Smoke shifts in front of me in a gray haze, obscuring the bodies surrounding me. Desaturated shapes move behind the smoky background, and I search through them. It’s hard to tell what makes my veins burn with the need for more—more wine, more cigarettes, and more pussy.

Music pounds into my chest like a second heartbeat, mirroring the vicious desire thrumming through my veins. Cocktail waitresses whisk the smoke-filled room like apparitions. Their clothes cling to their bodies like Saran Wrap.

Scantily clad girls are magnets for my cock, and being the boss means I can have my pick of any of them. It’s a free-for-all. Hard to choose one. Their eyes follow me wherever I go, and I look back, gauging their interest. Do I want to fuck her? How far will she let me go?

A warm, female body slides against mine. Her torso shifts so that she stands right between my legs, the deep neckline of her shirt giving me a nice fucking view of her tits, pressed against her too-small t-shirt. No bra.

Blood seems to drain from my head, feeding the rush to my groin. She sets down drinks at the bar. They make sharp raps as the glasses hit the counter, one after the other.

I recognize her.

It’s the second time she’s rubbed against me like a cat in heat. My cock stirs when she leans into my shoulder, strands of her blonde hair just dragging my shoulder.

Fucking broads. If you want my cock, just ask for it.

Is she hot though? Those big tits distract me, just hanging there without a bra. She leans over the bar counter, chatting with the bartender. I look up her slender legs, all the way to the curve of her ass when her short skirt rides up slightly. Her arm presses against mine as if she’s oblivious, as if she isn’t aware that she’s touching me. One set of deep-blue eyes flash at me as she meets my gaze briefly, smiling through those pink lips.

There are two types of women in this world: those who want to fuck me because I’m the boss, and those who want to fuck me because they’ve heard of my reputation between the sheets.

Not to brag, but I’m a pretty great fuck. I never leave them disappointed. Even the ones who think they can get something out of fucking the boss always beg for seconds. I rarely indulge them. Why try the same thing when I can have any flavor of the week?

My attention turns back to the cocktail waitress, who is still hell-bent on teasing me, leaning over to shove her ass in my face. Maddon, I want to grab the backs of her thighs and pinch that perfectly round, bubble ass.

Her, my cock says. Fuck her.

I love getting it wet, hearing them scream my name, night after night. I fucking need it because it’s not easy being me.

The waitress finally pulls away from the bar, her warmth disappearing from my shoulder. A rush of energy makes me reach out and grab her wrist before she can take two steps away. Her pulse jumps into my fingers. She whirls around, her blonde hair clinging to her neck.

I’m disappointed to realize that she’s not as hot as I thought she was. But she hit on me pretty blatantly, and that’s enough to make me want to fuck her.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

An uncertain smile twitches. “What do you—?”

“That’s the second time you’ve done that.” My fingers circle around her wrist tightly as I feel the burn from her skin.

“Done what?”

Playing coy, are we? I hate that shit.

Pink flushes her face as she sucks in her lip, my cock stirring as I imagine the wet heat wrapping around my dick, her tongue sliding up and down.

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart.”

“Okay, fine. I just wanted to get your attention.”

A smile widens my face as she allows me to slide my hand down her arm and anchor securely over her elbow. I pull her close. Close enough for her hair to flutter from my breath, and to see her vein jumping in her throat. She parts her lips, her eyes batting as though I’m about to kiss her, and her hands touch my chest.

“Just ask me.”

“Huh?” She barely whispers it.

I spot her name tag. Alyssa. “Alyssa, tell me that you want my cock, and I’ll take you into that VIP room right now and fuck your brains out.”

My words run through her like liquor. A sudden, hot burn flashes over her face. She doesn’t flinch at the word—she’s drawn toward it. “But—my job—”

A deep chuckle from my chest cuts across her words. “Who do you think hired you?”

Her eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh.”

Oh.

She might not have brains, but my cock stirs again when her hands suddenly clench my sides.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cravotta. I didn’t know who you were.”

“You didn’t offend me, hon.”

It’s not every day that a girl blatantly hits on me. People who know who I am avoid me like the plague. No one wants to run into the boss of the family. They’re afraid of pissing me off. As if I would get offended by a girl asking me to suck my cock. Jesus Christ, what has the world come to?

I take her waist and guide her to the VIP rooms. They’re a series of black leather booths with enough privacy for someone to get in a quick fuck—or a blowjob—as I’m judging by the sounds.

