The Bossman (15 page)

The spanks stopped and his hand trailed slow circles around her bottom. “I could definitely get used to this,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Spanking you.”

He lifted her to stand and pulled her on his lap. Her nipples jutted out in sharp points, her cheeks flushed with color and her body trembling. He leaned forward and took a bite of pancake, as if he always ate breakfast with a naked, turned-on woman sitting in his lap, dampening his pants with her desire. He chewed slowly, then reached for another bite. Only then did he acknowledge Sophie, offering her the forkful of fluffy goodness. She ate hungrily, rocking her pelvis on his thigh as if being fed wound her up even further.

He only had to think of Father Michael’s hairy ass five times to make it through feeding her without breaking his bossman character and going to town on the breast that was dangerously close to his mouth. It was all over, however, when a drip of syrup landed on her sternum. He spun her to face him and licked a line from one nipple to the other, nipping at the end point with his teeth.

She gasped and arched into him. He pulled out his wallet to search for another condom, groaning when he came up blank. “Do you have any condoms, Soph?” he murmured against the smooth skin of her neck.

She sagged. “No, I’m sorry.”

One part of him was glad she didn’t keep condoms, as if it were proof he was the only guy she did this sort of thing with, the other part cursed silently.

She backed off his legs and lowered to her knees, holding his eyes with a seductive gaze that imparted her intent. Oh God. Hell, yeah. She gave the best blowjobs in the entire state of Illinois; no, make that the entire Midwest.

She unbuttoned his pants and freed his length, teasing him with a few soft kisses before swirling her tongue around the head. His phone buzzed and he yanked it out of his pocket to turn it off, then changed his mind. The objectification angle seemed to be working pretty well for him.

“Hey, Al,” he answered.

Sophie pulled off his cock, irritation plain.

He hid his smirk, pulling a frown, instead. Covering the mouthpiece, he said in a low growl, “Did I say you could stop?”

She caught on and immediately turned the tables, opening her mouth wide and taking him so deeply the head of his cock touched the back of her throat. He struggled to choke back the groan that had risen, thrusting his hips forward and nearly convulsing on the chair.

“I’m checking out of the hospital today,” Al said.

“Hey, that’s great,” he managed to say.

He barely heard his brother’s answer as Sophie deep-throated his cock like a porn star. Unable to take it, he picked up the wooden spoon from the table, leaned forward and popped her a few times on the ass. She pulled her mouth off and covered her bottom with her hands, sitting back on her haunches with a wide, satisfied grin. He shook the spoon at her as he realized his brother was waiting for him to answer.

“What’s that?”

“Do you think Sophie could come over and do that thing to my head again?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure she’d be happy to, I’ll ask her. Hang on.”

He covered the mouthpiece of the phone again and hauled Sophie up to stand between his legs, giving her five rapid-fire strokes with the spoon. She gasped and bit her lips to keep from making any sound. Patting her reddened cheeks with the spoon, he said, “Al wants to know if you’ll do Reiki on him again.”

“Really? Of course,” she said, dropping out of her glassy-eyed submission.

“He doesn’t like the pain meds and thinks you can help instead.”

The way her face lit up made him kick himself for not praising her healing abilities on his own. “Sure, I can go now,” she offered.

He smacked her with the spoon for forgetting she was in the middle of sucking his cock. Speaking into the phone, he said, “We'll be over in a couple hours, okay?”

When his brother agreed, he hung up and wagged the spoon at her. “On your knees, little girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t know if ‘sir’ really fits me,” he mused, rocking his hips forward when she grasped the base of his cock.

“How about ‘master’? No, no, I’ve got it--
Bossman
.”

He grinned. “‘Bossman’ works--oh,
God.
You are so good at that.”

He saw the stretch of a smile in the lips gliding over his cock before he closed his eyes to sink into her ministrations.

Ninety minutes later they arrived at Al’s freshly showered. Sophie started to look tense as they walked to the door and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Relax, baby. You’re not on display this time.”

She threw him a grateful look and exhaled as he knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.

