Page 136 of Working for the Mob

“What about it?” I asked, and opened my eyes.

He pulled out, flipped me face down on the bed, and worked himself in. It was just a few trembling breaths before all of him was inside of me. From the new angle, he reached even deeper than before and I gripped him back with all of my muscles. I felt close to toppling over the edge.

“For the honeymoon. We could get a cottage by the sea. Take long walks. Drink expensive wine.”

He had yet to ask me to marry him and assumed a lot.

He cupped both my breasts and teased my already erect nipples between his fingers. He righted his forearms around my ribs and used them as leverage to pull himself deeper, which I didn’t think was possible.

“Goodness!” I yelped, and blindly reached for anything to hold onto.

“Is that a yes?”

“If you keep this up, you can take me to C–Coney Island,” I said, and he hugged me closer to him until I couldn’t move. I felt so helpless under him. He took total domination over my willing body and knew exactly how to use it. He thrust once. Twice. And on the third time he held himself there and I moaned out an orgasm that ripped open the cosmos.

The ripples pulsed through my body as he released his own climax inside me.

“Fuck Genevieve. I'm never letting you go again,” he said, a line he repeated often.

He kept his torso pressed against mine as he rode out the wave. All my muscles gave out and I laid limp in the bedsheets while the after-sex glow lulled me in peace.

I wanted to stay under him, with him inside me like that, forever. But I glanced at the plain clock that sat on his bedside table.

“We need to get going,” I said, but I couldn’t move. I wasn't sure whether it was because he was still in me, or because my body was entering a sex coma.

“You want to go again? I’ll need at least five minutes. And a cup of water.”

“No. To the party.”

???

“Genny, you’re late,” Lucy said, as Art and I slipped into the back room of the café. I hoped that our disappearance could go unnoticed.

“Are we?” I asked.

Lucy threw a disapproving look at Art, as though she knew why we were tardy. She had unfortunately been victim to walking in on us in the back room. More than a couple times.

She pulled a bare cake out of the oven, and set it on the counter to cool.

Of course Lucy looked ready for the party. An apron covered her off-white dress, which matched her post-maid hat.

“He’ll be here soon and everyone’s already out there. Mrs. Jenkins has been singing show tunes for a half an hour,” Lucy said, still cross.

“It is a party,” I said, unable to keep a smile from slipping to my face. I checked my watch. “We’d better get out there. We only have a few minutes.”

The café was full. Every seat was filled and people lined the walls with tiny plates and drinks in their hands.

Mrs. Jenkins stood at the front, singing in a falsetto that reached me in the back of the dining room. Miss Dunham clapped along with the crowd. I felt forever in their debt; they put their lives on the line to help save me and Lucy. Luckily, free coffees and scones for life was enough to keep both of them happy.

Jamie sat at a table near the register, shouting instructions to Cissy on how to make more coffee for everyone. I hoped he had her making decaf or this party would go on past midnight.

I waved and to Jamie, who beamed at the sight of me.

The front door swung open and Henry stuck his head in. “He’s coming!”

Art turned off the lights and the café held their breath.

In case Lawrence Valuncia came back, Henry had been spending every night at Lucy’s as her “guard.” But I didn’t need Lucy’s nose to know what they were really doing in an empty house to themselves.

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