Chapter Twelve

Eamon

When people thought about the mob, it was always guys in shiny suits threatening people with cement shoes and machine guns. They wanted to see the dark side, the exciting side of a life of crime. Organized crime in particular. They’d be bored out of their fucking skulls following me around while I picked up envelopes of money from other past due debtors.

Unfortunately, most of them were like Wayne Kagan, a dentist with a borderline gambling problem who always pushed his payments as late as possible without suffering physical harm. I showed up at his office looking as threatening as I could in a designer suit tailored perfectly for my body.

“Got something for me, Wayne?”

The man was comfortable in his skin for a guy with a thinning crown and about six inches too short and a belly that looked to be about six months pregnant. He didn’t flinch, didn’t go pale at my appearance, just gave a sharp nod and turned away. “Come on in, Connelly.”

This guy. I wanted him to be late just once to give me a reason to beat the shit out of him, always making us jump through hoops just to get the fucking money he was desperate to borrow in the first place.

“Well?”

Wayne ducked behind a tan waist-high desk with a blue strip across the center. After ruffling around in the desk for nearly a full fucking minute, he found what he was looking for and grinned. “Here we are and there you go.” He handed over the envelope with a smile. “Paid in full.”

“One of these days, Wayne, I swear I’m gonna enjoy pounding your fucking face in.”

The motherfucker laughed. He laughed. Like I was some big damn joke. If I were a lesser man, I’d put him down just to prove I could.

“It’s not like that Connelly. I have to be discreet in case the wife gets wind of my activities, so I waited until after a few invoices were paid to make sure I had the cash for you. And now I do.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Goddammit. “See you soon.”

“I hope not,” he said giddily. “I’ve been on a hot streak lately. Another reason you had to wait.” Another gambling addict superstition, but it wasn’t my job to cure them, only to collect the money.

“Let’s not do this again.” I grumbled.

I didn’t wait for a response because I needed to get to Patrick’s before he blew a goddamn gasket. Heaven forbid, grown men would show up late to a meeting with no set time. But it was a price we all had to pay for the privilege of learning the business from the master.

We all knew, the same way our father did, that he wouldn’t be at the top much longer. Not because he was losing his mind or his influence, but the signs of his illness he tried to hide grew more obvious with each passing day. We all had a lot to learn before that time came, which is why I hauled ass and smiled when I walked inside his office and found out I was the first to arrive.

“Suckers,” I mumbled to myself with a satisfied grin, waving to Patrick sitting behind his desk.

“It’s about time you got here, son.”

“Right on time, I’d say. And I come bearing bills,” I told him, holding up all the envelopes of varying colors I’d picked up that morning. Some even handed over envelopes with their business logo right on the front. It was shocking how much personal information people revealed to the people they shouldn’t.

“Good. Good. Hand it over.”

I did and, as always, Patrick opened each envelope carefully, his hands shaking just a little as he counted every bill and wrote a note in the big ass leather ledger where he kept track of everyone who owed him, owed the family. Money or favors, to Patrick they were one and the same. The green and brown leather book with yellowing pages was filled with his chicken scratch handwriting, years of debts and favors, paid or still waiting for the opportune moment to be repaid.

Finally he shredded the last envelope and swiped all the confetti into the metal mesh trashcan beside his desk and grinned. “Good job, Eamon. I can always count on you.”

That was good to hear, I supposed, even if he hadn’t named which of us, me, Shae or Rourke, would take over as head of the family.

“Thanks. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, son. I can’t complain. How is that Michaels situation coming along?”

Ah, that was Patrick, master of deflection.

“Fine. I’ll check in with him again tonight, and you have my guarantee the money will be in your hands soon.” I knew I’d put the cash up myself because that was how we did business. We either got our money or found another way to make them pay, but this shit wasn’t like the movies.