I lead her through the doors, the men parting to give me space. She wraps her arms around my waist, her tits flattening against my chest. My blood boils as she reaches down with a sly smirk, grabbing a fistful of my cock.

Fuck.

Yes.

The noise of the bar slightly drops away as the door closes. Then I slide into a leather booth and look up her trembling legs.

“Take off your clothes.”

Without a split second of hesitation she pulls the flimsy tank top from her head, and a thrill shoots into my heart. Creamy tits bounce on her chest, the pink nipples contracting slightly from the cold. Platinum-blonde hair falls on her delicate shoulders. My hand curls around my cock, feeling the blood pounding through it already. It screams for me to fuck her—to get on with the show.

The flimsy skirt and nylons are next. She watches my hungry gaze with a knowing grin that I’d like to wipe off her face. I beckon to her, blood rushing to my groin as I see her thighs glistening, her pink pussy already flushed. I reach up and yank her naked waist so that she tumbles into my lap, big tits rammed against my face. I’m addicted to that red flush that spreads across her chest like a fever when my mouth opens wide and I tongue her hard nipple, flicking it. Alyssa wraps an arm around my neck, still wearing that smirk.

I don’t like it.

I grab one of her tits and pinch her nipple hard. If this little cunt is going to play games with me, I’m going to torture her with my tongue.

“I don’t believe that you didn’t recognize me the moment you saw me.”

My dick tells me to shut the fuck up already, but what I like more than spreading those lips apart is making them come for me. Manipulating that little pussy to do what I want. She looks down at me with a slightly dazed expression—halfway between lust and fear. All I can think about is that she’s positioned right over my cock, her thighs gripping my waist, and the warmth of her skin under my hands.

“Lie down.”

She obeys, lying faceup as my hands knead her perfectly round globes. Her knees draw up together and my hand rips over her thighs, her face cringing with the sting.

“Spread your legs for me.”

“But, Johnny—”

“It’s ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Cravotta.’”

I suppress a small grin as she flinches at the growl in my voice.

Her cheeks blush as I stare down at her, my hand spreading over her stomach as her thighs spread apart, trembling.

“I swear, I didn’t know—ah!”

My hand engulfs her glistening pussy, the middle finger riding against her clit. Her blush deepens, and her lips part. Fuck, it gets me hard as a rock. The way she begs me with her eyes. My fingers curl into her wet cunt and she lets out a sharp moan as I grab her tits with the other hand.

“Just admit it. You wanted to know what it was like to fuck a boss.”

She’s so fucking wet. I pulse my fingers slowly inside her, slamming them home as she arches her back.

“Admit it.”

“Yes, okay,” she says, out of breath.

She must be able to feel my thick length just under her head. With her head in my lap, she turns to the side. Desperate fingers grasp my jacket as I slam into her cunt. Over and over again. The obscene, wet sounds and her shallow breaths fill my ears. Her greedy hands try to grasp my tie, but I yank it away from her.

No. I’m in control.

I stop for a moment to give her a rest, my fingers deep inside her as her chest pulses.

“Please, I want you inside me.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve heard the words so fucking often, but they fail to thrill me. Of course she wants me, but there’s something that turns me off about this broad. She tried to play me. Manipulate me. The idea makes me laugh. Yeah, everyone knows that I’m constantly banging a different girl. That doesn’t mean that you can flash pussy in my face and get me to do what you want. I fuck them because I want to fuck them, because it’s how I manage to keep breathing.

She tugs at my slacks, her fingers plucking at the fabric as her lips shape into a bratty pout. Hunger claws my insides. My dick doesn’t give a fuck that she’s not what I want. I know that if I bang her, I’ll still need to find someone else.

I’ll finish her off quickly.

My hand twists inside her, and I feel my cock twitch as she fists my slacks and lets out a groan.

“Mr. Cravotta, please.”

“Please what?”

I stop for a moment, and she cries out as if I slapped her. Fuck, it turns me on to see her so hot for my cock. Her pussy contracts over my fingers, and I grab her tits with my other hand, kneading one after the other.

“I want you.”

I’m hard enough to pound nails into the wall, but I’ve already decided that I’m going stick my dick into someone else.

“Please, sir!”

She’s begging you to fuck her. Just do it already.

No.

I look into her heavily lidded eyes. “I want you to come for me. Understand?”

