Cosa Nostra: A Steamy Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 2)

Fifteen hours

and twenty-two minutes left.

I CROSS my legs up on the mattress. Staring at the floor plan of our new house in Brussman, I walk my finger down the hallway and into the master suite. It’s an open-plan bedroom with a resort style ensuite that is separated from the main area by white shutters. I imagine opening those shutters and touching myself in bed while I watch my husband shower. I picture him catching me, grinning menacingly, and running out to grab me, still dripping with water, leaving wet, size-eleven footprints in the carpet. He will carry me to the shower and make love to me under the flowing water.

We are not saying goodbye.

This is not a fantasy; this will happen. I have an entire house and yard to decorate. A baby to nurse and play with. Shaking my head, I smile with tears in my eyes. He did this so I’d be busy. Too busy to miss him, perhaps. He really does underestimate just how much I love him with every fibre of my being. In all the seconds. Not just the lonely ones.

I wipe the tears as they fall, having promised him we are not saying goodbye.

Max has asked two things of me, both of which are incredibly painful and impossibly hard.

Not to go to court tomorrow.

Not to visit him in prison.

I exhale a shaky breath, the two requests terrifying to think about. To accept. I understand them though, and that is why I will do what he has asked. Because no matter how hard I think this is for me, I know. . . God. . . I know it will forever haunt him. So I’ll do what he needs me to do to get him through this. I know, he can’t be soft. Not in there.

I just pray – even though I’m not religious. . . I’ve never understood people who pray. I suppose, I have never felt so powerless that I needed a miracle. So unable to dig deep and fight my own way out of a situation.

Absolute helplessness.

So I pray. I pray that when he is released, he can find that gentleness again, dig it out from wherever he had to hide it, and shine a light on it. . . for me.

Max is downstairs right now with his brothers, sharing final moments of laughter and messages of wisdom that I am sure would break my heart to hear. They will be accompanying him tomorrow morning to court. Butch. Clay. Bronson. Xander.

Flick and Stacey will be here at nine to hold all the pieces of me together until the boys come home. . . come home. . . with one less person. I jump up from the bed and rush to the bathroom, wiping at my eyes as the tears fall.

Quickly, I wash the sorrow away.

We are not saying goodbye.

Standing in front of the mirror now, I turn side on and trail my hand over the taut skin covering our blob. I hear the bedroom door open, so I walk slowly out to find Max sitting in the spot I was previously, looking at the house plans.

‘Come here, little one,’ he orders, placing the pieces of paper onto the floor.

I make my way towards him, crawling along the mattress until I am in his lap. He pulls me in closer, cradling me against him. I bury my face against his chest. As aligned with his heart as I can be, I listen to its beautiful beating cadence.

This is my other half.

The person I will grow old with. This is the sound of his life source.

I nuzzle in deep, the scent of his soap, sweat, and him, the ultimate aphrodisiac. Needing to be closer, as close as two individual people can be, I lift my head, cup his cheeks, and plant a devouring kiss on his lips. The heat between us ignites.

Max moves me around the mattress, flattening my back and mounting me. As his tongue strokes inside my mouth, I fumble with his jeans, the button, the zipper. . . Get them off. He kicks them from his ankles. His shirt comes off and flies across the room. Floors always look better with Max Butcher’s clothes all over them. I trail my fingers down taut muscles covered in hot smooth skin, his washboard ridges contracting as I awaken them with my touch. My hands meet the seam of his white boxers, then one dips beneath them in an attempt to band the large breadth of his penis. I fail to circle it all. Its form lengthens. Thickens. Pulses.

He growls, thrusting his hips into my palm. ‘Fuck, Cassidy. My Cassidy.’

Our mouths dance together. We share breath, unwilling to break away. We would rather suffocate. I stroke him and we kiss passionately. I stick my tongue in his mouth and he sucks on it the way I know he likes. As I drag my hand up and down his expansive shaft, the tension and strength in it beats against my palm’s rhythm.

‘Make me come, little one. Good girl.’ He growls when I speed up. Feeding his hand up the inside of my leg, he touches my knickers, then works them aside to stroke the lips between my thighs. A single finger trails the length of the valley between my folds, getting wetter and wetter, before pushing between them.

‘Oh, fuck. I crave your little pussy, Cassidy. The way I have to convince you to let me in. The way you grip me like you never want me to leave.’ I arch my back on a tremor when his knuckles meet my entrance, feeling him beautifully deep. My mind wrestles between the sensation wanting to consume me and the gruff demand to make my husband come.

