“I’ll be good,” she breathes.
I pull back to look into her eyes. “What was that?”
“I’ll be good,” she says, her voice stronger.
“Excellent.” She opens and accepts my fingers into her mouth. “Suck.”
And she does. Emi sucks my fingers like they’re my cock, moving her head back and forth, taking them to the bottom knuckles and licking her essence from them with her tongue. I’m so mesmerized and fucking turned on that I damn near drop the act, and I doubt she realizes she’s started rubbing up against me like a cat in heat.
“Enough,” I growl, clawing at my belt and unfastening my pants to release my throbbing cock. As much as I want to fuck her bareback, I don’t want to leave her with a sticky mess to deal with when we’re done, so I sheath myself in a condom, push my pants under my ass, and sit on one of the loveseats. “Come here.”
I help her shift her dress so that it won’t get damaged as she straddles my lap. I palm her hips as she places me at her entrance, then I guide her down, groaning as she impales herself on my cock, and once again I’m touching heaven.
“My God, you feel so deep like this,” she says, pressing her hands on my chest to help hold her up, as though she can’t take every last inch of me in this position. I know differently, and I won’t accept anything less.
“I don’t think so.” I pull her knees wider, so she sinks down all the way, making her gasp then moan in pleasure. Then I hold both of her wrists with one hand behind her back and say, “Now ride my cock with that hot little cunt of yours, and if you do a good job, I might let you come.”
Emi doesn’t waste time fighting me this time. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are glazed with lids half-mast, and her pussy is already clenching tighter. My girl is on the brink and is done playing games. She wants to fuck, she wants release, and she wants it fucking yesterday.
Up and down, she rides my cock, slow at first with undulating hips in a fluid back-and-forth motion that drives me insane. Her tight pussy sears my pulsing shaft, hot flesh against hot flesh, and I feel the fire zipping down my spine.
With my free hand, I move the scraps of material hiding her breasts from me aside. I tweak one light brown nipple and latch onto the other with my mouth, tonguing the hard bud and nipping it with my teeth. I move on to taste the rest of it, testing the slight weight with a lick along the bottom swell and sucking and biting on her tender skin where no one will see, wanting to mark her as mine in some small way.
Emi moans loud enough that it echoes in the small room. Clapping my hand over her mouth, I adjust the angle of my hips so that her every down stroke hits her clit. I pick up our pace, chasing our orgasms as we race against time. Her brows knit together, and every exhalation is a muffled moan against my palm that changes in pitch, getting higher with every beat closer to climax.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” I rasp, pulling her against my body even as I keep her restrained. “Come for me, Emi. Let me feel you.” I don’t care about breaking character anymore. The game is over. All I want is for the woman I love to shatter around me, so I can put her back together again.
She screams into my hand as her body trembles, and her pussy fists my cock in pulsing waves, triggering my own release. My balls pull in tight, and I feel the jets of cum rocket through my dick to fill the condom, and I have an irrational resentment for the latex preventing me from marking Emi on the inside, too.
An image flickers through my mind of Emi’s flat belly starting to grow round with our baby, and I have to swallow around the emotion that lodges in my throat. Apparently when my heart settles on something, it charges forward at full speed. But I need it to pump the brakes, because I haven’t even had a chance to get Emi on board this crazy train yet.
Releasing her, I bring her arms forward and tuck them between us before wrapping her up in my embrace. I rest my cheek on the top of her head, reveling in the silky feeling of her hair on my skin. “You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fantastic,” she mumbles into the side of my neck. “Thank you so much. This was exactly what I needed. Can we go home now?”
I chuckle and force myself to pull back. “Not yet, Emi. You have a gala to run.”
She groans like a petulant child but allows me to help her off my lap. I take a minute to dispose of the condom, wash my hands, and put myself back together. Then I step behind her where she’s been checking her appearance in one of the vanity mirrors after putting her dress back to rights.