She nods, and I ram my fingers back inside her. My other hand massages her clit, and she arches her back in a soundless gasp. Fuck, it’s taking everything in me not to flip her over and drive my cock deep inside her. I slide in and out, unable to not think about that tight warmth around my throbbing dick, which is uncomfortably thick in my pants.

“Oh my God—!”

Alyssa grabs my tie and yanks my head down. I snake my hand through her tangled hair and yank her head back, my teeth finding the delectable flesh on her throat. I kiss her, flicking my tongue over her skin as my hand locks inside her.

“Oh, fuck me!”

My mouth smiles against her raw skin as she reaches up, gripping my hair. Her body arches into me as her pussy contracts on my fingers. It clenches over and over, sending shaking moans out of her chest. Then I slide my hand out and lift my head, giving her a second to breathe.

I pull her upright, her head lolling to the side as I stand up from the booth, my hard-on still on perfect display.

“How was that, sweetheart?”

“Fucking amazing.”

A glow of pride hits my chest as she stares at me, her chest still heaving.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Wait—where are you going?” She grabs my hand, stopping me.

“Back to the bar.”

Her face falls as I slide my hand out of her grasp, but she doesn’t say a word. She can’t complain. I just got her off.

Energy pulses in my chest as I leave the VIP room and enter the bathroom to wash her juice from my hands, looking up into the mirror at my scowling face. The need to have a naked girl in my arms still blazes under my skin like fire. Fucking her would have been like eating the shitty chocolate bars I used to get as a kid. They crumble in your mouth and by the end of eating the whole thing, you’re left with the same craving.

The cloud of smoke blasts my face as I walk back into the bar, scanning it briefly. Women—so many fucking women. None of them catch my eye, and I’m headed back to my seat before I see a girl who makes the one I almost fucked look like a wilted hag.

I don’t recognize her. This is supposed to be a closed event—just a little celebration for my men—but I’ve never seen her before. I know everyone’s girlfriend, but not her. Fuck, who gives a shit how she got here?

The first thing I notice is her body, wrapped up in a skintight lacey black dress that shows off her curves. I can make out the faint line of a G-string under the fabric, and my mouth waters just thinking of pulling it right off her thighs. She crosses her legs, exposing a length of tantalizing flesh. Then my eyes travel up that body I can already see naked, all the way to the tits nearly popping out of her dress. It’s fucking sinful. A sliver of her bra peeks out, and she keeps pulling the top of the lace over it, only for it to slip back down.

No, don’t do that. By all means, let your tits go free.

She has a haughty-looking face, like a girl who usually gets what she wants. Her eyebrows arch high. Dark. Dramatic. That’s what I’m getting from this chick. She’s gorgeous. Makes the place burn a little brighter.

Only, there’s a problem.

François is already hitting on her.

How the fuck did he get here so quickly?

He leans beside her, his body turned toward her. She laughs at something he says, a beautiful smile lighting up her face, and a surge of jealousy burns in my chest. She moves suddenly, her eyes roaming through the crowd. They fall over mine. They jump back and hold me. And a grin hitches on her face as she studies me.

Good thing I’m the boss.

I make a beeline for François, trying in vain to think of something nicer than telling him to fuck off, but let’s face it. I didn’t become boss by being a nice guy. There comes a point where you stop giving a fuck. Taking what I want, whenever I want has served me pretty fucking well so far, but there are rules, of course. I can’t fuck around with anyone’s girl, but she’s not his girl. She’s fair game, except nothing is fair when I’m involved.

She notices my approach before I even get there, and a small blush fills her cheeks as I approach her. Damn, she’s gorgeous.

But I have to get rid of him first. I touch François’ shoulder and lean in slightly, talking low enough so that the girl can’t hear a word I’m saying. “I need you to check the VIP rooms. I don’t want anyone doing drugs in my bar.”

He blinks at me.

It’s a bullshit request. He knows it. I know it.

The faintest glint of resentment shines in his eyes as he nods in affirmation. “All right.”

I can just hear his thoughts: Fucking cock-block.

It’s a dick move, but I wouldn’t be what I am today if I just stood aside and let people take what I want.

He moves away from the girl, giving her a second glance as if wondering if he should ask her for her number, but I smile at him.

Don’t even fucking think about it.

He keeps walking and I take his seat.

She turns her head toward me, a seductive smile on her pretty face. “That was a pretty epic cock-block.”

