LUCA_Her Ruthless Don Page 16

“Luca, please,” I beg, because there’s an aching need clawing at my insides, making it so I can’t play along, can’t perform my part of the script. “No games, please,” I plead on a pant. “I need you inside of me. Please, baby, just, just fuck me, okay?”

  A moment of hesitation…

  But then in a surge of hands and lift, I’m suddenly pulled all the way into his lap. His hands and forearms move between our bodies, bumping into my thighs. There comes the thin sound of metal unlatching and unzipping, and then the familiar fragrance of skin and raw desire fills my nose.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice choked and rasping as if it’s taking every ounce of willpower to ask the question.

  What kind of question is that? When have I ever not been sure? This is Luca and me!

  “Yes, of course, I’m sure—” I start to say nonetheless.

  “Oh fuck, thank God.”

  I don’t understand why my arrogant husband is acting so grateful for a ten-minute quickie. But the question blips out of my mind, when he lines me up and pulls me down, fully seating me on his cock with one surge of his hips.

  We both groan, then sigh into another kiss. My hands run up under his shirt, needing his skin on top of his kiss. And he fucks me and fucks me, his hips driving like a piston between my thighs.

  This is usually where the dream takes a turn. When the need just builds and builds, never ending, never satisfied, no matter how long he pumps into me, until I wake up frustrated and sobbing.

  But not this time. This time the fire builds, along with the need, until a swell of pleasure suddenly floods my body, washing over me and leaving nothing behind but a collection of nerves and skin, tingling with ecstatic sensation.

  I laugh against his lips. The sound escapes my mouth in an involuntary gasp. Then I laugh again, unable to stop, as the aftershocks of the intense orgasm play along my nerve endings like music.

  Beneath me, Luca’s body suddenly seizes up. With a deep groan, his hips jerk between mine one last time.

  And that’s when I stop laughing.

  That’s when I wake up.

  Because, just like me, Luca has never come when he visits me in dreams. At this point, he’s often just a silent machine, grimly fucking me as I beg him to make me come.

  But now… now I can feel him. In full detail. The hair on top of his thighs caressing the bottom of mine, the bristle of his shadow rubs against my face, and the wet load now seeping out of my pussy.

  There’s also a new scent in the air. Pheromones and fluids combining in the heat to scream the tale of what just happened here to the blind woman.

  All these real-world sensations combine into one new horrific fact. This…this is not a dream. But a nightmare come to life.

  “Where are we?” I demand.

  He stiffens beneath me. “What do you mean…?”

  “I mean, where the hell are we? In a small room…?” Unable to wait for his answer, I grope around until I find… a hard-plastic rectangle. It has a depressing button, and a slot….it’s a seat buckle. “We’re in your car?”

  “Shit, Amber, I didn’t…I thought you knew. Yeah, we’re in my car. Sitting outside your apartment.”

  “Where’s that guy who was driving?” I ask, scrambling to remember his name. “Joey? Where is he? Still here?”

  “No, baby, he took a walk. I told him to let you sleep, but then it was getting too hot in the car, and I woke you up so that you could go inside. That’s when you…”

  Pretty much begged him to fuck me, because I thought he was a dream.

  Oh God…oh God…I lift, and my heart cringes at the very real squish my vagina makes when I pull all the way off his dick. God, how much cum did he release into me? I can feel it dripping, even after I readjust my panties.

  “Give me my cane,” I demand, pushing down my skirt.

  “Ambs, hold on… did you really not know—”

  He cuts off when in a total panic, I start looking for my cane with the same kind of desperate blind gropes I had to use until Amber Reynolds paperwork went through and a certified orientation mobility specialist was assigned to my case. I don’t care how it looks, all I want to do is find my cane and get out of this hot car with the not-a-dream ghost I just fucked.

  My reversion to blind newbie doesn’t last long. The backseat depresses, leather creaking as Luca moves in a single direction. And the next thing I know, my mobility cane is pressed into my hand.

  “Building’s to your right when you step out. About twenty steps.” His voice is hard as granite. Then comes the clunk of all four locks releasing at once.

