Chapter Twenty-One

Layla

There were two things I noticed when I woke up from a knock-out orgasm. First, I was still totally bare assed naked, and second, there was a big, strong, manly arm banded around my waist. Neither of which were common occurrences in my life worth mentioning. It took half a second to remember that the arm belonged to Eamon, not because we just couldn’t keep our hands off each other, even if that was true, but that I was here to pay a debt.

I blinked and looked out the window to see the night dotted with sparkling stars and the moon lighting up the room just enough to see the outline of Eamon’s shoulder. Even in sleep he was a powerful man. His muscles shone under the moonlight, giving his skin a pale yellow hue. I turned, careful not to wake him because I wanted to see if he was as intimidating in his sleep as he was awake.

Yep. Eyes closed, bed head, and the slow, rhythmic breathing did nothing to weaken him. I was sure if his eyes were open, they’d be as fierce and implacable as they always were.

But now with them closed, I could have my fill of him. Take in all the details I’d missed, including that small scar on his left eyebrow and the scar on his abdomen that could have been a stab wound or a bullet wound. Either was plausible and as I let my hand roam over that scar, I closed my mind to the gruesome thoughts and images of how he got it.

“Christ, that’s a lot of thinking when the sun’s not even up yet.” Eamon turned his head and opened his eyes with one eyebrow arched in question.

“Even if it’s thinking about giving you a wake-up blow job?” I hadn’t been thinking about it but now that I’d said it, my body was already gearing up for the show.

“Never too early for those kinds of thoughts. Or too late. Were you?”

I shook my head with a teasing smile. “No. I was really thinking about when you let me ride your face earlier. God, I even had a dream about it. I think I might have picked up a new fetish.”

Eamon tighten his hold on me, hands digging into my ass as he fit me against him with a tortured groan. “You can ride my face anytime you like, princess.”

I felt the blush creep up my chest and by the time it turned my scalp pink, the heat flamed hotter. “I just might take you up on that.”

He grinned and closed his eyes, pulling me half way on top of him while his fingertips played up and down the dip in the center of my back. It was a soft touch, a lover’s touch that felt too good considering what we were. What this was. “Hungry?”

“Starved.” I’d eaten five bites of the delicious pastrami before the whole printer debacle took up most of my afternoon and that was the sum total of my food consumption for the day.

“Come on. There’s always something in the fridge.”

“That’s a nice perk. We sure do eat a lot,” I said, accepting the oversized t-shirt he threw at me and following him into the kitchen. “Do fairies come in and pick your towels up off the floor, too?”

He grinned up at me. It was cute and boyish and I really wished I hadn’t seen it. “Gotta stay strong. And who says I leave my towels on the floor?”

“You don’t?” I challenged him, my gaze on the beautiful expanse of his back. His muscles were beautifully sculpted and his arms were the perfect canvas.

“I do, but I pay Loretta very well to come in and be my fairy three times a week.”

“Sounds kinky.”

Eamon barked out a laugh and let my nails dig deep into my palms because when he was relaxed, free of his gangster persona, he was irresistible. “I’ll tell Loretta you said so and her husband of thirty years.”

“Wow. That’s a long time to be married.”

“You sound envious.” His tone was curious but there was a hint of caution in them.

“I am. I envy the kind of trust it takes to be with someone so fully. Sometimes I wonder what kind of lives those people have.”

But I never wondered too hard because finding out they somehow had it harder than me would mean I was the problem.

“Didn’t peg you as a romantic.” He said it like it was a dirty word and I couldn’t help but smile as he pulled out ingredients for sandwiches from the fridge.

“Not a romantic, just a realist. It would be nice to have that but I don’t think I could ever trust anyone enough.”

And thank you Dad for adding another layer on top of my trust issues.

“You might find this hard to believe Eamon, but when I turn fifty, I won’t have a gaggle of twenty-something guys lining up to bang me.”

His heated gaze turned to confusion and then he scoffed. “You think I’m fifty?”

That hint of vulnerability was damned appealing. What was so fucking wrong with me that every broken piece of himself he revealed only made me want him more?

“I think it doesn’t matter how old you are. You’re good looking and you have that whole bad boy thing going with the added bonus of being an actual bad boy, plus rich. You have the luxury of being an eternal bachelor.”

“Mustard?”

“Spicy?”

He nodded and I nodded back, enjoying how utterly sexy and masculine he looked wearing nothing but a pair of low slung pajama pants while he made big fancy deli sandwiches.

“You said you would never trust anyone, Layla.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not open to the possibility of it. So far it hasn’t happened and I have little hope that’ll change anytime soon.”

As it stood, if a man was attracted to me that was a guarantee that he was no good. Homeless, unemployed, married, a musician, permanent students and gay rounded out the problems with my exes over the years.