A smile stretches my face. “I guess I couldn’t help myself. I mean, look at you.”

“What about me?”

Blood rushes to my chest when she brushes her fingers across my knee. Heat blazes through her fingertips into my slacks, and for a moment I don’t know what the fuck she just said. Now that I’m close to her, I see that she’s young. At least ten years younger than me. It doesn’t seem to bother her one bit. She looks me up and down, sucking in those plump lips.

Jesus Christ.

“I hate to break it to you, but your tits are popping out of your dress.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh and notices that her dress slipped down again. It distracts me. She tugs at the lace, and her tits bounce, and I think about just yanking it down.

“Guys will come after you like flies on honey when you look like that.”

“Are you saying that I look nice?”

“I’m saying that I’d like to fuck you.”

For a moment her eyebrows lift in surprise, but then her chest shakes with laughter, her light-brown hair hanging in front of her face.

I fucking want her.

“Is that your opening line with all women, or do I get the special treatment?”

“You get the special treatment.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re wearing that dress, sweetheart.”

Her face burns a light shade of pink. “I borrowed it from my cousin.”

“You look hot.”

“It’s not my size.”

I smile as she fiddles with her empty drink, watching how her pupils dilate as I lean in closer. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: guys don’t give a shit what the dress looks like. We care about how you look in the dress.”

Hunger blazes in those dark-brown pools even as she withdraws her hand from my knee. “Can you actually use that cock of yours? Or is this alpha-male posturing compensation for something else?”

“You have some balls to insult me in my own bar.”

“It’s an honest question.”

She does not know who the fuck I am.

“You must not be familiar with my reputation.”

“How am I supposed to when I don’t even know your fucking name?”

This could be interesting.

“I’m Johnny.”

She uncrosses her legs as she gives me a scorching look, and I’m tempted to grab her thigh just to make my cock shut up.

“Maya.”

Beautiful name. Exotic.

I grasp the strands of hair around her face and slowly push them across her soft skin, tucking them behind her ears. A barely suppressed shiver runs through her body as I take my hand away.

She wants me.

“You should come home with me, Maya.”

An unspoken need simmers just beneath the surface of her skin. She trembles as if she waits for me to touch her again, but her voice strengthens. “At least buy me a fucking drink.”

I almost laugh at the hostility in her tone, but she’s right. My manners flew out the goddamn window the moment I laid eyes on her.

I signal the bartender for another drink, but Genevieve lets a glass fly from her grip when I catch her gaze. The glass shatters on the floor at my feet and causes a small commotion—a couple raised voices and a smattering of applause. She looks at the broken pieces and then at me, her cheeks burning.

It’s a fucking glass. Who cares?

Jesus.

“Clean it up.”

Red-faced, Genevieve nods and steps around the bar, apologizing profusely.

For the life of me, I don’t understand why people think I’m going to shoot them in the face for an accident. Maya’s hand touches my knee again, and it’s like a lure for my cock. Jesus Christ control yourself. She looks at my with a flirty, little smile.

“Everyone acts like you’re some kind of tough guy.”

I am a tough guy.

The bartender sweeps the pieces of glass into a dustpan, the crinkling sound distracting me.

“What gave you that idea?”

“That bartender looks like she’s going to cry.”

Maya raises an eyebrow at her. The bartender hurries into the employees-only area even though there’s a trash can right behind the bar. Maya gives me an accusatory stare, and then I’m struck with the fact that she really, really doesn’t know who I am. She just thinks I’m some run-of-the-mill asshole hitting on her in a connected bar. Fuck, she might not even know it’s connected.

Jackpot.

“So you own the bar?”

It’s rare to bump into someone who doesn’t know who I am, especially at places that I own. I search her eyes for any hint of sarcasm, but I don’t see anything but polite curiosity. There’s no point in enlightening her, so I decide to keep her in the dark.

“Yeah,” I say with laughter in my voice. “I’m the owner.”

It’s more like I own the entire city.

Maya takes the drink from the other bartender, sipping it. She swivels in the chair, her legs bumping into mine. Fuck. She’s a fucking tease. To prove my point, she crosses her legs, exposing another mile of skin.

“What’s it like owning a bar?”

What is it like?

“Ah—you know. I sit around and bullshit with customers. Hit on beautiful girls. It’s not bad.”

“Yeah?” She grins. “Are you on the clock right now?”

