The Bossman (4 page)

She grinned and crawled lower. He spread his legs wide to allow her to settle between them on her knees. Freeing his cock from his briefs, she ran her tongue over its head, enjoying the way it lengthened and bobbed for her.

He made a low growl of approval.

She dragged her tongue from base to tip, then lapped the glistening drop that emerged. “So why’d you stay?” she asked.

“I didn’t want you to think it was a one-night stand kinda thing...
oh God!”
he panted.
“
Because it’s not,” he managed to say. “I’m totally serious about dating you.”

Joey’s growls excited her. Grasping hold of the base of his cock, she slowly slid her mouth all the way down, sucking hard on the outstrokes. She continued, enjoying when his hips began to undulate, his thighs trembled, and she heard his breath grow ragged. She teased him, toying with just the head of his cock while the rest of it cooled in the air, then taking the entire length as far down her throat as she could.

The taste of pre-cum excited her, turning into a viscous solution in her mouth, slicking the way. She teased his balls with one hand, holding firmly to the base of his cock with the other while increasing the tempo of her strokes in response to his gasps. He groaned, gripping the back of her head with his hand and guiding her faster, his thighs tightening and jerking until he came with a howl into her mouth.

She swallowed and popped off, satisfied with herself, grinning as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Oh my God,” he said, lunging forward to catch her up in his arms and pull her down on top of him, wrapped in a grateful embrace. “That was out of this world.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, smirking.

“Yeah. Everyone knows Catholic girls give the best blowjobs, but you just
blew
the rest out of the water.”

She wriggled her hips over his cock, turned on at the pleasure she’d given him. He gripped her ass and squeezed. “Did you need more?” he asked, amused.

“Maybe,” she said.

He slid his finger between her cheeks and stroked her outer lips, spreading her nectar over the length of her slit. “Well, you’ll just have to wait. That will be my guarantee you’re really going out with me again.”

“Ugh!” she grumbled, slapping his arm and rolling off him. “And I was hoping you’d accept this in lieu of that second date, because it was a one-night stand kind of thing to me.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, following her off the bed and getting dressed.

“What if I made breakfast?”

“Nah, I don’t eat in the morning. You making coffee, though?”

She rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Sure. Coming right up.”

“It doesn’t count for our date!” he called after her.

Five minutes later, she stood wrapped in a short pink robe with the espresso machine spitting out two shots. Joey sauntered in, looking every bit as handsome as he had the night before. Her body responded to the sight of his large frame, the implicitly masculine way he carried himself. He wore a button down shirt and slacks. She could tell by the fabric and cut they were designer brands and she hadn’t missed the Rolex watch or the Ray-Ban sunglasses. It irritated her, as they were symbols of mafia, but, like everything else about him, it also turned her on.

He wandered into the living room and investigated her DVD collection. “You’re a fan of musicals?”

“Shut up,” she said, expecting ridicule.

He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “Disrespectful.” He was teasing, but the rebuke sent a shiver up her spine just the same, knowing he was truly a dangerous man who had probably imparted violence to many who disrespected him.

He came back into the kitchen. “I like musicals,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “You. Like musicals,” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief.

He shrugged. “Yeah. Why not? I’ll tell you what, how about I take you to see a Broadway show for our second date. How about
Wicked
? Have you seen it?”

Her entire body temperature rose by two degrees at the unexpected pleasure. She couldn’t afford $75 tickets to see the musical, but she’d been dying to go. The idea that Joey La Torre  deduced she’d be interested and was willing to take her was a shocker.

“I’d love to,” she said, trying not to look excited. She must have failed because Joey gave her a knowing grin. “Cream and sugar?” she asked to distract him.

“Please.”

She stirred his coffee for him and handed it over, watching as he drained it all at once. He handed her the cup and pulled the bag of garbage out of her trash container, as if he lived there and it was his duty.

“So I’ll get tickets--when is our next date?” he asked, leaning forward to give her a kiss. “I don’t want to come on too strong.”

She made a snorting noise.

