Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (17 page)

“I can’t believe that she does that,” he said, squinting.

“Don’t you remember her telling how she made the doctor pay a house call and she insisted on him examining her?”

“I don’t.”

“Maybe it was after you’d left.” There was a sad catch in my voice. “She made him examine the back of her throat.”

He frowned, uncomprehending.

I explained, “With his cock.”

He blinked several times and then shook his head. After a moment he said, “But Father can’t prove that I’m not his son.”

“He says that he can.”

“Not if it isn’t true he can’t.”

“He says that it is. He’s got DNA evidence, or so he says.”

“But,” he stared at me, wide-eyed and his jaw slackened. “Don’t you see what that would mean?”

He snatched up a ship’s phone.

In a voice of command he said, “Everybody, to your stations. Now. We’re going to Suffolk County Airfield. Full speed ahead. I need two pilots and a Gulfstream, ready to fly to England, immediately.”

The inside of the small plane was nothing like any aircraft that I’d ever been on before. The cabin was hushed by a gentle white noise of the aircon, and a louder version of white noise from the back, which must have been the engines.

As soon as Roger and I were on board, the plane began to taxi. A willowy redhead in a uniform that could have been out of a porn fantasy, welcomed us aboard and told us that we should sit and fasten our seat belts. Roger did neither and it didn’t seem to matter. Still, I assumed that it was his plane, so it probably didn’t matter all that much.

Then the girl asked if we would like cocktails. Roger said, “We’ll be about six and a half hours to London, Trixie, so crack open some cold champagne and fix us a couple of steaks with salad and fries.”
 

The floor was covered in a thick, cream carpet. All of the dozen swiveling armchairs were padded with buttery soft cream leather. Neat, polished mahogany tables were between the seats and on one side was a small cocktail bar with a galley at the end.

We sat in the armchairs for the actual takeoff. We even fastened our seatbelts. “Don’t want to risk losing my operator’s license,” he said, “Though there’s very little chance of it. Eh, Trixie?”

“Next to none, sir.” She bobbed and smiled, shyly. He and I were separated by the aisle. I couldn’t help wondering whether he had taken Trixie up to the mile-high club. Remembering the Roger of our schooldays, it would have been surprising if he hadn’t got between her full, creamy breasts, parted her long, slender legs or had her kneel on the thick rug with her pert ass skywards while he drove his fuselage up her slipway.

Spending time with him now, unexpectedly, it was like all of the wrong, bad, awful thoughts that I hadn’t had in our years apart, had crammed together and built like a trapped hose. Now I was with him they shoved their way up, broke the surface and gushed out into my mind.

After we ate dinner, Roger ordered Trixie to dim the lights and retire to the crew cabin. The way that she shook her hips as she left said that either Roger had had her, or that she very much wanted him to.

Thinking back about Mother, I wondered how it would be, since Roger and I couldn’t ever have real sexual contact, how I might feel to watch him have her. Or watch her pleasure him.

Rediscovering him was too new, too thrilling and too desperately confusing and I couldn’t think straight. Images flashed and spun in my head. I looked across and saw him looking at me.

Somehow I was sure that he was thinking the same thing that I was. Remembering our first night, when he lay in my bed, his lean, taut body, pumped and pumping, and I breathed the scent of his heat. His breath as it lapped up my legs, how my juices spilled and gushed just from having him so deliciously near.

He had always been all that I wanted. And I was sure that he knew it. Constantly I persuaded myself that I knew his feelings for me, that his apparent disdain and hurtful sneers were just a way to keep us both safe in public. The risk if anyone ever caught a hint of how we felt about each other, it could be so very serious.

All the same, there was still that part of me, as there always had been, the part that wanted to flaunt it, to make a show, for everyone to know that I loved him and that… that he felt the same.

He did. I was sure he did.

He stood and moved to a little control panel at the front of the cabin and he pressed a switch. “We’re traveling at almost the speed of sound, we have the world miles beneath us and we have the plane to ourselves.” He gave me an impish smile.

“I switched off all of the onboard cameras. The crew can’t peek in at us now.”

Straightaway I stood. I began to take off my clothes. All of them. I wanted to show all of myself to Roger. I wanted to dance for him, for him to be able to see me as I am. And to show him exactly how he makes me feel.

