My ears are filled with the sexy sounds of her moaning. She’s so loud that she’s almost drowning out the sounds of my dick slamming into her hot cunt. I fucking love it. It encourages me to fuck her harder. I never want to stop hearing her cries of pleasure.
He slams into me and groans, the sound lingering in the hot air between us. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. My body heats in waves, and the tips of my fingers and toes go numb. I’m so close. I moan and whimper, and stare into his dark eyes as my orgasm hits me with a force that renders my scream silent.
The sight of her cumming on my dick is my undoing. I press my body against hers and thrust with short, shallow pumps, filling her until our combined cum leaks down and onto the sheets.
He kisses the crook of my neck, and I turn my head to eagerly take his lips with my own. My heart clenches in pain as I surrender all of my passion into our final kiss. Tears threaten to fall, but I push them away. I know this was our last time, but I don’t want it to be over.
I keep my lips on hers as I reach up and unlock her cuffs with the key. As soon as one wrist is free, her hand’s in my hair, pulling me closer to her.
I just need to feel him; I need to remember this. I don’t want it to end. I wish I could live in this moment forever.
As I pull away, I see her eyes are closed and I know she wants this, too.
I wanna make her happy; I wanna keep my bad girl. And I will.
Everything and everyone else be damned. I can’t say goodbye to her.
I’m not letting her go.
Three weeks earlier
Tommy
I run my hand through my hair and take another look out of the window. Nothing yet. My apartment is a few stories up, but I can see down below to the first floor from here. I’m expecting a few cop cars to show up any minute now, sirens blaring. We got word a little earlier from the judge that he had to approve my arrest. He’s in our pocket, but there’s only so much even he can do.
They have enough to bring me in for questioning, so I just need to keep my mouth shut. And I can do that--I’ve had plenty of practice.
“Quit worrying,” my brother says from the other side of the living room. I turn to face Anthony as he pours more whiskey into our glasses. The ice clinks softly against the glass as he hands me my drink before taking a sip from his. “At least this will give you something to do.” He chuckles at his own joke.
“Yeah, I'm bored to fucking tears.” I've been keeping a low profile, which means no family business. I don't know what the fuck to do with myself. I'm used to going out and getting shit done. Instead I'm holed up, waiting for this to be over. I miss being out there and making sure the Valettis are still respected and feared like we should be.
I'm the best of the best at keeping that fear alive. I'm six-foot-two, and muscle on top of muscle. I know some fucker is going to mess with our shit. They always do. And right now I can't do shit about it. Instead I'm sitting here on my ass, being a good little boy while the judge works his magic and Kane takes over my position.
“It's not like this is your first time.” He smirks at me and I grunt a humorless laugh.
Anthony does the hits, and all the shit behind the scenes. He’s never been taken in, not like the rest of us in the familia. Lucky fucker. When you work on the streets like I do, you get hauled in every once in awhile. Usually it doesn’t faze me, but this is different. I'm not gonna lie, it'd be nice to get a gig like Anthony's and not have to deal with this shit.
The first time I was taken in was back when I was 22 years old. A low-life asshole thought he could steal from us. He was a fucking idiot. No one steals from us Valettis. We’re well-known, feared, and respected. More so now than we were back then. But junkies will do whatever it takes to get their next hit. The poor bastard knew it was coming, too.
I found the fucker shooting up outside of a strip joint. He was in the back alley. Couldn’t even wait till he got home, I guess. It doesn’t bother me much now, but back then it took a toll on me. I hadn’t toughened up yet. I broke his arm first. I learned that from my pop. Grab, twist, and crack. That way it’s more difficult for them to fight back. He didn’t even see me coming until his arm was busted and hanging limp at his side. I had to rough him up a bit. It was one of my first errands, and I knew the familia would go checking up behind me to see what kind of a job I'd done.
We agreed on new terms to the deal while he sat huddled in his own piss in that dark, filth-covered alley. And by that I mean he agreed to pay it all back with hefty interest by the next day. I have no clue if he ever paid up. I can’t imagine if and how he did, but then again, that’s not my job. And I don’t ask questions.
Unfortunately, a little old lady saw us and decided to do the right thing. She stood at the entrance to the alley. I remember how her silhouette blocked the golden glow illuminating us from the street light. She was a small, frail woman in a cardigan, and had a plastic bag from the drugstore next door hanging from her wrist. When I looked her in the eyes, daring her to reach for her phone, she looked back with no fear at all. Feisty old woman.
I didn’t bother dealing with her the way we normally handle witnesses. I figured the punk would live, but his ass wasn’t going to press charges. That, and I’d only killed once before. That fucker had it coming to him, but this woman didn’t. I wasn’t getting her blood on my hands.
The prick ran out of the alley ahead of me and knocked her to the ground as she dialed the police. Having done my part, I took off and prayed she wouldn’t be able to identify me. After all, it was dark, I was clad in all black, and I never got close enough to her so she could really see me. Or so I thought.
Old bat did see me though, and the cops knew exactly who she was describing. They know we’re the mob, so they’re always waiting for a chance to pin something on us. And I gave it to them, like a dumbfuck. Uncle Dante reamed me out pretty good. He was the Don back then, before his son Vince took over.
Luckily, nothing ever came of it. A night in the slammer, and I was a free man. That was the first time. Since then I’ve been careful, but occasionally we get pulled in for questioning. It’s rare to spend a night in jail, though. Not when we have the best lawyer money can buy, and more than enough cops and judges on our payroll to make up our own court system. We always know when we’ll be detained ahead of time, so we’re always prepared.
But this time, fuck--this time it could be the real thing for me. The uncertainty surrounding this arrest is different from all the other times, and I don’t like it.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Anthony says, taking a seat on my sofa. He drapes his arms across the back of the grey leather couch, and I wish I were as relaxed as him. I've never been envious of Anthony. He's a few inches shorter than me, and between the two of us, I'm the bigger pussy magnet. But right now I wish I'd been smart like him and and taken a job that didn't have me risking my neck like this.
“He said there’s a good bit of evidence,” I point out. Those are the words I keep hearing. Good bit of evidence.
“What are they gonna charge you with, huh?” He takes a swallow of his whiskey and leans forward, setting his drink down on the glassy surface of the coffee table before answering his own question. “Doing their job for ‘em?” He says it sarcastically with a raised brow.