then she gasps as I pull her up and turn her.

  “I’m making love to you. This is the first part.”

  Her eyes widen and she chews her lip.

  “Will there be other parts?”

  “There should be. Many.” Her breasts heave and her lips pout and shine. Color prickles in her cheeks and her neck.

  “Do I get a choice?”

  “Oh, yes. You can have many choices.”

  She turns and marches with me. When our heads move side to side, her body guides me. Tells me with her hips which way she wants to go. And as she turns from her waist, she looks in my eyes as her spine flexes, moving her ass into my hand.

  I take charge again. And she lets me. Until we’re in the middle of the floor. There she shows me that she wants to spin.

  I’m vaguely aware of everyone around us paying more attention to us, and less to their own dancing. Space clears around us.

  My chest swells. I don’t think my cock has ever been filled and straightened so thick or ached so hard. But I don’t want to embarrass her. Not in public. I want to do filthy and totally shameful things to her and with her. But not where we can be seen.

  I’m weighing the consequences and fall-out if I march her to one of the hotel suites. Right now.

  Everyone will notice that I’m missing. That’s a given. It won’t take long for people to realize that the girl I was dancing with has gone, too. Too bad.

  But, seriously. Too public. Not now. At any other time, I might not think twice. Even at one of my kids’ weddings. But right now, too much of our world is ready to catch on fire. I need to hold up a solid image of strength.

  And anyway, I know she’s enjoying the dance, but she wouldn’t be seriously interested in me. I’m too old, too evil, and way too filthy for a beauty like her. And she deserves so much better.

  But I have to tell her, “You are wonderful. I know a million men must tell you that every day.”

  Her breath is like a whisper as she says, “They don’t.” And she licks her lips. “And I wouldn’t care if they did.”

  I like that spirit. “And I’m sure you don’t care about me saying it, either.”

  Her lips peel apart, slowly. She’s starting to say, “I do…”

  Her Elvis impersonator rushes up to her. I feel like knocking him down just for the way he looks. Turd.

  “Hey,” He’s saying, “Get ready to leave. Meet me down on the parking level.” When she glares back at him and she doesn’t turn to leave, he grabs her arm. She scowls down at his hand.

  He tugs on her arm, and inwardly I thank the slob. Doing that, he gifted me the opening. He’s starting to say something else as his face scrunches up in slo-mo like a fast-food brown bag on its way into the bin, as my fist slams into his nose.

  He stumbles back. His heel slips and his foot shoots aloft as he flips back. He lands with a crack, leading with his shoulders. The back of his head bangs the floor right after.

  He looks startled. “What the fuck?”

  Poppy glows. I turn her. Twice. We didn’t miss a beat.

  He scrambles backward to his feet like a frightened spider. Hurrying, backward at first, he snarls. “Parking. Now, sis.” and he runs, barging his way through the dancers who circled around us to watch.

  “He’s your brother?”

  “Hell, no.” a look of disgust clouds her lovely face. “Brother in law.”

  I tell her I’m sorry to hear it.

  “Look.” I can see her frustration and annoyance. It’s in her face and I feel the ripple of tension in her body.

  “I’ll see what he wants.” The touch of her hand on my arm makes me want to hold on to her. Her lips tighten. “I’ll be back.”

  She turns and heads for the elevators at the entrance.

  After the doors slide shut behind her, a kitchen door opens and her brother-in-law runs out. He’s holding a sack, and he runs to shove the elevator buttons, and looks around him.

  Whatever he’s doing, he shouldn’t be doing it. And he’s an amateur.

  I snap my fingers aloft for security. Two men approach him from either side. Elvis boy pulls out two huge chrome .45s. Stupid fuck.

  “Carlo, Dino,” I call out. Signal the men to hold back. Like the true soldiers they are, they both step up to stand between him and the slowly turning crowd. They stand, stony with their empty hands folded in front of them.

  An elevator slides its doors open. About half a dozen people are in the car. The punk backs through them, waving his pistols.