Carmen came out and gave them both a hug, then led them to her and Al’s bedroom, where his brother lay propped up with pillows, looking sour. The heavy brocade curtains were drawn and the room was dark and quiet, the large plasma television silent on the wall opposite the bed.

They greeted Al in soft voices, as he seemed to wince at loud noises. Joey settled himself in an armchair while Sophie stood next to the bed to cradle Al’s forehead between her two hands. She worked in silence for a long time, moving hand positions every so often, her countenance angelic and glowing, even in the dim light. The drawn muscles of Al’s face relaxed and his eyes drifted closed. They opened twenty minutes later when Carmen entered the room, carrying glasses of iced lemonade which she set on the table beside them.

“Thanks, honey,” Al said, taking a sip of his. “And thank you, Sophie.” He looked at Sophie appraisingly. “You know, my brother really likes you.”

Her eyes flicked across to where he sat and he gave her a smile and wink.

“And I know my brother,” Al went on. “When he decides he wants something, he doesn’t stop till he gets it.”

Sophie flushed. “So I’ve noticed,” she said wryly.

“So are you going to marry him?”

He started to tell Al to back off, but Sophie answered first with her signature pluck. “Are you going to set him free?”

“Sophie,” he cut in with a warning look.

“It’s all right,” Al said, holding up his hand. He looked from Carmen to Sophie. “Can you ladies leave so I can talk to Joey alone?”

Sophie shot him wary glance and he gave her a stern eyebrow raise before she went out.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Nah, I like her spunk.” Al looked at him thoughtfully. “So...do you still want out, then?”

He ran his hand through his hair, blowing out his breath. “Yeah.”

“For her or because that’s what you want?”

“It’s what I want. I’ve never really been cut out for this, Al, you know that. I know I’ve been a disappointment to you. I’ll never be boss material--it’s not in my nature and it’s not what I want for my life.” He shook his head. “I’m not like you. I wish to God I were, but I’m not.”

“You’re not a disappointment,” Al said fiercely. “You never were--not to Pops, not to me.”

Joey stared at him, the tears of an eight-year-old stinging his eyes.

“It’s true. You are who you are--it’s not something less than me or anyone else in the Family. That’s why I convinced Pops to send you to college--I knew you had gifts in areas we didn’t. And I couldn’t run this organization without you, but if you want a change of duties, you got it. Whatever makes you happy is okay by me.”

Joey gaped, scarcely believing his ears.

“What? Don’t look so shocked. You’re my baby brother. You think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you?”

This time, tears did come. Blinking them back, he embraced his brother with several claps on the back. The buzzing of his phone rescued him from further emotional displays. He turned it on, flicking an eyebrow at Al. “Perez.” Their FBI insider. He opened the message file and glanced at the photo, an icy flame scorching him from the inside out. It was of Sammy sitting across the table from the Matrangas in their restaurant. His throat felt as if it swelled closed and he couldn’t speak. He flipped the phone around to show Al.

“Sonofabitch,” Al swore.

Even though he’d suspected Sammy, seeing proof of his betrayal set off a geyser of rage. Fifteen years he’d been running that club as his partner, and sure, they hadn’t been as close, lately, but to sell him out like this…

“I will take care of it,” Al said with his typical cold-blooded control.

He stared at his brother. Part of him--the furious part--wanted to handle it himself. But Al’s offer was significant. In the past, he would have insisted Joey take care of it. And if he offered now, it was a signal of the shift that had just occurred between them. Besides, even if he did want revenge, he had Sophie to think about now. He couldn’t jeopardize a life with her over with a potential murder charge. Obviously Al had already grasped that.

“Thank you.” The words did not come close to expressing his gratitude.

“I’ll let you know when it’s done. Now go on, take care of your pretty girl out there. She’s a keeper.”

Chapter Eleven

“Moving sucks,” she spat after banging her shin on a large crate and tripping over a rolled up rug in the living room. She had refused to move into Joey’s larger apartment on the grounds that he’d lived there with Alessia, and he refused to move into her apartment because of its size. So they’d compromised with a new apartment in Oak Park, a beautiful three-bedroom with hardwood floors and big windows.

