Exploring her body was easy, stopping proved to be impossible.
I slid my finger in and out of her tight confines a few times, lubricating it fully with the juices that freely flowed from her willing warmth. I pulled it out, then bit her neck lightly, circling her swollen clit with the tip of my finger while I nibbled my way to her shoulder.
She inhaled a choppy breath. I pressed my two middle fingers together and pushed them inside. She slapped her flattened hands against the countertop, spreading them wider as I pushed my fingers deeper.
The base of my fingers massaged her clit. She gasped.
I moved my mouth to her ear. “I’m going to fuck you senseless.”
“Please,” she begged.
I fumbled with my left hand and eventually got my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. My rigid cock sprung free as soon as the denim cleared the shaft. I lifted her dress and grasped the waist of her panties in my left hand, while still finger-fucking her rhythmically with my right.
I breathed into her ear. “Do you like these panties?”
“They’re...one of my...favorites,” she said between strokes of my fingers.
“Sorry,” I whispered as I yanked against the frail fabric sharply, snapping the material in two.
I pulled the top of her dress down and her bra up, exposing her full breasts, the sight of which drove me insane. My left hand pressed against the center of her back, pushing her chest onto the countertop.
I leaned over her and bit the bottom of her ear between my teeth. My cock tapped against her inner thigh as I positioned myself between her legs. “Back that little ass up so I can shove you full of cock.”
She raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed the cheeks of her ass against my hips. With my fingers still steadily fucking her and my palm torturing her clit, she reached between her legs and fumbled to find my throbbing shaft, eventually gripping it tight in her hand.
Before I could give my next instruction, she guided the head into her wanting pussy. With my fingers still deep inside of her, I fought to push my length inside of her. Determined to fill her with my love, I curled the tips of my fingers into the rough flesh of her G-spot, tickling it as I pushed my length steadily into her.
I released her earlobe from between my teeth and encompassed her ear with my mouth. “How much do you want?” I asked.
Her response came out in grunts. “Every. Fucking. Inch.”
Her response made my already rock-hard cock become harder yet. Now giving her once-in-a-lifetime pussy some serious stiff dick, I lifted my chest from her back and gazed down at her perfectly shaped ass.
Slowly, I worked my hips back and forth, gaining a little more depth with each stroke. I watched as the glistening shaft slid from inside of her, only to be pushed back in as deep as I was able to explore.
In a few strokes, I was balls deep, my fingers still working in unison with my rigid shaft.
Her already tight pussy being filled with two of my fingers and my cock made the experience that much more enjoyable. Her pussy gripped me like a fist, making each stroke one step closer to climax.
I held myself in deep and curled my fingers into her G-spot.
“God, I love fucking you,” I moaned.
“Fuck. Me. Then,” she grunted.
It was all the invitation I needed. I pulled my fingers from inside of her, grabbed her waist with each hand, and began to pound my stiff shaft into her like it was the last chance I would ever have.
The sound of our grunting filled the air, and soon turned into short, choppy breaths. I felt my balls tighten, warning me the end was near.
My hips slapped against the soft skin of her ass a few more times, and it was all I could take. I closed my eyes, arched my back and prepared for the climactic finale.
“I’m going...Michael...I’m...”
Her pussy clenched against my shaft. I somehow managed a few more strokes, each one more difficult than the last. The friction of her flesh against mine caused my cock to swell.
Her legs shook.
As we often did, in unison, we reached climax.
I exploded inside of her, filling her with every drop of my love. Her pussy contracted one last time, shooting a shock through me and reminding me that there was no one else on earth that could satisfy me in the manner she was able.
I held myself deep inside of her and lifted against her shoulders until her back was against my chest.
“I can’t. Stand up,” she murmured.
“Just one kiss,” I whispered.
She turned to face me, forcing me to fall from her warmth. We embraced, and kissed passionately, which caused me to forget everything else that surrounded me. Terra became all that existed each and every time we kissed.
At some point, the kiss ended.
Our mouths parted. I gazed into her beautiful brown eyes. She was an amazing woman, and I loved her with every ounce of my being.
“I love you,” I said.
She stood and stared back at me, her mouth twisted into an ornery smirk, her unkempt hair hanging down past her shoulders in a tangled mess.
“I love you too,” she said. “But at some point in time we’re going to have to leave this kitchen. My legs are rubber.”
It was the second time we had sex in the kitchen since the shower that followed our breakfast. I glanced at the clock. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“I’m starving, but I can’t stand up anymore.”
I lifted her from her feet and lowered her down onto the kitchen counter.
I pulled up my jeans. “Sit there for a minute. I’ll make lunch.”
“And then we’ll go ride the roller coaster?”
“Maybe,” I said. “It depends on what happens after we’re done eating.”
