17. Callahan
SEVENTEEN
callahan
I grab my cock, vaguely aware that someone’s knocking on the locked door.
They can fucking wait.
I’m not done.
There’s no way in hell her first fuck is happening in a sex club.
I’m a pervert, but I’m not that much of a cunt.
At least, not when it comes to pretty Lucie Joy.
I need relief, though.
I should have come the fuck down her throat, made her pass out.
As it was, I played it dangerously close.
But I want her fully functioning, not passed out.
I want her punch drunk in the right ways when it comes to this experience.
But it’s time to mark her once more.
The final precursor to sex, the sealing the ownership deal.
Lucie could try and run if she’s a fool, but I already know I’d kill anyone in my way and burn down the world to get her back in my arms, in my home.
Love has nothing to do with anything.
Obsession’s a strange beast, and the one I have for her surpasses anything I’ve ever felt in my life, even that one time I was very young and thought I was in love .
Lucie is mine. Anywhere she tries to go, I’ll find her.
Shit. That makes me even harder, and I’m already too damn close.
She watches me, dazed, lying there naked…
shit, she’s a fucking full-on triple-X dream.
The personification of sex.
I start to stroke my dick, fingering each piercing, and her hungry gaze is on each movement, on my cock.
I stare at her, gaze moving between cunt, tits, and face, those lips red from arousal—lipstick long gone—the drool still on her chin beyond hot.
She bites her lip with each stroke of my cock.
There’s no way I’m gonna last.
Fuck.
Being in her mouth, fucking her throat, all that drool and pools of wetness around me, the tip of my cock down the tightness of her throat, her gag reflex kicking in …
that was one for the books.
I can still feel her mouth working me.
She’s fucking everything, this girl.
Complex. Hot. Perfect.
And Christ, the virgin’s watching me like she’s a sex goddess, like she’s totally fascinated and hungry.
I know one thing.
She’s not going to be a virgin come morning.
I’m going to claim her last two holes.
Her cunt is a visual feast. Her tight little pussy is spread open from my fingers, everything glistening, and I imagine how it’s going to look when I’ve fucked her senseless.
I grip my cock fucking harder, the ache in me growing by the second.
The pressure builds, the urge to release there, right there.
This is no longer in my control and I give over to my own chaos.
I fucking jack myself as hard as I can, the roughness adding an extra dimension I need because I’m looking without touching.
Then again…
I push three fingers into her, spreading them, opening her, thrusting in, syncing it with the pumps of my hand on my cock.
And my balls get tight.
Lucie starts to moan and I start to finger fuck her harder as my balls get high.
Then the pleasure shoots and she jerks against my fingers, spasms. I work my dick, the orgasm a wildfire in me.
I come hard, spurting cum on my hand, her pussy and belly, spurt after spurt as I grunt and jerk and cry out.
Then I’m done.
She reaches for my cock, pulling it to her.
She licks the sides of my shaft and it’s insanely good, that “too much” level of touch.
I could let her keep going.
I don’t. I just tuck myself away and kiss her, long and slow and sweet.
And then I untie her.
“No one,” I whisper as the knocking starts again, “can see in here. Go get cleaned up.”
She walks on wobbling legs toward the bathroom and I straighten my suit, acutely aware of how the room smells.
I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and go over to the door.
Thank fuck it’s Torin.
He doesn’t say a word.
“It’s all in order, though de Rosa could’ve run this better both in terms of aboveboard revenue and laundering. This place could launder way more and no one would even be able to prove it. Profits and fees for services here, along with memberships are the kind of thing that could hide a lot. He hasn’t taken advantage of it, Callahan. I’ll dig deeper as to why, get the accountant on it, but considering there’s a change of ownership, if he tried to palm off problems, then we’ll sort those without harm to us.”
I nod.
“That all?”
“For now. I think we should go. ”
“Declan?”
Torin’s mouth twitches.
“That and there are some… people who came in, who are known to be O’Sullivan associates.”
“Who?”
Behind me Lucie speaks and I don’t look back.
“Not your business, Lucie. You got your fill of live sex shows tonight.”
There’s silence, and bless her little heart, because she says exactly one word.
A word that spikes my blood pressure.
“Maybe.”
And I can’t control my smile.
“Fancy a dinner with your husband, Lucie Joy?”
“If I say no?”
Now I look at her.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No.”
“Excellent, yes, it is.” I turn back to my brother.
“They can’t know we’re here, unless they followed from the West Village or…”
“Or someone let it be known you now own this place.”
“We should find out,” I say.
“We should.”
And with that, we all head out.
I don’t see the men Torin told me about.
I don’t need to and I don’t look.
If they’re here for me, they’ll follow.
If they’re here to report on me, they’ll follow.
Shit, even if they aren’t, they’ll still follow if they see us.
The last is coincidence…
and I don’t believe in those.
“Who’s Sullivan?” Lucie asks casually, like I’m a nice guy she’s having a conversation with.
“O’Sullivan. And not your problem.”
“It is if I’m involved.” Lucie fixes me with a glare, but I see that post-sex softness in the depths.
“Babe, you’re involved because you’re mafia and you married me. Now behave and come on.”
I don’t know the place Seamus takes us to, but it’s dark and the food’s good and the conversation flows, and it’s easy to pick out O’Sullivan’s thugs.
But one is more debonair than the others.
The most dangerous.
“Dinner’s done.” We pay up and head out.
I turn to Seamus as Torin and Declan hover on either side of my bride.
“Get her in the car and take her home.”
“And you?”
I pull out my cigarettes and light up, breathing the smoke deep.
“Me? I don’t like waiting. Or games.”
“This is an O’Sullivan crew.”
“I know that, Seamus. Keep her safe.” With that, I turn, ignoring her shout, and head off down the street, turning into a dead-end alley where the dumpsters for the restaurants are kept.
The other side are shops closed for the night.
My gun’s loaded, ready, but I don’t grab it.
I lean against the wall and smoke, not looking when I hear the set of footsteps approach.
“Tell me where Osinov is, and I’ll let you live.”