Page 21 of Caged Bliss

I know this is a mistake. Making a deal with a man like Angelo is going too far.

But I can’t help myself. I feel too fucking good.

“Deal,” I moan.

Then he crushes his mouth to mine in a blistering, life-changing kiss, the sort of kiss that sears itself into my memory, the kind of kiss that makes my back arch and sends me tumbling into mind-erasing bliss. I come as he kisses me, I come moaning into his mouth, I come with his gorgeous tongue invading me, I come as the best kiss of my life burns a hole in my brain. I shake, shudder, gasp into him, his grassy, champagne-sweet taste flooding my mouth, a taste like heaven, like I’ve never tasted before, his lips soft and firm, his cock like iron between my legs. I come and whimper, and he bites my freaking lip with a smirk, like he owns me, and right now, god, he really, really does.

“Good girl,” he whispers as I collapse against him. I enjoy a few seconds of a dizzy, brain-puddle, post-orgasm haze before reality reasserts itself.

I just dry-humped a stranger and came in his lap.

And I really liked it.

“The folder’s under the tray,” I say as my face flushes crimson. Shame and fear slam into me and I back off his lap, hurriedly adjusting my bodysuit. He tries to keep me from escaping, but I wriggle from his grip. “Maybe we can try the machines another time,” I say loudly, playing it up for the cameras.

Angelo licks his lips and leans forward, but I keep moving out of his reach.

Tommy’s going to watch this.

He’s going to watch me come and I’m filled with revulsion.

I don’t regret it—that was the best orgasm of my life—but I hate the thought of that asshole seeing me mid-humping, my head thrown back, bliss ripping through my brain.

Angelo stares at me, his face stern and angry, like he wants to command me to stay.

But I can’t now that I have Tommy’s face in my stupid head.

I hate that man so much. He even manages to ruin a perfectly good orgasm with the most attractive human I’ve ever seen in my life.

I turn and flee the room as the mecha-dongs keep on air-humping nothing.

Chapter 11

Angelo

Laura’s basement is unfinished and filled with tools. There are chisels and hammers, saws and sanders, power equipment I only vaguely recognize, and an extremely advanced and efficient air filtration system. My sister stands in the middle of the space, hands on her hips, staring at a huge, half-finished, human-sized tongue made from granite.

“It’s not what the papers say, but it’s what the papers don’t say.” I have the folder Claudia stole for me spread out on a work bench against the far wall. I know Laura’s only half listening, but that’s fine—mostly I’m talking to myself anyway. “I knew shit felt fishy and there was no way Tommy was able to squeeze that much cash from a nightclub, but now I’m absolutely positive I was right.”

“Good for you,” Laura murmurs, raises a huge steel spike, and slams the back with a mallet. A piece of the granite chips away. She frowns a little, pats at her tight bun, then moves to the side.

“What pisses me off is Simon doesn’t ask any fucking questions. All he sees is money coming into the Famiglia coffers, so what’s the fucking problem? So what if Tommy’s running a scheme on the side? He’s a goddamn criminal. He’s supposed to.”

“Right.” Laura’s lips press together and she chips off another piece.

“Except he’s supposed to run big games across the Don first before making any plays. You don’t think it’s shady as hell that he’s keeping Simon in the dark?”

Laura turns to me and frowns. She’s wearing huge goggles like someone from a steampunk movie would wear, all leather and strappy and glass. When she pushes them up, I can tell she’s annoyed.

“Why don’t you just kill him?” she asks, waving the spike in the air then miming slamming it down on someone.

“Because sometimes murder’s not the most optimal solution.”

She just looks at me.

I sigh and stretch my back. “Alright, because Tommy knows some shit I need to know, and I can’t just off a made man without permission from the Don.”

“You killed that Paulie guy.”

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