I swayed as I dropped my shirt, leaned forwards to let my breasts bubble and heave as they swelled in the cups of my bra. My hands were on my thighs and I pulled them up, dragging the hem of my skirt with them.

His lovely blond curls bobbed as he hoist his tee-shirt over his head. The sight of his beautiful body made me sigh.

Shyly I blinked as I danced. Where he saw the tops of my thighs, I was sure that he could see how wet my panties were. They must have been about transparent, and clinging to my lips and folds.

As I spun, looked at his jeans. Yes, it looked like he could see me. His hardening cock was certainly pointed at me, and it twitched with an urgent beat.

My upper arms squeezed together to give him the best view of my creamy breasts. Then, slowly, I unhooked the bra and pulled the cups upward, snatching my breasts as I did.

As I danced, he gave me the loveliest show of undressing himself. We danced as far apart as we could, knowing how unsafe it could be if we were within reach, inside touching distance. At arms length or less.

Naked, I leaned back against the cockpit bulkhead wall with my legs apart. My knees shook as I pulled my breasts, tweaking my bullet-hard nipples. I pushed up my breast to flick my nipple with the tip of my tongue.

He sat, his huge, reddening cock thick, long and proud. His voice of English command made me weak all over as he “Spread your wings, show me your wet lips. Let me see how hot you are.”

I moved towards him and stood as close as I dared. Watching him stroke and squeeze his hot, thick shaft, seeing the slick purple bulb bulge and the unbearably dreamy look on his face, I had to move farther away. As I went to move back, my knees gave way and I stumbled, fell onto all fours in front of him.

From where I fell, I could reach him. I could lean forward and pop my wet lips over the top of him. I could feel the heft of his haft on my eager tongue.

The thought was too bad and too good and it was almost unbearable. I turned. He groaned.

“Oh, you thought the sight of my cock was too tough for you?” his voice scraped, “How am I ever going to cope with seeing your gorgeous ass, thrust up in the air, right in front of me.”

I heard the leather creak as he beat his cock with his hand. He moaned, “Sis, I can smell you from here.” And his voice was tightening and rising. “And I can see your luscious lips, swollen, throbbing and juicy. And your beautiful clit.” A gasp tore out of him, “I can’t take it, sis,” so I turned back.

His face was reddening. “That’s just as bad. I’m watching your wonderful tits bounce. I stood. “Here,” I said, “Lie down here. Put your head between my feet.”

He did. I almost came just looking at his glistening muscles, his jutting pelvis and his piston thighs. “Okay,” he said, firmly. “No more touching. We look and we talk. No hands, no fingers, eyes and voices only.”

My voice shook. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Tell me why. In detail.”

“I want you.” My voice pleaded, “So bad.”

“In. Detail.”

“Oh, god,” my knees trembled but I kept my hands to my sides. He did the same. “Okay, because I want to feel you close. I want to feel the strength of your arms around me.” I was shuddering. My fingers stretched and my thighs clenched. “I want to taste your breath and feel my lips on yours. Yours on mine.” I had to press my tongue against my lips. And bite them.

“I need to rub the wet lips of my pussy,” I groaned, “Up and down the hard length of your cock,” my voice squeaked and my knees shook uncontrollably as the eruptions began. Shock waves that started between my legs and in the pit of my stomach, swelled and reverberated into sets of rolling, bursting waves.

I gasped, “I need to feel you stretch and fill me,” my juices sprang, “And pump and pump until, oh God, until you… oh,” his beautiful face contorted and couldn’t speak as I went over the edge. I shook violently and my whole body was racked with streams, rivers of exploding flashes.

I saw the drips land on his face and I came again. This time I crouched. I couldn’t stay upright.

As I leaned forward with my hands on my thighs and my knees bent, I heard him moan.

“Okay, mister,” I moved back then dropped my knees either side of his head. Then I fell onto all fours. My face was over his cock. I said, “Your turn.”

“Oh,” he sighed, “No fair. I can’t cope with this.”

I chuckled, “No? Why’s that.”

“It’s too hard.”

“In detail.”

His cock jumped. He said, “But I could stretch my neck up and reach you.”

“Details.” I said firmly.

“I could slip my tongue into your lips. Taste your sweet flower. Squash your lips with mine. I could suckle your clit. Blow on it so softly and then flick the tip of my tongue around the hood.”

