AVERY (The Corbin Brothers Book 2) (24 page)

Mama had been so kind to me, and my selfishness was going to kill her dreams.

“I’ll do it,” I said finally.

“Jazz, you don’t have to,” Mama said, but the relief was plain on her face.

“I want to do it,” I said. “It’s the least I could do. You took me off the streets. We’re family now.”

Mama grabbed me and held me close. Her perfume was cloying, almost suffocating, and I had to hold my breath.

“You’re a good girl, Jazz,” she said. “You’re a good girl.”

“There’s just one thing,” I said. “Well, a couple of things. I have some scarring from, well, you know.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Mama said. “He’ll notice it or he won’t.”

“The other thing is …” I hesitated. This was embarrassing, but I had to come clean. “I haven’t really had that much experience in the bedroom.”

During high school, I’d had some crushes. I never really dated before, but I did let a guy get to second base once while we rode the bus.

And the things Jack did to me I associated more with pain than with sex.

Mama was giving me an assessing look. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?” she nearly demanded.

I nodded slowly. “More or less.”

“Which part is more and which part is less?” she asked sharply.

I flinched. “I’ve never laid down willingly with a man and had real sex.”

Mama smiled—a smile I’d never seen before. It scared me a lot.

“We’ll name a price he thinks he can refuse,” she said. I realized she was talking to herself. “But then we’ll sink the hook into him and he’ll know he can’t refuse—not an offer like this.”

Mama walked out of the office without saying anything. I understood only belatedly that I should follow.

When I arrived at the Don’s table, Mama was whispering in his ear. Cocoa watched me with a thinly disguised expression of horror. I remembered what my roommate had told me earlier—that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. Did I really have that choice? Mama said Don Costa could shut the place down. Could I simply say no and let that happen?

Very few people had choices in life, I slowly realized. I was definitely not one of them—not now. Maybe not ever.

Mama leaned back and looked at the Don, waiting. He eyed me, grinning lecherously, until he reached into his suit jacket and withdrew a thick wad of money.

“Sold,” he said, licking his finger and counting out the bills.

Mama scooped up the cash as soon as the Don laid it on the table, stuffing it down into her ample cleavage.

“Cocoa, show Miss Jazz and Don Costa to the best room in the house,” Mama said. “Jazz, I’ll keep your things safe until you come get them.” She laid her hand on her breast and I knew she meant the money. How much of it was mine?

Cocoa cut across the dance floor and started to mount a set of stairs I had seen but assumed had led to more living quarters for Mama’s girls. The Don followed Cocoa, slapping her buttocks playfully as she walked up the steps. I followed the Don, feeling weak and lightheaded.

Cocoa reached a room and opened it. Flicking on a light revealed thick red curtains covering the expanses of walls. The bed was on a raised platform in the middle of the room. Off to the side was a bathroom. The dusky lighting gave everything a romantic feeling, but I couldn’t help feeling sick.

“Cocoa, did you know that Jazz is a virgin?” Don Costa mused. His grin was a little loopy and I could tell that all those martinis had made him tipsy.

“Jazz is a good girl,” my roommate said firmly. “Of course she’s a virgin. Now, we’re going to go get her ready in the bathroom. You stay out here and make yourself comfortable.”

Cocoa took me by the elbow and escorted me into the private bathroom, shutting the door behind us.

“Are you really a virgin?” she hissed. “Or is that something Mama invented?”

“I really am,” I said softly.

“Jesus.” Cocoa put her hands on her head, looking like she wanted to tear her hair out. “Okay, stay calm.”

I wondered if she was talking to herself or to me. She opened a cabinet to reveal an assortment of condoms and lubricants. Grabbing a handful, she slammed the door shut.

“Take off your clothes,” she said. “Leave your bra and underwear on.”

I obeyed immediately. Cocoa obviously had more knowledge about this than I did. She looked genuinely upset and like she wanted to help me.

