Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (16 page)

I put phone back on the table when it rang again, so I fished it back out. Still no number. I pressed the ‘Answer’ key.

“You picked up my phone.” When I heard his voice I nearly dropped it again. “I knew that you would.” The bastard did do it on purpose. “Did you answer it a few moments ago? Did a call come in?” It was getting hard to hear him as a huge motorboat sliced the waves close to the shore.

I shouted into the phone, “Yes. Thirteen point eight million dollars, cash, is what the man said.”

Through the noise of the boat’s engine I was just about able to hear him, “Thanks, Sis. Did you eat your sandwich yet?”

“Not yet. I wasn’t hungry.” I shouted with one finger in my ear, pressing the phone hard against the other ear. The boat grew louder and closer.
 

He said something and I couldn’t hear him at all, the damned boat was so close. I shouted to him to repeat it.

“Have lunch with me,” I moved away from the table but the boat slammed onto the beach almost in front of me.

He stood tall in the back of the speedboat. Two of his uniformed minion-kids sat behind the windshield to drive.

As the long speedboat lurched back into the waves, the front rose and I was thrown hard against him. I held him to steady myself. My heart thumped as my hand rested on the firm ripples of his stomach.

His body was big and hard against mine, and I felt protected like I had in the days when we lived together. Protected and excited, like when kids in the hall make remarks about me and he beat them up.

The huge swelling in his pants transfixed me. As I held tighter against him, the fabric of his pants was stretched tighter and harder.

His throat tightened and his breath seemed to thicken. When he rested his hand on my waist, the bulge moved up. He took his hand away again. I was sorry that he did.

We bounced hard over the white spume and the green waves. The water splashed under us and a cool spray dampened my face and my clothes as we sped in a wide arc out to the open ocean.

His shirt was damp, too and it clung to his skin. He had a beautiful muscular bod when we were younger. Now he was awesome, and breathtakingly beautiful. And, somehow, he seemed to have become incredibly wealthy.

In no way was I prepared for the size of the gleaming silver yacht that heaved into view ahead. There was no doubt in my mind that it was our destination, because the massive helicopter that had swept thunderously over the restaurant perched like a dainty dragonfly at the back of one of the upper decks.

Aboard the yacht, he took me to a shaded deck at the front, no bigger than a tennis court. More minions milled around and served us lobster and mayonnaise salad with freshly baked bread. A green bottle of champagne swirled in a silver ice bucket, beaded with drops of water that ran down the sides in rivulets.

“This is quite a change from how we grew up.” I said, sipping from a tall champagne flute.

“All the times we came up to the beach when we were kids?” he tore a hunk of bread, “I met a lot of the local kids. All of them were from very wealthy families. I kept in touch.”

He had always had that gift for getting along with people, even when he bullied them like a savage. They seemed to love him for it. Maybe his gift was for spotting the masochists.
Then again
, I thought,
Maybe he found the masochist in whoever he met and then nurtured it.
 

“As we grew up together,” he took half a lobster tail from the shell and tore it in half, “I needed work and I needed money. I found ways to help them get what they needed.” He ate the lobster tail with some bread and mayonnaise then refilled our glasses.

“I found transport, office space, and staff-anything. Whatever was required.” I wondered whether all of ‘whatever was required’ would have been entirely legal.

He said, “Soon I discovered a big demand for a very high end taxi service, with executive jets as the taxis.” He certainly didn’t think small. But you wouldn’t wind up on a yacht like this by thinking small.

“Now I have a fleet of twenty two planes, four helicopters, plus limos and SUVs for ground transportation all over the US. Some in China, Europe and Russia, too.” My stepbrother had turned into one hell of a man.

“So, why did you say that you left because of me?”

“Sis…” he protested.

“Really. You said that it wasn’t because you hated me. I’d thought it was because you hated all of us. Well, Father and me at any rate.” I didn’t say ‘The Asshat.’ I never said that aloud. He was Roger’s father too, after all. I didn’t want to hurt him. From what he said, I always knew that Roger had his own issues with him. Hearing me bad-mouth him wasn’t ever going to make it any better.

