Page 42 of Satin Empire

“Except for me,” he says and lies on his back, stretching his arms up over his head. “Why are you doing this right now, baby? You think just because I had some good sex, I’m susceptible to influence?”

“Pretty much.” I kiss his muscular chest and feel a flutter between my legs. My eyebrows raise when I notice his cock starting to stiffen. That dirty little boy—he wants to fuck me again. “Seems like it’s working.”

He grabs my hair. I gasp, surprised, as he pulls me up toward him. He buries his mouth on mine and kisses me as I reach down between his legs, taking his half-hard cock in my hand. I rub him nice and gently, stroking up and down, teasing him, loving the way he stiffens in my hand.

“If I open another club and it fails, I’ll embarrass myself,” he whispers, staring into my eyes.

“But it’ll never happen if you don’t try. Everyone fails sometimes. I fail all the damn time.”

“Yeah? Like when?” His breathing gets heavier as I stroke him faster, and the man’s already nice and stiff again. I am intensely impressed by his stamina.

“Can’t think of a time. Ask me again later.”

He laughs and yanks me back toward him, biting my lower lip. “You really think it’s a good idea? Just open a fucking club on my own like it’s no big deal?”

“If it’s what you want, then I think you should.”

He stares at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m full of shit or not, and I take it upon myself to make him stop thinking. I wriggle out of his grip and go down on him again, and the second he’s in my mouth for the second time, I get the feeling I’m in for one hell of a night.

Chapter 21

Carlo

I’m up early the next day making breakfast and coffee, humming to myself, in a very good mood. The night before keeps playing through my head: Alana on her knees, sucking my cock; Alana orgasming like an angel; Alana calling me a good boy; fucking her three more times before we finally passed out. It was a goddamn sex Olympics, and I’m a little bit sore, and a little bit exhausted, but already planning my next marathon session.

Except one more thing bothers me. It’s not all the filthy, obscene sex we had—I mean, it is, a little bit, and I’m also having some serious thoughts about why I like it when she calls me a good boy—but it’s what she said after the first round.

I should open my own club.

There are a dozen reasons why it’s a bad idea. For one, Saul made it clear that there will be no Famiglia resources if I decide to go down that path—which will make it a thousand times harder. And another, Renzo might be pissed if I start splitting my time and attention. The Russians are diminished and on the run, but that doesn’t mean the war is finished. We made that mistake once when we thought the Irish were finished, only for them to ambush and kill Dante, and we learned that the struggle is over when all our enemies are dead.

I should be focusing on the fight and ending this nightmare of a bloody conflict, just like my Don wants me to.

Only I keep coming back to Dante. He was my brother’s best friend, his bodyguard, an important part of our organization, and he’s dead now. Gone too goddamn soon. All that potential, all those dreams, they’re all gone with him, and that could happen to me at any point. I’d get tossed into the ground having never achieved anything in this world, never gone out on my own, never taken serious risks.

I’m Carlo. I’m the fun one. I’m all smiles, and I’m good with a gun. What else am I supposed to be? But there’s so much more out there, and if I don’t go for it, nobody ever will.

It bothers me, how deeply she got under my skin. It kills me even worse when she comes down wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, her hair up in a messy bun, no makeup, and looks like perfection.

“All this for me?” she asks, pouring coffee and accepting some eggs and bacon. “It’s like you’re rewarding me for something.”

“Can’t imagine what. I was in bed early last night and asleep by nine.”

“Huh. Strange.” She puts a hand down between her legs. “I’m sore this morning, and I distinctly remember having a whole bunch of sweaty sex with my husband, but that was probably just a nightmare.”

“Nightmare?” I put a hand over my heart. “I’m insulted.”

“Sorry. Night terror? What’s the really bad one? Anyway, doesn’t matter, I’m awake and finally out of that?—”

I grab her before she can finish, yanking her over. She yelps, unable to defend herself without spilling coffee. I kiss her hard, tongue in her mouth, and she whimpers against me as I carefully extract the plate and the mug from her hands, placing them down on the counter.

She presses her palms to my chest, and I wonder if she knows why my heart’s racing.

“I can’t get what you said out of my head,” I whisper, pinning her against the counter. I hold her tight, my forehead pressed against hers. “It’s starting to fuck me up.”

“What part? When I called you a good boy?” She clucks her tongue, smiling at me. I love it when she’s a tease; it gives me permission to destroy her. “You haven’t earned another one. Don’t get greedy.”

“Not that.” I nip at her bottom lip, biting it. “The other thing. About opening the club.”

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