“I bet you wondered why Mama insisted on matching lingerie sets under your uniform,” my roommate muttered, draping my blouse and skirt over a hanger.

“I thought it was just because she liked nice things,” I said innocently. My bra was black lace and the thong matched it perfectly.

“She does like her nice things,” Cocoa agreed irreverently. She uncapped a bottle of lube and held it out to me. “Put this on your pussy. Try to work it inside. Don’t be shy. You’ll thank me later.”

I swallowed and took the bottle, squirting a bit of the lube onto my fingers. It was cold and vaguely sticky. Closing my eyes, I jammed my hand into my thong and rubbed myself with it. The wetness was unpleasant and uncomfortable. I washed my hands afterward.

“You’re as ready as you’ll ever be,” Cocoa determined. She brought out her ever-present red lipstick and swept the color over my lips.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Who was this Jazz? I didn’t recognize her.

“So I just go and lie down and open my legs?” I asked.

Cocoa nodded. “Simply put, that’s about all you do,” she agreed. “If it hurts, think happy thoughts, like what you’re going to spend all that money on. Mama takes a cut, but it’s all yours.”

“Ice cream,” I said, “then pizza.”

“Delicious,” Cocoa said, smiling.

She opened the door and led me out of the bathroom. “Look who’s all ready for you, darling,” my roommate called.

I stepped out from behind her and stared. The Don was sprawled out across the bed, completely nude. His erection stood out angrily away from his body. For a man in his forties, he was remarkably well preserved, I observed. His limbs and trunk were hairy but fit, the foreshadowing of a belly earned by excess his only flaw.

He grinned and put his hands behind his head. “Looks like I made a good investment in Miss Jazz, didn’t I, Cocoa?” he crowed.

“You sure did, Don Costa,” my roommate said, taking my hand and twirling me around. “Look at this pretty thing, already wet for you. Enjoy yourself, darling.”

Cocoa took her leave and I was alone with the Don. He beckoned me to approach the bed.

“Do—do you want me to get a condom?” I asked. “There are lots in the bathroom.”

“I don’t think we want one of those, do you?” Don Costa said, running his hand up and down my flat stomach. “This is your first time. I want you to feel everything.”

The Don always got what he wanted, I thought. I had to make it happen.

He lunged forward suddenly, scaring me, and pulled me onto the bed. His kiss was rough, demanding, and tasted like vermouth. I tried not to gag, tried to reciprocate, tried to think happy thoughts. I was doing this for Mama. I was doing this for the nightclub, so the girls could keep working. I was doing this for me, to earn money so that I could survive on my own.

I slipped my tongue into his mouth, almost afraid I’d get drunk just from the way it tasted. I thought about the boy I’d kissed on the bus that day, the way he had gingerly hefted my breasts in the palms of his hands. What was he doing now, I wondered. I bet he wouldn’t guess what I was doing now.

I moaned politely as the Don grabbed a handful of my ass, squeezing it like he was judging its ripeness. He fumbled with the clasp of my bra and I pulled away.

“I want to keep my bra on,” I said softly, thinking about all the scars that it hid.

“Why?” Don Costa groaned. He pressed his erection almost painfully into my thigh.

“Because it’s new,” I said. “Because it’s pretty.”

“Simple girl,” the Don said. “I’ll buy you a hundred bras.”

He managed to unfasten the clasp and I reluctantly let the bra fall away from my body. Don Costa thumbed my brown nipples and I gasped at the unexpected pleasure. He paused when he noticed the burn marks. I bore them all over, but the majority of them dotted my breasts.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded quietly. “I’ll kill him.”

It was the first time that night that I knew I liked the Don.

“He’s already dead,” I said, making myself smile. It was true. Jack was dead to me. Mama had said that part of my life was over.

Don Costa continued his exploration of my body a little more gently. I flushed as I realized that he must think I was fragile, damaged. In a sudden rush, I realized that it was probably to my advantage.