But she’d been packing and unpacking since 7 a.m., and even with the help of Joey’s former crew moving all the furniture into place, it didn’t feel like a home yet. Boxes were strewn everywhere, curtains or blinds were still needed for the windows and none of her belongings were where she wanted them. She didn’t like some of Joey’s furniture and they’d argued over it in front of his crew, which seemed to piss him off. He’d been steadily working all day, ignoring her grumbling bad mood.

She sighed and looked around, overwhelmed. Maybe if she hung her art on the walls it would feel more like
her
place. She searched for her large box of oil paintings and framed photographs.

“Where would I find a hammer and nails?” she asked Joey, who was pulling the rubber weather stripping out from around the window.

“I’ve got to get the landlord to replace this,” he muttered, then glanced at her. “The toolbox is right there in the corner,” he said, pointing.

She picked up the tools and eyed the wall, choosing the best location before she placed a nail against the wall and hammered it in.

“What are you hanging there?” Joey looked up from his inspection of the window casing. “You’ll need to find a stud for that or the drywall won’t hold. I’ll do it for you later.”

“Well, I want it done now.” She wiggled the nail. It was a little loose in the drywall, but it would be fine. She placed a glass and metal framed photo print on the nail, turning to pick up its match to hang beside it.

The crash of shattering glass made her shriek. “Shit!” The nail had come right out of the wall.

Joey came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Yeah. That’s what I meant about finding the stud.”

She shook his hands off her shoulders and whirled to face him. “Why don’t you shut up?” she snapped.

His hand shot out and gripped her jaw, pulling her forward in way that was impossible to fight. “Enough.” His face was cold and hard and for one horrifying moment she looked at the other side of Joey--the street side. The mafia side.

And because it frightened her, she hissed, “
Fuck. You
.”

He recoiled, releasing his grip on her and closing his eyes for a slow breath, reminding her of the care he’d taken not to touch her when he’d been angry over her visit to Pauly. Instantly sorry, she opened her mouth to apologize, but Joey’s eyes snapped open and he gripped her arm, spinning her around and bending her over the arm of the sofa. Her breath came in short gasps as she stayed in place, shifting her hips away from the couch for him to unbutton her jeans and yank them down with her panties. His footsteps moved away, echoing on the wood floor and she stole a glance to see him retrieving the piece of rubber trim from the window.

Her heart thudded against her ribs. She was afraid, though whether it was of the spanking or just that she’d made Joey angry, she wasn’t sure. She feared Joey when  angry, she knew that much. When his footsteps sounded behind her, she peeked over her shoulder. “Do-do you think should cool off first?”

“Nope,” he said with full certainty an instant before he laid the first weal across her ass like a line of fire. She jumped six inches and cried out. His large palm came to rest in the small of her back, pressing her down and preventing her movement. She gave another whimper, this time in genuine fear. He brought the rubber strip down across her cheeks again and again, taking her breath, buckling her knees, turning her vision to starbursts of black and red.

He delivered the blows too quickly for her to recover, too decisively for her to protest. Panic bubbled up and she bucked against his hold, reaching back to try to cover her already welted bottom.

“Move your hands.” His voice was low and merciless.

“It hurts,” she moaned.

“I know it hurts. I’m punishing you.”

She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t think you can use that,” she pleaded, eyeing the cruel instrument.

“Oh, I can use it. Move your hands and take your spanking.”

He waited for her compliance, which took several long seconds during which her mind screamed she could not take it. But she obeyed, tucking her forearms under her chest and covering her ears with her hands as if shutting out the sound of his thwacks and her gasps might somehow block out the pain. He began again without warning, whipping the rubber across both cheeks, laying stripes that stung more than she believed possible.

“Please,” she pleaded, desperate for it to stop. “Please, Joey. Ouch! I’m sorry! No! No more!” she begged. “Please, Joey, I’ll be good.”

She didn’t count, but it went on far longer than she thought she could take it. It went on until her endorphins kicked in and the pain receded. And it did not seem to matter how she begged or pleaded, Joey was pitiless.