“We can leave anytime you want.”

“Always with the sex.” Although she hardly looks offended. The way she keeps eyeing my cock, it’s as though she’s screaming for me to fuck her.

“It’s taking everything inside me not to throw you over my shoulder and bring you into my office.”

She sucks in air, the sound sharp. “And then what?”

I’ll tell you and then what.

I lay my hand right over her knee, and she doesn’t move a muscle, but a red flush fills the skin right above the swell of her tits. We’re so close that I can smell the perfume she wears. It’s light and refreshing, like spring flowers. I want that smell all over my sheets, clinging to my naked skin. Her legs part ever so slightly as I knead her skin.

“And then I’d bend you over my desk and fuck your tight cunt until you came all over my cock. I’d take you home and shove my tongue deep inside that pussy until you moaned loud enough to wake up the neighbors.”

Maya can’t look away from me. Her gaze lingers on my mouth, my body, and the hand touching her knee. “You really know how to talk to a girl, huh?”

“That’s how I talk to girls who dress like that. I’m sorry, did you not come to this bar looking for a good time?”

I squeeze her knee again and she makes another small gasp. A series of emotions cycle through her face. She’s offended, scared, turned-on. Christ, the innocent act gets a rise out of me. The more she reacts, the more I want to push her. Fuck, I just want to shove my hand all the way inside her dress and feel how soaking she is.

“I am having a good time.”

Fucking tease.

I’m surprised that I’m enjoying this. When’s the last time I flirted with a girl? It’s usually very cut-and-dried. I take their hand, give them a look, and they’re mine for the night. Low effort. There’s a part of me that really gets off on that, but I like this even more.

Her skin glows like a heat lamp. I inch up her thigh and knead her with my thumb. The sounds she makes cut the air between us, and then finally she takes my hand off her thigh. She turns it over and runs her fingers on my calluses. It’s not as though she’s touching my dick, but it’s intimate. The space between us feels comfortably warm and the sound from the bar disappears to a low murmur. She smiles at me, and my heart pounds hard, making my chest jump.

Good God, I want to fuck her.

“What’s your story?”

“I’m just a girl at a bar.”

She squeezes my hand and I twist it around so that I’m covering her. The relentless beating against my chest slows down, and then I think about filling my hands with her tits and it starts up again.

“Everybody’s got a story.”

“You don’t want to know mine.”

“As long as it ends with you in my bed, I’m okay with it.”

I wish I could drag her off her stool and onto my lap.

Her head turns toward the door, which seems a million miles away from us. She doesn’t say a word, but I know what she’s thinking: I should leave.

“Stay. Have a drink and talk to me.”

Something in my voice reels her back in. Her eyes lock with mine. Heat builds up in my chest.

“You don’t want to talk to me.”

I want to fuck you.

“Yes, I do.”

She pulls her lips into a smirk.

“There are just other things I’d rather be doing with you. To you.”

“Shit.” She seizes her drink and sips as if to give herself a reason to avoid looking at me.

I won’t let her.

I stand up from my stool and get close enough so that I can slide my hand over the back of her chair, my fingers tickling her arm. She takes a huge gulp of her drink and a bright flush fills her cheeks as the booze works its way through her veins, or maybe it’s the fact that she finds me irresistible. She takes my tie in her hand, starting at the knot at my throat. Then she slides slowly down the long length. What would it feel like to have her hands do the same thing to my cock?

“I shouldn’t.”

My finger glides under her jaw and she follows the pressure without even thinking. Her nerves are all over the place. A strong heartbeat jumps into my fingers, and it surprises me for a moment. This is a girl who looks like she’s down to fuck, as if she does it all the time, but she shakes in my hands.

“You really, really should.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

“Almost always.”

I reach around her head and tighten my fist in her hair. My lips crash against hers right before she whispers, “Fuck.” She sighs into my mouth and leans into me, her hands gripping my waist. Then her tits crush against my chest, and my cock strains against my slacks as if it’s about to bore a hole into the fabric.

Sweetness swirls in my mouth, like the drink I gave her. Her tongue is even sweeter, and yes, I’m shoving my tongue down her throat in the middle of this bar. I don’t give a fuck. It’s instant chemistry between us. A surge of heat straight to my cock makes me curl my fingers in her hair. Fuck, I could sweep my arm across a table and bend her over right now.

Her hands push my chest suddenly, and I break away from her briefly to see red, parted lips.

