Chapter 29
29
Valentine
M y phone rings in the dead of night. If it wasn’t Ronin, I wouldn’t accept the call, but we’re both working hard at building trust and alliances. Plus, he’s a moody, stubborn prick when I ignore him. It takes him forever to get over anything.
“Give me a sec.” I know he hears me when I get a grunt as a reply.
Leaving the call open, I dress quickly, throwing on some sweats and a long-sleeve Henley. Knowing we won’t be Face Timing, I don’t stop to check my hair or anything else before picking my phone back up.
“Is this a social chat?” I ask once I’m crossing the hallway and heading toward my office.
His distinctive Irish accent even affects how his laugh sounds. “You might be looking for a reason to bring forward a few of your plans. Watch the news.”
I hum a response and do as he suggests, also turning on the gas fireplace. Aesthetically, the glow of the logs is comforting, but the artificial setup lacks the smell and sounds of a real fireplace. For now, like the rest of our setup in this building, it works.
The promise of the wood-burning fireplaces at Vitale’s estate might be a small incentive, but it still feeds my long-term goal of wringing his fucking neck and kicking his ass to the curb—his dead ass, that is—before moving in and restoring the De Luca Estate to its former glory. Which is a tomorrow problem.
Ronin continues talking in a muffled voice to someone else while I get everything ready on my end. The obvious lack of background noise doesn’t give me much of an insight as to where he is or why he’s called, but he answers those questions as soon as he speaks to me again. “We don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m heading your way. You got the television on yet?”
“Channel?”
“CNN, BBC, and NBC have rolling coverage going. There’s no changing the outcome,” Ronin says, his mood souring the longer I take to get up to speed. “Can you help me out, Valentine? I can’t be in two places at once, but they took something of mine, and I need your help.”
“Give me a moment!” I cut him off and stare at the screen, reading the rolling headlines. “Are you fucking serious? What did you do?”
“I’m not having this conversation over the phone, Valentine. I’m on my way, whether you’re helping or not. But if ya not, it’s a feckin’ declaration of where your true loyalty lies,” Ronin snaps. As usual, when his anger surges, it makes his Irish accent thicker and even more difficult than usual to understand.
“Jesus, you’re an impatient bastard. I’ll help.” I rub my eyes, instantly wishing I hadn’t heard from Ronin. I have enough shit going on without him asking for my help.
And then the call we’re on drops, giving me the chance to turn up the volume on the television, so I can listen to the reporters’ run-down in their live crossover. The mysterious but violent death of two tourists from Ireland wouldn’t rate too high on the list of grievances for most moms and dads waking up to breakfast, but once Interpol gets involved, the news story will be explained very differently. Without question, within our world, shockwaves will be felt.
Ronin O’Connor is the eldest of six children and the only son to Paddy and Jeanie O’Connor. Paddy being the head of the Irish Mob, although his ability to hold that position is currently causing a lot of issues back in Ireland, considering he’s in a coma after being gunned down walking out of church. Jeanie woke from life-saving surgery and immediately made Ronin acting head, which clearly upset quite a few people. It shouldn’t have, considering it’s literally the reason he was conceived.
But a crisis always draws out the desperate, those who think they deserve a shot, and as a result, the Irish Mob are going through their own leadership issues. Though, being similarly aged and in almost identical situations isn’t what drew Ronin and me together; it was the murder of his youngest sister years ago. We found a common objective when we discovered our families, along with Cartel in Mexico, had been complicit in the skin trade and the production of snuff movies featuring young children.
After coming scarily close to killing each other in an ancient cellar full of evidence on the border of Croatia, we formed an allegiance. Well, in theory, Ronin, myself, and Santiago made the pledge, but Santiago has recently disappeared off the face of the earth.
While the three of us destroyed circumstantial evidence—apart from what we each needed as evidence against our own family members' involvement—and we buried the small bodies of the victims we were too late to save, the three of us made a blood promise to stop certain aspects of the underworld. Saying we would stop anything vaguely offensive would be hypocritical, but anything involving minors was on our shit list, same as people making sicko movies. Porn, in all its hardcore glory, was fine, since it was a money-making machine, but consent was king. Being involved in splatter films and snuff movies guaranteed you a painful death. Except, of course, we knew our allegiance would have to remain on the quiet, at least until we each dealt with our own quest of taking or reclaiming the title of our respective syndicates.