“You have great sandwich skills, by the way.”

He grinned and sliced the sandwich diagonally, dropping a pickle on each plate along with a handful of chips. “Easy and perfect any time of day.”

“But you have a chef.”

“I do, but I keep odd hours sometimes and other times I just want to be on my own. Do my own thing.”

His words were sincere. A rich guy who didn’t enjoy having a herd of servants around to dote on him. “So Eamon, do you have siblings and cousins who are also your best friends?”

He grinned like a caught little kid. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t but I’m trying to see how much gangster stuff is real and how much is fiction.”

He looked up, sandwich halfway to his mouth and grinned. “Seriously?”

“Why not? This stuff is legendary and when am I ever going to get a chance to ask these questions again?”

He gave me that look, that sort of condescending yet affectionate one you get from an older brother’s best friend. Not that I was familiar with it personally, but I kept my e-reader stocked with romance books, so I kind of had a good idea.

After a long pause he finally answered. “Yes. I have a younger brother and a cousin. I don’t know if we’re best friends, but we are very close.”

“That sounds nice. Mom and Dad were both only children with elderly parents so holidays were small. Quiet.”

He pointed to himself before he swallowed, then answered. “Boisterous, bordering on obnoxious would describe our family gatherings.” He grinned again, this one loving as he described his family. “It can get loud and crazy but it’s the way things have always been.”

“You like it,” I accused, and he shrugged.

“I do. My family means everything to me.”

“Clearly.” I said, a little snarkier than intended.

His face hardened as anger changed his features back to the slab of stone they usually were. “I won’t apologize for doing my job, Layla.”

“I’m not asking you to.” In fact, I hadn’t asked anything other than some stupid mob questions, even though the more I was around him the more I wanted to know about him and his real life. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

I slid off the stool and tugged down his t-shirt. “I’m gonna get out of here.”

No point ruining another amazing orgasm with an argument. Eamon sat in silence, and I blamed my love of romance novels for making me wish he’d said something while I rinsed off my plate and glass. I didn’t even look at him when I left the kitchen.

Eamon was an island. He didn’t need anyone not born with the last name Connelly. More importantly, he didn’t want them.

“Stay.”

Damn him! That one word had the power to undo me completely.

I should have listened carefully to the warning bells that sounded in my head. The really loud ones. I really should have fucking listened.

***

“This is no morning blowjob but I ain’t complaining.”

I didn’t know what came over me but after that delicious sandwich and two more soul-crushing orgasms, in the kitchen and then on the stairs, we fell into a dreamless heap on the bed. But when I woke up hours later with the sun cutting through the large windows of Eamon’s bedroom, I felt a desperate need to have him.

The need came and it was urgent, like something had possessed me to just take what I wanted. I turned and saw Eamon and in that one split second, he was all I wanted and, still naked from the night before, my hand started a slow, rhythmic caress on his already hardening cock.

I wanted him with a hunger I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because this was our last few moments together before we went off and lived the rest of our lives completely ignorant of what the other would be doing. Or maybe it was that my body was addicted to the painful pleasure found in his bed. I couldn’t explain it, and honestly, I had no desire to explain or examine it. All I wanted was to experience it. Enjoy it.

And I was.

I swung my leg over him and guided his cock to my entrance. Looking down at him, his eyes sleepy and his mouth curved into a lazy grin, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He was beautiful in a way that a man shouldn’t be, not when he was a sex-trading mobster I caught beating the shit out of my dad.

“Layla.”

His head rolled back as his hands tightened on my hips, and he thrusted deeper into me until he was so deep, such a part of me, that real worry settled low in my belly. Was I developing feelings for this man?

“No!”

Eamon’s eyes flew open and he froze mid-stroke and another, embarrassing kind of fear gripped me.

“You okay?”

I nodded quickly and tightened around him. “Just … it feels too good.”

“Nothing feels too good, princess.” He punctuated the words by drawing back and stroking deep inside me, touching parts of me I didn’t know existed. Another loud groan tore from his throat and Eamon grinned.

“Okay you do feel damn good.”

I felt the smile the moment it touched my lips and forced my hips to move. I tossed my head back, unwilling to let him see just how much his words pleased me.

“Right back at you.”

I didn’t want to talk, not when he filled me so deliciously. Not when our bodies communicated every single thing we needed to say to each other.

We didn’t need words, not when his eyes spoke of endless pleasure and his grip told the tale of possessiveness. It was different. I was different that morning. Bold and daring, confident, even as his fucking shook me to my core, sending pesky emotions best left alone skittering to the surface. It was slow and sensual, the kind of sex that people wrote songs about, with lots of guitar and maybe even a saxophone.

“You still with me, Layla?”

I nodded and ground my hips faster and faster, chasing down the pleasure that wouldn’t be stopped until it made me its bitch, a fiend who wouldn’t stop until I had experienced total fucking bliss.

