Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four

by Akeroyd, Serena

  I was untouchable.

  The only thing that spoiled my mood was that conversation with Inessa. As I applied my lipstick, I started to wish that I hadn’t mentioned Finn now. I knew how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Even if Finn was included, he was a brother by choice, as Brennan had phrased it the other day. When, really, it was of blood.

  Withholding the truth of Finn’s heritage felt like I was keeping something from Brennan, and with the precarious nature of our relationship, I didn’t want that.

  I didn’t want to rock any boat or make him think I was holding stuff back from him.

  Trust—he’d asked for it. Loyalty—he was trying to earn it.

  I wasn’t going to reward that by lying to him.

  The buzzer sounded, rupturing my concerns for the moment, and I used the house computer to turn everything off before making my way to the console table where I’d already prepped my purse with extra lipstick and my cellphone, so I grabbed it then headed onto the elevator.

  The mirrors gave me a three-hundred-sixty degree view of myself. I flushed a little, but I knew I’d never looked so good, and it was with confidence that I made my way out into the garage.

  The limo was waiting on me, but Bagpipes wasn’t.

  I frowned at the stranger who introduced himself as Duncan. I felt like a fool, but I took a step back, not wanting to risk it as I secured myself in the elevator by heading for the third floor.

  As the doors closed on me, I saw the driver’s surprise, but I quickly texted Bagpipes who promptly replied with a picture of the man who was supposed to be chauffeuring us tonight.

  Recognizing he was the driver waiting by the limo, I decided to brazen it out by walking over to the vehicle like I hadn’t just taken shelter in the elevator, and smiled at him as he opened the door for me once more.

  The limo left for the party and I messed around on my phone for a few minutes as the car seemed to take us off Manhattan and toward Bed-Stuy. I was still nervous, especially when I remembered Brennan saying that he wasn’t sure who he trusted anymore, and even though Bagpipes had been nothing but kind, my heart skipped a beat when Duncan pulled up outside a building.

  One I didn’t recognize.

  One I didn’t know.

  It fit my dress, though, seeming to be like something from the thirties. Curious, I peered out onto the facade of what was evidently a club, but relief filled me when Brennan made an appearance.

  As he strode toward the limo, it was a wonder I didn’t see stars.

  “My God,” I breathed, feeling flushed and excited all at the same time, but grateful too that he didn’t have to see me fangirling over him like he was Benedict Cumberbatch and I was a Cumberbitch.

  He wore a tux, a sparkling white shirt with plackets and onyx studs. His bow tie was in perfect alignment, and his shoes gleamed.

  Men always had it easy at these events. They just put on a special suit and they looked dressed up, only Brennan was something else. A whole other league. One of his very own.

  I didn’t know what it was about him, what hit me like a sucker punch to the ovaries, but he did it every time, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever get sick of it.

  Duncan climbed out of the limo, rounded the back of it, and held open the door for my husband who dipped his chin in greeting at the driver, before slipping inside to join me in the swanky ride.

  There was a ring of lights running down the length of the vehicle, but that didn’t really illuminate anything, so I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see me, and instead grumbled, “Camille?”

  I smiled. “I’m over here.”

  “Why?” was his wry retort. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  “I can say that from over here,” I teased, grinning into the shadows. “Plus, this way, I won’t have to fix my lipstick before we leave the limo.”

  “Ah, a woman’s work is never done.” He chuckled, but it was darker than usual, ripe with the day’s tensions, and rich with his mood—whatever today had heralded, it hadn’t been fruitful, and for whatever reason our attendance at the gala was necessary, that wasn’t cheering him up either. “I still think you should come and say hello.”

  “And I think you should look at me first before you ruin what I spent all day making beautiful for you.”

  It was those two words that would seal the deal.

  For you.

  I knew what he was like. Even in such a short space of time, I could read him like he was one of my favorite books.

  I heard some fumbling, then his cellphone screen blinked on which preempted his flashlight. I half-expected him to use that to spotlight me, but he didn’t. Instead, he aimed it at the console which had a small inset area for placing drinks, before he flipped a stronger light on in the cabin.

  My eyes took a second to adjust, as did his, and when he caught sight of me, deep in the shadows, I watched his expression change.

  From fatigued and drawn to alight with lust.

  Bright with energy.

  Almost incandescent with it in a way that made the lights superfluous to requirements.

  I wouldn’t lie that I’d picked my pose intentionally, and I didn’t want to maintain it for long either. My chest muscles were already starting to burn, but it was worth it for that look.

  Leaning back against the banquette seat, my elbows were digging into the cushions which I knew accentuated my cleavage. My legs, impossibly long thanks to the high heels, were crossed, and the skirt of my dress had swung free, exposing all of them to his gaze.

  I felt like a siren, one whose call beckoned only him, and I watched as he leaned forward, rumbling, “Spread your legs, Camille.”

  “You’ll muss me up,” I complained half-heartedly.

  A swarthy grin creased his jaw. “Down below, maybe. I’ll make sure you look pristine everywhere else.”

  A breathy moan escaped me, and it was beyond my control to contain it as I obeyed—what fool wouldn’t?

