The Gun Runner (Mafia Made) Page 7

  My tight jeans reminded me there was nowhere near enough room for my rapidly growing cock. While struggling with the mental urge to fuck her right there in the dressing room, I fought against the physical urge by painfully pressing my hands down against my overeager manhood.

  “I said you little shit, not you little slut,” I snapped back in the form of a whisper.

  “Oh,” she said innocently. “I still want to be your little slut.”

  My eyes focused on her glistening mound. Perfectly shaped, and swollen from her desires, the lips were exposed and wet as if she’d been playing with herself prior to my entering the room. A few seconds later, and my mind, just like hers, was stuck.

  I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock free of its restraints.

  “Are you going to fuck me?” she whispered excitedly.

  I stood with my cock in my hand, staring down at her irresistible pussy, and considered breaking one of the rules I had given myself when I became an adult. I decided the thirty-day rule would prevent me from becoming a man-whore, and would further force me to be certain of whether or not I wanted to have sex before having it.

  With her long brown hair hanging down past her shoulders, she stared back at me over her shoulder, waiting patiently for me to decide what my next step was. Her high cheekbones and slender nose accentuated her eyes, which were normally a very deep brown in color. Now seeming as black as the dress that was bunched up around her waist, they were a perfect match for her evil desires.

  I gripped my cock firm in my hand and guided it into her without so much as a warning. She lowered her head toward the bench and exhaled a muffled grunt as I pushed the first few inches of my length into her wetness.

  “Are you going to fuck me? That’s what you asked me, right?” I gripped her waist in my hands and pulled her ass against my hips, forcing a little more of my swollen shaft into her. “Does that answer your question?”

  Her breaths came in gulps. “Holy. Fuck.”

  “Holy fuck is right, Terra.”

  Her pussy was so tight I almost came on the in stroke. I clenched my teeth and gazed down at my shaft as I pulled it from her slippery confines.

  I pushed myself back in, this time almost giving her all of it. “I like that tight little pussy of yours, Terra.”

  A low rumble of a groan into the pile of clothes that were once neatly folded on the bench was her only response. I held myself deep inside of her and closed my eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of finally being with her in a sexual sense. A few seconds later I opened my eyes, satisfied I would never forget anything about what I was experiencing.

  I gazed down at her shaking legs. “You ready?”

  “I uhhm...I’m...” she stammered.

  “I haven’t got time to wait for an answer, this place is closing in about ten minutes. I’m going to give you six strokes, that’s it. You count ‘em. Ready?”

  She lifted her head, paused, and lowered it into the top of her purse. “Oh God.”

  I gripped her waist firm. “Oh God’s right. Now, count ’em for me.”

  I pushed myself into her fully.

  “One.” The sound was muffled by the Louis Vuitton bag her face was buried in.

  I pulled myself out and immediately pushed my entire length right back into her tight folds.

  “Two,” she breathed.

  A combination of having sex in the dressing room, her extremely tight pussy, and her muffled counting was almost too much. I felt my balls tighten. I arched my back and stared up at the ceiling, hoping I could at least last longer than she did.

  I needed her to remember it, no differently than I was sure I would. I wanted her to recall the event each and every time she grabbed her purse, saw the black dress, or heard someone mention Saks. I desperately wanted her to feel the exact same way about me that I felt about her.

  I gave her another powerful stroke.

  “Holy...three,” she muttered.

  I released her waist, reached under her right shoulder, and lifted against her until she was standing erect. Wanting more of her than I was getting, I pressed my chest into her back, buried my face in her hair, and inhaled a long deep breath.

  Lilacs, jasmine, and sunshine.

  I pushed her toward the flimsy wall separating our booth from the adjoining room. With her potential purchase wadded up around her torso and her bare ass smashed against my hips, I held her to the wall and slid myself out until the head of my dick was resting against her pussy lips.

  I pressed my mouth to her ear. “Where were we?”

  “You were...fucking...me.”

  “Three? Four? Five? Where were we?”

  “Two,” she lied.

  I grinned. “Ready?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I dragged my teeth lightly along her neck—from her ear to her shoulder—forcing my throbbing cock into her at the same time. My mouth came to a rest, and I reached into the dress and cupped her breasts in my hands. As I nibbled on her neck and shoulder, I continued fucking her at a steady pace—each stroke penetrating her fully.

  Her tightness gripped my cock like a vise. Each thrust became fractionally easier, inviting me to continue my exploration of her sexual stamina.

  “Two...”

  “Three...”

  I pounded against her forcefully.

  “Fuck. Yes,” she grunted. “Four.”

  “Yes.” She inhaled sharply. “Oh...God...Yes...”

  Her legs began to quiver. She moaned, this time much louder. With her boobs cupped in my hands, I pinched her nipples firmly and began to give her all I had.

  She blubbered until she reached eleven, and finally gave up. The grunting continued until the lights began to dim around us. As the dressing room went completely dark, I felt her tighten around my shaft.

  “I’m going to come inside you,” I moaned into her ear.

  “Oh God. Do it,” she begged.

  I felt my cock swell inside of her at the same time the inner walls of her vagina began to clench against me. Together, as if it were all part of some sexual master plan, we reached climax. Immediately following, her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the bench.