“You all right, hon?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Then let’s continue this in my office.”

“No, I can’t. I need to go.”

Sounds like bullshit.

She takes a step back and suddenly her eyes go wide as her huge heel slips on something, and then she falls to the ground before I can catch her. Her cry of pain makes me stoop down quickly.

Oh Jesus Christ.

My guys wheel around, offering to help her up, but I bend down and grab her skinny arm. She gets up painfully, and that’s when I notice a shard of glass sticking out of her knee.

“What the fuck, Genevieve!”

The bartender snaps her head around, looking mortified.

“I told you to pick up the fucking glass!”

“I’m so sorry, sir!”

I turn back toward the girl in my arms. “Maya, I have bandages in my office. Come.”

She hesitates but looks at the line of blood trickling down her skin and nods. I bend over and yank the glass from her skin, hurling the bartender an ugly look as I walk Maya to my office.

I’ll fucking deal with you later.

I open the door for her and usher her inside, unable to stop the jump of excitement in my cock as I close it, shutting the noise of the bar away.

“Here, sit down.”

She takes a seat in one of the leather-backed chairs and I grab the first-aid kit under my desk.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t really hurt.”

I rip open the kit and grab some gauze and Neosporin. Maya tentatively extends a hand to grab it from me, but I shake my head.

“I’ll take care of it.”

She cocks her head. “I think you just want your hands on my leg.”

You’re not wrong.

“I want a lot more than that.”

Her cheeks are stained with red. For the life of me, I can’t pin down this girl. She dresses like a slut but she acts like a blushing virgin. What the hell is that about?

Shaking my head, I take her leg in my hands. It’s hard to concentrate as I glide them up her smooth skin. I extend her leg so that it lies across my thigh, and then I spread the ointment over the cut. She closes her eyes as I wrap my hands around her. Then I take the gauze and press it firmly over the cut. Her thigh shivers when I smooth my hand over the bandage.

“Thanks.”

No problem, sweetheart. Now suck my cock.

Her leg is inches from my dick, and I imagine her straddling me in this chair. Blood rushes to my groin and I can’t help spreading my fingers around her flawless skin. Her chest pulses faster with my movements, but she draws her leg away from me.

“Let me take you home and give you a night you’ll never forget.”

Her eyes blaze. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I told you.”

“I want to hear it again.”

The headiness in her voice makes my lips tug into a smirk. “First, I’d take a pair of scissors and cut that dress from your body and free those tits. Then I’d lay you over my couch and spread your legs so that I could lick your pussy.”

“Why?”

Why not?

“I want to make you come with nothing but my tongue thrusting inside that wet cunt.”

“Jesus.”

“Then when you’re nice and wet, and shaking from your orgasm, I’ll fuck you so goddamn hard and good your pussy won’t ever be able to enjoy another man’s cock again.”

“How would you fuck me?”

She’s driving me crazy with all these questions. I sweep my hand along her calf and grip it. “I’d take this leg and put it over my shoulder, and then I’d take the other and do the same thing so I could fuck you nice and deep.”

Maya’s dress vibrates right above her heart. I can see the fabric fluttering with her heartbeat, and I can feel my own thrumming hard. Like a goddamn jackhammer through my cock.

I get up from my chair and her eyes widen as I stoop down to kiss her again.

She places a palm against my chest and shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

What?

“Why the fuck not?”

She bites her lip viciously. “You’re Italian, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I can’t.” This time her tone is resolute. She stands up from the chair and gives me an uneasy look before she heads toward the door.

What the fuck?

“Whoa, sweetheart. Talk to me. What happened?”

I grab her wrist, and haughty eyes flick down at my hand and back at me. I’d like to fuck the insolence out of her gaze.

“I’m going home.”

“You can’t fuck me ’cause I’m Italian? What kind of prejudiced bullshit is that?”

A sad look wipes the pride from her face. “My dad would kill me. I’m sorry.”

She pulls away from me, and frustration boils in my veins. Jesus fucking Christ, she’s the biggest cock-tease I’ve ever met.

“Let me talk to your dad.”

Maya suddenly bursts into laughter and throws back her head as if it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. It’s fucking insulting, and I want to tie her up and fuck her anyway, father or no father.

“Lets just say that my father could make life very miserable for a bar owner.”

