Dax: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Mob Daddies Book 4)

by Alexa Hart

  “All of it,” he says.

  I feel a twinge of embarrassment. I like sex in the dark where I can stay hidden, but he shakes his head, as if he knows what I am thinking.

  “You’re fucking stunning,” he says. “Don’t hide it.”

  He reaches out and gently, teasingly pulls my panties down. He unzips and pulls off his own pants and then sits back in the chair, naked. His erection is massive. I grab the only condom I have, some random brand in a bright pink wrapper that Kiki left for me as a joke about my nonexistent love life, and hand it to him.

  “I hope it fits,” I say dumbly.

  He slides it on and I climb back on top of him as he gently lowers me down onto his cock.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he says as he begins to move me roughly up and down.

  “I don’t normally do things like this,” I whisper, nearly breathless. The pleasure of his cock is like nothing I have ever felt. He’s so big and I am so tight, the orgasm builds in me effortlessly.

  “Me either,” he says.

  “Judging by how easily you unhooked my bra, I sincerely doubt that,” I laugh between my gasps.

  He lowers his mouth to my nipple and takes it roughly between his teeth. He flicks his hot tongue around the already hard bud of my breast causing me to moan. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a man, and I’ve never been with a man like this.

  “Well, I’m not completely inexperienced,” he says. “But I promise, I don’t do this kind of thing often. Really.”

  He uses his hands on my hips to guide me as I rock up and down. At first, we go slow, but as our kisses grow deeper and more desperate, so does my body. I want him harder and faster, and I begin to move with an urgency I’ve never known. My whole body feels flooded with molten, liquid heat. I arch my body back and let the orgasm rip through me as I cry out. He’s holding on to me tightly around the back of my neck with his right hand on my ass, spreading my cheeks to go even deeper. His breath is ragged as my second orgasm builds and as I cry out, I feel him moan and shudder beneath me. He slams me up and down on his cock as he comes inside me.

  My body is limp with pleasure and I sink down on top of him. I have never experienced sex even close to that good before. Then it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve been riding him like a wild animal without even considering his injury. I lean back and touch the gauze.

  “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” I ask, bashful.

  He chuckles. “Never fucking apologize for what we just die. And no, you didn’t hurt me. But if you give me a few minutes,” he kisses me with a tantalizingly rough and playful touch. “I’m game to try again.”

  Chapter 6

  Hannah

  The next morning, or afternoon, if I’m being precise, I wake up to Samson snorting near my cheek. Hot motorcycle man and I had spent the rest of the night together, only taking a breather from the mind-shattering sex to wolf down the frozen pizza I keep for midnight snack attacks. I have no idea what time I’d actually fallen asleep, but one thing I do know is that there had been several more shots of bourbon taken and way too little talking. I still don’t even know his name, a fact that didn’t seem so problematic in my desire-induce haze last night. Sadly, I got the sense that he preferred it that way. Or maybe not so sadly, given that I really shouldn’t get involved with a guy like him. Wasn’t that the promise I made myself?

  When I finally roll onto my side, my body is sore and deeply satisfied from the wild night I just had. But the feeling of contentment doesn’t last long. I sit up in bed, sheets held up to my naked chest, and look around. From the lack of places there are to hide in this tiny apartment, it’s obvious right away that he’s gone. A quick chill washes over me, making me feel small and suddenly more alone than ever in my tiny apartment. A part of me wants to believe he went out to get us breakfast, or at least coffee, but that’s the same part of me that Kiki always teases me for, the part that always likes to look for the best in people. But who am I kidding? I don’t even know his name and he doesn’t know mine, if that doesn’t clearly spell out ONE-NIGHT STAND in big, bold letters, I don’t know what does. I may not have a ton of experience in this department, but I don’t think one-night stands are usually that amazing, otherwise people would turn them into million-night stands. I may never have sex that good again as long as I live. Shit.

  I slump down in the bed and frown. There had been something between us, hadn’t there? I hadn’t imagined that magnetic attraction… that heat, right?