He reached my thong and slipped his finger in, caressing my slippery lips. His touch made me arch pleasurably, banishing the fears that he’d try to purposefully hurt me. The Don may have been a powerful man, but he wasn’t another Jack. Only I could make him another Jack, and I refused to. Jack had injured me down there once, but my pussy didn’t seem to remember. It responded in the only way it could to his insistent, knowledgeable touches.

“Cocoa was right,” Don Costa said thickly. “You are already wet.”

“You make me wet,” I said, blushing furiously and feeling ashamed of myself. If my mother could see me—see how far I’d fallen, seducing a mob leader, lying and spouting off disgusting dirty talk—her shock and disappointment would be crushing. Maybe as crushing as my own disappointment when she ceased being my mother, drowning in the fantasies the bottle of gin fed her.

The Don pushed me onto my back and climbed over me, still slipping his finger up and down my lips. He eased my thong down and smiled.

“I’m going to be your first,” he said. “And you always remember your first.”

He leaned down and kissed my neck while simultaneously guiding the head of his cock to my entrance. I responded almost automatically to his kisses, leaving a trail of red lipstick over his cheek.

I cried out as he thrust in completely, my body struggling to adjust to the unfamiliar invasion. I tried to think of anything else—of ice cream, of pizza, of money, of this being over, of Mom being alive again, of getting the hell out of here. It hurt too much, it was too much.

I realized I was clawing at the Don’s back with my sharp new manicure and tried to stop, worried he’d get angry if I made him bleed.

“Don’t stop, you little hellcat,” Don Costa grunted. “I just made you a woman. You deserve to try to take something from me.”

He started to thrust in and out of me and I yowled at every movement. The lubricant Cocoa had practically forced on me helped ease the way, but my body was having trouble adjusting to the Don’s eager but brutal pace. He was too excited and I just wasn’t physically ready for this onslaught.

I bit his neck to try to smother my cries and Don Costa laughed low in my ear.

“I love a girl who gives as good as she gets,” he said, ramming into me even harder.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my chest as I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing and trying to slow his pumping. It felt like he was going to break me in two if he didn’t slow down.

He worked his hand between my thigh and his ribcage and pushed his thumb against the hard bud of my clitoris. I saw stars, forgot myself, lost everything. All his ramming didn’t seem so bad anymore, just as long as he kept his finger right there—right
there
. I moved my body against his, my breasts bouncing, feeling dirty, feeling desperate and empty.

I didn’t understand what I was working toward until it happened—a shattering climax that surprised me with its intensity and suddenness. I howled, not caring what I looked or sounded like to the Don, not caring who heard me. I didn’t care who I thought I was. The only thing that mattered was the orgasm, the painfully short white nothingness. I felt like crying when it released me from its hold.

The Don sucked in air between his clenched teeth and gave one last massive thrust, driving into me. The water of his completion filled my body. The mob boss moaned in my ear, suckled on my neck as he emptied his cock into me.

After a few final thrusts, he pulled out of me and flopped down on the bed, making it creak dangerously. We panted side by side, and sounds began to return. I hadn’t even realized that my senses had been drained, boiled down to only the sense of touch. Mama was well into another set, it appeared, the lyrics and tune muffled but just audible.

A wretched wave of nausea washed over me and I rolled off the bed.

“Be right back,” I said, trying to smile.

I managed to get the bathroom light on and the door closed before the bile came. I collapsed in front of the toilet, my body heaving, vomiting even though there wasn’t anything to throw up. It was all water, perhaps some bits of breakfast that my stomach had been trying desperately to hold onto.

It was almost as if my body was disgusted with itself.

I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth out in the sink. The water still running, I splashed my face and wet a washcloth I found on a shelf. The Don’s semen was trickling down my legs. I cleaned myself up, rinsing the washcloth again and again, making sure I wiped down every surface of my skin.