by Chelle Bliss
The house was exquisite. I felt excited for that sweet little girl and the prospect that she’d get to spend her childhood growing up in this beautiful place. Dale took me through the house, to the elaborate rooms that had no real purpose but would find one, to the kitchen that would have any gourmet cook eager to put to good use, and to the sun-room along the side of the house, leading into a beautiful backyard with lush grass and rows of expertly planted flower beds and vegetable gardens.
Then Dale brought me to the last room at the back of the house, secluded from the others, in a wing to itself. I knew what it was when we started down the hall and passed several of those disposable rooms that he’d mentioned no one needed.
“This is a lot of house for three adults and a two-year-old,” I told him, not paying attention to where we walked until he moved through the bedroom door and I found myself facing a king-size bed with only a nightstand and one lamp beside it.
“Hopefully,” he answered, walking to the window at the back of the room next to a small alcove big enough for a seating area. “We’ll fill it up one day.”
“We?” I turned to face him as Dale dropped his keys into his pocket.
He nodded, moving his mouth into a grin. His gaze went back to my cleavage, then again to my bare arms as I moved closer.
“You’re making an awful lot of plans for someone who didn’t have a ‘we’ this morning.”
“Well.” He reached for the waist of my jeans and tugged on them, pulling me flush against him. “I was going to give it a minute…”
“Just a minute?”
“And then,” he said, ignoring my question, “I was going to go back to New York and try to convince you where you belong.”
“And where do I belong?” I teased him as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Right here, Gingerbread.” Dale leaned forward, taking my mouth without preamble.
“What…mmmm.”
Dale kissed my neck.
“What if I wasn’t convinced? What…what would you have done then?”
“I would have had to try harder.”
He turned, walking us back toward the bed. He cupped my ass until he picked me up, holding me against his hips as he threaded his fingers through my hair. “I would have taken you from that asshole with my mouth…” He grazed his wet lips down my chin, nibbled on my collarbone because he knew how much I liked that, up along my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. “And…my hands…” Dale laid me back, slipping off my boots and socks, freeing me from my jeans, tugging off my shirt until I lay on his bed in nothing but my black lace bra and matching thong. “Oh, you’re fucking killing me with this.”
“This?” I slipped my thumb under the strap of my bra and snapped it before I slid back against the mattress, inching up the bed to rest against the pillows. “I think it’s only fair.”
“Fair?” Dale asked, one knee on the mattress, and he pulled off his T-shirt with one hand, leaving him in only his jeans and socks.
I rose to my knees, hands on my thighs as he crawled toward me. “Do you know how many years I’d lie in my bed thinking about—” I reached for him, rubbing my hands over his shoulder, up his wide arm “—all this?”
He kissed my neck, curling his hands around my waist, inching them to my ass. “You weren’t exactly invisible, baby.” Dale kissed along my shoulder, fingers moving under my bra, scratching my skin lightly before he unfastened the hooks at the back. “Tell me what you would think about.”
“Me,” I said, sliding my nails into his hair. “And you. Touching, tasting…”
“You all alone in that bed?” Dale slipped off my bra, laying me on the mattress as he hovered over me, moving between my spread legs. “Where did you touch yourself?” he asked.
My body buzzed, aching as he slid his fingertips between my tits, teasing the underside, turning his hands to cup them in his palms.
He moved closer, placing my legs over his thighs before he returned his hands to my breasts, holding them. “Here?” He flicked his thumbs over my nipples, a smile pulling his mouth wide when I nodded. Then Dale pinched each nipple, massaging them until I closed my eyes, my hips bucking up when he bent down to suck one into his mouth. “Did it feel like this, Gingerbread?”
“No, ah…” I pulled him closer, loving the heat of his breath on my sensitive skin and the weight of his heavy body sinking into me. “This…this is so much better.”