  I climb out of bed and quickly throw on some clean underwear, leggings, and a t-shirt. That’s when I notice that the glasses from the night before are washed and drying on the small rack next to the sink, the first aid kit is packed up, and there’s even an empty can of dogfood on the counter.

  “God, he even fed Samson?” I say aloud to myself.

  I find a note scribbled and stuffed under the nearly empty bourbon bottle.

  “Thanks again for the rescue. I owe you. -D”

  I stare, flabbergasted at the note. Thanks for the rescue? I owe you? And he didn’t even sign his full name! Unbelievable! So much for me being a good judge of character. He chose an injured walk of shame over me. What a dog. Probably, worse, a married dog! I grumble at Samson. “This is your fault,”. But then I feel immediately guilty and kneel down to pet him. “Sorry I lost my temper,” I sigh. “He’d be lucky to be a dog. At least dogs are loyal!” I stand up and toss the note and the bourbon in the garbage, stomp into the shower and spend the next hour using every last drop of hot water to clean myself of any trace of him. At least my mind will be fully occupied with mixing bad drinks while I’m at work tonight. Kiki was right, I should never have gone anywhere close to the rose tattoo.

  By the time I get out of the shower, I’ve never been cleaner. I even straighten up my apartment, dusting and vacuuming as if I can angrily erase every last hint of him. It’s only then that I realize he didn’t leave empty-handed. I stand up on a chair to check all of the cupboards and the top of the fridge but it’s definitely gone. That son-of-a-bitch has taken one of my music boxes. The one I’d been trying to fix. He stole a fucking family heirloom from me?

  I sit down then and cry. I’ve always considered myself a pretty good judge of character, but clearly, I lost my touch last night. I didn’t really expect that last night would turn into some epic romance, but I never expected the jerk to steal my music box. What kind of dirtbag does that? If I ever run into motorcycle man again, I’m going to make him sorry for messing with me. Next time he ends up bleeding in an alley, it’s going to be me that puts him there.

  Chapter 7

  Dax

  My chief of security, Carl, is less than thrilled about my announcement. It has been three days since he picked me up outside Hannah’s apartment. When my assistant, Aster, had alerted him to the fact that I hadn’t come home he’d traced my phone to Bennie’s Garage. Carl had been scouring the nearby streets trying to locate me when I sent him the text from Hannah’s phone, it only took a few minutes for him to meet me out front of Hannah’s place.

  I knew it was best to leave before she woke up and started asking questions. Questions like, what’s your name… shit that I wasn’t willing to answer, but I still felt like such an asshole for leaving that way. She’d been beautiful, all tangled up in the sheets, her hair loose and wild. And even if she pretended the night we shared didn’t mean a thing to her, the kind of person that hangs ugly art painted by a friend and tries to repair her mother’s old music boxes, also cares if a man walks out on her the way I had.

  What I did was completely selfish, but I couldn’t risk her figuring out my identity. For some reason, Hannah just didn’t seem like someone I’d be able to lie to for long. I couldn’t stand the idea of her changing the way she looked at me. Those sexy, doe-eyes of hers had sparkled, and she wanted every part of me for no reason, no ulterior motive. How would she feel when she discovered I was Dax Hardin? Would she start imagining all the jewelry I could drape her in, th
e way I could snap my fingers and get her out of that dingy apartment of hers? Or would she look at me with disgust when she learned about my past, of the things I’d done? She’s like a diamond in mud, and I have no fucking idea what had landed someone like that in South Boston. I’ve had to keep reminding myself over for the last three days that one great night of sex doesn’t make her my problem. Doesn’t make her mine at all.

  Carl frowns as he and I both look at the object Aster has just delivered to my desk. The music box. I don’t know what compelled me to swipe it as I was leaving, but I wanted to do something, even if it was small, to show my appreciation for the way she’d help me. So I had a local guy fix it up for her, a thank you for giving me a night I’ll not soon forget. My original plan was to have Aster take it over to her apartment or drop it off at The Spotted Owl, but now I find myself telling Carl that I want to drop it off in person. To go back and fucking hand it over to her just so I can see her again. She’ll probably give me that punch she was bragging about being able to land. I’d deserve it. I just want to see her again. This is a fucking problem.