His feet shuffled. I saw that the front of his pants was beginning to lift above his lap. A tent pole rose.
 

“I couldn’t stay there, with your mother and… him. Nothing against your mother, she’s a good woman, but I couldn’t forgive him for replacing my mother. Marrying the first woman he found who would…” he paused. He didn’t want to bad-mouth Mother to me. “Who would give him what he needed.”

“I get that, really. But you said that it was about me.”

“When I met you, Sis, do you remember?” Did I ever! “All the girls at school, all the girls since–everywhere I go, girls just fling themselves at me. Practically beg me, sometimes they actually beg me to do whatever I want with them.”

They did. I remembered it well.

“None of them hold a candle to you, Sis.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him.
 

“I wanted you. I wanted you so bad. It was always you. And it couldn’t ever be you.” His brow furrowed, “Look, it won’t do any good to talk about it.”

“It might. I wanted you too, you know.”

“Well, that only makes it worse.”

He got up and strode around the deck.

“Just seeing you makes me so damned horny, Sis.”

I could see that it was true. He stood proud like the mast on the front of a galleon. “I’m going to have to fuck half the girls in the crew tonight to get you off my mind.”

He chewed the inside of his lip. I leapt up to stand in front of him.

My big breasts heaved and my nipples ached to be free of the constraint of my sheer black bra.

I said, “There could be another way.”

As I slid up against his big, hard chest, the beat of his heart pounded against my temple. His heat stirred against my hips and his hardness lengthened along my thigh. My thighs straddled his leg and I squeezed him. The torment burned on his face.
 

He was hoarse, “Sis, it’s wrong.”

My hand slid down his hard abs. “Isn’t it, though.”

The taut muscles of his leg flexed as I gripped it between mine. As I pressed my mound against the ridge of his thigh, a rush went through me and I had to cling tight to him. It was wrong. It was bad and illegal and terrible and if the law didn’t get me, I’d burn in Hell.

None of that made me want him less. My eyes were wet and my lips parted as I peered up at him. He looked down and the sweet taste of his breath drifted to mingle with mine. I pressed my arms, my breasts, my hips against him.

I raked my nails in his hair, felt around to the back of his head. I had wanted this for so long. His body here, in my arms and his strong arms wrapping around me, I pulled his face down to mine.

He pulled back. The conflict blew like storm clouds across his face. His rich, thick lips trembled. His voice was a whisper. “Sis.”

At the sound of moccasins on the deck, we broke apart. Two of the minions brought canapés or whatever those fussy little pastry things were. He looked at the minions and they froze.

“Everyone go below decks and into their quarters.” His voice was like gathering thunder, “Everyone. No exceptions. Nobody
 
is allowed in the public rooms or on the berth levels. Not until you hear from me.”

They nodded silently and began to back away.

“You two tell everyone. Right now.”

They nodded again then silently turned and hurried below.

Then there was only us. Just him, and me. On a deck above the ocean, out of sight of the land. Part of me was still wondering if all of the laws and customs applied if we were were offshore. Was this international waters?

We stood a couple of feet apart. Near enough that I could feel the heat of his body and hear the soft moisture in his breath.

I said, “I don’t care about them seeing us.”

“Neither do I, Sis.” His eyes pleaded, “I want us to have privacy,” he said, “but that isn’t why.”

“Why then?” I didn’t mean to tease. Well, maybe just a little.

“You know. You know what I want, Sis.”

And at that moment, I did know. The trouble was, what I wanted was what all of those other girls wanted. I wanted him to do to me what he did to them. I wanted him to treat me the same way, but I didn’t want him to think of me in the same way.

I wanted him to grab me with his strong hands, yank the clothes off me and peel my quivering flesh bare to the cool moonlight. I wanted his lips, his mouth and his tongue all over me. As he held me by a tight grip on my hair or dragged me by my ankles.

He should take me, have me, invade me everywhere, with his mouth and his tongue, with his fingers. With the fine, firm column of his gorgeous cock.