“Have I mentioned how stunning you look? This dress is… Fuck, I don’t know if I should put you over my knee for wearing something that’ll have every man here panting after you, or puff my chest out with pride that I have the sexiest woman in the world on my arm.”
“Definitely that last one for now.” She turns to place a kiss on my jaw, something she does often that I love. “I might let you do that first one later tonight at your place.”
“Now you’re talkin’. Let’s hurry up and get this over with.”
I put my jacket back on, return her phone, then unbarricade the door. We walk down the hall, holding hands and smiling like two people who are guilty as hell, which we totally are. When we reach Liam, I clap him on the shoulder. “Thanks, brother.”
“My pleasure, man. And yours,” he says with a wink in Emi’s direction.
She blushes, and I glare at my friend. “Don’t be—”
“I know, I know. Don’t be a dick. Sorry, Emi, I forget that you’re not used to our open humor about stuff like that.”
“It’s okay, Liam. Eventually I’ll stop blushing around you guys.” Her phone buzzes in her hand. “Crap, the caterer is freaking about something.”
“Go,” I say and kiss her cheek. “Catch up with me later if you can.”
She smiles and then leaves, crossing the lobby with the relaxed grace of a well-fucked ballerina. The tension is gone from her shoulders, and her strides are long and fluid again. If nothing else goes well tonight, at least I was able to give her a short reprieve and one hell of an orgasm.
Chapter Sixteen
Austin
“Come on,” Liam says. “Everyone’s at least three free drinks ahead of us in there.”
As we head to the main ballroom, I give him a sidelong glance. “I don’t think you can call them free when we paid two grand a plate.”
“Exactly.”
I laugh and shake my head at Liam’s knucklehead mentality. We weave our way through the crowd, easily finding our group with how big Chance and Roman are. Chance is dressed like me, in a traditional tux with his hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Jane is next to him in a red evening gown, her chestnut hair pinned up.
Roman looks like he’s already started undressing, although I know this is how he showed up. His bowtie is undone, with his tux shirt open at the neck. His hair looks like Addie just got done running her fingers through it, and his earrings and tongue piercing are all in. This is what I call his half-and-half look. Half Roman, half Ruthless—the sophisticated badass. Even still, Addison easily upstages him in her aqua blue dress and blond hair in loose curls. Raquel is also beautiful and the picture of innocence in all white, with her brown hair lying in a straight waterfall down her back.
All in all, we make an attractive fucking group, and the attention we’re getting proves it. “Is it just me or does everyone keep looking at us?” I ask, glancing around.
“Can you blame them?” Addie says, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Not with the way you ladies look.” Addie’s face lights up, and she launches herself at the man tossing out compliments to our women. Sam Larsen chuckles and returns her affection with a bear hug. “Hey, little cuz. Having fun?”
Addison pulls away. “For two K a pop, I expected at least a rollercoaster or two. But the open bar will have to suffice,” she says in mock disappointment. “What are you doing here?”
“Every year I pick a different charity to donate to and help with any publicity for the cause, st
uff like that. This year I chose Relevé. What are you guys here for?”
Chance lifts his glass of whiskey and points at me. “Massey’s woman runs this thing. She had some guests cancel last minute, and we’re trying to help him get laid, so we jumped in to save the day.”
Everyone laughs, and I shoot Chance my happy middle finger. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know,” he answers with a big shit-eating grin on his face. “So, Larsen, you have a date we can warn away from you around here somewhere?”
“You know me,” Sam says with his thousand-watt smile. “I always come single and ready to mingle. I like to find my dates at the events. Less expectations, more fun.”
“Yeah, we know.” Roman’s mouth is twisted in a scowl, likely remembering last New Year’s Eve when he was trying to win Addison back and assumed Sam was her new boyfriend. It resulted in Roman punching his hero in the face in front of the Drake Hotel, leading to a fight which I then had to break up. Good times.
Raquel’s gaze shoots past me. She smiles in recognition, then waves, beckoning someone over. “Rhona’s here!” she says excitedly, which transfers to the rest of us. It’s been a long time since she’s visited, and we’ve all missed her.