We’d been trying to get away to ride the roller coaster for over a month, and it seemed an impossible task. Each and every time, for whatever reason, we ended up fucking instead.
“Anymore, when you say ride the roller coaster, it’s just another term for sex. We’re never going to ride it.”
I glanced down at my crotch. “Say it again,” I said.
“What? Roller coaster?”
I felt a faint twitch in my jeans.
I laughed. “I think you may be right.”
“I think with you, it’s about priorities. And the roller coaster is no longer a priority,” she said.
“Riding you and riding a roller coaster are similar, I guess,” I said.
“Oh really?”
I buckled my belt and nodded. “Both are exhilarating, take my breath away, and cause my heart to race.”
“I’m better though,” she said.
“How so?”
She raked her fingers through her hair. “A roller coaster won’t suck your cock for Jo Malone candles.”
The thought of her sucking my dick in the car for the candles made me grin. “Which are about gone, by the way.”
“Make our lunch, and after we eat we can go get some more.”
I pulled the refrigerator door open and glanced over my shoulder. “It’s going to cost you.”
“I can’t believe you make me suck your cock for candles.” She closed her eyes and inhaled a long breath through her nose. “But it’s so worth it.”
I closed my eyes, and inhaled a whiff of the sweet aroma that filled our home. I thought of her sucking my cock in the car after we left the candle store. I glanced down at my twitching cock.
Worth it?
I couldn’t agree with her more.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Terra
“Mom must have misunderstood.”
My father picked up a slice of capicola and fo
lded it into his mouth. “Misunderstood how?” he asked as he chewed the slice of meat.
“It was just a guy I met. It was nothing serious. We just talked at the coffee shop,” I lied.
I’d gone to see my father with every intention of telling him about Michael. As soon as I got there, it was apparent my mother told him about the Lutheran-American I met, and he wasn’t happy at all. As much as I wanted to be truthful about everything, he had made me extremely uncomfortable doing so.
Thinking about it in my father’s absence was easy. In his presence, things were much different. He was a very intimidating man, even when he was simply trying to be my father. I looked out the kitchen window, hoping I could finish my discussion with my father before my mother arrived and turned my lies into an argument.
He peeled another slice of the meat from the loaf and folded it in his palm. “I’ll talk to your mother.”
“Okay,” I said. “I think she just got mixed up.”
Beside the capicola sat a cold dish of pasta al ragu he had taken from the refrigerator. He lifted a forkful of the pasta to his mouth and slurped it from the fork. Noodles dangled from his bottom lip. “What happened with Vinnie?”
I looked away, disgusted by his choice of snacks. “We broke up.”
He raised his fork. “He was a good Italian boy.”
He wasn’t, but I knew better than to share my experiences with him. “He was okay.”
Another forkful of pasta. “You’re not getting younger.”
“I know.”
I needed to change the subject. “So, is Peter still sick?”
His face lit up with joy. “Sick? No. Peter is a strong boy. He’s just fine.”
Apparently, while in Argentina, Peter had ingested something that made him terribly sick. When he finally got home, he was ill for several days that followed.
“I talked to Mom, she said he was thin. That he lost a lot of weight.”
His face went angry. He reached for the ham, paused and pulled a slice from the loaf. “His weight. Yes, he lost weight.”
I often wished my father wasn’t completely secretive about his dealings with the mafia. According to him and his men, the mafia didn’t exist. They claimed to be businessmen, conducting business. They never admitted to being part of anything larger, participating in any criminal activities, or being organized.
But everyone knew.
I learned more about what my father was involved in by reading about him on the internet, watching the news, and listening in on conversations when I had the chance. I was left to decide what I believed to be true and what I hoped were embellished lies.
I sighed. Men and their secrets. Michael said if I asked the right questions, I would always get the right answers. Maybe I never asked the right questions. “Why was Peter in Argentina for so long?”
The words came out before I had a chance to stop them.
He snatched another piece of ham. Then another. He plunged his fork into the pasta, became frustrated, and tossed it into the dish. He folded the capicola like he was angry at it.
He poked the ham in his mouth. “Business.”
I wondered if Michael’s statement regarding asking questions would work with my father. Considering what had been revealed about Michael, I decided to delve further. I reached for the ham and shot him an innocent look. “What kind of business?”
“What’s with the questions? Business.”
I tore the slice of ham in two. “Since when do you have business in Argentina?”
“Since now.”
Ask the right questions, get the right answers.
“What happened to him to cause him to lose the weight?”
He reached for the ham, paused, and glared at me. “He was sick.”
“Because why? What made him sick?”
He shrugged.
It wasn’t an answer. He was avoiding answering me. Maybe he was just like Michael. If he didn’t tell me anything, he wasn’t telling a lie, he was simply choosing not to respond.