There aren’t too many instances in the past when three opposing forces tied the Cosa Nostra, the Irish Mob, and the Cartel together, but we had managed it. We even thought of a name for our alliance—Trinity. Sure, the risk was high, if any of our respective families found out. I suspect the three of us, and our packs, would be made an example of in much the same way we planned to make a violent, showy act of our arrival as the next, improved, version of how a syndicate should be run. A more traditional approach too.
The other part of the pledge was, we stay the fuck away from each other, unless we reached out for help. Then, without question, the other or others, depending on the circumstance, would be there. Hence Ronin’s call now.
My phone rings again, and it’s easy to hear Ronin is flying.
“I’m sending you an address and a pickup time. You’ll be good, right?”
“I shouldn’t be late, but considering we weren’t exactly planning for today, I may well be. I’ll keep you updated, but so far, you’re traveling undetected, my friend.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I dropped you in the middle of it, but some things family should not do to each other, you know?”
“I’m well aware.” The sarcasm in my voice is impossible to miss, but it’s not aimed at Ronin and he knows. “You owe me.”
Ronin laughs, carrying on like it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever said to him, before he cuts off abruptly. “Will I, yeah?”
If I was looking at him, his eerie green eyes would be glazing over with simmering violence. The sounds he makes tell me how pissed off I just made him.
“Ronin, cut the shit. What am I picking up?”
The prick ignores me. “You’ll know when you pick it up, yeah? Now, I’m not quite sure of the welcome you’ll be walking into.”
Which means I’m walking into Irish Arma-fucking-geddon, because they like blowing shit up or burning things to the ground.
I barely swallow a growl, getting a better understanding of how messed up things could get now. When Ronin is pissed, he does not falter in his vengeance.
“Promise me, if anything happens, you’ll make good on looking after my wife.”
Of course, letting Ronin and Santiago know I’m married happened at the same time I was forging her signature.
As if by magic, my door pushes open slightly, and she walks in, looking bleary-eyed. Her hair is still up in a bun, which is how it was when we carried her to bed last night. I wave her in when she leans against the door, not sure if she’s welcome, but I also indicate I’m on a call.
“Feck off, ya fecking twat. Fecking triple-checking on something we pledged aeons ago…”
I mute the call when she stops mid step at hearing Ronin lose his shit. The first time I heard it, it was intimidating, but I’ve had a few years to get used to it. “Come here.”
I unmute the moment she restarts toward me. I’m completely distracted by her as she emerges from the shadows. The flickering light of the fire dances over her bare legs. I take my time listening to Ronin but focus on Layne; her face is flushed and her scent is like a runaway train slamming into my face. I have to close my eyes and lean against the back of the chair. I tap my leg for her to sit. She looks like she needs the touch of an Alpha, but instead of climbing on my lap, she drops to her knees.
And opens her mouth.
I don’t think I have ever gotten so fucking hard this fast in my life. Putting the phone on the edge of my desk, I lift my ass. Before I can do more, Layne’s hands are in the waistband of my sweats, pulling them only part way down my thighs.
She brings a finger to her lips, indicating for me to be quiet. I don’t even get to take another breath before she wraps both her hands around my length and licks her tongue over the head of my cock.
“We need to talk about that feckin’ cock-up mess of yours too. I’m not a lay-by service. Payment on the shipment was considerably less than what we agreed, and don’t you be using the exchange rate as a bullshite excuse,” Ronin says once he’s got control of his volatility again. Sort of.
I pull over my laptop, smacking a few buttons on my keyboard to hide the rush of my breath. Layne stops suckling on one of my piercings, her eyebrow raised in challenge.
But I love a fucking challenge. I tilt my hips, closing the distance between us again and returning her lips to where they were. While I talk tactics to avoid customs and arrange shipment drops, she twists her tongue over each of the four studs crowning my head. Her tongue is nothing short of magical, the way it wraps around each ball, but it also darts out so she can lap at my slit, moaning each time she tastes my beading pre-come.
I pull my cock out of her mouth, staring at her noisy slip-up, but she rolls her eyes and winks before mouthing “I’ll be quiet” at me.
