Knocked Up by the Bad Boy (3 page)

Her hands push my chest suddenly, and I break away from her briefly to see red, parted lips.

“You all right, hon?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Then let’s continue this in my office.”

“No, I can’t. I need to go.”

Sounds like bullshit.

She takes a step back and suddenly her eyes go wide as her huge heel slips on something, and then she falls to the ground before I can catch her. Her cry of pain makes me stoop down quickly.

Oh Jesus Christ.

My guys wheel around, offering to help her up, but I bend down and grab her skinny arm. She gets up painfully, and that’s when I notice a shard of glass sticking out of her knee.

“What the fuck, Genevieve!”

The bartender snaps her head around, looking mortified.

“I told you to pick up the fucking glass!”

“I’m so sorry, sir!”

I turn back toward the girl in my arms. “Maya, I have bandages in my office. Come.”

She hesitates but looks at the line of blood trickling down her skin and nods. I bend over and yank the glass from her skin, hurling the bartender an ugly look as I walk Maya to my office.

I’ll fucking deal with you later.

I open the door for her and usher her inside, unable to stop the jump of excitement in my cock as I close it, shutting the noise of the bar away.

“Here, sit down.”

She takes a seat in one of the leather-backed chairs and I grab the first-aid kit under my desk.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t really hurt.”

I rip open the kit and grab some gauze and Neosporin. Maya tentatively extends a hand to grab it from me, but I shake my head.

“I’ll take care of it.”

She cocks her head. “I think you just want your hands on my leg.”

You’re not wrong.

“I want a lot more than that.”

Her cheeks are stained with red. For the life of me, I can’t pin down this girl. She dresses like a slut but she acts like a blushing virgin. What the hell is that about?

Shaking my head, I take her leg in my hands. It’s hard to concentrate as I glide them up her smooth skin. I extend her leg so that it lies across my thigh, and then I spread the ointment over the cut. She closes her eyes as I wrap my hands around her. Then I take the gauze and press it firmly over the cut. Her thigh shivers when I smooth my hand over the bandage.

“Thanks.”

No problem, sweetheart. Now suck my cock.

Her leg is inches from my dick, and I imagine her straddling me in this chair. Blood rushes to my groin and I can’t help spreading my fingers around her flawless skin. Her chest pulses faster with my movements, but she draws her leg away from me.

“Let me take you home and give you a night you’ll never forget.”

Her eyes blaze. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I told you.”

“
I want to hear it again
.”

The headiness in her voice makes my lips tug into a smirk. “First, I’d take a pair of scissors and cut that dress from your body and free those tits. Then I’d lay you over my couch and spread your legs so that I could lick your pussy.”

“Why?”

Why not?

“I want to make you come with nothing but my tongue thrusting inside that wet cunt.”

“Jesus.”

“Then when you’re nice and wet, and shaking from your orgasm, I’ll fuck you so goddamn hard and good your pussy won’t ever be able to enjoy another man’s cock again.”

“How would you fuck me?”

She’s driving me crazy with all these questions. I sweep my hand along her calf and grip it. “I’d take this leg and put it over my shoulder, and then I’d take the other and do the same thing so I could fuck you nice and deep.”

Maya’s dress vibrates right above her heart. I can see the fabric fluttering with her heartbeat, and I can feel my own thrumming hard. Like a goddamn jackhammer through my cock.

I get up from my chair and her eyes widen as I stoop down to kiss her again.

She places a palm against my chest and shakes her head.

“
I can’t
.”

What?

“Why the fuck not?”

She bites her lip viciously. “You’re Italian, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I can’t.” This time her tone is resolute. She stands up from the chair and gives me an uneasy look before she heads toward the door.

What the fuck?

“Whoa, sweetheart. Talk to me. What happened?”

I grab her wrist, and haughty eyes flick down at my hand and back at me. I’d like to fuck the insolence out of her gaze.

“I’m going home.”

“You can’t fuck me ’cause I’m Italian? What kind of prejudiced bullshit is that?”