His breath was slow and hard. His cock lay heavy against his stomach. Twitching with increasing force. Softly I blew along the length of it.

 
“Oh!” he said, then, “I could open you up. Explore the walls and steep entrance of your canyon with my long, hard, agile tongue.” His cock reddened and pulsed as I felt my juices gush. I peered down to look up his body to his face. He was licking the juice I had sprayed. My back arced and my toes curled tight.

I blew on his balls and he came, twitching and spurting. I wanted to lick him so badly. I reached down to my lips and felt the heat, the wetness. I brought my hand to my mouth and licked it greedily, savoring the heady tang.

He scooped cum off his stomach and licked it off his hand. I had to stagger to the other end of the plane and sob. There was no way I could keep my hands off him after that. Definitely not if he was within reach.

“Which is worse, sis?” he called from where I’d left him. “If we do this, or if we don’t?”

Clarissa, Roger’s mother, wasn’t a bit like I had expected her to be. I wasn’t prepared for him calling her, ‘Ma-ma,’ for a start.

She lived in a sprawling old house covered in creeper, somewhere near the center of London. We picked our way up the overgrown path in her front yard and climbed the steep stone steps to the high stone porch. Roger pressed the large bell-push, but we didn’t hear a sound, so he lifted the huge iron knocker. Just then, a tiny, winkled woman in a black dress and white apron pulled the door open a crack and said, “We ain’t buying, and we ain’t selling. Go away.”
 

Then she screwed up her face and squeezed her eyes at us.

Roger laughed and said, “Millie?” The old woman’s head cocked on one side and her scowl turned to one of defiant accusation. “Mille,” he said, “It’s me. Roger.”

She squinted and stuck her face forwards. “Is it? I don’t believe you.”

He leant down towards her and she jumped in the air. “Young Roger!” and she flung her arms around his neck and hung off him. She squeezed tighter and shook, saying, “Ooh, young Roger!” dangling off his neck. Then she jumped down and said, “Who’s this?” as she jabbed her nose and a bony finger at me.

“This is my sister, Honey. Honey, this is Millie. Millie, allow me to introduce Honey.”

She snatched her hand back and tilted her head again as she screwed her face into a point. “Don’t look like no sister to me,” and she looked me up and down.

“Anyway,” she smiled as she turned back to Roger, “You aint got no sister.” And she clapped as she tugged him in through the door. He smiled indulgently and took my hand as he followed her inside.

She spun around, pointing at me again, “Not her. She’s a fraud. A fake. Her sweet smile returned as her head tipped back to look in his face, “You’ve been had, you have, by a counterfeit sibling. They’re everywhere.”

“No, Millie. She really is my sister, she isn’t a fake and she is coming inside with us.”

With a groan and a shake of her head, Millie led us into the biggest, most cavernous and the most eye-poppingly filthy kitchen that I have ever seen. Black pots and pans were piled everywhere. Towers of grimy plates and dishes teetered and every surface was layered with crumbs, scraps and wrappings of ancient food.

From the floor above was a sound like people moving furniture, very energetically. Millie grinned up at Roger, “Pot of tea, sweetie. I’ve got some nice cake. You’d like a slice of cake.”

She looked at me. “Not her.” And she looked back at him and said, “She’s too thin.”

“No, Millie, it would be lovely but, maybe next time. I’m here to see Clarissa. Is the old girl about at all?”

The creaking from above reminded me of Mother’s afternoons when she would leave a note on the dining room table, saying, simply “Headache.”

“Oh, she’s about.” Millie squinted at a big old black station clock on the wall. “She’s about another half an hour I should say.” Roger frowned. Millie nudged him and grinned, “And she’ll be about a hundred and fifty quid,” her eyes sparkled, “For the three of them.”

“Well, Millie,” Roger beamed his irresistible smile, the old crone almost swooned, “We’ll wait for her in the Old Pig & Scratchett. Would you tell her when she’s…”

She nodded, “When she’s unentangled. Disencumbered. Yes, of course I shall. But you must come back,” she stood on tiptoe with an angelic smile. “Without her.” She jabbed her finger at me.

Roger took my arm as we left. He turned and waved as we went down the steps. I turned to wave, too, although mainly in the hope that it would please Roger. I saw Millie’s radiant, snaggle-toothed smile twist into a skewer-like stare and she flicked her fingers at me.