Killing people who owed you money only guaranteed that you wouldn’t get paid. We broke body parts and beat the fuck out of people as incentive. But addicts were stubborn fucks, every last one of them, which meant after an ass whooping or two, we had to put them to work to pay off the debt. So I either had to present Peter Michaels to work off his debt or the forty plus grand he owed.

Since I couldn’t think about anything other than fucking Layla again, even moments after burying my cock deep inside her tight little cunt, I’d have to pay the cash.

“See that ya do,” Patrick said, his deep voice still slightly accented, breaking into my thoughts.

“I already said I had it handled. Shouldn’t we be talking about something more pressing, like the goddamn Milano assholes?”

The Milano family was technically part of our … network, in a weird way. We used the Milano family because no one could clean up a scene the way they could. If you wanted someone disappeared, they could make it look like the person just packed up and walked away from their life. If you needed a crime scene rigged, they could find a patsy or make it look like a suicide. They were good at what they did, but lately those assholes thought they were destined for more.

At our expense.

Patrick nodded, his brows crinkled deep in thought. “You have a point but son, you worry too much.”

“E-money is always looking for something to worry about,” Shae said, wearing a big grin as he strolled in. “Good morning, Da’.”

“Morning? It’s damn near afternoon and you’re late. You too, Rourke.”

Looking unruffled as always, Rourke waltzed in wearing jeans, a mint green button up and no tie. How in the hell the guy with the straight role didn’t have to dress up all the time was beyond me, but Patrick never said a damn word to him. “Can’t be late if you don’t set a time, Uncle Patrick.”

Rather than lashing out as expected, Patrick’s face broke into a grin. “Smart ass.”

“Learned from the best.”

“Yeah, Fiona was always such a smart ass.” They shared a laugh because we all knew Aunt Fiona was the biggest smart ass in the family.

“So, Eamon thinks we ought to worry about the Milanos.”

Rourke sighed and I waited for him to agree with Patrick, his default position on all things.

“He’s right. I heard about an underground game so I went to check it out. The door was run by Milano muscle and the room had Milano stink all over it. The room was shitty and rundown, dark lights and the tables were stained with what I hoped was booze and not jizz.” Rourke shuddered. “The cocktail girls were butt ass ugly but their bodies were on point. The drinks were watered down and the tables were legit with enough edge they surely turned a profit last night. A tidy one judging by the amount of traffic inside.”

“Shit. That means they promoted that shit somewhere. How?” I asked. They weren’t in the gambling game, which meant one thing. “They had help.”

“Had to have,” Shae said, eyes blazing with fury. “I’ll get out on the streets and find out who, so we can make them pay.”

Despite his easygoing nature, Shae could be a beast when he felt threatened.

“Motherfuckers think they can take on the Connelly’s? They better fucking think again.”

“Calm down Shae. We have nothing to worry about but we should keep an eye on them anyway.”

Shae nodded, but I could see that glint in his eyes that said he wouldn’t let it go. He wanted to crack a few skulls.

“I’ll put together a team to keep an eye on them. Rourke can supply me with names,” he said, staring at our cousin like he’d done something wrong.

“Sure.” He stood, barely concealing a smirk. “Let’s get to it. I have actual work to do today.”

When they were gone, Patrick turned to me. “There will always be someone trying to edge in on our organization, son. The key is to handle it with a certain level of detachment. If you get worked up like Shae, you will make emotional decisions. This seat here,” he motioned to the big chair where he spent most of his time. “This seat is the glue of the family, but the decisions made here are on behalf of the whole Connelly organization not just the Connelly family.”

I blinked. “They’re not the same thing?”

“Not always, no. The organization, the business must come first and if you find a way to cut down a rival, you fucking take it. For the sake of the business. No matter what.”

Patrick’s words sank in, playing around in my mind for the rest of the day. Organization first, family second. It ran counter to everything I believed about Patrick’s role in the family and I spent the rest of the day trying to retrain my brain to think that way.

If I wanted to lead this family, this organization, and I damn well did, I had to think that way. Act that way.

