Knocked Up by the Bad Boy (9 page)

“Fuck me!”

Her scream stabs me right in the fucking ears, but I don’t care.

“You sure you want me to fuck you?”

Still groping her tits, I give her ass another brutal slap, and she cries out. “Five! Yes, I’m fucking sure.”

“Beg me.”

All the energy roils in my stomach as she collapses over the pillows, unable to keep herself up anymore. “Fuck me, goddamn it! I can’t take it anymore!”

I want to play with her. I want to make her crawl on her knees and beg me while I’m in her mouth, but I can’t take it anymore either.

I seize her hips and force her legs apart, and there’s a brief moment where the head of my cock pushes between her folds, and then her warmth envelops me like a tight, warm glove.

“Hands back on the headboard.”

She obeys and then her body jackhammers forward as I ram my hips against hers. My cock thrusts deep as every instinct urges me to fuck her hard and fast. So that’s what I do. I grind my hips against that pussy and nail her deep, until she lets out a sharp yell.

“Yes!”

Her arms tremble from the force of my thrusts. Her voice is like a lightning bolt straight into my cock, energizing me. My vision narrows to the girl writhing on my bed, screaming for more. With every thrust, she opens her mouth in a moan and her tits swing forward. I grab both in my hands and wrench her upright, using them to hold her against me.

“Oh my God,
John
—”

“I need you to come, baby.”

My arm snakes around her waist while the other holds her tits. As I thrust into her, I grab her swollen clit and press down hard, rubbing her in circles. She nearly swoons in my arms. Maya turns her flushed face toward mine, and I crush my lips against hers. It’s too much. The fucking feeling of her tight pussy gripping my cock like it doesn’t ever want to let me go, her tits in my hands, and the screams she makes.

“I need you to fucking come.”

She doesn’t flinch from the rough edge in my voice. She’s lost in the pleasure of it just like I am.

“I am!”

I feel the explosion ripping through her body as she grips my cock hard and falls apart in my arms, sagging against me. Then I’m done, too. I’m no match against her perfect body. I ram her so hard that she screams in pain, and the ache swells like a wave. It crashes down, and I feel the hot jets of cum, and her wet thighs against mine. I let her down gently and pulse a few more times.

“Fuck!”

Yes, I needed this.

Still inside her, I lie down over her, propping myself up by my elbows. Damn, I’m exhausted.

“Oh my God.”

Her mellowed voice breathes out in my bedroom as her chest pulses. A thrill of pride hits my chest as she turns to face me.

“I’ve never been fucked like that.
Ever
.”

I smile, pressing my wet forehead against hers. “I told you I was good.”

She touches my chin, tracing it. “I knew you’d be. I just—”

“Didn’t know how good it would feel?”

I’m amused at the slight blush pinking her cheeks as she nods, the haughtiness in her eyes finally gone.

Right around now would be the time where I’d usually invent some kind of work-related business I had to attend to because I’m an asshole and I want them out of my apartment, but I feel no desire to get rid of her. And it hits me suddenly. I want this girl again. Not just for tonight, or the next day. I want her on call whenever I want to fuck her. Why should I bang cocktail waitresses when I have a hot piece of ass who will let me do whatever the hell I want?

But it’s against my rules. Fuck a girl more than once, and the next thing you know, they want a relationship. And then they want to meet your mother and tickets to the opera and fuck knows what else.

Then she kisses me. Her lips are against mine before I can even summon up an excuse to suggest that she should leave, and then that compulsion is wiped away completely. She kisses me and slips her tongue inside me, making my heart pound.

* * *

Crack of dawn. Something moves beside my bed. A shadow.

I don’t even think. In seconds my hand clutches the handle of the gun stashed under my pillow. Then I lunge across the bed, grabbing a skinny wrist. A female cry of pain surprises me as I bury the gun in her temple, pressing her body to mine.

“Shut the fuck up and don’t move.”

“It’s me, you idiot!”

Holy fuck.

My heart clenches painfully as I recognize her voice and put the gun aside, flipping on the lamp. She blinks furiously against the bright light.

“Sneaking out in the middle of the night, eh? Nice.”