He drives his hips into my fist, doing all the work himself so that I can shamelessly chase my own high. Another finger pushes inside me, applying pressure to that perfect spot, too much pressure. I mewl against the onslaught. Heat rolls through my muscles, reaching a boiling point before crashing together at the tips of his skilled fingers. I moan and he eats my sounds of delight.

I release my grip on him, the rolling delight of my orgasm loosening me, making me feel as though the very connective tissue holding my muscles together has fallen apart. Melting into the mattress, I barely notice when he removes my knickers and camisole, leaving me bared to him. He stands up and gazes down at my naked body, emotion shadowing his grey-blue eyes, revealing a crack in his resolve.

It’s gone almost as soon as I see it.

We are not saying goodbye.

He disappears into the bathroom but quickly returns, rubbing his erection, the smooth skin glistening with a kind of lotion or oil. Swallowing hard, I scoot backwards slightly as he stalks towards me. He is on me before I can think. His lips find mine, our breaths collide, but he doesn’t kiss me. Grey-blue eyes gaze into my being. I hook my legs around his back, and he threads his arm between our sweat slick bodies until he gets to a place that makes me suck in a sharp breath. Stroking my puckering hole, he uses the wetness all over my lips to ease passage inside me. I open my mouth. My eyes widen.

He doesn’t kiss me.

He stares into me unapologetically because it is his right. I am his. ‘I want to watch you take me, little one.’ He begins to move his finger inside and my eyes roll into the back of my head, forcing them shut. ‘You like this, little one. Sometimes when I want to get you off again and again, all I need to do is stick my finger up your tight little arse and you come hard.’

I don’t understand it myself. The sensation is so erotic, I can barely control my own body. I squirm around as he moves his finger inside me, twisting and rolling. . . Then he stops. Pulls out. My eyes fly open when I feel the crown of his erection meeting that hole.

He drops onto one elbow, combing his fingers through my hair as his thumb strokes my pinkening cheek. His other hand moves from his erection to my hip, holding me still. His eyes soften, inches away, boring into mine.

I see vulnerability.

I see honesty.

No bares held emotion.

We are not saying goodbye.

‘If you want me to stop, say it now.’

‘I don’t want you to stop. Please, Max.

‘I’ll go slow.’ He starts to roll his hips in shallow dips, squeezing his erection between tight muscles. I inhale quickly, tensing up everywhere. The feel of him is impossible. Impossibly big. Forgetting how to exhale, I hold my breath.

I see the pleasure in Max’s eyes as I squeeze against his penetration, the challenge to get inside me only spurring him on further.

And now I can’t feel my lungs. Diaphragm. Any part of me that once understood the mechanics of breathing has been rendered useless.

‘Breathe, little one,’ Max whispers through a groan, pushing in slower. Unhurried. Inch by inch. ‘Keep breathing. You’re doing so good. You’re such a good girl. So good to me.’

I am pinned down by his scorching hot gaze, loving me, lusting for me.

Our noses slide together.

I’m exquisitely stretched – impaled. I don’t know how deep, but it’s the only body part I can feel. The only part of me that exists. All my sensory cells, pain and pleasure, they all cling and convulse around his deepening plunge.

A sound comes from my throat. A whimper. A mewl. A whine.

When I feel his balls touch my backside, I know he’s in fully.

Both hands meet the side of my head, holding me in a vice. ‘Relax. I’m going to move now. Relax and breathe deeply with me.’

As he begins to draw out and push back in, my every sense now revolves around his penetration. I sink my fingers into his shoulders, gripping him as though he is the only thing keeping me from losing my sanity. Tears glide down my temples and puddle against his palms. The stimulation is shattering to my nervous system.

He rubs the side of his nose along mine. ‘You’re doing so good. Feel so good.’ He praises me over and over, broken whispers that flow straight into my mouth, rough exhales that heat my lips like flames licking out from a hearth.

Picking up pace, he curls my backside up with each roll of his hips against me. My entire world is channelled in my pelvis, my mind incapable of wandering.

No sadness.

Just him and me – us.

Releasing my face, he grabs my hand and slides it between our bodies, coaxing me to stroke my throbbing clit with my own fingers. I pulse against the pad of my forefinger. When I begin to masturbate, he moves faster inside me. Max’s complete domination of my body throws me to a whole new level of arousal. Then, through the unparalleled pressure moving up into me, it happens. I feel pleasure bubbling. A shock of desire causes all the muscles inside me to jolt. Vibrate. Max groans long and loud in a guttural pitch like I have never heard from him before.

Like pain.

Too much pleasure.

‘Come, little one. Your little pussy is begging for it.’

Or is that me? Pain. Too much pleasure. I convulse on that intense current, screaming out loud and shuddering with the aftershock of a savage orgasm.

