Page 63 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

I gasp, my breath catching as his finger never loses tempo, his mouth never stops, and I can see from here that the bastard hit the center with each shot.

“Oh my god,” I pant, unsure if it’s from seeing how well he shoots or the fact that I could come in about thirty seconds.

“So, you’re going to wear these,” he says, running his finger down the edge of the black box, “and I’m going to stand over there with the remote.” He pulls a packet of lube from his pocket and places it on the counter. His hand slides under my shirt and bra, pinching and rolling my nipple with deft fingers. I moan, leaning against him and clutching the counter.

“I’m going to edge the shit out of you until you hit the center. And then I’ll let you come.”

Just as my climax begins to swell, Jax pulls his hand away. I release a shocked huff, which only makes him chuckle as he sucks his finger clean.

“Pants down, Peach. Get on all fours on the couch.” Jax rips the corner off the lube packet with his teeth, spitting it on the ground.

“Aye, aye, Capt’n,” I salute before reaching for my pants.

“We’ll see how bratty you still are when we’re done here.” He smacks my butt as I lower my pants and head for the sofa.

Oh, baby. I could keep this up all day. And he fucking knows it.

Jax places the black box on the arm of the couch in front of me and sanitizes his hands. He grabs the small plug first, hesitates briefly as he lubes it, then slides it along my center andpresses it against my clit. I hear the click of a button, and the plug vibrates. I yelp, clutching the leather couch.

“Holy shit.”

He leans down to my ear as he slides the plug toward my ass. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, baby.” Jax kisses behind my ear, then focuses on easing the plug into me.

“Good girl,” he praises when it slips all the way in.

“Now, pants up and turn around.”

I comply, and Jax grabs the second toy, rubbing lube around the shaft and bulb. He holds my gaze as he reaches into my pants, sliding the shaft along my pussy before easing it in. My mouth drops open as he works it in, stealing a kiss and sucking on my bottom lip.

“I’ll make sure it’s in the right spot, okay?” he whispers, his breath tickling my lips.

I nod, and he presses one of the remote’s buttons. The pink toy comes to life, instantly putting Bob to shame.

“Oh, Jax,” I moan, clutching his broad shoulders as he moves it around, watching me for reactions. The bulb fixes on my clit, and the sucking motion nearly sends me into orbit. My loud moan echoes through the empty range.

“There she is.” Satisfied, he adjusts the intensity, making me rise onto my tiptoes as an orgasm rushes forward, then dials it down to nearly nothing.

“Asshole,” I pant, trying to catch my breath.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

One hour and three boxes of bullets later, we leave the warehouse. Jax slings his arm around my shoulders, and I release a satisfied sigh after earning my six glorious orgasms.

The little girl is back in my mind, stuck, frozen in that reflection in the window. Her wide, scared eyes stare back at me, and I want to tell her it’s okay—that we can move past this—but she’s trapped. I’m trapped.

She’s stuck in that moment, but I need her to move. I need me to move.

I’ve spent so long locked in this memory, trying to forget the weight of it, trying to bury it in some dark corner where I wouldn’t have to face the truth of it. But she’s still there, preparing to wait for her cup of hot chocolate and a man who’s supposed to love her but never did.

Chills run up my spine, and I hug myself, rubbing my arms to chase away the gooseflesh as I look out the window at the expansive valley. It’s when my eyes focus on my reflection that the little girl comes back to me.

I close my eyes and blink hard, trying to shake the memory free, to bring it into focus. When I open them again, the reflection has shifted. I take a few steps back, and the little girl is gone. I’m looking at myself. But the sadness in her eyesstill haunts mine, and it feels like something inside me hasn’t changed. I’m still carrying that fear, still trying to make sense of what happened.

I turn my head toward a hallway where light spills from an open door, waiting for the sounds of my parents’ argument that I know will soon reach me.

The voice of my father booms like thunder, finding me first. My mother’s voice—desperate and pleading—follows. Her words are lost in the noise. No matter how hard I try to hear them, they keep dancing away from me. I can’t tell if it’s the absence of understanding what she is saying, or merely the sound of her voice, that makes me shiver. But I can’t stop it.

I force my foot to move, taking one step forward, then another toward the hallway. It’s dim around me—dark outside with low lights on around the quiet house.

---