Dale leaned up, releasing my nipple, smoothing his fingers down my stomach until he touched my center, sliding the black lace fabric against my skin. His eyes slowly closed the lower he touched me. “Did you…touch yourself here?” He inhaled, bringing his mouth to my hip, nibbling the skin there.
I moaned and writhed against him. My skin felt tight, and the slick wetness at my pussy doubled when Dale moved the fabric down my hips, sliding the thong off my legs completely.
He returned his attention to me, stretching me, his palms against my thighs as he kissed along my slit, sucking my clit into his mouth. “Look at me, baby,” he said, eyes sharp, focused.
I got lost as he watched me, mesmerized at the sight of this strong protector above me, worshiping my body, licking me, sucking me like only my taste, my scent would sustain him.
“So…fucking good… Delicious…” Then Dale slipped two fingers inside me, still sucking on my clit, stretching me wider and wider, opening me apart to taste and take until I felt his fingers hitting deep inside me, teasing that sweet knot, over and over.
“Ah…” I moaned, tugging on his hair, teasing myself, fingers against my own nipples, plucking, twisting as he worked me and watched me, his breath doubling, panting against my leg as he ate me. “Yes! Oh God, baby!”
I came in a thunder of sound, my orgasm cresting, the wave unbelievable, but Dale did not wait for me to recover. He seemed to want me, all of me and all at once.
“Roll over, baby,” he said.
I complied, still humming from the intensity of my orgasm. He was naked and behind me as I adjusted on the mattress, my tits on the pillow, my forehead against the duvet as Dale moved behind me. “Fuck, I’ve missed this pretty, sweet pussy.” He teased me with the head of his cock, rubbing against my opening. The pressure was too much, and I rocked back, needing to feel him inside me, taking the tip, wanting it now.
Dale gasped, gripping my ass as he slipped in, bottoming out in one swift movement. “Fuck.”
“Please…” I said, not sure what I needed, but he knew. Dale knew my body, he knew me, and I rocked back.
He held me, holding my shoulder to keep me steady, guiding himself deeper and deeper. “Fuck, baby, you have no idea how much I want you.” He slammed into me harder and harder, and my pussy contracted, teasing us both. “I want you always… I’ll never stop wanting you.” Dale lifted me, still settled inside, steadying me on one knee as he held my other leg up, and I leaned a palm on the wall above the headboard. We moved together, the room filling with the sounds of our bodies coming together and the low stretches of our voices as we called out.
“Gin…ah…”
“There! Right there.”
I threw my head back when Dale teased my clit, continuing to pound inside me until I couldn’t take the sensation, the pressure that built and tortured and brought me back to the mattress. He followed after me, coming hard, his fingers digging into my hips, body trembling, convulsing as I squeezed him, milked him until we were weak, settled.
Then Dale rubbed his stubbled face against my shoulder, lifting my arm over my head as he pulled out of me, coming around to my front to take my nipple in his mouth again. “This, right here, baby, it’s all I’ll ever need.” He reached between us, touching my wet clit, still sensitive, still aching.
“Dale…” I tried, thinking I could not take another touch but his tongue against my skin. His soft, slow strokes between my legs had my breath doubling, my heart rate rising the longer he touched me.
“You’re all I’ll ever want,” he said, his thick c
ock hardening again against my thigh. “And right now, baby, I want you again.”
I didn’t stop him when he pushed my legs apart. When he lifted up on his strong, wide arms and pushed inside me one more time.
Just then, I realized my forever was right in front of me.
Epilogue
Dale
Six Months Later
New York wasn’t so bad when you were just visiting.
I’d mentioned that to my Gingerbread when we left the hotel this morning and got rewarded with an elbow to the gut. Mainly because I’d said it loud enough that the city tour guide walking a group down the sidewalk overheard me.
But then I kissed her behind the ear and told her how beautiful she looked in her pretty green spring sundress, how proud I was that she wore my ring, and that sweet little blush went over her face. And just like that, I was forgiven.
