Page 55 of Mob Knight

I don’t know. It’s just nice.

“Are you close to your grandparents?” He wants to get to know me better, and I love it.

“Only my mother’s parents are alive. My dad’s died when he was a kid. He was close to one of his grandfathers. What about you?”

“All of mine have passed away, but I was close to all of them. My grandfathers traveled a lot and worked long hours. But my grandmothers were always soft in the right places and smelled like flowers—you know—the way grandmas are supposed to. It was Nana on my mom’s side and Granny on my dad’s. Nana used to babysit all of us after school every day.”

“All of us?”

“Yeah. My brother, five cousins, and me.”

“Holy smokes! Seven kids?”

His gaze softens as he slips into his memories. It makes him even more handsome because it’s a moment’s reprieve from his usual intensity.

“She owned McGinty’s. We’d go there after school. We had to do our homework then help do dishes and wipe down tables. If there was time, we could play darts or pool or watch games on the TVs. Most of the time, though, we had to read. It made sure we were seen and not heard, and it was good for us.”

“You grew up really close to your cousins.”

“Three sisters married three brothers. We’re close because of work and because we want to be. I enjoy my brother’s and cousins’ company. There’s never been a time when I haven’t been surrounded by a massive family. What about you?”

I shake my head. The question was inevitable since I sent us down this path.

“My mother had a sister and three brothers, but two of the brothers died. I’m close to my brother and cousins, but all of my cousins are still in Mexico. My brother’s here in the city, but we don’t see each other that often. Once every few weeks. We keep different schedules. And there was no one on my dad’s side. He had a sister, but she died too.”

“Did you and your brother get along when you were little?”

“Mostly. We played together when we were little, but by the time he got to middle school, he had his own friends and interests, which was fine by me. What about your brother?”

“He’s my best friend. He’s only seven months younger than me because he was a preemie. We’ve always been together.”

“An infant and a preemie. That must have been really rough on your parents. Two months early usually means some lasting health challenges.”

He chuckles again, and my pussy aches. It’s so hot.

“The only health challenge my brother has is a tendency to eat way more chocolate than is healthy. We’re the same size and are almost identical. You’ve met him. People often confuse us. He has our mom’s eye shape more than I do, and my nose is a bit more like our dad’s. Our freckles are different. But we have the same eye color as our cousins, which comes from our moms. We get our lighter red hair and build from our dad. He’s the biggest of his brothers, and they all have lighter red hair than my mom and aunts.”

“You’re truly as Irish as it comes in America.”

I marvel at that. They’re the poster boys of what people picture when they think of the Irish. Red hair, green eyes, and fair skin—though he clearly tans.

“Everyone speaks fluent Irish, too. So yeah, we’re pretty Irish even though my family’s been here for three and four generations.”

Even though we’re not on the dance floor, we’re in each other’s arms and swaying to the music as we chat, and it’s comfortable. I haven’t talked about my family to previous Doms, even the ones I’d been with for a while. This kind of getting to know you hasn’t been a priority. I’m enjoying this. His hands roam over my body while my left hand rests on his chest, and my right arm’s around his waist.

We decide simultaneously story time is over. He leans forward as I raise my chin for a kiss. He slides his thigh between my legs again, guiding me to grind my pussy on him. I can feel how hard he is. It’s been that way since we came together to dance. But my new position makes it more obvious.

“Sir?”

“Yes, little one. What do you want?”

“Anything you do, just more than this.”

His kiss is short and fierce before he slips his hood back on and leads me past the other dancers and to a spanking bench. It’s the kind that looks like a gymnastics vault, except it has handles built on each side on a lower platform. My feet will go on the end of the platform, putting me at the right height.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Bodega.”

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