  I call out, “Let him go,” as the people in the car hurry out and to the sides, and the doors slide shut.

  As soon as the doors are closed, I break into a run for the executive express elevator. I point to the kitchen door and tell Carlo and Dino, “Find out what happened. Text me when you know.”

  Chapter Seven

  Lucas

  At ground level, I hear the beep of a text arriving on my phone as I run. I head outside and straight to the exit from the parking levels. I’m in time to hear the distinctive roar of an American muscle car accelerating. I know it’s going to be him.

  I stand on the ramp. He pulls up at the bottom. Poppy is sat next to him. Her face is a storm of panic. I don’t pull out a gun. Standing with my feet apart and my hands on my hips, I look right in his eyes. He could floor the throttle and run me down. If he could steel his nerve fast enough.

  In no hurry, I stride toward the car. Purposefully. Right in front of him. My eyes holding his.

  I stop in front of the fender.

  Then I take out the gun.

  “Out. Punk.”

  His eyes narrow. I steady my grip on the automatic.

  “Three,” I sight along the barrel, but I don’t need it. It’s only for show. He’s a couple of feet away. And I won a marksman trophy a few weeks ago.

  “Two,” I pull back the slide. Even he should know I don’t need to do that.

  He shouts, “Okay!”

  And he jumps out of the car with his hands up.

  I walk around the hood toward him.

  Dropping the gun into my left hand, I punch him hard in the throat.

  He goes down, red faced, holding his neck.

  Poppy is out of the car on the other side.

  I don’t take my eyes off him, or my aim, as I ask her, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but…”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  “I don’t care about him.” Poppy is so strong minded. She looks like the perfect image of a bimbo, and that is so not what she is. She says, “I just want to say sorry for bringing him.” I want her more than ever.

  “What he does is on him. Not on you.” I ask him, “What’s in the sack?”

  He’s choking too hard to speak. Poppy says, “He got all the girls into a room. Then the fucker took their purses and their jewels. Necklaces, bracelets, watches, phones, everything.”

  “Is the sack still in the car?”

  “Yes. It’s right here.”

  “Good. Get back in the car.” I look down at the punk with nothing but contempt. I shove him out of the way with my foot and ask him, “You got a phone?”

  He’s just about able to nod.

  I shoot him in the balls.

  “Better call an ambulance then.” As I get in the car, I tell him, “I’d get off the ramp if I were you. Someone’s liable to run over you there,” and I slam the door shut. I look at Poppy for signs of shock. She just looks weary.

  “Clint was always an ass. Probably always will be.”

  I touch her hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Her lips are pressed together as she nods. Her cheeks and her throat color up.

  While I drive the Camaro around the casino to the front entrance, I call Giovani. “Are the girls okay?”

  “Yeah. They’re all upset about their purses and stuff, but to be honest, I’d say they’re kind of excited. They’ll all be talking about this for a long time.”

  “As long as they’re all okay. Come down and meet me in reception.”

  Under the golden glow of the Cosa Nostra’s wide awning, I stop the Camaro in front of the polished glass doors. In his long gray coat with purple trim, bell captain Jeremiah tips his grey top hat and steps forward to open Poppy’s door.

  She smiles sweetly at him as she rises. I’m not proud of how carefully I study her ass as she steps out of the car. But I do love the sight.

  He says, “I hope you’re having a great evening, Mr. Moretti. And congratulations,” and he asks me, “May I park the car for you?”

  “Thanks, Jeremiah. Have Stevie and Franco park it.” I hand him some bills. “About fifty miles out in the Mojave.”

  Giovani approaches the glass doors as he walks fast across the foyer carpet.

  Inside, I meet him and hand him the sack. “All the girls will be happy to have these back.”

  When I tell him, “Take the executive elevator back up,” he looks puzzled. But he does what I tell him.

  As he leaves, I pull Poppy to me. She gasps. I look into her eyes. Her breath is hard. As her breasts swell and press against me, the fire inside me rises.

