“A naughty angel for my devil with a heart of gold. I am a dirty girl, Shane . . . your dirty girl.”
The words set him off, and with a growl, he slams into me balls-deep and immediately begins pumping in and out, hard and fast. I reach back, wanting to feel him piston into me, my nails scratching along the skin of his hips. I can’t see them, but I know I’m marking him too, little pink lines proclaiming him as mine. I dream that maybe those marks will be permanent, maybe something that we can share.
Shane grabs one of my hands, pulling it to my lower back and locking it in place with a tight grip. His other hand twists tightly into my hair, and I’m at his mercy, pinned down and getting fucked. Even to myself, the word sounds filthy, and that turns me on even more. I mewl, whining as I beg him.
“Yes Shane . . . fuck me . . . please . . .”
He pulls me tighter, his voice a low, growling demand. “What did you say?”
I don’t know if he likes it or hates it, and right now, I don’t care because it’s all I can manage to say. “Fuck me, Shane. Fuck. Me. Hard.”
He leans over me, covering my back with his body and pressing me into the couch arm, one hand still trapped between us. “Mmm, my fucking dirty Angel.” He strokes into me again and again, filling and stretching me as I whimper, begging for more. “Come for me.”
He suckles the flesh along my shoulder into his mouth, marking me once again, and I feel pushed harder than ever. His cock is so deep, and I cry out in pleasure and pain.
The moment stretches, both of us on the precipice forever, riding that edge before I fall off, crashing into my orgasm, and Shane comes too, ropes of his hot cum filling me. It drives me more, my pleasure drawing out like a rope too, going on and on as I scream hoarsely. I’m calling out his name and swearing that I’m his as his deep bellow accompanies my cries in a symphony as we finish together.
Chapter 26
Shane
We spend the rest of the evening in the apartment, relaxing. For several hours, we can hear the music booming below us as the club carries on business as usual. We’d done the same, continuing our rounds of talking and lovemaking, pausing to eat and chat before our passions overtake us again.
Around two in the morning, Maggie mentions going downstairs to see Allie, but after the run-in with the Rivaldis, I’m uneasy. “Angel, I know Dominick seems to think this is all handled, and I’m hopeful he’s right, but sometimes, a cornered animal is the meanest, and I’m nervous Sal is going to be desperate enough to do something crazy.”
“But what about Allie and Dom and . . . well, everyone downstairs?”
I nod, hugging her tightly. “I know. But I can’t protect them all. I can protect you, though, and it’d make me feel a lot better if you had Allie come up here rather than us go downstairs.”
She agrees, and Allie’s actually willing to hang out a bit before she heads home so we can all grab some shut eye. Waking up at noon, Maggie and I eat a simple breakfast of Golden Grahams and tea before sneaking downstairs carefully to check in with Dominick.
I knock on his door, my usual two raps, and from inside, I hear him. “Come in, Shane.”
We enter, and he turns around from his desk, smirking that he knew simply by my knock. “Please, sit.”
He motions to the chairs sitting in front of his desk, and we sink into them. I notice Maggie has her knees pulled to her chest again, her arms wrapped around her legs. It makes me worry, but I know it’ll take her awhile to feel comfortable in Dominick’s presence now. “Thanks. Just wanted to check in.”
Dom nods, stroking his chin. “So you’ve heard.”
I furrow my brow, confused. I came down for a general check-in and to see if there was a way for Maggie and me to safely stretch our legs. “Heard? Heard what?”
Dominick leans back in his chair, relaxing. “Have you been in contact with . . .” He seems to be searching for a word, an uncommon occurrence for a man who uses words like sharp knives. “Your handlers?”
I look to Maggie and then shake my head. “I don’t really have one. An unofficial contact, but making official contact is . . . dramatic.”
Dominick smiles, seemingly laughing inside. “Perhaps you should check in with them. At least your unofficial contact.”
He doesn’t seem inclined to give me privacy for the call, so I reach into my pocket and speed-dial Chucky, putting the phone to my ear.
The line connects with silence, and I talk first, keeping Chucky’s name out of it lest Dominick get curious for more information. It may be a nickname, but I wouldn’t put it past Dom to find out Chucky’s real name and entire history in less than forty-eight hours if he was motivated to do so. “Hey, man. It’s Shane.”
Chucky sounds excited, panting as he greets me. “Damn, dude, you must have balls of fucking steel! Everyone here is talking about how Dominick walked into Sal’s house, in the middle of a fucking wake, told all his shit to the whole damn crew, including the Colombians, and then beat the shit out of a traitor. And you just stood there, sweet as you please, with no reaction.”
Interesting. Guess they didn’t hear about my kicking the shit out of Nick on my way out. Probably a good thing, considering everything else. I never actually met the man the FBI put in the Rivaldi family, but he must not have been present. The FBI wouldn’t ignore my beating the fuck out of Nick like that. The boot to the gut on a downed man was definitely past ‘appropriate use of force.’
“Yeah,” I reply airily, though, trying to play it off. “That’s pretty much what happened.”
“Weren’t you shitting your pants that Dominick was going to kill you?” Chucky asks, still panting a little. “I mean, I know you’re in Dom’s custody, but it would’ve been real fucking easy for him to say he was taking you to Sal’s and then dump your body in the river. Probably even keep the girl for himself.”
I look at Dominick, considering what happened in the car yesterday, and make up my mind. “No, if he wanted me dead, I would be. He’s a man of his word and said he’d help, so I trusted him to follow through.”
Chucky whoops like a teenager at a pop concert, and I have to pull my phone away for a moment to wince. “That’s some top-notch loyalty there, man. Not sure I’d trust anyone that that much, even if they were player one in the game.”
“It’s not a game, man. Any other updates? Word on the hitman?” I ask, getting irritated at Chucky’s casualness considering this is my life. Maggie’s life.
Chucky whistles, obviously surprised. “You haven’t heard about the hitman?”
There’s something to Chucky’s tone, a weirdness I can’t place. I look to Dominick, who’s eyes are crinkling a bit . . . in amusement? “No, I haven’t heard. What is it?”
“Sal Rivaldi woke up this morning to find the hitman dead . . . in his living room . . . sitting up in his fucking throne of a chair . . . and none of the guards saw a thing.” Chucky delivers the details with dramatic pauses for effect, and it works.
“So, he’s dead?” I ask, a little disappointed. The bastard almost killed my woman and put a groove in my left bicep that’s going to leave a wicked scar. I wanted to at least get a little bit of a receipt on that.
Chucky laughs darkly, obviously pleased, although I know if he found a dead body in his living room, someone would need to call an ambulance for his heart attack. “Yeah, you could fucking say that. That’s not even the best part, though.” I wait, knowing Chucky will tell me when he’s ready. Finally, he laughs. “The best part is that on the coffee table were a handful of bullet cases, presumed to be the brass from Carlos’s shooting, and an invoice . . . for the repairs to Petals’s private room!” Chucky is wheezing, laughter taking his breath away, and I can’t help but smile. Dominick is a twisted, manipulative son of a bitch and a damn scary motherfucker.