My Irish Mafia King

Chapter 4

Four

KILLIAN

I spring up from my latest push-up set, my body burning, sweat sliding down my pecs and over my stomach as I try to force my mind not to think about earlier, about Lucy, about that smoking hot dress and her round mounds tempting me, her thick delicious legs in those stockings, the subtle makeup around her honey-colored eyes bringing out her natural beauty.

But trying not to think about her just makes it more difficult. My balls ache, full of lust, my shaft tingling and growing hard each time my memory goes back. I was so close to her, my body brushing hers as she led me to her dog, her round ass tempting me to reach forward, squeeze her, massage her thickness and make her shiver as she grew wet and excited.

Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling, knowing sleep is a long, long way off. It’s not because I’ve got a meeting with my uncle in the morning. He asked to see me, made it seem casual, like he wanted to catch up. We do this from time to time, and the meetings never amount to anything. But this time, I need to dig.

Did he have anything to do with my father’s car crash? Maybe he cut the brakes?

These thoughts are surprisingly quiet in my mind. Lucy is deafening. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful and sexy she looked this morning. Her expression had sassiness and confidence in it.

It was like she knew the effect she was having on me. The pendant rested near her cleavage, drawing my eye to her thickness. I can’t let her know how badly I wanted to let the demon out in me, how badly I wanted to rip down the front of her dress and reveal her gorgeous curves.

My mouth watered as I imagined massaging her breasts, sucking her nipples until they pebbled with desire, pushing her tits together as her moans filled the air, growing more excited with each sound. I envisioned sliding my hand up her stocking, pushing it down, slipping my touch into her underwear to find her wet, eager lips.

I can’t fight it anymore. The more I fantasize, the harder my manhood becomes, my lust turning to steel and pressing against my briefs. I wriggle them down, letting my hardness spring free, precome burning at the tip.

In my mind, she gasps, her eyebrows shooting up as she gazes at my length. When I wrap my hand around my base, I imagine it’s her touch instead. I feel her stroking up and down, coaxing more hunger out of me, her breasts shifting in time with her movements.

I imagine laying her on the counter, bringing my swollen desire to her entrance, looking into her honey-colored eyes as I push inside her. Oh, fuck. My hand moves so fast, precome slickly spreading up and down my length.

In the fantasy, she gasps, pushing her breasts together, nodding as she coaxes me closer to the edge. It’s like I can feel her tight, needy tunnel around my length as I squeeze my hand, as if her perfect body is begging me to unleash on her.

I lean down, no longer feeling like it’s a fantasy. It’s as if I’m in the bakery, my manhood buried inside her, our bodies rocking urgently. I can taste her lips, feel her body against mine. Her nails dig into my shoulders as she pulls me closer, moaning in my ear.

I groan, my hand pumping urgently up and down my rock-hard cock.

Hot come surges up my shaft, pulsing as my tip aches for release.

I gasp, come exploding out of me, landing on my firm stomach and slipping between the rivulets of my abs. I sit up, looking down at what I’ve done… it’s the first time I’ve pleasured myself thinking about Lucy, though I’ve thought about it a lot. Until now, I’ve managed to resist the urge.

Walking into the en-suite, I get in the shower and turn the water up hot, hoping to wash away what I just did. But now that I’ve crossed the line, it’s far too tempting to think about doing it again.

Uncle Frank calls me in the morning, asking if we can meet earlier. He sounds amped-up. I guess he’s been up all night and wants to sleep for the rest of the day, so he’s getting our catch-up out of the way early. I agree, but it means I’ll have to miss my morning ritual at The Celtic Crust. After my lapse last night, maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t know if I’d be able to keep my hands off Lucy.

I drive to Uncle Frank’s estate. The guards wave me through, and I meet Frank on the back porch. It’s cool out here, the ground frosted, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he puffs on his cigarette. His pupils are as wide as saucers.

“Nephew, dear boy,” he says in his classically over-the-top way, standing and clapping me on the arm. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a coffee.”

“I meant a proper drink.”

