Cormac
Mickey had tried his best to ruin the mob my father built. That’s the first thing I learned when I became Don, once the FBI had taken away Mickey and his men and left me to rebuild. Mickey had let all our old contacts go to shit, putting our money into drugs and trafficking instead. So, first, I had to dismantle that, putting the women he’d abused into contact with Scar so they could take them on to someplace safe, then rebuilding the mob from the ground up. Without Scar, it wouldn’t have been possible. If I’m sure of anything, it’s that I’m never gonna be apart from her again.
Her arm feels good in mine. I still need to get used to this sort of thing, walking around arm in arm, holding hands, kissing, and all the stuff normal people do every normal day of their normal lives. It’s even stranger for us with the weight of the FBI between us. But we’ll make it work. Hell, we are making it work.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks me as my driver takes us to the penthouse. I barely hear her. I’m distracted by the feeling of the small velvet box that’s been sitting in my pocket for weeks. There’s something inside it. Something small, but the weight of what it means feels like anchors weighing me down. It’s felt that way since the day I walked in the jewelry shop and told them I wanted a ring.
“What’d you say?” I ask in a daze.
Scar giggles. “I asked what you’re thinking about, space cadet.”
I look her straight in the eyes. “Us,” I say quietly, wondering if I’m being too emotional. I’m annoyed at myself for thinking this way, but you can’t kill all the hardness in a man like me, I’m learning. You can only make it so that sometimes you’re hard and sometimes you’re soft. “I’m thinking about moving you into the penthouse and how strange it’s gonna seem to everybody else.” My fingers keep stroking the velvet box in my pocket.
“But it won’t be an FBI agent and a Don living together,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. “It will be a legitimate businessman and an FBI agent living together, and even if that’s a lie, it’s a lie I’m willing to tell. For us.”
“For us,” I echo. I turn to her, always stunned by the sight of her flowing red hair and her pale Irish skin, the freckles creeping up her neck and down her chest. Her eyes are full of lust, her chest rising and falling in the way that tells me she wants to fuck, long and hard. I slide my hand up her knee, stopping just shy of her panties. “I always knew you were a freak, Agent O’Bannon.”
The little intake of breath, the sound it makes, is enough to tell me all the fighting and blood was worth it. For her.
At the compound, we ride the elevator up to my penthouse suite, one of the benefits of being the Don. I haven’t let go of the box. My head feels like I’m a thousand feet underwater. Time is kind of fast and kind of slow – I can’t quite tell. But Scarlet’s fingers intertwined in mine feels so warm and right and real.
The doors open onto an open-plan living room and kitchen, the hallway leading to the bedroom off to one side. I haven’t spent much time here except to sleep since the winter—I’ve been so busy with mob business—so the place is pretty bare-looking. It looks like a model penthouse suite.
Scar walks around the place, tutting, shaking her head.
“Really, Scar?” I ask, laughing. “Don’t forget that I’ve seen your place. It ain’t much better.”
“Yes, but I’m not thinking about my place or your place. I’m thinking of our place and this won’t do at all.”
“Since when are you such a domestic goddess?” I drop onto the couch, thinking that it’s a good thing I can sit here watching this perfect woman twirl around my apartment in a dress that flashes her perfect legs.
“I’m not.” She sits on my lap, looking down at me with hungry eyes. “But I could be—sometimes—for you.”
When we kiss, we lose ourselves. I can never control myself for long around Scar anyway. Today is no different. I pick her up, pressing my lips against hers and carrying her into the bedroom. She sits down on my groin, rubbing her panties up and down my crotch, my cock pressing urgently against my jeans. When I strip her naked, I can’t believe I ever left this woman for two minutes, let alone two days. She looks up at me with those perfect eyes, begging me to fall upon her, begging me to take her. I take my clothes off, my cock rock-hard for her and my balls aching almost painfully with the desire to be inside of her.
We fuck like animals. We fuck like we want to screw the past and screw the world. We fuck like we want everybody to know that just because there’re things in the way of us being together, we’re not going to let those things have any say at all. I push deep inside of her, her pussy so tight around me as she comes that I have to push with all my strength. Her whole body vibrates, her eyes rolling back in her head. As the last waves of her pleasure spend themselves, she brings her hands to my face, locking eyes with me.
“I love you, Cor,” she moans, squirting over my cock. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
I’ve never been the kind of man who gets intimate like this during sex. I never dreamed I’d be able to hear the word love in the bedroom and find it anything other than awkward. But with Scar, it’s different. With Scar, I’m ready to love. With Scar, I’m ready to change.
“I. Love. You.” I gasp as I come, falling forward and kissing her forcefully as my cock begins to wilt inside of her. We lie there, breathing over each other and kissing lazily until the sun sets and we start to get hungry.
After calling for some Chinese takeout, the two of us sit in the living room looking down over the winking lights of New York City.
Suddenly, it feels like a gear shifts or something clicks into place. It’s the right moment. I don’t doubt that I’m the right man for her. She’s perfect, and perfect for me, and I want to be perfect for her. I meant it when I said I loved her. I do love her. I always will.
I reach into my crumpled pants and pull out the box. Scarlet tilts her head and looks at me quizzically, until I crack the box open and she sees the glistening diamond ring nestled inside it.
Her jaw drops.
“Cor…” she says, as much of a gasp as anything else.
A broad smile cracks my face. “Agent O’Bannon… will you marry me?”
She doesn’t even answer, just crashes into me with a wet kiss and her arms wrapped around my neck. It’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of our bodies sliding against each other. Hot. Slick. Needy. Always so fucking needy. Will I ever get enough of her? Will she ever get enough of me? It doesn’t feel possible. A scratch that can never be fully itched. A hunger that won’t ever be fully fed. A fire that’s going to burn for as long as we’re both alive.
Her moans echo around the empty apartment as I slide into her. Her fingers grip my shoulders and I wind my hands through her hair. Anything to hold on tight and never let go.
Afterwards, when our breathing has settled back down, she’s curled into my arms as we look out the windows once more. She keeps glancing down at the ring on her finger, like she can’t believe it’s real. Hell, I can’t believe it, either. I never thought I’d be married at all, much less to a Fed.
“How does it feel, being married to a mobster?” I ask her, wrapping my arms around her and nuzzling my face into her neck.
“I have to admit, I see the appeal.” She twists her neck so that she’s looking up at me. “But you better toe the line now that you’re in charge.”
“I’ll toe the line all right. For you, Scar, I’ll toe the goddamn line. For you, I’d do anything.”
The buzzer cuts through the apartment; the food is here. But the food can wait. My hand is sliding down her belly.
I push her back down against the cool floorboards. “Now that we’re engaged, time to get started on putting a little mobster baby in your belly.”
She laughs, and the sound alone is everything I ever wanted.
THE END
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