“Too late?” When she gave him a “yeah, dummy” look, he said, “In that case, I’ll pick you up at six?”

“Tonight?” she asked with incredulity.

He winked. “Yeah, tonight. I’ll call for tickets. I can’t get enough of you, little girl.”

She gave a surprised laugh. “You are so full of shit, La Torre.”

“It’s not shit, it’s the God’s honest truth. I’ve had it for you since the moment I saw you. I’d marry you today, if you’d have me.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I’m not afraid to go after a good thing when I see it.” He gave her another kiss, which she did not return. “See you at six.”

“It’s our last date, not our next date,” she called after him.

“We’ll see,” came his rumbling reply, just before the door banged shut.

Joey pulled in at Boom Booms, the strip club he and Sammy ran, where his main job was laundering Al’s money.

Al’s Lamborghini was already there, parked in Joey’s “Reserved for Owner” spot. Not that it mattered at one in the afternoon. He pulled beside him and walked in, bellying up to the bar and ordering a Glenlivet. Sammy stood behind the bar, his arms folded across his chest, surveying the smattering of customers and the dancer on the stage. He barely acknowledged Joey. It was odd he wasn’t entertaining Al.

He caught Sammy’s eye. “Is Al in the office?”

Sammy didn’t bother coming over or answering, but lifted his chin in the direction of the back of the club. Craning his neck, Joey saw Al sitting in a booth, a half-naked dancer gyrating on his lap. He picked up his drink and headed over, giving Sammy another nod as he passed him.

Officially, he was Sammy’s boss, though he always thought of Sammy as an equal. Sammy was the one who really ran the club these days and he put his heart into the operation. If it were up to Joey, he’d bow out entirely and give the whole operation to Sammy, but Al wouldn’t have it. He didn’t seem to think Sammy could handle it on his own, nor did he think he deserved it.

“Sammy works for you, and don’t you forget it,” Al would say. “It wouldn’t matter if you never set foot in the place again, it’s still yours.” There was a power play in it, in which Al purposely gave Joey more than he deserved, simply to show everyone he was boss. Or that his family came first.

“Hey. How’s it going?” he asked, sliding into the booth seat across from his brother.

“You look good,” Al said. “What’s going on, you getting some?”

If it were anyone else, he would say “fuck off,” but he knew better than to disrespect Al. Instead he said, “Maybe. You here to talk money or are you here to talk about my love life?”

He should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. Al’s eyes lit with interest. “Oh yeah? Who is she?”

He blew out his breath with a sigh. Was it that obvious? “Artie Palazzo’s daughter. Sophie.”

“No shit. How’d that happen?”

It was his conversation with Pauly all over again.

“I ran into her again, that’s all.” He didn’t want to tell his brother about his knee hurting. Al would call him a pussy first, then lecture him about not telling anyone, because he should never show weakness.

“Oh yeah?” Al looked skeptical, being very adept at picking up on bullshit. “She stuck up like her mom?”

He willed his jaw to unclench and his nostrils to stop flaring, but he could feel Al’s eyes studying him, missing nothing and enjoying his anger.

His brother talking shit about Sophie pissed him off, even though he was right. She definitely still had a chip on her shoulder about him and the Family and it would take a long time to win her trust--if it was even possible.

He pulled out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and passed them to Al. This was his occupation--investment broker. Crooked accountant. Tax avoidance expert. This was where he used his MBA from Kellogg and his brains, strategizing in a way that didn’t hurt anyone. He cooked the books at Boom Booms, ran all the cash through the business and invested half of it in legitimate businesses and stocks, building his brother’s portfolio (and his own) with retirement accounts, offshore accounts and as many untraceable, unseizable assets as possible.

One of the dancers slowly walked by, knowing better than to interrupt, but giving them suggestive eyes, in case they wanted to call her over. He gave his head a slight shake and she moved on.