I should be pissed, but it’s hard not to laugh at this shit. Who the fuck has the balls to walk out on me?

“You had to put a gun to my head?”

“You took me by surprise,” I say, letting her go roughly.

“I just wanted to leave before you woke up.”

“Classy.”

Maya crosses her arms and stares at me.

No apology, nothing.

“Why? So you could go back to Daddy before he woke up?”

Her face heats up like a lamp. “You don’t understand, and I can’t explain.”

My chest heaves in a sigh. “Fine. At least let me drive you home.”

“
No
,” she says too quickly.

No. “No” is not a word I hear very often. It makes my stomach churn to see her standing there like that, just as defiant as she was in the bar.

Now my blood is starting to boil.

“What the fuck is wrong with me giving you a ride home, huh?”

“Nothing,” she insists.

“Are you embarrassed by me?”

“No!” Her face burns under my stare. “Please, just take my word for it. He can’t know.”

Fine.
Whatever
.

“You should stay the night. He’s going to find out anyway.”

She tenses at that. “He can’t.”

“It’s not safe walking alone at this time.”

Her lips stagger with a small grin. “It’s safe for me.”

What does that mean?

I slide from the bedsheets and stand up naked beside her, watching how her gaze lingers on my dick, chest, and arms.

“Give me your number so we can do this again.”

“I told you, it was a one-time thing.”

“Tell me I wasn’t the best lay you ever had.”

She reaches out with her hand, that look blazing in her eyes again. “It’s not about that. I can’t just do whatever I want.”

I don’t buy that.

I pick up my slacks from the floor and pull out a small white card with my private phone number. If she even knew how rarely I gave it out to girls, she’d be honored, but of course the dumb idiot doesn’t. I haven’t had a
comare
in ages, and I’d like to have her as one. I take her hand and gently close her fingers around it.

Then I bend my lips to her ear and I feel her shiver. “Call me the next time you feel like a good fuck.”

“I don’t think so.”

A grin stretches my face. “Maybe the next time you fight with your dad.”

She stuffs the card in her jeans without looking at it and I walk her to the door, opening it for her and giving the whole hallway front-row seats to my cock. Maya doesn’t want to leave. It’s all over her body. From those nipples sticking out like pins on that fuck-me dress she wears, to her eyes locked on mine.

“You’re trying to tempt me back inside.”

“Is it working?”

The blush spreading over her cheeks tells me
yes
.

“Don’t you care that anyone could see you right now?”

“No.”

A smile cracks her face and suddenly she takes a step forward. She bumps her lips against mine. For a moment I think she’s coming back inside, but she pulls back almost immediately. It’s just a cheap goodbye.

“Bye, Johnny.”

I don’t say a word as she backs away from me and walks down the hall.

This isn’t goodbye.

* * *

Smoke curls around my fingers. I blow out a stream and watch as my cigarette makes calligraphy in the air.

A man stands above my table, waiting for me to notice him. My silence hangs over his head like an axe. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

What a moron. If he had any brains, he would
make
me notice him. Maybe he’s playing it safe. Maybe he knows I wouldn’t have a problem with blowing out his brains in the middle of this restaurant. No, he doesn’t say a word. He’s real quiet. Like a dog waiting for scraps.

I hiss the smoke through my teeth, and then the waiter comes to my table with my
Marechiara
pizza. A blood-red pie sits on my table, thin crust, the big black olives wrinkled with the heat with the pits still inside. None of that canned olives shit.
Napoletana
is one of my favorite pizza places in the city. It’s cash only, of course. The owner fought me hard against paying me protection money, and my love of the pizza in the place kept me from torching it until he finally buckled down and gave me my money.

“Uh—Johnny?”

I don’t even look at him. “What?”

“L—listen, I just wanted to apologize.”

I finally flick my gaze to him. He’s a strapping, young guy with at least fifty pounds on me, but he looks at me as if I’m Jesus Christ. His hands are clasped in front of his body and his head is bowed, as if in penance. I can taste the fear
sweating
off his body. He’s waiting for a reaction from me. A condemnation or a reprieve. I won’t give him either.

“Apologize for what?”