  I let my legs part, the knees spreading even as I kept my feet tucked together, and watched as he slid along the cabin, down the seats, before he reached me at the other end.

  When he dropped to his knees, I moaned with delight as he immediately buried his face in my pussy. My hands dug into the cushions as he dove for gold and found it within seconds, his tongue lashing my clit like he wanted my orgasm more than he wanted his next breath.

  I could hear my juices, could hear how wet I was, and fuck, it felt so good, so right, that I didn’t even care that Duncan could probably hear us behind the privacy screen.

  All that mattered was how delicious this was.

  I knew, all evening, he’d scent of me. My pussy juices around his lips as he spoke with the bigwigs of Manhattan. As we rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous, he’d be coated in my arousal—

  Boom.

  My thoughts, my needs, his wicked tongue, and the combination of his fingers thrusting into me and a day’s worth of waiting for this had me exploding with the fastest climax in the record books.

  It made me feel like I was both imploding and exploding as I reared up, belly muscles tensing as I hunched forward, my hands dragging through his hair as I tried to pull him off, but he wouldn’t let me. He just carried on and on, taking me higher and higher until I wanted to scream with both wonder and distress.

  When he knocked me toward that edge again, I hovered there, endlessly, so close to falling over...

  He stopped.

  And I stared at him.

  Bewildered, befuddled, just dazedly gaping at him, wondering why he’d denied me.

  For a second, I couldn’t understand what he was doing, then I saw his cock make an appearance between us. It was thick and red, pulsing with need, his pre-cum dripping from the tip. He slid the head through the folds, coating him with my juices, before he pushed into me.

  I was so wet that my pussy offered no resistance as he tapped out, filling me full, and I let loose a keening sound as my head flopped back against the cushions
, uncaring if it messed up the long, flowing waves of my hair, not giving a damn so long as he carried on fucking me.

  One hand went to my lower stomach which he palpated, and the other went to my clit. I let my legs cross around his back, so that my heels could dig into his ass whenever he pulled out too far, as he worked me back to where I’d been without him. Except empty never felt so good as being stuffed with his cock.

  He started to fuck me. Hard, fast. Rough. But I didn’t mind. Didn’t give a damn. I needed this, needed him. Everything he had to give was mine. It belonged to me, just like he did.

  He was mine as much as I was his.

  My pussy clamped down around him at the thought and a choked cry escaped me as my climax blossomed inside me, bursting free like a gust of wind sending the frothy seeds of a dandelion floating through the air.

  I clutched at him even as he pulled out, but before I could complain, he grabbed a hold of his cock and before my bewildered eyes, jacked off. With his spare hand, he shoved my skirts aside, then gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, forcing the sinews in his throat to pop up as he came all over me. My pussy, my pubis, my lower belly.

  Everywhere was anointed with him.

  A growl escaped him as the last few spurts of his cum covered me, thick white trails that ran starkly across my skin, contrasting with the glistening folds between my legs which were drenched with my own arousal.

  Our harsh, panting breaths were all that could be heard in the cabin of the limo, and even then, the sound of my heart pounding in my ears was louder still.

  The sensation of being claimed, of being owned by him overwhelmed me to the point where I could have burst into tears. Stupid, or not, my emotions raged at a fever pitch around this man. Around my husband.

  When he reached down and started to rub his seed into my flesh, I caught his eye, willing him to say it, to whisper the word I was coming to associate with him, the only word that would keep those tears at bay…

  And like he heard me, like he knew what I was thinking, he smirked at me, so cocky, so in fucking control that I almost wanted to slap him because I was anything but...

  “Mine.”

  Which was, I was coming to realize, the only thing I wanted to be.

  A shaky breath escaped me before I whispered in return, “Yours.”

  Possessiveness flared in his eyes, a rich starkness that made me preen under his gaze as he reached into his pocket with sticky fingers and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped his fingers as clean as they could be, earning my eternal thanks because, as much as I wanted to clean them for him, fixing my lipstick in this light would be a nightmare.

  With that done, he pressed the cloth between my legs then raised it to his nose. Before my eyes, and with my cheeks growing hotter still, he sniffed it and rumbled, “Delicious.”

  Heart fluttering, I watched as he tucked it back into his pocket, then pulled out a small ring box—something I gathered from the size alone.

  He was still between my thighs, my cunt was still on show and my lips were parted as he placed the box low on my pubis. With that done, he pulled a longer one out of his side pocket, this one more for a bracelet.

  I watched as he reached for my left hand, twisting it slightly so he could press a kiss to my ring finger, before he murmured, “I have a feeling we’ll always do things ass backward, Camille.”

  I blinked at him. “I rather like the way we do things.”

  “Only ‘rather,’ hmm?” he teased gruffly, making my lips twitch as he opened the ring box.

  No fumbling with this man. He was as confident as ever as he revealed an eternity band that was like no other.

  This wasn’t thin and dotted with diamonds. This was thick. Six diamonds, over a carat each, stacked side by side, nestled between more diamonds that made up the rest of the rim. It should have been gaudy, but it wasn’t. And my engagement ring slotted perfectly into it, letting me know that it was a matching set.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, sitting up slightly.

