Page 135 of Working for the Mob

He glided his fingers down to my hips and found my bloomers. He snaked his fingertips beneath the waistband and floated each digit to the front.

“I thought you weren’t wearing these anymore,” he said, with an accusation in his voice.

“Art! It’s a party––”

“Do you plan on walking around with your dress hiked up for everyone to see?”

“––one we are going to be late to.”

He leaned in and whispered against my lips as his hands inched over my pubic area. “They’ll be fine without us.”

I gasped when his fingers found my sensitive nerve endings.

“We have the keys.”

“So does Lucy.”

“But I … need … to …” He massaged my clit, sending waves of ecstasy through his fingers.

The earrings I was holding clattered to the floor, and my knees weakened.

“I love that you stay wet for me,” he said, and I let out a sharp breath when he drove his slick finger inside.

“You have ten minutes,” I breathed, unable to find my voice.

“I can get there in five,” he said.

“That’s,” I gasped as he explored further, “not something to brag about.”

“I’m not talking about me,” he said, and lifted me onto the dresser.

He pulled down my underwear in one fluid motion and before I could say anything else, he freed himself to expose his sturdy erection.

I tightened my grip on his back while he slid into me. We shared a moan as he drove further in.

“We’re going to be so late,” I lamented, as he revved up his pace.

“I can stop if you need me to,” he said.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Good.” He grinned at me mischievously. A look I was still getting used to. “Because I lied. You’re so tight that I can’t stop. Even if I wanted to.”

These occurrences had been more frequent since that fateful night in West Lannington. Art found at least one excuse every day to check on the café and I’d meet him either in the backroom or his second new car in a month.

After Valuncia sped away, he had gone underground. He left his mansion vacant and neither Art, nor the East Lannington police had been able to locate him. Art said that even if we found him, the East Lannington police wouldn’t be able to build a strong enough case to keep him arrested.

At least Art hadn’t had any more problems with shipments coming into the city. He had even redone contracts with local farmers so we weren’t reliant on West Lannington for anything.

Barney Valuncia was to stand trial for aiding a kidnapping, but without Lawrence, the charges wouldn’t stick. Besides, anyone that questioned him agrees that Barney didn’t seem to be part of the uglier side of the family business.

I brought him a couple gift baskets in jail as a thank you for bringing me ‘refreshments’ that night. And because I felt bad about knocking him out with a chair.

I’m not sure if my dad is happy with my new life, but at the very least he’s accepted it. He returned to the city once he ensured that Lucy and I were safe and he calls every other day to talk. He often asks for Lucy.

He promised to come back soon.

“How about Cape Cod?” Art uttered between thrusts.

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