  I hesitate. Not knowing what to say. Or how to feel about what just happened.

  So, I just get out. Leaving without another word. Just like he left my hospital room five years ago.

  22

  Bang Bang (She Shot Me Down)

  Luca

  Joey shows up just a few seconds after the door closes behind her. And Rock must’ve put him on a pretty good salary, because from all outward appearances my guard doesn’t seem to smell or see nothing. He doesn’t give the now sex-drenched air an obvious sniff or ask why the Caddy was rocking just a minute ago, or even glance at me in the rearview, as I put myself back inside my pants, and retuck my shirt before closing everything back up.

  He just pushes the Cadillac CT6 to start and cranks the AC, before asking, “Where to next, boss?”

  Like I’ve been back here, reading a book.

  “Home,” I answer. And the word feels cold.

  Just like my heart.

  Because fuck, what was that?

  I shouldn’t have gone to the baby shower. Cursed myself for doing it during the whole ride to Connecticut. But I’d gotten out of that car, hadn’t I? Dropped my gift off, and instead of finding Holt or even flirting with Prin, that hot best friend of Sylvie’s, now that she and Zahir are done, I scanned the party for Amber.

  I found her on that bench, sitting with Mika—a cutie with dimples, I also wouldn’t mind banging once or twice. But you wouldn’t know I was considering anybody else by the way I steamrolled past all the eligible ladies at the swanky garden party who didn’t hate me, to beeline it straight to my ex. Only to stop short when I overheard what she and Mika were talking about.

  Quite frankly, knowing Amber’s nose, I’m surprised it took her so long to catch me hovering. But did I take the out, when Mika stood up to greet me?

  That would be a big fat not even. Instead, I sent the friendly cutie away so that I could stay behind and pick an argument with my prickly ex-wife. Dropping insults on her like I was back in elementary school and pulling on girls’ pigtails because I didn’t know how else to get their attention.

  I should’ve let her catch a Lyft back to Astoria like she wanted to—shouldn’t have cared about her spending her money since the language in the divorce papers made it more than clear that she didn’t want any money that came from me.

  But I couldn’t stop myself. And then she fell asleep on my shoulder, just like she used to when we watched those full audio description DVDs together instead of going out to the movies like regular couples.

  “What do you want to do, boss?” Joey asked when we pulled up in front of Amber’s building, and she was still knocked out.

  “Take a walk around the block or something,” I answered, because I didn’t want him to see what I planned to do next.

  I’ve worked hard to garner my reputation. No reason to let even my most trusted bodyguard see me wake Amber and tell her I’m sorry. No need for him to listen in, while I apologized for my behavior and told her that if there was anything I could do to help with her situation, I’d be there for her. I’d always be there for her, even if we were exes now.

  But when I’d shaken her awake, she’d suddenly been old Amber. Pushing away the white linen of my Brioni shirt, and going straight for my skin…

  One touch… just one touch and I became concrete inside my pants. Even b
efore she said, “Ten more minutes…”

  Ten more minutes.

  The memory of her never wanting to wake up hit me harder than her earlier slap, and the words, “Ten minutes means I get to do whatever I want to you…” fell out of my mouth.

  It was just a joke. Just a joke… but when she said, “Mmm-hmm,” I stopped breathing. And it didn’t feel like I exhaled again, until she was on top of me, fully impaled on my dick.

  “More…” she begged.

  It’s funny how fast it all fell apart. And guess fucking what, my heart wasn’t made of stone. That was just a façade, I discovered, when the rock fell away, completely exposing my flesh and blood and wildly beating heart. I was a hardened criminal one moment and her husband again in the next. It happened just that fast. In just ten minutes…

  And for ten minutes it was glorious. For ten minutes, it had somehow felt just like old times and completely new at the same time. Amber was mine again. Kissing me, touching me, fuck, moving on top of me in that out-of-control, writhing way of hers, reminding me exactly why I’d made it a habit to always hold her down.

  But not for those ten minutes. For those ten minutes, I didn’t care how wild she got or that she was on top. All I wanted was to give her everything she asked me for. No games, just like she asked. I fucked her and fucked her, the fire building, and I swear the sweet clamp of her pussy when she came was what sent me straight over the edge.