She pushes open the door, leaving me stunned in the office. I have to remind myself of two things. One, this girl has no idea who I am and how far I’m willing to go to get what I want. Two, I need to restrain my anger.

But I can’t.

I barge out of the office, back into the noise of the bar, and grab her shoulders, whirling her around to pin her against the wall. A slight gasp leaves her throat as her back bumps the wall, and I feel a stab of guilt for the fear widening her eyes.

“No one walks out on me.”

Her eyebrows narrow. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“I don’t tolerate disrespect from anyone.”

A smile flickers on her face. “Look, you’re hot and all, but I can’t date Italians. My father would kill me.”

“Are you fucking shitting me? You’re what, twenty-two, twenty-three, and you’re going to let Daddy tell you that my Italian cock is no good for your French-Canadian pussy?”

Her eyes narrow dangerously.

Too far.

“Let me go.”

Fine. Get the fuck out of here.

My hands slide down her arms, which sprout with goose bumps. She reaches for the hem of her dress and pulls it over her tits, my cock hardening at the sight of them bouncing right in my fucking face.

“Come home with me,” I say in a deep voice. “Daddy doesn’t have to know.”

The effect of my words slides down her throat like a hot drop. Her lips tremble as she stares at me.

“Can’t. Sorry.”

Then she gives me a quick peck on my cheek.

“Thanks for the drink.”

Thanks for the drink.

Like I’m some fucking chump. This has to be a joke.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She gives me a scathing look. “I never promised I’d go home with you.”

Her hair feels like silk in my hands. I let her strands glide through my fingers as I watch her inhale deeply, trying to hide how much she wants me. “I don’t like being teased.”

A blush rises in her cheeks. “I didn’t—”

I back her against the wall. “No, you just wanted to fuck with me. That was the plan, wasn’t it? Some harmless flirting, and then you give him blue balls and go home to Daddy without finishing what you started.”

She doesn’t back down. A light blazes from her eyes as she clenches her jaw shut, clearly bursting to tell me off. I step back from her, and she throws me an ugly look before walking away.

“If I see you in this bar again, I’ll throw your ass out. Don’t come back here.”

I say it to her back, but she hears me. She slows her step and then walks out of the hallway, disappearing into the bar.

My cock’s still rock hard and I want to hit something.

I walk into the bar, ready to smash my fist through the drywall, to beat in the first person’s face who looks at me wrong. What’s wrong with being Italian? It’s not like she was Irish.

Tabarnak de câlisse, it pisses me off.

I look around the bar, tempted to find another broad to bang and forget about the hot one still burning in my mind, but none are half as beautiful.

François, my captain, gives me a curious look as I return to the bar counter. “Did you get her number?”

My arms cross over my chest. “She doesn’t fuck Italians.”

He chokes with laughter. “Well, she picked the right place.”

It’s a connected bar. Everyone knows that. It’s my bar—and I’m the boss of the Cravotta Crime Family.

He beckons to me, leaning in to talk close in a hushed whisper. “Listen, me and the guys have an idea for getting a copy for the guards’ keys for the heist.”

I don’t feel like talking business. My desire for the party evaporated the moment that girl walked out on me.

“We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to head out.”

And jack off furiously when I get home.

* * *

That girl simmers in my head the whole weekend. The rage boils over, mingling with burgeoning lust. The fact is, I get around. I score a lot of easy pussy, but none of them ever fucked with my head like this. Rejection is not something I deal with as a boss of the family. Period. Women are eager to please me just like everyone else.

“Chris, let me out here.”

My driver stops the car in front of my mother’s house and I step out of the sleek Audi, shutting the door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

God, I need to get it together.

The last thing I want is to visit my ma, but I’m supposed to be a family man. It’s important to respect your family in this business, even if I don’t care for mine. At the end of the day, I do whatever the fuck I want, but it’s hard to shake off that feeling of duty to your family.

I knock on the door, my fist banging against the dense wood. Seconds later, Ma wrenches it open. She’s well kept, my mother, and that’s always something I admired about her.

“Johnny!”

She wears an apron over her yellow dress and looks at my suit, her eyes widening. “Look at you, looking so handsome. Do you have a date?”

Jesus Christ. This again.

I step inside her house. “No, Ma. This is how I always look.”

Her eyes wrinkle. “I wish you would get a girlfriend and settle down.”

“I did, remember? Twice?”