I wished that he had two cocks, three so he could penetrate me in three places all at once. But it didn’t matter if he had a thousand cocks. Every girl in Long Island, in New York, every woman on the planet could be impaled and violated by him in every possible way. Every girl except for me.

I couldn’t tell him. Because we couldn’t do it. Not any of it. Or maybe I should tell him. Perhaps if I could deal with it by talking to him, I could find a way past it. Or around it. Even though I knew, knew for certain that wasn’t what I wanted.

I couldn’t do any of it. But I was itching to do all of it.
 
Everything. I ached for him in the worst way, and it burned me so bad it was fabulous. Just being here with him, hearing his breath and breathing the scents of him, wanting him, seeing the look in his eye was almost enough. Almost.

The last part though, the bit on the other side of that ‘almost’ was so unthinkably bad. And that very though got me revved again. I trembled all over.

His voice was low and firm. “You know what we can do, sis.”

I nodded. I had started to do it without realizing. What we had done that one time, the first time. The only time that ever mattered to me. On the only day that ever mattered to me, the day we met.

My hand was down the front of my skirt, in my panties. His shirt buttons popped open. Then his jeans. I squeezed and needed my other hand. One to spread my folds and press my nub forward and back, one to drag in my crevasse, to probe as high as I could reach for the magic button.

His massive mast of flesh extended from the front of his cotton briefs. I fell involuntarily to my knees in front of him, scenting, tasting the hot air around his pulsing bulb. My fingers were awash with my hot juice. As it sprang the scent of it thrilled me. I tipped my face up. I saw his nostrils flare and his eyes blaze.

His hand stroked so gently on the throbbing wonder of his lengthening rod. I longed to take it’s buzzing heat inside me. Anywhere. Everywhere. I whimpered as my fingers found the combination and my brimming dam unlocked and burst.

Close enough to taste him, my tongue was out and flat, just an inch from his beautiful cock. He squeezed and pumped and his glorious fountain blasted bolts of thick, steamy, sticky white love. I caught some on my tongue, more on my face.

I came again as I slurped his seed and pulled it with my fingers, tasting now of us both. We mingled on my tongue and I moaned as I collapsed on the deck in front of him. All I could hear was my hammering heart, my strained breath and his low chuckle.

We sat in a dining room at opposite ends of the long table on straight-backed chairs. It would have been to risky and too hard to sit next to each other. It was too electric. It was hard enough to keep our hands off each other with the length of a table between us. “Mother said that Father wants now to disinherit you.

“He could only do that if he could prove that I was illegitimate and, even though he always swore that I was, I don’t believe him. I think that it’s just something he wants to believe because he hates my mother so much. You know that was why he called me ‘Baz’? Tried to get everyone else to do it, too. Supposed to be short for ‘bastard.’”

“That’s not even funny.”

“I know, right?”

“He can prove it, though, at least according to Mother he can. But
Your
mother made him sign a contract to say that he wouldn’t, otherwise she refused to relinquish her rights to the title.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be able to get the title back now.”

“She would, or he thinks that she would, it seems. The only way that he can prevent her for sure is by having the title conferred on Mother.”

“That must make him happy.”

“‘If it’s not one damned thieving harridan it’s another,’ were his words, apparently.”

“I can just hear him. Where would he be in this world without his charm. Oh, yes, I remember, he’d be a senior member of the British fucking aristocracy.”

“She’s been to London. Seen lawyers about it.

“Her lawyers?”

“His and hers, she said. She told me about how she met two ‘stupendous guardsmen’ while she was there.”

He made a face, “Really?”

“You know how she overshares. Told me every detail. I mean every single detail.I curled my fingers,like I was holding two thick oars. Or fat sausages, maybe. “She tells that stuff to me all the time.” My eyes rolled, “I’ve threatened not to call her anymore if she didn’t stop. I think she likes to tell me so she can practice the story.”

“Practice?”

“For when she tells him.”

His jaw dropped. “You think she tells him?”

“I know she does. She sometimes even makes him go along and watch. I think he secretly loves it.” I saw that Roger was appalled and fascinated at the same time. That was the effect she often had on me when she described her adventures for me.