I almost point out that it’s not even nine AM, but even being the mafia prince has limits. “No, thank you, uncle.”

He shrugs, then calls into the kitchen. “Giles, a coffee for my upstanding nephew.” He stubs his cigarette out and then immediately lights another one, offering me one from the pack. When I shake my head, he laughs gruffly. “Do you have any vices, Killian?”

“Some people say I work too much,” I reply.

“That’s not a vice. That’s a compliment you give yourself while pretending to be humble. It makes men uncomfortable, being so… good . Especially in our line of work.”

“Is that why you wanted to see me?” I ask.

“It’s good for the men to see you visiting, Killian, you know that,” he says. “There was a time when they whispered about the ‘kill’ in your name. But that was before you took the honorable path.”

“The Family seems to run fine without me,” I say.

“I work hard,” Uncle Frank says proudly, sitting up.

It’s difficult not to laugh at this. Without his consigliere, Owen, I would’ve had to fight for power a long time ago.

“How are things in your line of business?” he asks.

“I can’t complain,” I say.

“It’s a curious thing to have… how many restaurants is it now?”

“Seven,” I tell him.

“And all of them are successful.”

“Some more than others, but broadly speaking, yes.”

“Yet you haven’t brought us into the fold.”

“I want to keep the restaurants separate from the mob,” I tell him. “I’ve been clear about that from the start.”

“You also don’t want to be involved with the Family,” Uncle Frank says, leaning forward and looking at me with watery eyes. “There’s a curious contradiction there… if you’re not part of the Family, how do you suppose you’d stop us if we made a move?”

“Don’t get it confused, uncle,” I growl. “I’m not involved in the mob, but there’s still a Family man inside of me. If you push too hard, you’re liable to wake him up.”

He chuckles. “Relax, Kill ian. It’s all in good fun.”

I don’t miss the emphasis he puts on ‘kill’.

“It’s the anniversary of Father’s death soon,” I say, watching Uncle Frank closely. “Have you given any thought to what we might do?”

Uncle Frank sighs. “Poor Patrick. It was such a tragedy. I’m sure we’ll have a memorial to honor him.”

“I’ve been thinking about his accident,” I murmur. “Dad was always such a skillful driver, no matter how tired he was. And that car was brand new. It’s strange the brakes weren’t able to stop him.”

Uncle Frank narrows his eyes. “Is there something you want to say?” he snaps. “Are you trying to imply something?”

“Excuse me, uncle?” I feign ignorance.

“Don’t give me that. That’s the sort of talk a man starts with when he wants to seize power. The brakes . Patrick’s death was an accident. Everybody has agreed to that for years. And now you’re starting with this crap? What’s your angle?”

Talk about defensive… “No angle. I was just making a comment. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

He clenches his jaw, looking like a scared little boy who’s concerned he’s gone too far. “Uh, sure.”

I walk into the house to Uncle Frank’s office, slip inside, and quickly search it. If he catches me now, it’ll be bad, but it’s a risk I have to take. I open and close drawers, check the cabinet, move aside folders…

Motherfucker.

The ring slips out of an envelope hidden in the back of a drawer. It’s got a smear of blood on it. It’s my father’s ring, the chunky gold one I remember being on his pinky every single day he was alive. The blood on it – he was wearing it during the crash. Did Uncle Frank keep it as a sick souvenir?

I take a photo on my cellphone and then replace it. If I take it now, Frank will know, and it’ll mean war. No matter how hard I try, it seems the mafia world is determined to drag me back in. I can’t think of a reason he’d have this ring except as a memento of what he did.

When I return to Frank, he claps me on the arm. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” he says. “Speaking about Pat… it hurts.”

This makes me even more suspicious. I can’t remember the last time I heard Uncle Frank apologize. For anything. “I understand, uncle,” I say, touching his hand and forcing a smile to my lips.

If my suspicions are correct, if the rumors are true, there will only be one path available to me.

Kill my uncle. Take the mantle of Don. Live the life I’ve spent years trying to escape.

And Mom asks why I can’t take things seriously with my lucky charm…