Page 5 of The Mob and his Messenger

I stand up, ignoring the pain lancing through me, and walk over to the door where my men have hung my suit, with a small bag next to it with my other clothes inside.

“You saved her, Skip,” Gabriel mutters at my back, as I begin to carry my clothes toward the bathroom. “If you didn’t throw that bomb away, Jesus Christ, my daughter would be dead right now. What the hell was I thinking, hiring her to be a messenger for us?”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him firmly. “It’s Patty McGuinness’s fault.”

“Fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that I owe you.”

“You’ve never owed me anything, Gabriel,” I say. “You’ve more than earned your place. Now let me get changed. I feel like an asshole standing here in this hospital gown.”

He chuckles grimly and I shut the bathroom door behind me, trying to tug my mind away from Dallas Smith, my consigliere’s daughter, my best friend’s daughter.

I never saw her again after her mother took her out west. Sometimes Gabriel would travel there to visit her, and sometimes she’d come here, but I never had cause to see her. Or, if I did, she was just a background teenager, a girl I’d never look twice at.

But the woman I saw in that alleyway is an entirely different story.

My heart starts hammering the second I think about the way her denim jeans tried to trap that round-as-fuck ass. Then, as I shrug off the hospital gown, I can’t stop myself from imagining that ass naked and bent over for me, smothering shiny oil all over it, getting it wet for me, and then smoothing my hand between her closed legs and getting something else wetter, too, and then smearing her juices all over her round made-to-be-fucked ass.

I groan when I feel the blood rushing to my manhood, my thick length inevitably getting rock hard at the thought of her.

It’s too easy to imagine fisting her messy blonde hair and tugging lightly as I slide into her, again and again, getting harder with each stroke of my manhood until she’s squirting white cream all down dick.

I have to put my hands behind my back and let out a shuddering breath.

What the fuck am I going to do, start jacking off right here with my consigliere in the next room?

I grit my teeth and force myself to get dressed, trying to push her from my mind.

But the moment I manage to consign her to the periphery of my consciousness, thoughts of her begin to drift in, little whispers and images. I feel her body against mine, curvaceous, and hot. I see the strap of her satchel cutting into her breasts. I imagine my hand instead, squeezing, massaging, making her nipples hard and tingly and then sucking them until they are red-raw.

Stop. Stop this now.

“Fuck,” I grunt, when my manhood nearly catches on my zipper, the massive in-the-way length now sideways in my briefs.

I walk to the sink and splash cold water on my face, hoping that will jolt some wakefulness – and some sense – into me.

Just because I haven’t felt even one percent of this for another woman, ever, doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. I can’t forget Gabriel, the kid who looked up to me, who then became a man and built my organization with me.

Gabriel, who stayed with me even when Samantha took his daughter west.

Gabriel, who trusts me with his life, my best friend.

I look at myself in the mirror, seeming just the same as I did earlier today, except for this new purpose in my eyes.

It isn’t just the situation with Patty, which is my main focus.

It should be my only focus.

But there’s something else inside of me, a primeval drum beat, a call to action, the hunt, the hunt, as though something nameless is roaring at me and telling me to take her, to pump my seed into her childbearing body, to fill her and make sure I give her every hot drop I can until she’s pregnant.

I stand up straighter and compose myself, the same way I do before making a public appearance. I make myself cold and try to kill this new fire raging through my body.

I fail. It still flames. Because it’s fueled by her.

I compromise and hide it as best as I can instead. I wait for my manhood to stop throbbing by staring at the sink, just focusing on the sink and nothing else, and not letting my mind stray to the thought of her bent over the sink, naked, ass sticking out, breasts bouncing invitingly. She’d arch her back and pump down onto my cock, her ass flattening against my abs and …

No, no.

A fucking sink?

That’s how crazy she’s making me.

“Skip?” Gabriel calls from outside.

“Yes?”

“Ah, nothing. Just checking you were okay.”

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