We all turn to see Roman’s older sister crossing the room in a shimmering gold gown that hugs her curves in all the right places. She has the same striking good looks as her brother, with pale olive skin and jet-black hair that she piled in curls on top of her head, accentuating her long neck and killer cleavage, which I purposely do not look at because the girl is like my sister.
Sam’s jaw literally unhinges before he composes himself. “Who is that?”
Oh shit. Roman, Chance, and I all look at each other, our eyes wide, then all at once we glare at Sam and bark in unison. “No.”
Larsen looks offended and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can even get a word out, Roman says, “Not just no, but hell no, Larsen. That’s my sister.”
“Younger?”
Roman narrows his eyes. “Older.”
The NHL star winces like he’s in physical pain having to hold himself back. “Fine.”
My friends and I relax, but not by much. We know Sam’s reputation with women, and it’s nothing we want Rhona around. He typically goes for older divorcees who like to have a good time with a young hockey stud who has no time or desire for anything serious.
Rhona has had shitty luck with men ever since that tragic night in college when she was raped. Understandably, it gave her trust issues, among other things, and she has a tendency to choose men she knows she can’t depend on in the long run. She’s a total sweetheart with a protective streak a mile wide, and we’d do anything for her.
“Hi, guys!” Rhona starts with the girls, giving them each a hug with unique compliments mixed into their excited chatter. Then she moves on to Liam, me, Chance, and lastly Roman, squeezing him extra-long and kicking her feet up when he lifts her off the ground in a huge bear hug. “So good to see you, little brother,” she says when he finally puts her down. “It’s even better to see you haven’t run Addison off yet. Fair warning, if you guys ever break up, she gets me in the divorce.”
“Nice,” he says as the girls laugh and high five. Then a flash of mischief lights up Roman’s eyes as he glances at Sam, who’s standing behind a completely oblivious Rhona. “Hey, Rho, I told you that the best enforcer in the league came to my birthday party, right?”
Rhona rolls her eyes with a scoff. “How many times do I have to tell you that Larsen isn’t the best enforcer in the NHL? No offense, Addie, I know he’s your cousin, but please. Kane Chapman from the Wild holds the record for most hits in a single season and grinds out the puck to set up more shots than Larsen on his best day. Even Sanders from the Kings hits hard enough to break his opponents’ bones to take them out for an entire season, not just a day. So you can have your little boy crush with Larsen, but you really need to stop calling him the best.”
Our entire group is silent, and if we weren’t surrounded by a few hundred people talking with a string quartet playing background music, you could’ve heard a pin drop. As it was, I think we were all holding our breath, waiting to see what the hell kind of war Roman set off between his sister and his hockey idol.
Surprisingly, Sam’s smile was ear to ear. “I can’t argue with your stats,” he says, “but surely I win for best-looking enforcer in the league. I’m the only one with all my original teeth, that has to count for something.”
Rhona’s eyes grow as big as our two-thousand-dollar dinner plates as she turns around to face the man she just raked over the statistical coals. “Oh my God, it’s you.”
“No, not God,” he says with a wink. “Just Sam.”
“I… I’m…” Finally, she spins around and smacks her brother in the chest, then points a finger right in his face. “I know where you live, and your girlfriend is my ally. You’d better sleep with one eye open or you’ll wake up with one less eyebrow.”
Everyone breaks their silence all at once; the guys are laughing and trying to calm down the girls, who of course band together to avenge Rhona and threaten more delicate things than Roman’s eyebrow.
I scan the room, wanting to lay eyes on Emi, but I don’t see her. I didn’t expect to see much of her tonight, since she warned me how this event usually goes for her, which is mostly running around until after dinner and speeches are out of the way and it settles into the dancing and drinking portion of the evening.
Deciding I need a drink, I leave them to their mini-circus and head over to one of the bars. The bartender hands me a tumbler with scotch on the rocks, and I take a generous sip.
