Mafia's Good Girl novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Night Before

The night before her mother's surgery, Janelle goes to his room because the paper says so, and finds the wanting is her own.

At eleven that night I knocked on his bedroom door in my bare feet.

I was wearing one of Rosa's old sleep shirts, and nothing under it.

I had told myself in the shower that I was only going through a door because a paper said I had to.

I had lied to myself in the mirror too.

"It's open," he said.

Everything in that house was open, and I was still not free to leave it.

He sat in a leather armchair by the window with the lamp off and the city orange behind him.

His shirt hung unbuttoned over his chest, and there was a glass of whiskey on his knee he hadn't touched.

He had a long pale scar under his ribs and another across his shoulder.

I looked at both of them longer than I meant to.

"It's eleven," I said.

"It is."

"Page four."

"Page four," he agreed.

I crossed the carpet.

My heart was going so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

"I'm here because I owe you half a million dollars," I said. "I want that on the record."

"It's on the record."

"If you touch me, I'll still hate you in the morning."

"Fair."

He set the whiskey down on the floor.

"Come here, Janelle."

It was an order, and it was meant to be one.

My body didn't wait for my mind to decide what it thought of that.

I climbed onto his lap with a knee on either side of his hips.

His hands stayed on the arms of the chair.

He was making me close the last inch myself, and I understood why, and the understanding went through me.

I had expected to endure it.

I hadn't expected to want it.

I took his face in both hands and kissed him again.

This time I had no anger to hide behind.

His mouth was warm and tasted like smoke and whiskey.

He opened it for me and let me take what I wanted.

My tongue slid against his, and my hips rocked before I had decided to move them.

He made a low sound in his chest.

His hands came up off the chair and settled on my hips, big enough that his fingers nearly met across my back.

"Janelle," he said against my lips.

"Don't talk."

"Take it off."

I pulled the sleep shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor.

His eyes went down my body slowly, over my breasts and the soft curve of my stomach.

They stopped on the thighs I'd always hidden under a waitress skirt.

He looked at me as if he were starving.

"Look at you," he said.

Nobody had looked at me like that before.

Not once.

"Come here," he said, and he pulled me forward until my breasts were in front of his mouth.

He took one nipple between his lips and sucked, hard and slow, and I gasped and grabbed his hair.

He used his tongue.

He used his teeth, just enough that I arched into him.

He moved to the other side and did the same.

Heat poured down between my legs until I was wet against his stomach.

"You're soaked," he said. "I can feel you through my trousers."

"Then do something about it."

He laughed, a low dark sound.

"Is that how you give orders?"

"I don't know how I give orders. I've never had anybody to give them to."

"Stand up."

I stood.

My legs shook.

He rose out of the chair and turned me by the hips.

Then he sat me down in the warm leather where he had been.

He knelt on the carpet in front of me.

He was a Don and men crossed the street to avoid him, and he was on his knees with his hands on my thighs.

"Open your legs," he said.

I opened them.

He looked at me there, a long hard look, and I felt my face go hot and my pussy tighten at nothing.

"Beautiful," he said. "Every inch of you."

Then he put his mouth on me.

I cried out loud.

His tongue was flat and slow, from the bottom of me to the top.

Then it found my clit and circled it.

I clutched the arms of the chair so hard the leather creaked.

He held my thighs open with both hands and didn't let me close them.

He ate me.

He used his lips and his tongue and the edge of his teeth.

When I bucked he only held me tighter.

I looked down and saw his dark head between my legs and the scar through his eyebrow.

"Luciano," I said. "Oh God. Oh God, don't stop."

He didn't stop.

He pushed two fingers inside me, thick and slow.

He curled them forward until he found the spot that made my vision whiten.

His mouth never left my clit.

"That's it," he said against me. "Let me hear you."

I let him hear me.

I had never been loud in my life, and I was loud then.

I said his name and nonsense and please, and my hips lifted off the leather to meet his mouth.

The pressure wound tight and tighter in my belly.

"I'm going to-"

"Come on my mouth," he said. "Go on. Good girl."

The words hit me.

I came so hard I screamed.

My pussy clenched around his fingers.

The pleasure rolled up and up through my whole body until I thought I would break in half.

He kept licking me through all of it, gentler now, until I shoved at his shoulder.

I lay there in the armchair, panting, shaking.

"Don't call me that," I said.

I didn't mean it.

He heard that I didn't mean it, and he smiled against the inside of my thigh.

"No?"

"Again," I whispered.

"Good girl."

I made a sound I didn't recognize, and I slid out of the chair onto my knees on the carpet in front of him.

I put my hands on his belt.

"Janelle."

"Your turn."

My fingers were clumsy with the buckle.

He let me do it.

I pushed his trousers down his hips.

His cock sprang free, thick and hard and heavy in my palm, the head wet at the tip.

I stared at it.

I wrapped both hands around it and it still wasn't enough to cover him.

"Fuck," he said, very quietly, and his head dropped back against the chair.

I stroked him from root to tip, slowly, and watched his stomach jump.

I did it again, tighter.

He put his hand in my hair, not pulling, just holding.

"Watch me," he said. "Keep your eyes on me."

I kept my eyes on him.

I worked him faster, my thumb sliding over the wet head, and his breathing went ragged, and a muscle moved in his jaw.

"I want to put my mouth on you," I said.

His eyes flared.

"Not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because your mother is on a table in seven hours," he said, rough.

"I want you to remember the first time I'm inside you."

"The paper says whenever you ask."

"It does. I'm not asking for that tonight."

He held my wrist, gently, and he moved my hand off him.

I looked at his face.

I looked at the man who had bought ninety days of me, and who was holding the rest of tonight back for reasons I couldn't read.

It nearly broke me.

I couldn't tell which of us was the one being kind.

"Then I'm finishing you," I said. "Right now. On my terms."

He laughed under his breath.

"Yes ma'am."

I took him in my fist again and I didn't go slow.

I stroked him hard and fast.

I leaned in and kissed him and bit his bottom lip.

He groaned into my mouth, and his hips shoved up into my hand.

"Janelle. Janelle, I'm-"

"Say it," I said. "Tell me."

"I'm going to come."

"Then come for me."

He came with a rough shout, his cum hot and thick across my hand and his stomach.

His fingers closed hard in my hair.

I watched his face the whole time.

It was the face of a man I'd planned to kill, open and undone.

I held him through it until he stopped shaking.

Then I lifted my hand and licked one finger clean, because I wanted to see what it would do to him.

It did what I wanted.

"You're going to ruin me," he said.

He carried me to his bed.

He laid me on cool sheets and pulled the blanket over both of us.

He wrapped one arm around my waist and held me against his chest.

For one minute, only a minute, I let myself have it.

His heartbeat was steady under my ear.

I thought of the gun in the hall closet, sewn into my coat.

I thought of a surgeon's hands.

"Sleep," he said.

I slept for four hours.

At 5:40 I woke to a quiet knock at the guest room door.

He had carried me back there before dawn, so I'd wake in my own bed.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a black suit, with two paper cups in his hands.

"Coffee," he said. "Get your coat."

My coat.

With the gun in it.

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