He gave his brother the biweekly report, and brought him back to the office where he accepted a stack of cash for laundering. He sighed and locked the door after Al left the office. This was where he liked to hide. Running a strip club had been exciting when he was in his twenties, even into his early thirties, but it had long since grown distasteful to him. When they’d first opened it fifteen years earlier, Sammy had needed him. He’d made all the decisions and set up the way things were run. But these days, Sammy knew the ropes and handled things, Joey’s role was mostly the books and accounting, the business dealings. Joey had no interest in spending his time there anymore. If he had a choice, he’d walk away in a heartbeat.

He picked up his phone and called to order the tickets to the musical, the idea of another date with Sophie cheering him.

She had resolved not to have sex with him. She’d planned to go on the date, see the musical, and say thank you and good night. She had prepared a speech to give Joey about not being interested in a relationship. But at the moment, with his teeth clamped over her earlobe and his thumb in her mouth, she found it hard to remember the words.

“Okay, so no relationship,” he purred in her ear. “I can live with just sex.”

She squirmed, but embarrassingly, it was to grind her pelvis against his leg, rather than to pull away. “I didn’t offer sex,” she panted.

“Really? Because I thought I owed you from last night.” His lips moved down her neck, the flick of his tongue in her ear sending zings of electricity straight to her pussy. “I promise I’ll make it worth it. No strings.”

“You are so...full...of shit,” she said breathlessly, her body not matching her words as she rubbed her thigh up and down his leg, arching into the palm that just attached to her breast. “This morning you said you’d marry me, tonight it’s just about sex.”

“No, baby. It’s not just about sex for me,” he said, two hot hands roaming under her shirt to stroke up and down her back. “But I’m okay if that’s all it is for you.”

His words warmed her from the inside out. Something about the cocksure guy being willing to settle for whatever bone she threw him weakened her defenses. Not that she should believe anything he said.

“I don’t do this,” she protested, even as she opened her thighs wider to allow his searching fingers access. Her knees buckled when his fingers found her swollen sex and expertly spread her moisture over the whole of her plump folds.

“I know,” he said, looping one arm around her waist, holding her up as his other hand coaxed a soft moan out of her.

“What,” she gasped, “do you know?”

“You’re a good girl. You don’t want anything to do with a bad boy like me. Except bad boys can be exciting...don’t you think?”

She orgasmed against his hand, her hips bucking as she lost her footing and fell completely back over his arm.

“That’s it, Sophie,” he murmured, his fingers continuing to slide in and out of her sex, then over her clit as the spasm rocketed through her.

When the climax ended, she sagged against him, wanting to simultaneously laugh and weep. She urged herself to find her feet and hold her own weight, but it felt so good to be suspended, arching wantonly over his arm. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so sexy or desirable and he’d been right--it was worth it.

She erected her spine at last. “Whew!” she said, meeting his eye a little sheepishly. “I suppose I owe you now?”

He gave her his slow, predatory smile and wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “I’ll collect in the form of a third date.”

Her eyebrows shot up. It seemed he was angling for relationship, as opposed to fling. “But--” she began, prepared to explain again that she didn’t want to date him.

He put a finger on her lips. “Another date,” he said firmly. “You owe me and that’s how I’m collecting.”

Dear God, the mafia boss dominance just made her go weak. New prickles of desire swept upward from her center core to her throat.

“Saturday.”

She started to nod helplessly, then remembered her date with Bruce. “I can’t--I have plans, with, uh…” She didn’t want to bring Bruce into it. “--my friends. How about Sunday?” she offered to forestall any questions. “I’ll make you dinner.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with that idea. “I’d love that,” he said, brushing his lips across hers, kissing lightly as his thumb traced over her cheekbone like she was precious to him.

Disconcerted with her reaction to it, she pulled away, flushing. “Next Sunday, then.”

He grinned as if he knew just exactly why she’d turned skittish. “What time? Five o’clock?”

“Sure,” she said, walking toward the door, suddenly anxious to be rid of him.

He only smiled wider, trailing her to it. “Good night, little girl.”

“Good night. Thanks for the movie--I mean musical. Thanks!” she said, kicking herself for her fluster as she watched his retreat.

He looked over his shoulder and winked, his confidence unruffled as always.