“Right … there!”

His thumb went to my clit, an unnecessary but not unwelcome addition to the wave of pleasure determined to carry me away. Back and forth, around and around my hips went, a rhythm of their own creation. I moved faster, grinding on him until sweat dripped down my spine, until his hands could barely grip my breasts, they were so slick from our coming together that we were just sliding against each other like animals as we both barreled toward sweet, satisfying pleasure.

Only there was nothing sweet or satisfying about the pleasure that dropped on me like ten tons of water. It was hard and visceral, instinctual as our bodies continued to bump and grind and claw at each other, frantic for those last threads of pleasure. His body jerked with his orgasm and mine tensed, sending him deeper and triggering a second wave of pleasure before the first was complete.

Eamon chuckled as I collapsed on top of him, his hands circled my waist and then he surprised the hell out of me when his fingertips began to dance over my heated flesh.

“That was unexpected.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t, mostly because I was still trying to suck down some oxygen but also because emotion clogged my throat. And I wasn’t having any of that.

Damn, the sex was too good. I knew the trouble with good dick and great sex. They made women stupid. Perfectly reasonable women were made irrational and emotional when it came to a man who could make their clit swell and toes curl on command. I refused to let myself be that woman, so I slapped a smile on face and sat up so I could look down at Eamon.

“Not that unexpected, it’s what I’m here for, right?”

He looked confused and the minute I tried to get away by leaping from the bed, he held me down, our bodies still connected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It was great. Hot and amazing. Incredible as always but it wasn’t really unexpected. Was it?”

He sighed, apparently annoyed that I’d mucked up his post-orgasmic glow with a bit of realism. “Fine, it wasn’t. Happy? Or do you want a big fight to make you feel better about enjoying yourself?”

I tried to wiggle my way free of Eamon’s grip, which seemed a pretty fitting metaphor for what was going through me as my gaze slammed into his ice-cold stare.

“Damn, Eamon. I’m not trying to start a fight and the sex was great, so there’s no need for an ulterior motive. Just stating a fucking fact.”

He released me and I scrambled off the bed like it was on fire. It might as well have been as far as I was concerned. Eamon’s hand had felt like a brand and everywhere he’d touched felt cool and lonely without his warmth. No, dammit! I shook it off and looked at him, doing my best not to feel vulnerable or humiliated standing there butt naked.

“Bullshit.”

His cool dismissal made it easy to remember that we were nothing but a fuck to each other. And yeah, that thought might have stung a little but I knew from experience that the aftermath of a guy like him hurt far worse.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. We’re done here.”

I gave his big, ultra masculine bedroom a final sweep to make sure I didn’t forget anything I couldn’t live without because there was no way in hell I’d ever come back here.

“For today, yes.”

I’d already taken a few steps outside the bedroom because my clothes were still by the bank of windows in the main room when his words registered. They stopped me in my tracks.

“No, for good. Today is Saturday. Day four.”

I didn’t think it took a lot of brains to become a mobster, especially when it was your family’s mob or whatever, but this was ridiculous.

“Day. Four.” Was he trying not to laugh at me? “Something funny?”

“You have a shit poker face just like your old man.”

“That’s fine because I don’t play poker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively and swung his legs around the side of the bed, his cock was still flying at half staff. And still leaking. Damn. “It’s a good thing too since your thoughts are written all over your face.”

“Again, irrelevant. Goodbye, Eamon.” I turned on my heels with my stilettos in hand and padded down the hall on my bare feet so I could get my clothes and get the hell out of here. For good.

“Goodbye for now.” His smooth voice, deep and seductive, sounded behind me making my core tighten and my nipples bead with arousal.

“Today might be the fourth day, princess, but it marks the end of the third night.”

I turned to him, ready to argue my case when he held up a hand that pulled me up short. “Wednesday, Thursday and then last night. Three days.”

“What about the limo ride at my office? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“It counts for a good fuck. But the agreement was four nights. Not three nights and a quickie.”

“A quickie?” I snorted. “Okay, you know what? You win.” I was actually more excited than pissed off to find out we had one more night together. That was as sure a sign as any that I needed to get away from him and fast. I located my lingerie and slid it on and then my jeans and shirt, scooping my stilettos as I darted past him. “I’ll see you tonight, Eamon.”

“Unless you don’t want to?”

I barked out a laugh. “As if it matters what I want at this point. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll take you home.” His tone brooked no argument and even if I’d planned to argue, which I did, he was halfway down the hall, presumably to put some clothes on.

“I can get home myself, you know!” Two seconds later the shower came on, just in case I didn’t already know he wasn’t listening. It was a meaningless gesture, but I grabbed my purse and fled out the front door, coming up short because there was no limo waiting.

Dammit.