And I would, as soon as my nights with Layla were over.

***

My cock stirred with anticipation as the seven o’clock hour drew near, knowing that Layla would soon show up, wet and primed for me to slide into her hot little body all night long. I just hoped we could bypass all the awkwardness from last night.

And small talk. I fucking loathed small talk. It served no point other than to lubricate social inhibitions frowned upon by the masses. There was nothing wrong with dropping by for the sole purpose of a hard fuck and pretending otherwise was just bullshit. She knew what this was and what it wasn’t, so why should we pretend?

At seven on the dot the car pulled up and I smiled. Layla was determined, I’d give her that. That was fine by me because tonight, she wouldn’t be going anywhere for a good long while.

“Layla, come in, please.”

My lips curled at the way her pulse spiked at my words.

“Eamon.”

She walked in, hips swaying in a sexy little black leather dress. It was short, hugged her body like a goddamn glove and showed just enough cleavage to make my mouth water.

“Layla, you look …” I didn’t even have the words, not when my gaze caught on her mostly bare back with nothing but a strip across the middle, stopping just before the little dents above her ass. “Hot as fuck.”

She turned slowly, and my mouth went dry. “Small talk, Eamon?” Her lips were painted bright pink and shiny, like a beacon drawing my gaze to her. All I could think about was having those bright lips wrapped around my cock. Would it leave streaks of pink so I could relive the moment later or would it stay perfect? Untouched, even.

When Layla reached for one strap and slid it over her shoulder and then the other, my cock strained against my zipper. So damn slowly she slid the dress over her hips and down her legs until it was nothing more than a leather pool at her feet. Then she kicked it over to me. “I thought we were past all that.”

I watched her turn, flimsy red silk bra and panties sliding against her skin with every step she took away from me. She was headed for the bedroom and I was hot on her trail. After I entered, she locked the door.

“Feeling bold tonight, Layla?”

She stretched out on the middle of the bed, resting on her elbows so that all I could see was two hard nipples poking through the silk. Eager for my mouth.

“Not bold, no.” Her legs rubbed together gently, like she was so turned on that she couldn’t stand it. “Is this a problem?”

Not for me, it wasn’t. I loved a woman who could fuck without pretense.

“You finally wised up, realized it was hot as fuck between us so who gives a shit how it came to be?”

“Something like that,” she confirmed, licking her pink lips. “Are we going to psychoanalyze this or are we going to fuck?”

Fuck. “I like the sound of that. Come here.” My fingers curled and beckoned her over.

Layla shook her head, blonde waves tumbling around delicate shoulders, brushing against the bright red silk.

“You don’t want to come, Layla?” That hitch in her breath set my heart thumping against my chest. And then she began to move.

Slowly. Sensually. She took her time sliding to the edge of the bed, making every move look sexier than it should. “Oh, I do, Eamon. I want to come.”

“That’s ah, good.” My head fell back and a smile curved up my mouth as her hands slid up my abs and over my chest, taking my shirt along with her until it was a heap on the floor beside us. “Because.”

“Because?”

Her tone was playful and I had to see that gleam in her eyes. They were sparkling with lust when I looked at her, watched as she played with my chest, obviously fascinated by the hills and valleys of muscle under her hands.

“Damn you are really ripped.”

A deep chuckle erupted from me, something that had never happened when a woman had her hands on me, showing me she was fascinated by the landscape of my body. “You didn’t notice before?”

“Yeah but not like this.” Her voice was filled with awe as one hand played along my muscles, fingertips grazing over nipples until she pulled a hiss of pleasure from me.

“I can kind of see why you’re so cocky,” she moaned as her other hand dipped inside my pants and wrapped around my cock.

Her hands were pure torture and I couldn’t get enough. She added enough pressure to make me groan again, smiling with satisfaction at every sound she pulled from me.

“Layla.”

“Yes?”