A sad look wipes the pride from her face. “My dad would kill me. I’m sorry.”

She pulls away from me, and frustration boils in my veins. Jesus fucking Christ, she’s the biggest cock-tease I’ve ever met.

“Let me talk to your dad.”

Maya suddenly bursts into laughter and throws back her head as if it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. It’s fucking insulting, and I want to tie her up and fuck her anyway, father or no father.

“Lets just say that my father could make life very miserable for a bar owner.”

She pushes open the door, leaving me stunned in the office. I have to remind myself of two things. One, this girl has no idea who I am and how far I’m willing to go to get what I want. Two, I need to restrain my anger.

But I can’t.

I barge out of the office, back into the noise of the bar, and grab her shoulders, whirling her around to pin her against the wall. A slight gasp leaves her throat as her back bumps the wall, and I feel a stab of guilt for the fear widening her eyes.

“No one walks out on me.”

Her eyebrows narrow. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“I don’t tolerate disrespect from anyone.”

A smile flickers on her face. “Look, you’re hot and all, but I can’t date Italians. My father would kill me.”

“Are you fucking shitting me? You’re what, twenty-two, twenty-three, and you’re going to let Daddy tell you that my Italian cock is no good for your French-Canadian pussy?”

Her eyes narrow dangerously.

Too far.

“Let me go.”

Fine. Get the fuck out of here.

My hands slide down her arms, which sprout with goose bumps. She reaches for the hem of her dress and pulls it over her tits, my cock hardening at the sight of them bouncing right in my fucking face.

“Come home with me,” I say in a deep voice. “Daddy doesn’t have to know.”

The effect of my words slides down her throat like a hot drop. Her lips tremble as she stares at me.

“Can’t. Sorry.”

Then she gives me a quick peck on my cheek.

“Thanks for the drink.”

Thanks for the drink.

Like I’m some fucking chump. This has to be a joke.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She gives me a scathing look. “I never promised I’d go home with you.”

Her hair feels like silk in my hands. I let her strands glide through my fingers as I watch her inhale deeply, trying to hide how much she wants me. “I don’t like being teased.”

A blush rises in her cheeks. “I didn’t—”

I back her against the wall. “No, you just wanted to
fuck
with me. That was the plan, wasn’t it? Some harmless flirting, and then you give him blue balls and go home to Daddy without finishing what you started.”

She doesn’t back down. A light blazes from her eyes as she clenches her jaw shut, clearly bursting to tell me off. I step back from her, and she throws me an ugly look before walking away.

“If I see you in this bar again, I’ll throw your ass out. Don’t come back here.”

I say it to her back, but she hears me. She slows her step and then walks out of the hallway, disappearing into the bar.

My cock’s still rock hard and I want to hit something.

I walk into the bar, ready to smash my fist through the drywall, to beat in the first person’s face who looks at me wrong. What’s wrong with being Italian? It’s not like she was Irish.

Tabarnak de c
â
lisse
, it pisses me off.

I look around the bar, tempted to find another broad to bang and forget about the hot one still burning in my mind, but none are half as beautiful.

François, my captain, gives me a curious look as I return to the bar counter. “Did you get her number?”

My arms cross over my chest. “She doesn’t fuck Italians.”

He chokes with laughter. “Well, she picked the right place.”

It’s a connected bar. Everyone knows that. It’s my bar—and I’m the boss of the Cravotta Crime Family.

He beckons to me, leaning in to talk close in a hushed whisper. “Listen, me and the guys have an idea for getting a copy for the guards’ keys for the heist.”

I don’t feel like talking business. My desire for the party evaporated the moment that girl walked out on me.

“We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to head out.”

And jack off furiously when I get home.

* * *

That girl simmers in my head the whole weekend. The rage boils over, mingling with burgeoning lust. The fact is, I get around. I score a lot of easy pussy, but none of them ever fucked with my head like this. Rejection is not something I deal with as a boss of the family. Period. Women are eager to please me just like everyone else.

