Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
He lay beside me, the sheets down at his waist, his arm propped behind his head as he looked out at the view.
There was a foot of space between us, both of us hot and sweaty from the hours he’d spent buried deep inside me.
He reached for the nightstand, took a drink of his scotch, and then grabbed the cigar he’d set there. “You mind?”
“I like the way they smell.”
He grabbed the lighter and lit up. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Well, it looked like you were going to do it anyway, regardless of what I said.”
He smiled before he pulled a cloud of smoke into his mouth, letting the taste coat his tongue. After several seconds, he released, the smoke rising in the air and momentarily blocking our view of the lights.
We lay there in comfortable silence. The smell made me think of fonder memories, my dad smoking by the pool while my mother flipped through a magazine. I had a popsicle in my mouth. Lemon was my flavor.
He handed the cigar to me.
“No thanks.”
He brought it back to his lips and took another puff.
I pulled the sheets farther up my body and tried not to fall asleep. Wasn’t sure how I could be so comfortable with the biggest drug kingpin in France. It was easy to forget what he really was when he was everything else I’d ever wanted.
“Was it your father?”
My head turned to him, seeing him looking sexy as hell in the limited light. If I weren’t raw, I’d be on top of him right now. “Was what my father?”
“The one who smoked cigars.”
He was right on the money. “Yes.”
“So he wasn’t always an asshole…”
“Or I was just too young to realize it at the time.”
Silence trickled by for a while. “No chance you two will ever make up?”
“No.”
“Family is everything to Italians. May I ask what he did?”
I looked at the city lights as I considered my answer. “We don’t have to do the pillow talk thing.”
“That’s too bad because I enjoy your company.”
“Really?” I asked, finding that interesting.
He turned to look at me. “Why is that so surprising?”
“You don’t seem like a talker.”
“Guess you bring out a different side of me.” He continued to smoke his cigar and looked out the window. “My men are loyal to me. I’m always surrounded by a sea of people. Women are in my bed constantly. But I can honestly tell you I don’t have a single friend. Well…except one. And he’d probably tell you otherwise.” He gave a quiet chuckle.
I wasn’t the least bit surprised. You couldn’t make friends in that line of work. “You’d better not be friend-zoning me right now…”
He broke into a quick laugh, his chest rumbling with the sound. “I could never be friends with a woman with an ass like yours.” He took a final puff of his cigar then smashed it in the crystal ashtray on the nightstand. “I should get going. Got a lot on the docket tonight.” He rose from the bed, six-foot-something, all man.
Why didn’t good men ever look like that? I lay back on the pillow, too comfortable to ever move.
He looked at me when I didn’t rise. “You can sleep here if you want.”
“I just might.”
He cracked a smile. “Have breakfast in the morning.”
“Ooh, that means no dishes.”
His eyes continued to look amused.
I propped my head on one arm then patted the empty bed beside me.
He stood there, his eyes flicking to the spot where I wanted him.
“One more…before you go.”
Instead of giving me that arrogant smile, he consumed me whole with that stare. His knees hit the bed, and then he was on top of me, his lips sealing over mine as his big hand grabbed my ass and gave it a squeeze. “Yes, sweetheart.”
8
BARTHOLOMEW
I got busy at work.
There was a little organization on the streets of Paris that was selling my premium shit at an even higher premium. I thought I’d killed the rats, but of course, there was another nest…and then another nest. Most of the big bosses in the business ignored the little guys selling a couple ounces a week.
But not me.
I was the one and only.
I also had a partnership with Hell. I had become the lead distributor of their acid, taking a small fee because I’d done it as a favor—to get Claire back. The relationship was ongoing and took up my time. Sometimes it required my attention outside of Paris, and I would be gone for days at a time.
But I hadn’t forgotten Laura.
She was always on my mind, and sometimes I could still feel her warm tits in my hand when I closed my eyes. I was always open for business, but she revved up my engine to critical levels that couldn’t be satisfied with a whore. Even if we hadn’t been monogamous, any other woman would be a knock-off of the real thing.