I wanted to groan in disappointment when her hand left my chest but she worked quickly until my pants and boxers were at my ankles.

“You wanted to say something?”

Her hand, so soft and so fucking warm, squeezed tighter and another groan escaped, my head fell back again as my eyes closed.

“Fuck, yes.” Her lush lips wrapped around my cock and I took a second to savor the feel of her mouth, the slick moisture of her tongue, the soft friction of her lips and the heat of her mouth worked to undo me. I succumbed to the pleasure for several strokes, licking my lips at the way she grabbed my ass cheeks, holding on to me like she planned to eat my cock whole. “Fuck.”

It was so good.

Hot and enthusiastic. That was what made good head. It wasn’t mechanical, the way she used her tongue along the underside of my shaft and pushed her lips together to maximize friction. Layla was into it, making love to my cock with her mouth like it was all of her favorite comfort foods rolled into one.

She took me deeper and deeper, nails digging indentations in my ass and thighs. And then I was at the back of her throat trying like hell not to flex or fuck her pretty little mouth the way I wanted to. Not yet anyway. Then she did it. She opened her throat and closed around the tip of my dick and moaned.

She motherfucking moaned.

And my control snapped. I reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, holding Layla still, at my mercy for just a second and I slid my cock down her throat. “You want it?”

She nodded, her eyes wide and hungry.

“You fucking want it, Layla?”

She swallowed around my cock and I groaned. She nodded.

My cock went deeper and deeper still until her eyes began to water. “Is it enough?”

In response her tongue slid out and caught the edge of my nuts.

My hips jerked and sent me deeper into the wet heat of her mouth while her tongue swished back and forth over my cock.

“Goddamn, Layla. I can’t wait to fill that pretty mouth with my come, but right now I need that pussy.”

Heat flared in her eyes when I picked her up and tossed her on the bed, my cock went hard at the way her tits jiggled beneath the sexy lingerie.

“You have a filthy mouth, Eamon.” She grinned and slid off her silky bra that kept those nipples hard and kissable.

“You like my dirty mouth, remember?” Before she could answer I put my mouth between her legs, tongue slicking over that swollen, wet pussy through her panties.

“Tell me you like it.”

She resisted. Layla liked this game where she pushed me to the edge until I snapped.

“Oh.”

That was it, a small moan escaped. She wanted to play.

I pulled away her panties and wrapped my lips around her clit, hard, until she screamed and squirmed beneath me. Wild fingers grasped at my hair as she ground her pussy into me.

“Oh fuck, oh God!”

Those words made me suck her clit harder and harder until I felt the tension in her thighs, her ass, her abs. Until she was seconds from coming.

“What the,” she screamed as I got ready. Then, “…oh!”

“Fuck!” I moaned when I slammed my cock deep inside her pussy. It quivered and squeezed around me, her orgasm splashing out in bursts while I pumped into her.

Layla’s orgasm was never ending, pulling me deeper and I couldn’t stop the pleasure rolling through me. I couldn’t stop fucking her. Every thrust brought me closer to an explosion. Her every scream inched us both closer to something hot. Something impossible.

“Ah fuck, Eamon. Yes.” She moaned low and deep, legs wrapped tight around me as the last aftershocks of her orgasm hit.

I fucked her hard and fast, so deep she winced even as she begged me for more. I gripped her hips hard and rammed into her to the sounds of her shouting my name until hot lava rushed out of me, between us, creating more friction. Volcanic friction that quickly pulled the orgasm from me.

“Oh fuck, Layla. Shit.”

My hips kept moving because they couldn’t fucking stop, not as long as she pulsed around me in an orgasm that wouldn’t quit. “Fuck!”

Her pussy was addictive. I was drunk on the feel of her tight cunt wrapped around my cock as I slid in and out, wet and hot. I wanted more and even though I still had all night, I knew it wasn’t enough.

“Fuck yeah,” she panted out. And then she burst out laughing.