I slide a slice of pizza onto my porcelain plate and cut into it with my knife and fork. Dignified. Slow. A boss can’t just shove pizza down his fucking throat like some fat fuck. The hot sauce stings my tongue. It’s like fire, but it tastes so goddamn good that I can’t help but keep eating. I grip my wineglass and the dry vintage slips down my throat, adding fuel to the burn.

“I fucked up, but I can fix this. Please let me fix this.”

His shaking voice makes my tongue curl.

“How?” I cut my gaze over his, staring into his widened eyes. “I’ve been planning this heist for almost a year, you dumb fuck.”

Millions of dollars of untraceable cash, just sitting in the airport. Begging to be stolen. My whole crew knows about the heist, of course.

“I can get the keys. I have a plan—”

“François told me about your plan.”

The dismissive tone almost brings him to his knees. “There’s a short window. Fifteen minutes. I can get copies of the keys made.”

I doubt he can get anything done. “Do it.”

Relief washes over his face, and I almost want to laugh at him. I’d probably kill him anyway, just to tie up loose ends. I don’t trust him to keep his trap shut if anyone’s busted, because he’s not a member.

“Thank you, John.”

“If you don’t get copies of the keys, don’t come back at all.”

I watch him leave, an uneasy feeling eating away at my stomach as he walks away. Then I beckon toward Chris, who kneels to my side immediately.

“I want you to follow him. And then I want you to take care of him.”

Chris doesn’t betray any shock. His young face freezes for a moment, and then his dark eyes slide to mine. “Take care of him?”

You know what I mean.

Then he leans back and nods, patting his front jacket pocket as he heads outside.

It takes a split second for me to make a life-or-death decision.

Like I said, I don’t give second chances.

The Mafia is a family, yes, but it’s mostly a business. We’re in it for the money, not the fucking honor. I surround myself with people who are valuable. I don’t give a fuck whether someone isn’t one hundred percent Italian.

I grab another slice of pizza and carelessly tear into it with my teeth as that girl pops into my head again. It just galls me that someone might discriminate against
me
, of all people. All week I couldn’t get that cunt out of my mind. Can’t forget the way she let me fuck her. The screams she made when she came on my dick. All week I’ve been waiting to bump into her in that bar, like some
schmuck
.

Whatever. I’ll find a new piece of ass to fuck. I always do. Hell, even in this restaurant. Women turn their heads to look at me, sitting with a few of my soldiers. I could ask the waitress out. She has a nice ass.

Not as nice as hers.

I swallow painfully as that truth sinks in. How can I forget her? I spanked her ass right before I sank my dick into her. Before that, she climbed into my lap naked. I can still feel her skin gliding in my palms. Her gorgeous curves bounced in front of my face. She let me put my hands all over her—she let me do things to her that I only did with hired pussy.

I smile into my wineglass as blood rushes to my cock. Fucking hell, I cannot get hard in this place.

“François, we need to head up to Sorel-Tracy. There were problems with the last shipment.”

His face twists slightly, but he nods. He hates bikers on principle. Hell, we all do, but we don’t have to like each other. We just have to work together.

They run all the drugs, and I handle just about everything else because I never wanted to be involved in drugs. I facilitate the shipments, and the bikers sell the drugs on the streets. Getting twenty-five years for possession is not worth it to me. Anyone in my crew caught selling drugs gets his head chopped off.

I get up from the table and my bodyguards follow me outside. I slide into the passenger seat of my car as François takes the wheel, and my thoughts linger on a certain brunette as he drives. Finally we get to that concrete shit-hole of a fortress that is like a beacon should the CSIS ever decide to raid the place. The walls are thick, and guards patrol the towers with guns.

François lays on the horn and the metal gate screams as it swings aside.

“
Putain de merde
.”

Carlos waits just inside the community, wearing his filthy leather jacket. We roll the car into a dirt parking lot and I open my door, fixing a smile on my face.

“Carlos, good to see you.”

“John.”

He nods at me, and then we walk toward that shack he calls a clubhouse. I’ll have to wipe the dust from my shoes when I get out of here. I walk past a lot of sullen, drawn faces. Like dogs at the pound. What a depressing place to live in.