Seemed like there was a lot of that going around. Had to be the time of year. Maybe it was in whatever liquor the caterer had spiked the punch with. In any case, I stood in the Carelli mansion, leaning against some Grecian-looking column, head shaking at how ridiculous this place was. I kept a close eye on Johnny Carelli and how forgiving he seemed to be toward Gin. From where I stood, it edged on the too much side.
Kiel rolled his eyes when he spotted me across the room, his focus on me, then his brother-in-law and my new fiancée, then back to me again. When he shook his head, I flipped him the bird, feeling almost like I had a fucking spring in my step when the asshole frowned at me.
Didn’t much care if I was supposed to be nice to the guy since we were here to celebrate his son’s christening. Carelli was getting a bit too forgiving with Gin, and Kiel thought it was funny. To hell with them both, a thought I meant, especially when Carelli leaned toward Gin to whisper something in her ear, his hand aiming toward her lower back.
Yep. That was enough of that shit.
“Everything good here?” I stepped between Gin and that nut sac’s arm just before he touched my Gingerbread. I caught his frown when he shifted it into a smirk before Gin noticed. That asshole wasn’t nearly as slick as he thought he was.
“Oh yes, honey, we are.” Gin curled against me. “Johnny thinks he might have a new host for his show. Isn’t that good?”
“Sure is,” I told her, my gaze on the man in question. He turned to face me, the smirk flattening out as I rested my hand against Gin’s waist. “Glad to hear you’ll be irritating someone else’s woman.”
“Hunter, really.” Carelli slipped his hands into his pockets. “She would have been phenomenal.”
“Of that, I have zero doubt,” I told the man, squeezing Gin’s side.
He watched me, the grin he wore tight, not remotely sincere, and I caught on to what he wanted. Carelli thought he had words he needed to say. I could respect that even if I thought he was full of shit.
I squinted, casting a glance across the room to Kit sitting away from the food table and Kane looking helpless as he pestered the waitstaff. “Hey, baby.” I lifted my chin to our friends’ dilemma. “Kit looks a little green around the gills.”
“On it,” she said, heading toward her best friend. She’d been first trimester backup for the woman since the morning sickness seemed to be kicking her ass, and Kane was utterly useless when it came to his wife being sick because he’d knocked her up.
“So.” I turned to Carelli when Gin was out of earshot. “You got something to say?”
The man took his time, coming to stand next to me, his attention, like mine, on the crowd in his father’s home. There were dozens of kids running around chasing each other, and dozens more mafia-looking assholes huddled in small groups drinking, laughing, or whispering to each other as Old Man Carelli sat next to Cara at the front of the room, with her and Kiel’s son, Keleu Michael Carelli-Kaino sleeping in a bassinet between them. The whole event reminded me of something out of a Coppola movie, but Gin loved Cara, and I followed her lead.
So here I was, getting ready to hear what I suspected was some pointless warning from a fucking criminal.
“I got something to say,” Carelli said, his voice low as he shook the ice in his glass.
I expected threats, maybe even taunts that he’d stolen her from me for just a little while.
But the man surprised me, exhaling as he looked down into his glass, taking a second before he slammed it back. “Even though there was never really anything between us…the better man got her.”
I whistled, turning to look at him. “Holy hell. Did that hurt? Like physically, did you want to puke your guts up saying that shit to me?”
Carelli slipped a glance at me before he put his empty glass on the table next to him. “I got zero illusions about the differences between us, Hunter. You did a job I could never do. Not many could, and for that, you have my respect.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him where he could shove his respect, but I decided to be civil. It was something I was trying—civility. Mercy being in my house every day, Tony and Jazmine there as well as we all took a turn in raising that bundle of beautiful energy, had done a lot to help center me. My family, Gin included, had taught me what it was to let others have their say. I’d do that now. Carelli had money and power, but he didn’t have the family I did, and he didn’t have Gin. I was the richer man, and I think we both knew it. I nodded, letting the man continue.