  “Holy shit,” she gasped. “So much for a candlelit room and roses for the first time, huh?”

  “Is that what you wanted?”

  “Hell no. This...” she waved her shaking arm toward me “...this is what I wanted. It’s what I need. Believe me. Good Lord. You’re going to have to carry me out of here. My legs are jelly.”

  All of the lights in the corridor with the exception of two were off, leaving the dressing room with an almost eerie glow. “Just wear that dress out. If we don’t hurry, we’re going to be locked in here.”

  “I don’t think I could figure out how to get it off anyway. You fucked me stupid.”

  I chuckled. “What?”

  “I’m stupid. Like a dumbass. You fucked me senseless.”

  “Maybe that’s what they mean by getting your brains fucked out.”

  “Obviously.”

  She straightened her makeup in her compact mirror and tossed her hair. After gathering her things and removing the tag from the dress, we did our best to straighten ourselves up and look like we had simply missed the announcement that the store was closing.

  We wandered around the store for ten minutes, eventually finding a clerk close to the exit. She appeared to be fifty years old, and had apparently spent her entire income on reconstructive surgery. Her hair hung straight down from her head like strings of white silk. As she noticed us approach, she cocked a hip, tossed her platinum-blond hair to the side, and stared.

  “We got stuck trying on clothes, and all of a sudden the lights went out. Can we pay for the dress and then you let us out?”

  She
glared at us like we were insane. “My till is closed.”

  I tilted my head toward Terra. “She’s wearing the dress.”

  “My till is closed. We’re closed. It’s ten minutes after. How did you not hear us announce that we were closing? We made two announcements.”

  I’d never been one to lie, and I didn’t think it was a good time to start. “I heard the announcement. We just didn’t get out of the dressing room in time. Can we pay for the dress and go?”

  “My till is closed.”

  “I got that. Your till is closed. But I don’t know what that means.”

  Obviously unamused, she glared.

  “I guess we’ll go back, change out of the dress and then we’ll need you to let us out of here.”

  “Push on the door and it’ll open,” she snapped. “You’ve got twenty minutes and then the alarm will sound. I suggest you hurry.”

  “I really want this dress,” Terra whispered.

  I shrugged and tilted my head toward the blonde monster. “I guess we’ll have to come back.”

  “Both of us?” she asked.

  “Both of us.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Terra cleared her throat. “How long until the alarm sounds?”

  “She said twenty minutes.”

  Her brown eyes fell to my waist and slowly raised up my frame until she met my gaze. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile.

  I stared back at her. “What?”

  “Ready to go again?” she whispered.

  I stared back at her in disbelief. She turned toward the dressing rooms and began to sashay again, driving me wild with nothing more than her walk. I realized it was quite possible I met my sexual match with Terra, but it was far too early for me to tell.

  I knew one thing for sure. I was willing to do whatever I must to find out, but so far everything told me this was going to be far from a no big deal relationship.

  And I was completely fine with that.

  Chapter Nine

  Terra

  I leaned over the edge of the table and put on my bitch face. “And I mean it. One word, just one, and I’ll hate you forever.”

  She took a sip of her drink. “I said I wouldn’t.”

  “Swear it. I mean it, Michelle. You have to swear.”

  “Okay, I swear.” She sighed. “Just tell me.”

  “You’re acting like it’s no big deal. But it’s a big deal. You need to understand that.”

  “It’s a big deal. If I tell anyone, you’ll hate me. I swear not to say anything to any-fuckin’-body.” She spoke like a Philadelphia Italian man.

  Michelle was my best friend since we were kids. We went to school together, her father and my father were very close, and although I didn’t know for sure, I believed he was a made man. If anyone would understand the problems I might face with having Michael in my life, it would be her.

  “I met a guy.”

  “Oh my God, that’s crazy, Tee,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

  “Just shut up and listen. I met this guy. He’s so fucking hot.” I rubbed my palms together frantically. It was exciting to finally tell someone. “So, I was in Starbucks, and Vincent came in. You know how he hated me going there, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, Vincent comes in and starts his bullshit, screaming for me to leave. I was like, ‘get the fuck away from me, you douche.’ And then he just grabbed me. Then, the fucker, he pulled me out into the parking lot like he was going to beat me up right there. Fucking people inside were all just staring at us like they didn’t give a shit. Anyway, I’m fighting him and kicking, and all of a sudden...”

  She leaned forward and stared with wide eyes. “All of a sudden what? What fuckin’ happened?”

  “There’s this whistle. Loud. Real loud. Vincent stopped. We both look over and there’s this guy. He’s dressed in a suit. A fucking suit, Michelle. He’s wearing a suit. So he says ‘let her go’ and Vincent says ‘you don’t know who I am’ and the guy in the suit says ‘I don’t give a fuck who you are, but you need to know who I am’ and Vincent says ‘who are you’ and the guy just fucking smiles. Then, he says ‘I’m the guy that’s going to kick your fucking ass.’ And he did. It was so hot.”

  She reached for her drink. “What? What happened?”

