Page 95 of Mob Princess

Cailín, I have some inventory lists to go through for the clubs. It shouldn’t take me long.

I glance up as I finish putting away the butter and jam from the toast I had at breakfast. I nod, considering what I might do to fill the time since I have no work of my own. I know what I want to do.

When Sean reaches out his hand, I grin. I know what he wants, and it’s exactly what I want. We walk together to his office, and he pulls back his chair. I slip beneath it and rest on my knees and shins. He takes his seat and is careful as he rolls forward. He unfastens his pants and pulls down his boxer briefs. I eye it like a kid does one of those giant pinwheel lollipops. I scoot forward and lick him as I hear him shuffling papers on his desk. Then I see him pull his cell phone from his pocket. I love this part. I love when he’s on the phone, trying to concentrate on his call while I lick, suck, and fondle him.

I don’t know who he’s calling, and I couldn’t give a shit. I wait until I hear the first sound of him saying hello, then I pounce. I slide my mouth down the entire length of his cock and suck hard. He clears his throat. I focus to keep from laughing. He senses my amusement and fists my hair. I look up to find his warning glare. I shrug as I slide my mouth up and down him.

“Shane can meet the distributor at 4Play to go over the display for the promotion.”

I can’t hear what the other person says. But it’s not long before Sean speaks again.

“I’m feeling much better, but Shane can handle all of that. I’ll check on the mini mall project. Finn’s going to that doctor’s appointment with Ally. I can check the inventory and report the numbers to him. I can count screws as well as he can.”

There’s a pause.

“Yes, I will make sure I don’t miss any. I know how he is about his numbers being precise. Remember, I’m the one who had to account for even a single missing Lego. Hell, half the time he was the one who accidentally pushed them under his bed. Goodbye, Dillan.”

I hear the playful exasperation in his voice as he cups my jaw and strokes his thumb over my cheek. It’s affectionate and erotic.

“Come here, little one.”

He slides his chair back and makes room for me to stand. He pulls a bowtie from his top desk drawer where he now keeps it. He binds my wrists behind me and slides on the sleep mask I wear when he wants me near him, but it’s not safe for me to see what he’s working on.

I’m naked, so there’s nothing in the way as I slide down his cock, facing away from him. I sense he moves his laptop to the left, so he can see around me. I remain quiet, doing Kegels every so often. His hands trail over my legs, belly, and tits absentmindedly. I feel him twitch inside me periodically as he lingers somewhere. It’s pure torment when he fondles my tits and plays with my nipples. I can do little with my hands behind my back, but I can feel his abs through his shirt. It’s the only concession I get to my unspent lust.

I nearly ran from the room screaming the first time he had a conference call on his computer. He slid the mask up, so I could see his camera was off. Now I don’t panic when I know a meeting’s starting. It’s boring since it’s about employee retirement options. He pulls my right leg wider over his thigh. He plays with my clit, rubbing slow circles until I fist my hands between us. I shift restlessly, and he pulls away. I swallow my moan. His camera is off, but his mic isn’t. When I still, he presses his thumb against my asshole. I clutch his shirt. He strokes my pussy with his other hand while kissing my shoulder. But the moment I get close, he pulls away again.

The way he moves, I can tell he’s reaching around me to type something. I warm his cock as though it’s only my pussy that’s here. He hasn’t forgotten me, but he ignores me. He knows what it does to me. I love that he wants to be inside me. That he gets pleasure from him denying me. That his denial is my own sort of pleasure. When the meeting ends, he grips my hips and moves me until he comes. He taps my ass as I get up and leave his office.

It's not all give and no take. He reciprocates and…holy hell. The man can do things with his tongue I didn’t know were possible. He’s a glossal contortionist. Not to be confused with him being a colossus. He doesn’t have poor posture by any stretch. But there have been two times when we’ve left his place, and we’ve run into people he wished we hadn’t. When he stands with his shoulders pushed back, you realize just how big he is. He’s not as thick as Cormac and Seamus, but they could swap clothes, and no one would think they weren’t his.