  I remember when Bennie finally quit smoking cigarettes a few years back and I asked him if he could ever have just one. He’d laughed and said, “with some things, once you start, you can’t ever stop”. That’s what I’m worried about. That Hannah has become something I crave. I’m used to getting what I want, but I am not used to needing anything, anyone. I’ll never let myself get hurt like that again. I lost my whole world when I lost Angelina. Six years have passed, but I’ve never once thought about making myself that vulnerable again.

  I don’t tell Carl all of that. Instead, I just tell him I’m taking the car to South Boston for a quick errand, he doesn’t need any more details than that.

  Carl isn’t agreeing that easily. Carl is ex-CIA, ex-marine, current high-strung worry wart, and he is not interested in me heading back to the place I got stabbed just a few days earlier. Whoever attacked me at Bennie’s took my wallet, which means it could have just been a random mugging. But neither of us really believe that. I’ve got more enemies in South Boston than Carl could ever imagine and everything about it felt personal. Plus the mysterious text message from Bennie. He swears he never sent that text. He was at his niece’s wedding and had closed up the garage for the night. Whoever sent me that text had access to Bennie’s phone. Maybe the attack was a warning of some kind, a threat. But for what? Nothing about what happened that night makes any sense. Except what happened with Hannah.

  Carl frowns at me. “You can’t risk your life over a music box.”

  “I can risk my life over anything I damn well please,” I say dryly. Carl’s been with me for ten years, but he should still remember that I call the shots.

  Carl shakes his head. “I’m just saying if you die doing something stupid, who’s going to hire me to head their security? I have my future to think about.”

  “I’m going,” I say.

  “I can see that,” Carl replies. “That doesn’t mean you have to go in blind.”

  “What do you propose?” I ask.

  “I come along. We take the Town Car,” Carl says. “I’ll call in Paul as the driver.”

  “I can’t fucking show up in Southie in a Town Car with a chauffeur.”

  “Why not? They know your net worth. It’s in all the papers. It’s not like it’s a stretch limo or a fucking Hummer.”

  I shake my head.

  “Or I could deliver it for you,” Carl says. He picks up the music box. “Nobody in South Boston is trying to murder me. Last I checked, anyway.”

  I stand up, buttoning my suit coat and walking around the desk to take the music box from Carl’s hand. “We’ll take the fucking Town Car. What about Lily?”

  “I’ve got Justin and Trent picking her up from school and taking her to tutoring and dance, then straight back home. Aster’s going to watch her until Hans takes over at 7.”

  “Any luck finding a new nanny yet?” I ask.

  “I’m your security chief, not your personal assistant,” Carl says. I frown at him. “But I heard from Aster that she’ll do some interviews tomorrow and give me some names for security checks. She’ll have someone steady again soon.”

  “Good,” I frown. My nine-year-old’s last nanny had great credentials, but she couldn’t get Lily to talk past monosyllables. Pretty much nobody these days can get Lily to talk. I’m almost at my wit’s end trying to figure out what will finally bring her out of her shell.

  She was so young when her mother died. They didn’t have much time together, but I can’t help but think that Angelina would know exactly what she needs right now, what I haven’t been able to figure out on my own. I feel an inward stab of pain at my responsibility for her silence. She’s never really gotten to have the life she deserves, the love of her mother. And one day, when she’s old enough to understand that Charles Finch was targeting me and Angelina was just collateral damage, she’ll likely not forgive me.

  Chapter 8

  Hannah

  As a favor for Joey, I came in early and worked the afternoon shift at The Spotted Owl. So now, instead of dragging myself home at 2 a.m., I find myself happily off the clock by 5 p.m. Happily may be a bit of an overstatement. Ever since my little fling three days ago, I haven’t been myself. On top of everything else, I missed a dose of my birth control the day after my completely irresponsible, devastatingly delicious hook up. I’ve never been that careless before.