  “The guy takes off his jacket, pulls off his tie, and unbuttons his shirt. Then, he gets in this karate pose like some Chinese kung fu guy or something. And I was just like. I was like oh my God. And he hit Vincent so fast I didn’t even see it. Neither did Vincent.”

  She gulped down half her drink. “Holy shit. What’d Vinnie do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “The guy throat-punched him.”

  Her hands shot to her neck. “He hit him in the throat?”

  I wished he would have hit him harder, but I didn’t tell her that. I simply nodded. “Hard.”

  “Surprised it didn’t fuckin’ kill him.”

  “Me too.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “The guy told me to go get my shoe. Oh, I didn’t tell you that part. One of my heels fell off by the door while he was dragging me outside. So, anyway, I got my shoe, walked up to Vincent, and kicked him in the balls. Twice. And then I left.”

  “You kicked Vinnie in the nuts?”

  I chuckled. “I knew he wouldn’t do shit with that guy there.”

  “So what about the guy?”

  “I saw him again a few days later. At Starbucks.”

  “And?”

  “Well, he was a marine. He fought in the war. He’s an investor. He drives a BMW. He’s smoking hot, and now we’re dating.”

  “Get the fuck outta here,” she snapped back. “Dating? Shut up!”

  “I swear. And, guess what?”

  She shrugged. “What?”

  I extended each of my index fingers, placed them on the edge of the table several inches apart, and tilted my head toward my hands.

  “What?” She looked at my fingers and then at me. “What? I don’t get it.”

  I dropped my eyes to my fingers and grinned. “His dick.”

  “What? That? That’s his dick? Holy shit. You’ve seen it?”

  “He fucked me in the Saks dressing room.”

  “You had sex in the dressing room? At Saks?” She gulped the rest of her drink and waved at the waitress.

  “Sure did.”

  “With the guy that beat the crap out of Vinnie at Starbucks? You went and fucked him at Saks? What? Like thank you for saving me from my ex, let’s bone?” She laughed a playful laugh. “You slut.”

  “No. He beat up Vincent a month ago. I guess it’s been more like five weeks. We’ve been going out ever since. We had sex in Saks last Wednesday night. Well, that was the first time, anyway.”

  “The first time. That’s funny. Is he nice?”

  “Super nice.”

  “What can I get for you?” the waitress asked.

  “Two more,” Michelle said. “Vodka cranberry and whatever fruity shit she’s drinking.”

  “Mimosa,” I said.

  “No food?” she asked.

  Michelle laughed. “No, thank you.”

  The waitress turned away. Michelle faced me and tossed her hands in the air. “So what’s the big secret? Dressing room sex is hot, but really? I’m telling everyone. This is no secret.”

  “No, there’s more.” I inhaled a deep breath. “He’s white. And he’s not Catholic.”

  “What?” she screeched. “Your dad will fuckin’ kill you. And him.”

  I slumped in my seat. “Do you really think he will?”

  “I know he will. You know it too, Tee. Oh my God, really?”<
br />
  “But he’s perfect.”

  “Seriously? What are you going to do?”

  I had been trying not to think about it, but when I did, I told myself my father would understand if given enough time. Looking at the expression on Michelle’s face told me otherwise. Of the two of us, she was the most sensible, making arguing with her difficult.

  I slumped in my seat. “I don’t know.”

  She leaned to the center of the table and met my gaze. Her face was washed with concern. “You can’t get serious with him, that’s for sure.”

  The thought of ending my relationship with Michael made me feel sick. It wasn’t an option. “I think I already am. I mean, I really like him. A lot. He’s protective of me, he’s really sexy, and he’s funny.”

  She shook her head. “And your dad will kill him. The dead kind. Think about it.”

  I thought of some of the things I heard my father had done. I didn’t know if all of the stories were true, but he was believed to be a very vicious man when pushed to the point of being angry. I shrugged to make myself feel better about the situation. “Maybe not if he knows how I feel.”

  She coughed out a laugh. “Especially if he knows how you feel.”

  As I saw the waitress approaching, I sat up in my seat. “This really sucks.”

  “Sucks? If you really like him, yeah, it does.” She seemed to realize something, and chuckled. “Does he know you’re a mafia princess?”

  I shook my head emphatically. “No.”

  Her eyes shot wide. “He doesn’t know?”

  There was no doubt in my mind if Michael found out my last name was Agrioli, he’d react no differently than everyone else. At best, I’d immediately be labeled off-limits for being the mafia boss’s daughter. At worst, he’d think I was an extension of mia familia. Either way, telling him the truth was a losing proposition.

  “No,” I said. “And I’m not going to tell him. Not yet. I don’t want to, you know, cloud his judgment.”

  The waitress dropped off the drinks. “Still no food?”

  “No,” Michelle snapped. “We’re fuckin’ drinking.”

  She gave Michelle the stink eye and spun around abruptly.

  I often wondered what people actually thought about us when we were out together. We both had attitudes, but hers was much worse than mine. Rich bitches, spoiled brats, cunts, I’d heard it all when we were in school. I tried to tell myself as an adult I was better, but I wondered if I really was. She wasn’t any different than when she was in school, that much was clear.