  I didn’t even care that my pussy was on display, just wanted that ring on my finger.

  His ring on my finger.

  As he slipped it on, I swore to God, it felt like he slipped on a seal of ownership. Neither of us wore wedding bands, and yes, that felt strange to me, but that he’d one-upped that with an eternity band… well, it shouldn’t have lit me up from the inside out, but it did. It truly did.

  Such extravagance wasn’t necessary but it made me feel like I belonged. Not like a woman who’d trapped him, but like he really meant it when he said I was his. Forever.

  I clenched my fingers around it, not surprised that it fit perfectly as I stared at it, overjoyed with what I was seeing.

  For all my sins, I knew jewelry. I knew that I was wearing something that cost over a quarter of a million dollars…

  His hands moved, snagging my attention, and I saw him slip on a ring too. A simple titanium one, but it was there nonetheless.

  He was claimed.

  That ring told the world he was mine.

  Speechless, my eyes wet with emotions I couldn’t express, I watched as he opened the other box, the distinctive pop of the hinge ricocheting around the cabin, and found myself looking at a matching tennis bracelet and choker.

  “Let them all know who you belong to,” he rasped, his voice a snarl, the words hungry and eager and everything I needed to feel whole.

  Dressed in his diamonds, and coated in his cum, there would be no other belle of the ball tonight.

  Only me.

  Thirty-Nine

  Brennan

  To say Camille looked like a million dollars was underestimating the worth of a million dollars.

  She looked like a pin up, a model, and a porn star combined. Throw in some Marilyn Monroe glamor, I was the luckiest fucker at the gala with her on my arm.

  Shame the whole event was a farce.

  I knew for a fact the Davison’s Hudson River Clean-Up charity was a way for the chairman of the foundation to launder cash to filter through his Ponzi scheme.

  But we’d only be here long enough for her picture to be taken, for the world to know who she was and who she was married to, to know that I wasn’t on the market anymore. That was it.

  This was my way of killing a couple of birds with the same stone because, on top of that, Coullson would be here, and I was getting sick and fucking tired of being in the dark where the Sparrows were concerned.

  An organization that far-reaching would have its sticky fingers everywhere—the Mayor’s pants included.

  Though tonight’s event served a purpose, it was the last place I wanted to be. After the trip to the hospital, I’d wasted too many hours at Elemental, setting up cameras with Conor in the private wing of the club. I figured we’d caught Coullson that way, another Sparrow might tumble into our web if we were lucky.

  It had been dirty work, tedious too, and the gala looked set to be like every other fucking party in New York City, understaffed, with shitty canapés that filled the beak-like mouths of the perennially underfed socialites, with music that was too loud and lighting that was too low.

  Once we made it off the red carpet, the flash of the thousands of cameras blinding us both, I steered us into the crowd.

  “You eaten today?”

  Her lips curved. “Yes.”

  The smile had me shaking my head. I wasn’t sure why, but she seemed to like me at my most growly—and yeah, that was a fucking word. She smiled when I thought she’d glower, and whenever I figured she’d tell me to back off, she just melted into my arms.

  Literally.

  And then I melted all over her.

  Which was why my cum smeared her cunt and her juices still coated my mouth.

  Call me a filthy fecker, I’d take it. But I’d take it alongside the acceptance that society’s trappings, all this bullshit here, meant fuck all to me.

  I knew what mattered most, and this crap here was just glitter and no substance.

&nb
sp; Rather than lead her toward the area where the wait staff were slipping among the crowds, trying to feed people their meager offerings, I moved her toward the dance floor.

  Hauling her into me, I slipped my arms around her waist as she tucked herself close against my front, her hands coming up to clasp my neck.

  What was it about this woman that made me want to bury my face in her throat like I was at prom again? Dancing to Seal’s Kiss from a Rose with my latest squeeze.

  Except, Camille wasn’t a squeeze.

  She was so much fucking more—too much more. More than I’d anticipated, than I should have wanted.

  My dick argued, but then, the little head never did have much sense in these things, and where Camille was concerned, it was particularly fucking thick.

  In more ways than one.

  With her snuggled up against me, I murmured in her ear, “You know what Coullson looks like?”

  She tensed up. “The Mayor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s the reason we’re here?”

  I hummed under my breath in confirmation. “You see him?”

  She tipped her head to the side, not enough to stand out, which confirmed my belief that she could be sneaky when she wanted to be.

  “No.”

  “Keep an eye out and let me know if you do, okay?”

  “Will do,” she murmured, and I felt the resolve in her, like now she had a purpose, she’d give it her all.

  I shook my head at the thought, then, as we danced, decided to talk to her, rather than just have her keep an eye out like I was for the schmuck who was our principal reason for being here.

  It was good to have her in my arms, and I could have just held her and danced, but I liked her—it came as a surprise to me too. She had an amusing sense of humor, wasn’t weighed down with apathy, laughed freely at me even when I was being serious, and had a take on the world that was quite refreshing. Of course, that was her youth coming into play.

  It was only at times like these when I felt every single fucking one of the sixteen years between us.