  Quiet, so only she can hear, I say into her ear, “I think you’re a very bad girl. I think you have extremely dirty thoughts.”

  Her hands are on my hips.

  She leans her face against my neck and says, “I really am a bad girl. Far worse than I look.”

  I squeeze her. “Really? you look filthy.”

  She pulls me closer. “Can we go somewhere?”

  As we cross to the elevators, I take out my phone and call the desk.

  “Is the John Gotti suite occupied?”

  “No, Mr. Moretti. Shall I get it prepared for you?”

  “Only with champagne in an ice bucket, and a bottle of bourbon. Set the lock to my card. Right away.”

  “Of course. Thank you, sir. Right away, Mr. Moretti.”

  In the elevator, I look in her eyes and watch as she bites her lip.

  Chapter Eight

  Poppy

  I’m breathless. And hot. So disgustingly hot, I can smell it. He must smell it, too. I lean back against the cool mirrored glass of the wall. The metal rail presses into my back.

  He advances toward me. Inside, I’m shaking. Confined in the golden mirror shine of the elevator, Lucas Moretti seems bigger than ever. Like he fills the car.

  I feel like I’ve done something so bad it makes my stomach drop, free-falling like a bulging sack full of sin. I’m drenched. Soaked. Obscenely.

  I breathe hard, with my mouth open.

  I can't wait another second.

  His nostrils flare and his tongue flicks over his lips. He seizes me. His hand on my ass, pulling me close, feels like he could hold all of me in his palm. He’s so strong, he could do anything to me. Anything he wanted.

  His fist bangs on the elevator’s emergency stop button.

  A voice crackles into the car. “Is everything okay, Mr. Moretti?”

  His eyes stay on mine. He snarls, “It will be when you turn off the fucking cameras in here.”

  The voice in the speaker says. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  My throat is thick as I ask him, “How do you know they’ll do it?”

  As I ask him, up in the corners of the roof, little red LEDs that I hadn’t even noticed flick off.

  He says, “People don’t usually disobey me,” and he sounds every bit as bad as his reputation.

  Then, the speaker comes on again. Hesitating, “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes. Now fuck off.”

  “Thank you, sir. Fucking right off now. You have a great evening.” And there’s a click.

  Reaching out like he’s plucking a soft, ripe fruit, he holds the back of my neck. His thumb is along my throat, up under my chin. He makes me feel so tiny.

  His lip curls as he looks into my eyes, holding me with his hungry gaze. I’m buzzing and tingling from the insides of my thighs, up through my pussy and my core, and all the way out to my nipples. I tremble. My jaw shakes like I’m cold. But I’m not. I’m stifling. Gasping.

  Pulling me hard to him, he shapes his lips, watches mine as he bends his neck. He tilts and lowers his head. Leans over me to take me with his mouth.

  His hand runs down the front of my dress.

  He pushes me into the corner. And he kisses me. Hard.

  Savage.

  Raw and hungry.

  Like I’m fighting for air, like I’m starving hungry, I take his breath, his lips, his tongue in my mouth as we wind together, tight and hot.

  His arms wrap around me. My hands dart all over him. Seeking his pelvis. His ass. His huge, hard cock.

  “Oh, my God,” I murmur. “I need you to fuck me.”

  I’m shocked at myself. I never talk like that. But I never need like this. My pulse bangs and I’m hot and squirmy in my soaking panties.

  The hardness of his muscles makes my breath shudder.

  He drags the skirt of my dress. Up, over my knee. Slides the hem up my thigh. Runs his hands up the insides of my legs. Up to the tops of my thighs. My legs fall wide apart and my pelvis rocks my pussy at him.

  He kisses me deep and hard. Presses me into the corner of the car. I rise and swell into his arms. I never felt a man as big before. Or as strong. What if I wanted to resist him? I wouldn’t be able to.

  A gush of thrill cascades through me as I imagine it. “What if I tried to resist you?” My voice is low and guttural. “What if I tried, and I wasn’t strong enough?”