Both times were last week. The first person was Pablo Diaz. I cringed because the Colombian Cartel member got involved with my dad, then Ewan. I cancelled my meeting with him to be with Sean that first afternoon. I was waiting for him to say something because he spotted me first. Finn was with us, and I thought Pablo was going to die on sight. The rage that rolled off Finn reminded me of what I felt when I caught Colt not only cheating on me but insulting me.

The second person was a Cosa Nostra member, Marco Mancinelli. He was with his wife, Elizabeth. They’ve only been married a few months. Their wedding was right before Finn and Ally’s. Here’s something I learned: they go to each other’s wedding receptions. Not the ceremonies, but apparently, the hoity-toity of NYC get together for these mafia—sorry, syndicate—soirées.

Sean was adamant I know the Mancinellis insist they are the only Mafia in NYC. Mafia with a capital M. He said the Cosa Nostra—“our thing”—are whiny bitches if they get confused for anyone they believe is inferior. So pretty much everyone else. They don’t want riff-raff associated with them either. According to Sean, his family falls into that category since they’re only the mob—with a lowercase m.

Between Pablo and Marco, it threatened to turn the weekend sour, but Sean didn’t let it. He took me to brunch on Saturday at La Petite Fleur, the restaurant Finn owns. We went for a walk through Central Park, and we pointed out places we like to run and bike. I hadn’t been there since college. I showed him around the Barnard campus. My old dorms, some of my classroom buildings, the bars where I drank underage. We went to McGinty’s that night for a live Irish band. Finn owns it too.

Last Sunday, we slept in. And by sleep, I mean woke up before dawn and didn’t stop touching until nine. It was such a typical couple’s day at home. We cleaned—I learned his parents’ generation forbade his generation from hiring housekeepers—and did laundry. I pressed on the maid thing because I was curious. His parents and aunts and uncles remind their children they’ll never be too good or too rich to scrub a toilet. And if they can make a mess, they can clean the mess. I love it.

We’re headed into another weekend, and we have plans to go on a triple date with Dillan and Mair, and Finn and Ally. I met the women at three Sunday dinners I attended. Those were experiences of their own. Boisterous. Hilarious. Delicious. So fucking normal. According to Mair and Ally, it completely threw them to see the O’Rourkes in their natural habitat. I felt a little less rude for staring.

Mair—short for Márgrég—her Irish version of Margaret—and Ally—short for Althea—have invited me to hang out, but it didn’t insult them when I hesitated. Between not wanting to be away from Sean and the unexplained shooting, it made me uncomfortable to go somewhere without him. I didn’t feel right inviting them to Sean’s, even though I know I could have.

“Lina?”

“Yeah. I’m almost ready.” I step out of our bedroom as Sean comes out of his office.

I’m carrying my shoes since I discovered he and I are alike and prefer shoes remain at the door. Since I haven’t unpacked all my things from the boxes Seamus sent a crew to get, I still have some of mine tucked away. He slips his arm around my waist, and I happily accept a hug. We’ve been apart for a whole fifteen minutes. I nuzzle his neck as his hand cups my ass.

“We can still have dinner with the others, but I have to go out tonight.”

I freeze. We haven’t done this before. He hasn’t left me behind. I don’t know if it means he’s really going “out,” and there’s a chance he’ll get shot again. Or if “out” means wherever their place is. All syndicates have an abandoned place local law enforcement isn’t dumb enough to raid, and the feds can’t get permits to search something that doesn’t exist in city, county, or state records.

These warehouses and garages and whatever else they pick are where the families take people who pretty much breathed their last the moment they looked sideways at a syndicate member. I don’t know the specifics because I’ve never asked and never want to know, but they control the place. They can take their time, which means being away a few days at a time in some cases.

“Okay.” I kiss his cheek and pull away.

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