  Kiki knows something is up, she can practically smell it on me, but I can’t tell her what happened because then I’ll have to admit that she was right about the men around here. I should have stayed away from him.

  As I walk home with Samson trotting behind me securely on a leash (because I will not be letting him lead me to any more handsome men in alleys who turn out to be music box thieves) I feel pretty good about not breaking anything at the bar today. I even got almost every order right, except for the lady who ordered a Screwdriver and I made her a Rusty Nail, but at least they are both drinks with handyman themes, so I’ll consider that a win. That’s what I told Joey anyway when the woman refused to pay.

  I’m feeling pretty good all around, as long as I keep my mind from wandering back to the sexy douche bag that shall not be named (mostly because I don’t know his name, but that’s not the point). I just need to refocus on the plan. Earn money, pay off debt, figure out a new dream now that dancing is over, and most importantly, give up men forever.

  I’m just coming up to the entrance of my apartment when I notice my door is slightly ajar. The idiot in me actually thinks the door is open because my landlord is finally fixing it. It’s not until I get right to the front door of my apartment and see it is half off its hinges that I know something is very, very wrong.

  The first things I see are the glass and ceramic fragments of the music boxes on the ground. All of the music boxes are completely smashed up. My mattress has been sliced open, the kitchen cabinets emptied and every piece of furniture is overturned. The place hasn’t just been ransacked, it’s been decimated. Even Kiki’s paintings. I step through the detritus and hurry over to the ridiculous painting of Samson. Someone’s sliced right through the middle of it.

  My mom’s death last year was slow and painful. Cancer stole her from me little by little, bit by bit. I always felt I had to be strong for her, and then strong for me. I didn’t have anyone, no other family, and my asshole father certainly wasn’t in the picture. I had to handle it all on my own. First her illness, then the insane financial burden of trying to get her the best medical treatment available and finally coming to terms with being left completely alone in the world. So I’d never really cried once she was gone. But now, using my hands to try to fit the sliced canvas of this idiotic painting of Samson back together, I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. Whoever did this wasn’t just trying to rob me, they were trying to hurt me. As I sink to the floor in the living room, I am forced to admit that they had succeeded.

  Then
I hear a familiar, gravelly voice behind me.

  “Hannah, Jesus, are you okay?” The unbelievably masculine voice says my name with a tenderness I didn’t know I needed to hear. I didn’t even think he knew my name.

  I turn around and there he is. Despite my best efforts over the last few days, I never stopped thinking about him, and my body never stopped yearning for him. I immediately feel compelled to stand up and move toward him. I am too shocked by everything that has happened to fully register that he’s not in jeans and a t-shirt this time, but instead a very expensive looking, well-tailored suit. Another man stands behind him in sunglasses, a black suit, and one of those white squiggly earpieces tucked in his ear.

  “Did you? Did you do this?” I stutter.

  “What?” For a moment his cool façade cracks and he looks hurt at the accusation. But as quickly as it came down, I see the aloof wall go back up.

  “No. I came back to….” he holds out the music box. “I came back to return it.”

  I stare at the repaired music box. “I don’t understand. I thought you stole it,” I say.

  “No. I didn’t steal it,” he says. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face.

  “Okay,” I nod. “You really fixed it for me?”

  “You’re shaking,” he says, noticing my trembling hands.

  “Yeah, no shit. Somebody went full destruction mode on my place. Who does that? I mean, I know the painting of Samson is silly, but it wasn’t doing any harm. And they smashed up all the other music boxes. Why?”

  He takes the music box from my hands and sets it down. Then to my surprise, he draws me into his arms and holds me tight. I melt, swear to God, right into his body as if I was born to fit inside his arms. It feels so good to be held by such strength and warmth. I want to pull away, but I can’t.