My head rolls on the pillow as I moan.

‘Good girl,’ he growls as he tenses up, his body losing its precise beat, becoming shaky and uncontrolled. His fingers knot in my hair, and we break eye contact when he squeezes his shut, coming with a fierce groan.

When my body drifts down from that consuming state, I brush my fingers up through his brown hair, holding his forehead to mine with hopelessness. I blink more tears out as our reality tumbles back on top of me. What time is it? How long do we have? I lift my chin to press my lips to his, move down his strong jawline, and across his throat.

‘I don’t want to sleep,’ I rasp out against his sweat slick skin. ‘I’m going to stay awake all night.’

My body is thrown to near climax when he shifts his weight to the side. His penis slips from inside me, still hot and semi-hard, the release of which is so sweet and yet any absence of him is unbearably sorrowful.

He spears me with an intense look. ‘We’re going to shower. Eat. I’m going to lick your sweet pussy. And then I’m going to stare at this face’ –he trails his knuckles down my cheek–’until I can’t forget how it looks. How it moves.’

We are not saying goodbye.

‘Will you stay awake with me?’ My voice trembles something awful.

‘I’ll stay awake all night, little one,’ he promises, cradling me against him as he stands and strides into our ensuite.

We are not saying goodbye.

A WHINE.

Something wet slides across my cheek. I’m snatched from peaceful oblivion back to the waking world by a strange sound and that sensation. The sun glows behind my eyelids. Something touches my leg and I smile, curling to my side to cuddle- I shoot up. My eyes fly open. Startled by the sight before me, I nearly fall off the bed. Big brown eyes watch me. A wet black nose meets my hand, nudging softly. She is a big puppy. Brown and black, probably a German Shepherd. She is on her belly, her tail swiping across the sheets with excitement.

‘Hi. Who do you belong to?’ I ask, ruffling her fluffy brown mane.

Smiling softly at her, I am suddenly hit with panic. What time is it? I fell asleep.

I fell asleep!

I dive from the bed, grabbing my robe and wrapping it around my body. I stumble through the bedroom door. My heart thrashes around inside me, its frantic thundering hurling me into a frenzy. No. No. No.

The puppy rushes after me, tumbling its chubby body into my heels. I take the staircase down, each step huge, one after the other, a never-ending decline. At the bottom of the stairs, I dart my gaze around, looking for a sign I am not alone. Anything at all.

He’s just getting a drink.

What time is it? I hear a car engine and my head snaps towards the front door. I race over to it, opening it wide, before coming to a dead stop on the porch.

The Butcher boys are climbing into a black car, all in dark suits as if they are going to a funeral. Max freezes when he sees me, his eyes piercing through mine. He stands with one foot in the passenger door, his tempestuous grey-blue eyes glistening in the gathering dawn.

I watch his throat roll. ‘She’s yours.’

Tears burst from the corners of my eyes, the heat and power of them burning my irises. I want to sink to my knees and cry hysterically. Scream at the pavement.

I don’t though.

Instead, I lean down and scoop my puppy – Clara – into my arms. Her tongue whips out to catch my tears as they flood down my face.

Are you scared, Max?

Don’t lose your gentleness in there.

I shake my head through sobs of despair. ‘Weren’t you ever going to tell me that you love me, Max?’

He smiles softly. ‘If I don’t, will you still know?’

I laugh through a splutter of tears, nodding my head frantically. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He climbs into the car and I take a step closer, my body trembling with the need to race after him, to beg him to run away with me, to flee with me to Bali or New Zealand or anywhere. The place doesn’t matter. Just leave the District. Change our names. Have babies and puppies and placemats and-

He shuts the passenger door.

My feet suddenly feel like lead.

The car rolls slowly down the driveway.

I can feel that my heart is still beating. But I’m stunned. Stunned it hasn’t just decided to wilt and die.

I don’t know who you’ll be next time I see you, Max. . .

On shaky legs, I make my way back to our room. I softly close the door, locking myself away from everyone and everything. I stare across the empty space in a horrendously painful state of being. Lost. A chill moves down my spine, so I hold Clara tighter. My pooling gaze lands on his bedside table, on a pile of paper folded down the middle.

A letter.

I place Clara onto the floor and move over to stare at the paper. Twisting my wedding rings around my finger, I remind myself that he has promised me a future with him.

Cassidy Butcher

I unfold the sheets.

The salty droplets pouring from my eyes slap the white sheet, beading on top of the fresh red ink. I read the pages, the words blurring through my tears. I run my finger over the cursive writing. Then I reach for the pen that created these beautiful words, still with its cap off, and slash a red line straight through the first sentence.

One down.