“Yes, but be careful. If you keep doing that, I'll get turned on again and want more. You're not as young as you used to be.”
“I can perform whenever you ask me to, whether I've just had sex or not.”
Amy laughed. “You’re still so full of shit,” she said.
“But that's why you love me.”
“Maybe. But I don't love it in our son. I want him to be normal. I want whichever woman decides she wants to be with him to have a nice life—not have to worry about what he'll do next.”
Christian rolled off her and played with his penis for a couple of minutes. “See, I'm not as full of shit as you think,” he said when he began to get hard again.
*****
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Her Protection
“Welcome back, Son,” Limonov said. He threw his arms around his son and hugged him. Milan Igorevich had just returned from college after graduating with a degree in economics.
“Hi, Pa,” Milan said. He stepped back and looked at the Palm Breeze Casino. His father had made some alterations since Milan had last seen it. “Making money, I see,” he said.
“Making a fortune, son, and it's all gonna be yours one day. Come on, the guys are waiting for you,” Limonov said.
Milan followed him up the steps and through the glass and chrome revolving door.
“Welcome back, sir,” the doorman said when they arrived in the foyer. Milan noticed the whole interior had received a makeover. The carpet was maroon, and his shoes seemed to disappear in the deep pile of it. In the middle of the foyer, the logo of his father's business had been woven in yellow into the maroon material. Everywhere he looked, Milan saw gold chrome and members of staff in yellow and maroon uniforms.
“Jeez, Dad, you've gutted the place,” Milan said.
“It needed it, Son. As you know, this is the fourth casino in our portfolio, and we needed to have it looking as luxurious as the others.”
“Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that,” Milan replied as they walked through a large hall full of slot machines. A group of well-dressed young women who were obviously in the casino on a hen night turned their heads and followed Milan as he moved past them. One of them let out a wolf whistle, which made him smile. He was used to it. Why some women were offended by being whistled at on the street, he had no idea; he loved it. It happened so often to him. He didn't know which sex was the worst perpetrator, men or women.
They walked through another room, which housed the serious gambling tables for roulette and blackjack, and walked down a small corridor to the offices.
“Welcome home,” they all shouted when Milan and his father entered the office.
“Hi, guys. Nice reception,” Milan said. He looked at them, his father's warriors: Vladimir, Dima, Valentin, and Toni. They'd worked for his dad for more years than he could remember. Each of them had his own task in Limonov's business. Vladimir was in charge of narcotics, Dima protection, Valentin money laundering, and Toni, who was Italian, saw to it that the Russians and Italians didn't come to blows by trespassing on each other's territories. Each of them was dressed in a sharp suit with a pressed shirt and blue tie. Limonov didn’t tolerate scruffy employees. The only person who was missing was Dmitri, who'd been shot two months earlier. He’d been in charge of the casinos, and one evening when he was ejecting a rowdy gambler the man had pulled a gun on him and shot him dead. While Limonov bemoaned the loss of any of his men, Dmitri's death had solved a problem for him. It had created an instant opening for his son, who was just about to graduate.
“Congratulations on your triumphs,” Vladimir said. “An economics degree and a US college boxing champion. Not bad for a snotty kid from St. Petersburg,” he joked.
“Hey, watch it,” Milan said. “You're not too big to put over my knee.”
“Toni, get Jessie to bring us some champagne,” Limonov said. “Sit down, Son, in the chair behind the desk. This is your office now. You're the boss here.”
Milan sat down in the leather office chair and looked at the men around him. Now, at last, he felt like part of the team. As a young boy he'd watched these men meeting at the house he lived in with his mom and dad, and they'd become his heroes. They were guys he wanted to emulate, because they commanded respect wherever they went. They were tough and took no prisoners in their approach to business.
When someone knocked at the door, Vladimir opened it. Milan's jaw dropped when he saw her. She was tall and dark, her hair so shiny it reflected the light above her. Her eyes were oval and more sensual than any female eyes he'd ever looked into. He took in her body, her large breasts and the curve of her hips as they pushed against her skirt. Farther down he noticed how smooth and bronzed her legs were.
“Champagne, sir,” she said to Limonov.