Sitting back, I spread my legs as wide as they’ll go in my sweats.
“You had any issues with the Petrov’s recently?” I ask Ronin as my wife all but inhales my cock, taking me deeper inside her lush mouth. Her tongue swirls and licks faster, and she mixes it up, hollowing her cheeks to suck as she bobs up and down. My hips rise up to meet her warm, silky mouth, and I hit the back of her throat, making her gag at the same time Ronin starts a different update on some shit he’s having with the Russians. I should care, but right now, I really fucking don’t.
Dropping one of my hands to the back of her neck, I hold her while she swallows most of my cock, then I interrupt Ronin.
“We got hit yesterday.”
“Did ya, now? Isn’t that interesting,” he starts, and I let him run his mouth off about suspicious activity going on that could correlate, or it might have nothing at all to do with what happened yesterday…or whatever goddamn day it was.
Layne is mesmerizing. She refuses to take her wicked lips off my cock for even a second, only breathing through her nose. She is careful, quiet, and when she’s ready, she looks at me through hooded eyes as she deep throats me before massaging my knot, clearly wanting more than just a sip of my pre-come.
I flip the phone on mute again. “Do you want more of a taste?”
She smiles, her lips stretching wider around my cock.
“You are not to make a noise. And you will swallow everything I give you,” I insist, holding her face between my hands, gently thrusting into her mouth while she nods her agreement. “Don’t spill a drop.”
Picking back up the call, I argue with Ronin about his recent increase in shipping costs while I fuck my wife’s throat with an increasingly steady tempo.
“I have to go,” I snap when she starts doing something fucking tricky, swallowing my cock so hard, her throat squeezes around it, like a fucking massage.
Ronin laughs again. “Like I said, Valentine, I’ll message you later. Tell your wife good morning.”
I hang up on him. I don’t give a fuck that he heard whatever he thinks he heard.
“You come in here and start every morning like that, and I won’t have any alliances,” I growl, though there isn’t one note of anger or frustration in my voice. Nothing but pure fucking want.
Layne’s eyes are swimming with heat. Her own arousal hangs thick in the air, like the world’s best fucking perfume made just for me, and it twists the pleasure strumming through my body to an even higher level. “Show me what a good wife you are.” My hands bury in her hair as I shove my cock in her throat, half standing up in the process. Without missing a beat, she leans her head back even farther, and my knot slams against her nose.
I worry she’s going to choke out for half a second until I hear the moans she makes. She uses one hand around my knot, massaging my pleasure even higher, but the second she drops her other hand down to play with her own pussy, I bark.
“Don’t you dare touch yourself. It’s my job to make you feel again. That cunt is mine.”
Her eyes roll back in her head, her scent getting even more potent, but eventually, her eyes float back to me. Her want and need is even more evident now; it makes the color of her eyes look like melted pots of burnished gold. Despite the wild look in her eyes, she listens and returns her hand back up to my thigh.
The way she is so responsive to anything I say feeds the arousal swirling between us. Her cheeks hollow, and she stays still as I control how fast I fuck her face. Her chin gets wet from her saliva and my fucking pleasure each time I thrust in and out of her beautiful mouth.
Then she starts swallowing as I fucking erupt, making her cheeks puff out. The sound Layne makes as she gags past the sudden intrusion of my come in her throat is lyrical.
“Swallow it all,” I demand when she struggles. But there’s no fear or concern in her eyes, nothing but building, burning desire.
I go to pull out of her lush mouth, but she digs her nails into my knot, making me pitch up on my toes. The sensation of her touch is a knife's edge of pleasure and pain.
“I want every drop,” she insists on a husky groan. Locking those caramel eyes on mine, she takes her time licking every inch of my cock absolutely clean. She knows how overly sensitive my piercing is, but she doesn’t stop or falter each time I pitch up as she unleashes sensations on each of them.
“Good girl. Now get on my desk,” I snap. My tension should be hers. She should be desperate and anxious for a release. She is—her scent tells me how fucking turned on she is—but she’s not in a frenzy. Which is a sign of her approaching heat.
“Are you going to let me take care of my stunning pussy now?” I ask her a lot more gently as I raise her up to sit her ass on the edge of my desk.
