RiaShe smiled as she saw the answering heat in Philippe’s eyes, the glazed look of a man battling with his desire and speedily losing the battle.She pouted and then touched herself, just there, her fingers moving in a rhythm. The Capo stepped to her; he had shed his shirt and she wanted to lick his body, the hard abs, the flat, dark nipples, the chest matted with hair. Her eyes met his, and he growled, slowly shaking his head,‘Naughty, naughty princess. You know I do not like you to touch yourself.’She smiled. She knew what was coming. He would punish her, his hands hard and compelling and she loved it.“Umm…hmm?’ she purred, her glistening wet finger having been roughly pulled out by her lover's large hands. Languidly, she trailed the wet finger over his chest and then raising her hand, sucked on the offending digit, tasting her own juices, her eyes on his hard face as he watched her, unblinkingly. The Capo's breaths were getting shorter.The girl before him was a temptress and s
LucienHe watched his Capo enter through hooded lids, his expression carefully hidden beneath a blank mask.His annoyance was palpable in the way he tapped the surface of his polished walnut desk with a pen and he saw the young man’s shoulders tense as he came to stand before the Boss.The Mafia Don looked at him and then growled,‘I will not stand by and watch if my daughter gets hurt, Capo.’Philippe felt the blood rush to his face. He steeled himself to meet the Boss’s eyes without flinching.‘Boss, ‘he said and his voice, low and intense, was honest as he replied simply,’ I love her.’He did not need to say anything more. The pale, almost glassy eyes of the Mafia Don were on him, boring into him. Philippe knew how much he loved his children, particularly Ria. It was the truth though; he adored Ria, and he would never hurt her.Lucien Delano grunted and made a slight nod to indicate that the younger man should sit.And he went over the details of the man the Capo was about to meet.
She sat now, cross-legged and smug; she had seen the flash of hurt on her mother’s face when she spoke, and conversely, it had only made her feel good. Mumma should know how it felt to be sorely hurt too. And the way her shoulders had slumped as she left, her eyes on the plate of cookies, discarded like trash on the floor; well, Tara felt a tad bit guilty about THAT. But Maddie had giggled, her black hair bobbing as he said,‘Ah, c’mon. Who cares for your Mom’s precious shi*ty cookies anyways?’ and she had kicked at the plate carelessly, causing it to overturn and create a mess on the carpet. Tara had been dismayed but seeing her look, Maddie had snapped.‘Come on, dummy. You have an army of maids. Surely someone can come and clean away the stuff?’A small war was going on in Tara’s chest. Something was wrong but she did not want to offend her friend who was so …so cool!Mumma had made her rules clear: respect the food you have.But Maddie…she had just…Tara did not want to lok uncool
LucienThere is a kind of fluid grace in her as she moves away and makes to get up, gently freeing herself from his restraining hand and floating to the bathroom as she disappears from view; at least, that is what it looks like to him as he lies, spent, his c*ck limp, his eyes on her.He is tired. He has drunk more than he intended to. And he has just killed a man, shot him, for being a traitor.*The news reached him that Orif Karimov, a man he did business with, another arms dealer from Uzbekistan, had been feeding information to the Monk. Without wasting a minute, Lucien had driven down to the wh*re house where the man had parked himself, secure in the belief that the Mafia Don would not find out about his treachery.*Lucien had walked to him, as Karimov lay sprawled on the bed, with three wh*res servicing him. His large eyes had almost bulged as the door was thrown open and Lucien Delano had entered with his men.‘What…hey man…’ the man had spluttered in his thick English accent,
Two years ago ‘Hey kid,’ said the voice from the other side of the hostel room, in the usual mocking tone that I had come to dread. I sighed as I turned to look at my roommate, Marianne Weston. A blonde with a figure like a model’s, tall and slim, who hated me for no reason that I could fathom. Except perhaps that I was so different from her—I came from a small town and was not wealthy, perhaps? As always, she was lounging on her bed, looking like a million dollars, a cigarette dangling from her perfectly manicured hand. * Right, let me introduce myself: I’m Proserpina Martinez, from a small town named Annabel’s Run, and I had to literally scrape through to earn my scholarship to get into one of the best universities in the neighbouring big city of Charlesville. My roommate’s parents were rich, and that would be an understatement. They fawned on their beautiful, spoilt daughter, lavishing her with presents that were ridiculously expensive, which she discarded as easily as used
The inside was a total surprise.The walls were draped with lengths of cloth, deep red and black and I felt a twinge of unease. From the distance, for we were in a dimly lit corridor, I could hear the sound of music, muted but definitely loud, and I trotted along the dimly lit corridor, behind the girl who had brought me here, although she was barely acknowledging me now. We passed a few men well dressed and sophisticated-looking, who glanced at me disdainfully, as though I was trash. I felt their eyes linger on my breasts and jogged forward quickly. Marianne was waiting impatiently at a door and she flung me a cool look as she entered, pushing past the bouncers who stood guard. Instantly, we were assailed by music, the smell of sweat and smoke, the fragrance of assorted perfumes and alcohol, and the sounds of…fists on flesh? I almost drew back in horror. But my companion, devious as she was, must have sensed my fear. She turned and gripped my wrist, her nails digging in as she hi
We entered a small cage like an elevator hidden by heavy red drapes that whisked us upstairs. All the while the man kept me imprisoned, his large hand trapping my arm painfully behind my back and I breathed shakily. I glanced fearfully at the man and his companions, with their blank faces, who were behaving as though it was normal for their boss to whisk a girl into an elevator and drag her to some unknown destination. Suddenly, we were upstairs and I blinked, completely disoriented by the change of scene. The entire corridor we had emerged into, was carpeted richly, in dull browns and maroon, the wood-panelled walls giving it a classy finish. Doors led off from the corridor but every wooden door was shut. The silence was also a sophisticated one, I thought hysterically as he dragged me along. It was entirely different from the raw, almost violent atmosphere of the large fighting club we had just left. The sights, the smells of that virile, primitive place were preferable to this co
Aunt Beth had always said that I was bad at telling lies. The man moved closer and I saw that his nose had been broken at some point in time and had healed but not too well. It gave him a frightening look, the thin, well-defined lips that were set in a firm line, those grey eyes that looked as though he could see into my soul. The scarred and pitted face. Ugly but commanding. His presence was unsettling; I wanted to keep my distance but like a moth, I felt drawn to him. Breathing shakily, I stepped back again and came up against the wall as he prowled closer, crowding me in. he was not very tall, but definitely bigger than me. But it was the breadth of his shoulders, the way he was built like a bull, that made me hold my breath. He smiled, a sinister, humourless twist of that beautiful mouth. And then he slammed his hands, palms first, on the wall beside my face and I jumped as I gasped, turning away, squeezing my eyes shut. His breath, whiskey-laden and hot, was on my face as he