“You don’t know why he was sick? What caused him to lose weight? You have no idea?” I poked half the ham into my mouth and waited for him to respond.
He opened the refrigerator door. “Cannoli?”
“You’re avoiding answering me.”
He set the cannoli down on the island and gripped the edge of the countertop so firmly his knuckles went white. “Why the questions?”
I decided to tell a version of the truth. “Vinnie and I broke up because he wasn’t telling me everything. He wasn’t being truthful. It hurt me. I just want to know.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need to know. He was sick. He’s fine now.”
I poked the remaining ham in my mouth and stared. He held my gaze for a long time. I struggled to keep from looking away. After what seemed like a lifelong stare-down, he sighed.
He released the counter, picked up one of the cannoli, and began to pace the kitchen floor. “Your family’s business stays in this home,” he said sternly. “It is not for your friends.”
“I understand.”
“I tell you. Don’t be upset. You want to know?”
“I won’t be upset.” I fought not to smile. “I just want to know the truth. For once.”
He stared.
I laughed, hoping to ease his mind. “I’m a big girl.”
He walked the length of the kitchen floor and nibbled on the cannoli. After pacing back and forth a few times, he took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Figli di putanna took your brother hostage. I had to get a man...”
Holy shit!
I knew it wasn’t business.
My heart raced.
He glanced at the cannoli, walked to the trash and tossed it inside. “A man specializes in such things. They wanted money. So much money. They threatened the family. The man, the specialist, he agreed to help. He rescued Peter from the savages.”
He looked at me with uncertain eyes. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
I was still trying to process everything, but I was glad he’d told me the truth. “Yes. Thank you.”
“People. They think we have so much money. We don’t.”
I knew better, but I agreed. “I know.”
He reached for the ham and shrugged. “I work hard.”
“I know you do.”
I walked the edge of the island, and reached for his hand. “We’re safe? I don’t need to be worried?”
“A misunderstanding,” he said. “It was a misunderstanding. You’re not at risk.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as the Pope is Catholic.”
I wasn’t as sure as he was, and I always worried about such things. I asked, and he answered my question, trusting me to be able to accept the information he gave me. I was excited, fearful and wanted to know so much more, but knew to mask my feelings.
I forced a smile. “Good.”
“You say nothing to your mother. Not to Peter.” He pointed to me, and then to himself. “You and me. Our secret.”
I grinned. “Our secret.”
He glanced at his watch and gasped. “I’m late. Jimmy. He’s so demanding of my time.”
I waved my hand toward the island. “I’ll put everything away.”
He smiled, kissed me and turned toward the door. Before he got to the hallway, he turned to face me. “Loose lips. They sink the ships.”
I shook my head. “Our secret.”
“That’s my girl.”
I cleaned up the mess and thought about everything he said. While I was wiping off the countertop, I had an epiphany.
No way.
In my father’s explanation of what happened to Peter, he didn’t mention Argentina. Peter wasn’t in A
rgentina. It was probably what he told everyone to hide what was really happening.
Michael, Cap and the other two men had saved a hostage on the night before Peter came home.
Cap said Michael gave the man one of his suits to wear.
I tossed the rag on the countertop and raced to Peter’s room. Nervously, I looked through his closet at his suits. Four suits, all roughly the same color of dark gray, hung in his closet. They looked like what Peter had always worn when he was dressed in a suit, and not like Michael’s more modern-fitting clothes.
Shit.
I felt like a detective who had chased a lead in an investigation, only to find out it was a dead end. To think that somehow my father had talked Michael into saving my brother from someone who took him for ransom was a ridiculous thought anyway.
I laughed to myself at my mind’s ability to manufacture such nonsense and walked out of the closet and into Peter’s bedroom. A quick scan of the room brought back memories of my childhood, and how I always felt like the much older sister, although I was only two years older.
I turned to walk out, and when I did, noticed a few articles of clothing draped over the back of a chair at the desk—more than likely things he intended to take to the dry cleaners. Excitedly, I walked to the desk, lifted the items from the back of the chair, and voila.
A navy suit.
I looked inside the jacket.
Brioni. 44R.
I didn’t know what size Michael was, but he was smaller than Peter. Peter was like my uncle Sal, kind of thick and a little chubby, but really tall. I ran to the closet, removed one of the jackets and looked inside.
Joseph Abboud. 46L.
I looked at the next. And the next. And the next. All were Joseph Abboud 46L.
I carefully draped the clothes back over the chair and stared at them. I had no idea what was going on—or if my suspicions were accurate—but I suspected somehow Michael became involved in my brother’s rescue. I wondered if it was common knowledge that he was a former marine, and he offered such services, or if my father somehow knew him. Maybe my father purchased guns from him, I had no idea.