I Kidnapped the Mafia Heir, and He Never Tried to Escape novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Sit
She cannot kill him, so she sits on his face instead, and while he works her through the worst night of her life, headlights sweep the windows.
"Read it to me again," said Mal.
"You can read."
"I want to hear how it sounds in your voice."
I read it out loud.
My voice went flat on the last word, "choice".
He listened with his head tilted and his open shirt moving slowly with his breath.
"That's his phone, not Donal's," he said. "The number's one of the burners he keeps in the Hall safe."
"He wants me to kill you."
"He wants you to want to."
"Why?"
"Because if you do it, it's a stranger's crime."
He said it.
"A woman from Revere holds the heir for ransom and shoots him on a pier. There's a trial. There's a funeral. Padraig carries the coffin in a black coat, and no one in the Family has to ask who benefits."
I sat on the bottom step of the loft stairs.
My legs didn't hold me anymore.
"I find people," I said. "I don't end them."
"I know."
"You don't know me."
"I know you've been in my mirror for seven days and you never once brought a gun."
I put my face in my hands.
It was warm in the little circle of the space heater and cold everywhere else, and I could still feel him between my thighs.
I could still hear my brother's text in my head.
"They have me, Ro."
"I can't do it," I said into my palms. "I can't do what he wants, and if I don't, Donal."
"Culhane."
"What?"
"Look at me."
I lifted my head.
He was watching me with an unreadable stillness that I was starting to think wasn't calm at all.
It was patience.
"I'll help you," he said. "I'll need an hour, and a phone. But right now you're shaking so hard your teeth are clicking, and you have the look of someone about to run into the harbor."
"I am not."
"Then come here."
"You'd like that."
"I'd like it very much," said Mal.
He didn't smile.
"Take your jeans off and sit on my face."
My whole body went hot and then cold and then hot again.
"You're chained to a floor," I said, which was the stupidest thing I had ever said.
"That's why you'd be the one in charge."
I should have laughed.
Instead I stood up and unbuttoned my jeans, and my fingers did it before the rest of me had agreed.
The denim was damp and cold against my legs when I peeled it off.
I kicked my boots away and pulled my underwear down and stood there bare from the waist, in the light of a space heater, in front of the most dangerous man in Boston.
He looked at me like I was something he'd been starved of.
"Christ," he said, hoarse.
"Don't talk."
"Yes, boss."
I knelt over him with my knees on either side of his shoulders and gripped the winch post above his head with both hands.
He had to tilt his chin up.
His breath hit me first, hot against my inner thigh, and I shivered.
"Lower," he said. "Don't be shy with me. Sit down on it."
I lowered myself and his mouth closed over me.
I cried out.
His tongue was slow and flat and deliberate, one long stroke from my entrance up to my clit.
He groaned against me.
The sound traveled straight through my body.
"Oh, fuck."
He did it again, and again, until my hips began to roll without my permission.
"That's it," he said, muffled, wet, wrecked. "Ride it. I can take it."
I ground down onto his mouth and he took it.
He sucked my clit between his lips and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, and my head fell back and the rafters swam.
I had never done this with anyone.
Not once, not even before.
I hadn't trusted anyone enough to sit there and let them look.
He wasn't looking away.
I could feel him watching up the length of my body.
He pushed his tongue inside me, deep, fucking me with it, and my thighs began to shake around his ears.
"Mal. Oh my God. Mal."
"Louder," he said into me.
"I can't."
"You can. Come on my mouth, Culhane. Let me hear it."
He sealed his lips around my clit and sucked hard.
I broke.
I came screaming his name at the roof of a dead man's boathouse, with my hands white on the post and my hips grinding down on his face, and he groaned through every pulse of it.
He didn't let up.
He licked me through it, slow and greedy, until I was whimpering and oversensitive and tried to lift away.
He chased me.
"One more," he said. "I want one more."
"I can't."
"Yes, boss," said Mal, and put his mouth on me again.
The second one went off almost instantly, a bright hard crack that dropped me forward onto his chest.
I stayed there, breathing against his shoulder, until I could feel my fingers again.
His face was wet from his chin to his cheekbones.
He licked his lips, slowly, and watched me watch him.
"Better than tea," he said.
A laugh broke out of me, helpless, half a sob.
"Nobody has ever," I said, and stopped.
"I know."
"You don't."
"You came like you'd never been allowed to."
I put my forehead against his collarbone.
For a minute neither of us said anything at all.
His heart was still pounding under my cheek, and his cock was a hard, hot line against my hip.
I slid my hand down it, and he went rigid.
"Not yet," he said, through his teeth.
"Why not?"
"Because I want you to decide it with a clear head."
"I have a clear head."
"You've got a very clear head," said Mal. "You've just come twice."
I would have argued.
I opened my mouth to.
Light slid across the windows.
Two beams, white and swinging, crossing the dirty glass and the boat winch and his bare chest.
An engine cut out on the gravel spit.
Two doors thumped shut.
Somebody outside laughed, and then I heard the slosh of liquid in a can.
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