“Gin is a good woman. Talented, intelligent, fucking beautiful.”
“And taken.”
“I saw the chunk of ice you put on her finger, calm down.” He watched my woman, the right side of his mouth lifting as she rubbed Kit’s back and waved Kane away. “You’re a lucky man. I hope you know that, and I hope you don’t ever forget how lucky you are.”
If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn Carelli was feeling down about losing more than just Gin. He hadn’t known her that long, and from what she’d told me, they hadn’t had anything that would have left much of an impression. The poor guy looked ready to cry like a bitch, so I deflected the emotion, slapping his shoulder to ease some of the tension.
“Come on, man. Don’t worry about it. Every man has his one. Gin will be yours. One day, you’ll tell your grandsons about the beautiful redhead that got away.”
“No.” A smile slid back over his mouth. “Gin is remarkable, but she’s not the one who got away.”
“No?” I asked, wondering how blind this asshole could be.
There was no woman alive like my Gingerbread.
He shook his head, motioning to a waitress for another glass. “No. The one who got away is still running.” He took the glass from the woman when she offered it, taking a long sip before he finished. “And I have every fucking intention of catching her.”
Turn the page for a sneak peek into Johnny’s book. He’s going to knock your socks off.
Sneak Peek
Nailed Down Book 4
* * *
Johnny Carelli
* * *
The crowd was quiet but respectful. Even the man at the front of the room, holding his head high, his expression serious, was professional. I did not meet his eyes. I hadn’t met anyone’s eyes since walking in three hours ago. There was too much emotion tied up in this day. Too many responsibilities that flooded me, that would soon consume me, to be distracted by the glare currently directed right at me.
Fuck him, I thought, relaxing against the plush cushion behind me, slipping my own scowl back to that asshole. Our gazes met, and I tightened my jaw, letting some of my frustration over this day filter out into the glare I gave that man. He had leveled a lot of blame at me over the years. It was time I sent some back.
Ahead of him, the children came, their voices low, somber. Then their song began, and the hymn filtered into the rafters, the echo of each note hitting the high ceilings above. I excused myself, torn by the memory of that song and what it had meant to me as a kid. What it meant to me as a man hearing it on this day, in this place.
I waved off Angelo an
d my sister as I moved through the crowd, ignoring the stares I got, bypassing well-wishers until I found myself alone. I was sufficiently secluded to let the emotion of the day peek out, just enough that I could breathe and not implode. I needed a release, some outlet that would distract me. Something that would keep me from screaming, cursing everyone in the room who did not feel what I did.
But there was no one. There was nothing.
There was only this sorrow and the blister of loss.
Or so I thought.
The back row was empty and shaded in darkness. There were twenty minutes before it all began, and I had time, plenty of time, to find solace, some small semblance of peace alone in this spot. I would sit there, maybe, when the current wave of people moved through the doors, when the ushers cleared the aisle.
And then the group of nuns passed beyond the confessional.
Shock and surprise overwhelmed me.
Of course, she would be there. The children were hers. She guided them. They were her saving grace. They were her absolution for the sin I’d led her to. And the man, that glaring, angry man at the front of the church, he was hers as well. Duty. Honor. These were things that I had not made her forget with my mouth and my tongue, my touch and my taste.
Christ, she was such a temptation. Even now, sitting alone three rows from the back, her body rigid, her posture perfection. She was Sophia Loren made young again, brought into the twenty-first century to tempt and torture me just by being, existing. I could no more ignore her than I could disregard a da Vinci painting.
Our last meeting had nearly destroyed me. She’d been so angry seeing me. So full of rage at the surprise my presence caused. But today, in this place, at this time, she should know I would find her.
And I was better prepared. I could wait. I could watch and see her pristine self, a perfect vision in her black dress and black hat, clutching her red rosary beads as she closed her eyes and prayed.