  I don’t dream much anymore. But for ten minutes, it felt like a dream. The best I ever had.

  And then it was over. Her eyes popped open, like the minute I came.

  Fuck… how could I have missed it? That she was still asleep? That the only reason she let me touch her, begged me to touch her was because she thought she was dreaming, too?

  Because I wanted it to be real too badly to see that she wasn’t fully awake. Because of the obsession that’s been tampered with alcohol and violence and pussy that wasn’t hers all these years, but never fully extinguished. I wanted it to be real. Wanted it to be true.

  But it wasn’t. Fuck.

  She shot out of the car nearly as soon as I handed her the cane and told her how to get where she wanted to go. Then Joey got back in. And that’s it.

  I’m back to feeling haunted for days… then weeks… then months.

  Five more months of no Amber. And I pretty much know for a fact, another five years will probably go by before I see her again. Maybe more. My ex-wife’s been smart about avoiding me since the hospital. No calls, no texts. She didn’t come to Sylvie’s wedding or her engagement party. And I get the feeling she only attended the baby shower because she’d been told I wouldn’t be there…oh, and to recruit a nanny for the kid she planned to have with Pascoal. Can’t forget about that. Shouldn’t ever forget about that.

  Which is why I’m shocked as shit to see her five months after our hook-up at the record release party for Prin’s twin sisters in the same Benton Grand ballroom where we got married five years ago. I mean, sure Prin and Amber are still close, and I imagine she’s also at least affectionate toward her former assistant’s talented twin sisters, while technically I only got invited because of Zahir’s surprise announcement.

  But Amber’s not the type to make the same mistake twice. My heart drops into my stomach, as I look up from where I’m standing on the dais steps and see her face near the ballroom’s back doors.

  Amber is still one of the most cynical people I know, but she stands totally still, her attention rapt, right along with every other woman in the audience as Zahir asks Prin for forgiveness. What the hell…?

  Once again going to her doesn’t feel like something I can control. I cut through the crowd of leather, black, and gray until I see her. Already heading for the doors.

  “Hey, Amber,” I say behind her.

  She doesn’t hear me.

  So, I call even louder, “What’s what, Mrs. Ferraro?”

  This time I know she hears me because her shoulders tighten and she starts walking faster. I can almost hear her deciding to ignore me.

  But I’ve always been worse than Glenn Close with that letting people ignore me shit.

  I break into a jog, running to get in front of her.

  “Hold up, where are you going so fast? I need to talk to—”

  I stop. My eyes dropping from her gorgeous face, straight to her belly.

  Her now very, very swollen belly.

  “You’re pregnant,” I say, the words falling like grenades out of my mouth.

  23

  Don’t Be A Do Badder

  Amber

  “So what if I’m pregnant, it’s not yours,” I answer immediately, falling back on the hastily constructed plan I came up with as soon as I heard him behind me. I was trying to sneak out of yet another party I didn’t know he’d be at.

  The entire surface of my body becomes cold and clammy, and I wonder if I’ve literally broken out into a cold sweat.

  Stupid…stupid…stupid…why do all my stupidest moments in life involve him?

  In the background, people are still cheering Zahir’s and Prin’s totally, totally unexpected reunion. But the applause dies down when the twins, take the mike, singing, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” in dedication to the new couple. A song by Frankie Valli, not Frank Sinatra. Wrong Jersey Frank. Luca once corrected me on that. It had led to a silly argument, and eventually, he’d whipped out his phone and looked it up on Wikipedia before snidely pushing the text-to-speech to read the entry. Nope, Luca was right. Frankie Valli recorded it, and Frank Sinatra never even covered it. “But hey, it came out in 1967… same year as ‘Somethin’ Stupid’,” Luca noted before re-sheathing his phone weapon.

  Somethin’ Stupid…

  My skin tingles with goosebumps as the twins sing the other Jersey boy’s song and Luca doesn’t say anything. But he’s still there. I can feel him , bigger than anything.

  “Um… what did you want to talk to be about? I need to go home,” I ask, voice impatient.