  He’s still. Pent up like a spring. “Do you want to resist? You only have to say. Say, ‘No.’ or, ‘Stop’ anytime.”

  I try to make sense of the storm of emotions I’m feeling. “But if I struggle. And I don’t say ‘no’?”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  I shake my head. Hard. “But you want to struggle?”

  I bite my lips as I nod.

  His grin is truly evil. I know he gets me. Like no-one has before. It scares me.

  He reaches into my panties. I keep looking into his eyes as I grab his wrist with both hands. His eyes blaze.

  With all my strength, I try to stop him. And I can’t. However hard I try, it has no effect on him. Not one bit. He’s a man of steel. God damn.

  I’m falling in love with this brute.

  Around the edges of of my vision, I see multiple reflections of us. Of my ass covered only by my sheer black panties.

  Of his hand, disappearing into the front of my panties. My head tips back. My leg, my pelvis, rock against the probe of his fingers.

  I want the taste of him. He pushes me up in the corner of the car and my hands clench on his shoulders. He holds me, gripping under my thighs, pressing his thumbs into my ass cheeks.

  He raises me up, till my legs swing over his shoulders and I feel his face between my thighs. He squeezes my ass hard as he pulls my pussy toward his hot breath and his tensing lips.

  I grab his head with both hands. Try with all of my strength to hold him back.

  His hot breath comes closer to my aching pussy lips. My walls flutter, like they would reach for him if they could.

  He says, “God. GOD! Look, stop. Stop. I have to say this.” He’s panting. “Damn, I want you so fucking much.” He takes a long, wet, filthy lick and I’m juddering inside and out. “You taste fabulous. But, God, Poppy,” His words rumble with rage, “I could not stand it if this were a one-off thing.”

  “What?”

  “It might not work out, right? There are million ways we could be totally incompatible. And that’s okay. Kind of. But before I get into anything with you, I need to know that you at least want something serious.”

  I’m ready to gush into his mouth and he’s stopped to ask ME my intentions?

  Angry, I tell him, “This is all your doing, buster. YOU came into MY salon. You brought your fucking killer’s eyes and rolled them all over me. YOU melted me in my panties with your voice. And you pounded me with the beat of the tango. Now you’ve got the tip of your tongue a breath from my weeping pussy and you want to fucking talk?”

  “Tell me that you at least are thinking about starting something that could mean something.”

  “If I tell you I’m thinking about anything at all right now, anything besides your tongue and your hands and your cock,” involuntarily, I stroke his face, “Maybe your lips.” for full disclosure. “Then you know I’m fucking lying to you. I have no thought in my head right now other than how many parts of you I can get into parts of me.” My fingers tremble on the hard burr of the cleft in his chin. “And I want all of it. All of you. And I want it now.”

  “Let’s go up into the suite.”

  “Oh, no. Not until at least after I’ve discovered the length and the strength of your tongue.” I clamp my thighs on the sides of his head. The buzz of his hair against my pale flesh almost tips me over. “You can’t distract me now.”

  I slide down to his mouth. “You couldn’t distract me with a herd of bull elephants now, so don’t even think about trying.”

  Something serious.

  Finally, his lips find me. Then his tongue.

  Yes. I want that.

  Chapter Nine

  Lucas

  She tastes like heaven. Like a special kind of heaven. One made for bad people.

  She whimpers. The hot, fluttering grip of her pussy slips on the width of my tongue.

  The twisting roll as her ass squirms makes my pulse beat so hard, I worry I’ll come in my pants. Her fingers claw at my head as I nibble and tug with my lips on her hood. I suck gently on her clit.

  She says, “Oh! Oh, god.”

  I slip my tongue around her clit. Fast. Tease and trill the tip of my tongue at the base, then flatten my tongue to slide over her lips and squash them on the way to her ass.

  I tickle the tip of her stalk, then flatten my tongue. Push it back, between her cheeks and around her soft ass.

  Then she squeals and yelps while I work my tongue along her channel, flat against her lips.