Reaching around her, I shove my laptop out of the way before helping her lie backward. Pulling her feet up to the armrest on my chair, I spread her legs as wide as they will go before using my thumbs to open her glistening cunt wider.
The sight that greets me is to die for. Her folds are blushed and puffy, the slick coating them highlighting what a great-looking pussy she has.
I grab my phone and take a series of photos, trailing my finger through her swollen and glossy folds. Her slick has made her pussy look like it’s dipped in honey. Happy with my photography, I dip down for a taste and instantly change my mind; it’s liquid caramel her pussy has been dipped in. And I want more.
“Your feet don’t move. And leave these nice and spread,” I say, my words blowing my scent over her pussy, and she quivers.
Covering her completely with my mouth, I wouldn’t have been able to stay quiet, even if I had a loaded gun to my temple. She tastes so good, I groan as her unique flavor hits my tongue, making my mouth water.
Her taste moves through my blood like a drug would. My head spins in slow, dipping circles as I devour her.
Layne’s eyes stay watching, though her hand snuck under her flimsy shirt when I wasn’t looking, and I growl at her twisting her nipples. Both of them. Hard.
As I flick my tongue deep inside her, her channel pulses around me, and my cock stirs back to life. Although, I don’t think I ever stopped being hard after shooting my load down her throat.
I suck on her clit the same way she suckled on my tip, until she’s thrashing under me, then I stand and power inside her tight body.
Climbing half up on the desk, I clamp a hand on the opposite side of the table so I can drive my knot straight in. She takes it too. Her body is so primed and ready, full of need and want.
There is no sweet coming together. Layne thrashes under me, begging me to lose control and rut into her sweet cunt to fill her over and over.
“Bite me,” she snarls, her eyes fully dilated, her face sweating.
“No chance.”
“Why?” she whines submissively, while her body maintains its frenzied fight.
Instead of answering her, because I nearly fucking cave and do bite her, I kiss her, slowing down the way we fuck, giving her body what it needs instead of giving in to her heat spike.
Kissing Layne is as exquisite as everything else about her. And in no time at all, she starts to respond to my influence and snaps out of the sudden spike that consumed her—and me. The chase we both got caught up in burns itself out, and in doing so, it tempers the edge of a rut I was circling.
As quickly as we nearly dropped together in a frenzy, we climb back out of our frantic fucking to a more intimate coming together. One where each touch lingers, each noise echoes, and when I swipe my thumb over her engorged clit, she doesn’t explode; she dissolves in a trembling and ebbing wave of pleasure that sweeps me up as quickly as it did her.
All around me is her unique scent. It’s in me deep and so incredibly potent. Her pleasure radiates, and when I fill her again, there’s no urgency. Instead, we share a sense of homecoming, an experience of two people becoming one—a coupling.
She sighs out her pleasure as she continues melting under me. Our mouths stay fused as one, but our kisses are sensual, softer until I break away, leaning my head on my elbow to brush the hair off her face.
There are things I should say. Are you okay? rates up there. But it feels like, if we talk, it would diminish or lessen the connection we’re both caught up in. I trail my fingers over her face until the haze that we both nearly drowned in disperses completely.
“I need medication,” she says eventually, her lips twisting into a very satisfied smirk.
“That may be a good idea.” Leaning down, I bypass her lips, as tempting as they are, and lick over her scent gland. All but confirming—without words—that she should never question that my intention is to claim her very soon.
My phone rings as I go to move, Ronin’s name flashing on my screen, and I answer it without pulling out of my wife.
“Yeah?”
“Ya finished? Jesus, ya poor fecking wife, Valentine.”
“Fuck you.”
Ronin laughs. The sound is way too loud, and instantly my body feels too small, my emotions bubbling up too quickly, but Layne keeps me from going off like a rocket when she raises a hand and cups my face. I rest in her sweet hold, closing my eyes while I focus on listening to Ronin confirming the package will be ready to collect at noon.
As soon as I say goodbye again, she takes the phone from my hand, hangs up, and then drops it to the floor before sitting up. But she doesn’t let me go; she doesn’t let me pull out of her body. Instead, she pushes me backward, making me lift her up and off my desk as my ass hits the chair, then rides me slowly, leading me to another unexpectedly tender moment.