  “It’s not mine,” he says, like only a few seconds have passed between my announcement and this statement. An undefinable emotion throbs in his voice, and my heart trembles.

  “No, it’s not yours,” I repeat calmly. “And my pregnancy isn’t something I want to talk about right now. So either ask your question or get out of the way. I have an early morning breakfast meeting.”

  A few more silent beats pass, and I’m wondering if I’ll have to shove past him, but then he says, “Your brother. He’s trying to build a case against me. You helping him with that?”

  “You mean, Peter?” I falter, honestly stunned by the question.

  I mean, yes, of course, I know Peter just took a position at the New York County’s District Attorney office a few months ago. We’ve even run into each other at a couple of non-profit functions. But both times it’s been a cold hello, and about two seconds of small talk before he moved onto someone else. “I mean, we exchange words when we’re in the same room. But other than that, no. No contact.”

  “So he’s still not acknowledging you, huh?” Luca asks, his voice dry and irritated.

  My heart contracts at that unexpected poke of an old hurt.

  “Rumor is he’s got a key witness, willing to testify against me,” he says into my pained silence.

  “Okay, well, I don’t know anything about that,” I answer. “And I don’t want to know.”

  “No, you never did,” Luca answers, his voice tight.

  And it feels like an accusation. Like I’m the reason we fell apart. My nostrils flare. This is why he’s a total shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have dated him, shouldn’t have married him, most definitely shouldn’t have fucked him in the back seat of the car. Because all we do… all we’re ever going to do is crash and burn.

  “Okay, well, like I said, gotta go. Big meeting tomorrow.”

  This time I really do push past him. And to my relief, he lets me go.

  But I can
feel his stare on me as I escape the ballroom.

  I wasn’t lying to Luca about the important breakfast meeting….

  “Two cronuts, one decaf, and three pictures of Judge Barton taking a payoff from Galeson’s lawyer,” my assistant, Diamond, announces when I walk into the office early the next morning. The quick clack of typing underlies her announcement.

  From the direction of her voice, I can tell she still hasn’t taken me up on my many directives to sit at the outer office desk—you know, like a professional, and has instead once again posted up on the couch, which is supposed to be reserved for waiting clients.

  But I walk over to the desk anyway, because that’s where Diamond always leaves things for me. Like it’s an oversized inbox, not a piece of office furniture, she should be putting to use.

  Whatever irritation I might have felt quickly disappears, though, when I run my hand over the smooth file folder with the pictures inside. “My New York Post reporter’s not going to be able to run this if we don’t have—”

  “Barton’s financials. Yeah, I know. Working on hacking his shit right now. Bet I’ll have something for you by tonight.”

  I never gush, but I have to say, “Girl, you’re amazing!”

  “Thanks, A, but I don’t even think I can take any real credit for this one. These old dudes were, like, cray obvious. I’m just picking up all the crumbs their stupid asses left behind, straight maid.”

  “Nope, nope, your mom named you right,” I insist.

  Diamond’s not Prin, not even close. Prin was a law student, who took the job in my office for the extra funds and some resume filler, since former reality star isn’t exactly something that will get you hired by a top law firm after graduation. But Diamond, clever as she is, never went to college. Quite frankly I’m not sure she even graduated high school. Her entire interview consisted of four emailed lines: Heard you need an assistant. I can hack into any computer and pick any lock. Plus, I hate rich guys trying to get over, and I learn real quick. My name is Diamond, and trust me, you want to get with me for this job.

  The thing is, I don’t pay that much, so before that, my office assistant position tended to attract more do-gooders than do-badders. But, ever since Sylvie’s case landed me in the headlines, I’ve been getting more and more divorce and custody clients. The wives of powerful men who need a passionate lawyer who isn’t afraid to go against, and can’t be bought off by, their rich husbands. That particular combo, as it turns out, is surprisingly hard to find in New York. And because of that, business got better than good in the months after I took on Sylvie’s complicated custody case at my usual flat fee, as a somewhat petty favor for my old assistant Prin. But after Prin’s departure to a much higher paying job, I figured I could use somebody who knew her way around the shadier side of the street.