Married twice. Divorced twice. I married Stacey when I was too young, and all we did was resent each other. Karen, my second wife, left me. That part of my life is over. I guess you could say that I gave up on having the perfect family life. Fuck it. I like being able to go out whenever the fuck I want. I like fucking a new piece of ass every night.

Which inevitably reminds me of the piece of ass who teased me a couple nights ago. Who I can’t get out of my goddamn head.

“When am I going to get grandchildren?”

“Did you just invite me over to give me shit about this again?” My angry voice echoes in the small apartment as she guides me to the kitchen.

“Johnny, I don’t like hearing you curse.”

Mange d’la marde.

“Sorry.”

“Come, you need to eat. You’re too skinny.”

I’m always “too skinny” for her. She expects me to bloat like a beached whale, like my old man. He was a fat fuck.

She flaps her hands, motioning me toward the bowl of spaghetti alla Bolognese. Ma serves me at least a pound of pasta. The steam rises from it in spirals, the spices from the meat failing to distract me from my two ex-wives.

It’s really the only thing I’ve ever failed at in life. I have all the money and pussy I could possibly fucking want. The only thing I don’t have—a family—I failed at. Twice.

I’m not going for a third. I just won’t.

Besides, living a bachelor’s life isn’t bad at all. Tony did it, before he knocked up that girl.

I pick up the fork and wind the pasta around and around.

Then I think about how Tony talks about his baby girl all the time with a look in his eyes that I don’t understand, and my chest tightens.

I shove the feeling away.

Who needs a wife?

“So how’s work going?”

“Pretty good.”

Work is always a tricky topic to navigate around my mother. She knows exactly who I am, but I wouldn’t tell her, for example, that I’m planning the biggest heist in history. Millions of dollars in cash. That’s what fucking drives me. Nearly every restaurant, casino, and racetrack in this city gives me a piece of their action in exchange for protection from other gangs. If this heist goes as planned, all of us will be fucking rich. We won’t need that shit anymore.

She looks up at me from her plate of Bolognese, her eyes evasive. “I just find it hard to believe that you can’t find another wife.”

My fork clatters on the plate as I throw my head back and close my eyes.

Keep it together. Don’t fucking yell at her, or she’ll cry and you’ll be stuck here even longer.

“Ma, marriage isn’t for me.”

“I thought I would die of shame when you got divorced the first time. It’s a sin, Johnny. Marriage is a sacred vow—”

“Oh will you fucking please stop with this shit!” The chair crashes to the floor as I stand up abruptly. “Every fucking time I come over, it’s the same thing! I’m not getting married again. I’m not having kids. Get the fuck over it. I am.”

I’m stewing with the rage of being reminded of this failure over and over again, but then she bundles the tablecloth in her hands, and her face screws up.

Shit.

“How can you talk like that to your mother?”

Seeing her tears would be a bigger punch to my gut if she hadn’t done it a thousand times already. I shove my hands deep inside my pockets, filled with a rush of self-loathing.

She’s right. You don’t disrespect your mother.

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

“You’re all I have left. Your father left us.”

Oh, fuck him.

A fresh stab of anger hits me right in the chest as she looks at a family portrait hanging on the wall. I want to smash it, or at least cut him from the fucking photograph so I don’t have to see his rotten face staring back at me.

“He’s been dead a long time, Ma. You should meet someone else.”

“I can’t. I loved your father.”

I didn’t.

I don’t dare say that out loud.

“I’m so proud of you, Johnny. I just want you to be happy, and I don’t think you are.”

I am fucking happy. Aren’t I?

What the fuck is happiness? Is it whistling to yourself as you walk down the street without a care in the world? Is it being able to fuck gorgeous women, night after night? I search inside myself, but I only feel vague annoyance and that stirring need for more stimulation.

Bending over, I pick up the chair from the floor, avoiding my mother’s gaze. “I gotta go.”

“Already? But you just—”

I take a few steps toward her chair and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, thanks for the food.”

“Wait—I have to give you leftovers!”

“No, really. I got to go.”

I finally breathe the moment I’m out of that fucking house, and for some reason that girl pops into my head again, shoving all thoughts of my exes away. She was a fucking tease, and she talked to me as though I were just a regular guy. Hell, she acted as though she was better than me. It’s so rare that I meet a beautiful girl who is self-confident.

Then I think about how hot those haughty lips would look wrapped around my cock, and I hope she returns to the bar.

I’m not taking no for an answer.