mouth all over again.

  Anything to keep him looking at me like that.

  “Turn around. On your knees,” he orders, the controlling man I’ve gotten used to over the last few weeks returning.

  I obey without hesitation, my ass up in the air. I lift my legs to help him as he pulls my thong off. He throws the piece of fabric across the room, before his hand starts to caress my ass in small circles, slowly migrating closer to my entrance. With every brush of his hand, I feel my excitement build. When he’s almost there, he roughly slaps my ass, making me screech, my eyes widening in shock.

  “You like that, Kenny?”

  I clear my throat, ready to scold him when I realize that I do. I’ve been slapped more than once in my life, but never in a way I enjoyed. It’s insane how everything with Franklin Wolfe feels different.

  Better.

  I nod in agreement and close my eyes, waiting for more.

  “Good,” he replies as he grabs my hair from behind, pulling my hair back as he starts to rub a finger through my wet heat. I gasp for air; the amazing sensation of his finger entering my body combined with his burning grip on my scalp makes it hard to think. He continues dipping his finger in and out, brushing my clit every time he goes back, leaving me whimpering. When I feel like I can’t take it anymore, his lips latch onto my clit, and I let out a desperate moan.

  “Oh, God.”

  He kisses my most sensitive part, switching between sucking it to flicking it with his tongue while he pushes two fingers inside me. I can feel my orgasm building, and when he lets go of my hair, my head falls down, no longer able to hold it up while I climb higher and higher. When I’m almost at the top, he removes his mouth, rubbing me one last time with his full hand before pushing his cock inside me. My lips part as I feel him stretching me wide, touching every nerve that’s hidden inside my walls.

  He moans when he’s completely buried inside of me, then he leans over, pressing his chest against my back, his lips flush with my ear.

  “I want it rough, pretty girl. I want to own you. Can you handle that?” My heart jumps in fear and excitement, thinking about how I want to be owned by this man. How I long to be his and how I want him to tear me apart.

  “Take me however you want, Franklin,” I concede. I give him my cheek, and he softly bites the skin before he straightens and again fists my hair from behind. I’m thinking
about how the scorching feeling of his tight pull somehow heightens the throbbing in my core when he starts to drive into me. Each thrust is harder and harsher than the one before it, unleashing a side of him I haven’t seen before. A side I adore right away. The burn inside me becomes all-consuming as he continues plowing in and out of me. All I can think about is wanting more.

  Wanting it rougher.

  Wanting it deeper.

  Wanting him to destroy me.

  “Harder, Franklin, harder,” I cry as I get closer to the edge.

  “My girl likes it hard. Good.” The tone of his voice is ominous, but before I can think about that, he slams his cock violently inside of me, making me gasp for air before I scream in pleasure. Clearly taking my request as his cue to do however he pleases, he plunges his cock in and out with force, until he pushes me off the mountain I’ve been dying to jump off.

  “Yes! Yes! YES!” He lets go of my hair and grabs my hips as my body starts to shake. His fingers dig deep into my skin, making me whimper under his touch as he keeps thrusting until he finally lets out a primal cry. Finally he stills, dropping his chest against my back so I fall down to the bed with him on top of me, his cock still stretching me wide.

  God, I love feeling him inside of me.

  His lips brush the back of my neck after he pushes my hair to the side.

  “I think I’m addicted to you, Kendall Ryan.” His confession makes me smile, glad to hear I’m not the only one because I’m not sure I can ever come back from this.

  “I’m not going to stop you, Franky,” I reply, my cheek still pressed against the bed.

  “You couldn’t stop me if you wanted to, baby,” he tells me before he kisses the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “I’m sorry for earlier. I was an asshole.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I mean it. It is okay. After the photos Emerson just showed me, I should take every opportunity I get to break this off, but I can’t.