“Chris, let me out here.”

My driver stops the car in front of my mother’s house and I step out of the sleek Audi, shutting the door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

God, I need to get it together.

The last thing I want is to visit my ma, but I’m supposed to be a family man. It’s important to respect your family in this business, even if I don’t care for mine. At the end of the day, I do whatever the fuck I want, but it’s hard to shake off that feeling of duty to your family.

I knock on the door, my fist banging against the dense wood. Seconds later, Ma wrenches it open. She’s well kept, my mother, and that’s always something I admired about her.

“Johnny!”

She wears an apron over her yellow dress and looks at my suit, her eyes widening. “Look at you, looking so handsome. Do you have a date?”

Jesus Christ. This again.

I step inside her house. “No, Ma. This is how I always look.”

Her eyes wrinkle. “I wish you would get a girlfriend and settle down.”

“I did, remember? Twice?”

Married twice. Divorced twice. I married Stacey when I was too young, and all we did was resent each other. Karen, my second wife, left me. That part of my life is over. I guess you could say that I gave up on having the perfect family life. Fuck it. I like being able to go out whenever the fuck I want. I like fucking a new piece of ass every night.

Which inevitably reminds me of the piece of ass who teased me a couple nights ago. Who I can’t get out of my goddamn head.

“When am I going to get grandchildren?”

“Did you just invite me over to give me shit about this again?” My angry voice echoes in the small apartment as she guides me to the kitchen.

“Johnny, I don’t like hearing you curse.”

Mange d’la marde.

“Sorry.”

“Come, you need to eat. You’re too skinny.”

I’m always “too skinny” for her. She expects me to bloat like a beached whale, like my old man. He was a fat fuck.

She flaps her hands, motioning me toward the bowl of
spaghetti alla Bolognese
. Ma serves me at least a pound of pasta. The steam rises from it in spirals, the spices from the meat failing to distract me from my two ex-wives.

It’s really the only thing I’ve ever failed at in life. I have all the money and pussy I could possibly fucking want. The only thing I don’t have—a family—I failed at. Twice.

I’m not going for a third. I just won’t.

Besides, living a bachelor’s life isn’t bad at all. Tony did it, before he knocked up that girl.

I pick up the fork and wind the pasta around and around.

Then I think about how Tony talks about his baby girl all the time with a look in his eyes that I don’t understand, and my chest tightens.

I shove the feeling away.

Who needs a wife?

“So how’s work going?”

“Pretty good.”

Work is always a tricky topic to navigate around my mother. She knows exactly who I am, but I wouldn’t tell her, for example, that I’m planning the biggest heist in history. Millions of dollars in cash. That’s what fucking drives me. Nearly every restaurant, casino, and racetrack in this city gives me a piece of their action in exchange for protection from other gangs. If this heist goes as planned, all of us will be fucking rich. We won’t need that shit anymore.

She looks up at me from her plate of
Bolognese
, her eyes evasive. “I just find it hard to believe that you can’t find another wife.”

My fork clatters on the plate as I throw my head back and close my eyes.

Keep it together. Don’t fucking yell at her, or she’ll cry and you’ll be stuck here even longer.

“Ma, marriage isn’t for me.”

“I thought I would die of shame when you got divorced the first time. It’s a sin, Johnny. Marriage is a sacred vow—”

“Oh will you
fucking please
stop with this shit!” The chair crashes to the floor as I stand up abruptly. “Every fucking time I come over, it’s the same thing! I’m not getting married again. I’m not having kids. Get the fuck over it. I am.”

I’m stewing with the rage of being reminded of this failure
over
and
over
again, but then she bundles the tablecloth in her hands, and her face screws up.

Shit.

“How can you talk like that to your mother?”

Seeing her tears would be a bigger punch to my gut if she hadn’t done it a thousand times already. I shove my hands deep inside my pockets, filled with a rush of self-loathing.

She’s right. You don’t disrespect your mother.

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

“You’re all I have left. Your father left us.”