“Austin Massey, I presume.”
Before I even turn around, I know who it is. The Italian accent and commanding tone of a king among his people says it all. Shit. Normally I’d be happy to introduce myself to my girlfriend’s father. I make it hard for parents not to like me, what with my Southern charm and hometown hero thing I have going for me. But I’ve never dated a woman of Emi’s caliber before, and it’s easy to understand why Vincenzo DeLuca might think a man who runs into burning buildings for a living—and gets paid shit to do it—isn’t nearly good enough for his only daughter.
The only thing I have going for me is how much I love her and how dedicated I am to making her happy. I just hope that’s enough.
I smile and turn on the charm full blast as I face the man I hope I’ll be forced to deal with for the rest of my life. Which is a really strange thing to say when I think about it. “Mr. DeLuca,” I say, extending my right hand, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. Emi has told me so much about you.”
He briefly glances down at my hand but doesn’t move to shake it, causing me to withdraw so I don’t look like a fucking tool. Well played, DeLuca. Round one goes to you.
“And yet she has told me nothing about you, Mr. Massey. That alone says something, does it not?”
Now I get why Emi asked me not to approach her father tonight. He’s the polar opposite of his jovial, welcoming brother-in-law. Emi said she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about us yet, but according to him, she hasn’t even mentioned me in passing.
“With all due respect, Mr. DeLuca,” I say, keeping my tone polite, “if she’s never told you about me, how did you know who I am?”
He lifts his chin and stares down his nose at me. “It is a father’s duty to know his daughter’s business.”
“Are you saying you spy on Emmélie?”
“Not spy,” he practically hisses. “Look after. Emi is naive and well-off. It is not uncommon for people of lesser means to take advantage. Based on what I have found, it is possible this is your intention with my daughter.”
Did he just accuse me of being a gold digger? Fucking hell, I can feel my blood starting to boil. DeLuca managed to insult me in less than thirty seconds, which is a good way to get my Southern showin’, as Chance says. “You know, back where I’m from, if you wanted to know about a man, you ask
ed him face-to-face.”
“I am quite aware of where you are from, Mr. Massey. I remain unimpressed.”
Keep cool, man. Be polite and walk the fuck away. I give him a parting smile that I know is more a baring of teeth than anything remotely friendly, but it’ll have to do. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m dating Emi and not you, Mr. DeLuca.”
“You are mistaken. You are not dating my daughter. She has merely been passing the time with you until Marco returns from Italy.”
At the mention of another man’s name, I freeze in place. I have the sudden feeling that I’m kneeling with my head on a chopping block, waiting for DeLuca to drop the guillotine blade on my neck. I manage to unclench my jaw, but before I can ask who the fuck Marco is, Emi’s dad glances past my shoulder and beckons someone over.
“There he is! Marco, it is good to see you. Welcome home,” he says as he embraces a man who could win a young David Gandy look-a-like contest. They speak briefly in energetic Italian like they’re reminiscing about Grandma’s famous meatballs, but for all I know they could be plotting my untimely death. Finally, DeLuca turns back to me. “Mr. Massey, allow me to introduce you to Marco Moretti, heir to the Moretti fortune, future CEO of DeLuca Enterprises, and—”
Jesus, DeLuca’s really got a hard-on for this guy.
“—Emi’s fiancé,” he finishes.
What?! My gaze bounces between the two men in front of me, but gauging from the smug look on DeLuca and the sincere pride on Moretti’s, there’s no punchline coming any time soon.
“Marco, this is Austin Massey,” DeLuca continues as though he didn’t just drop the bomb that blew apart everything in my world. “He has been spending time with Emi the past couple of months.”
“Ah, so you’re the friend I’ve heard so much about.”
Marco holds his hand out, his Colgate smile blinding me. I consider taking a page from DeLuca’s playbook and ignoring it, but the manners ingrained into my DNA demand I shake an offered hand, so I do. I even manage to not crush it with the force of the pain coursing through my veins. My mother would be proud.