Ria
She stared at him in astonishment and growing rage. Surely he had to be joking.
Jabbing her forefinger at the offensive bed in question, she snapped, her tones low and filled with agitation as she tried not to shout and disturb their old host.
‘Philippe, are you kidding? I will NOT spend the night here on the same bed with YOU.’
*
The Capo measured her coolly, his large, muscular arms folded across his massive chest. His expression was unreadable but his hot black eyes were watching her unblinkingly and she had the strangest feeling that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
Ria swallowed, the hunk in front of her was the only man she fantasised about; but she would be damned if she would allow him to take her virginity here, in this tiny, cramped room smelling of mould and old clothes, mothballs and age.
Glaring at him, she stood, hands on hips, breathing heavily, her angry eyes on the man observing her, his face otherwise a mask of unflappable unconcern.
They could be talking about the weather for all he was reacting, she thought furiously.
Ria’s golden hair was in a mess around her shoulders, the long braid she had confined it in was in disarray from all that they had been through during that night.
Unaware of the seductively enticing figure she was cutting, her voluptuous figure revealed in all its clarity before the man who stood impassively before her, studying her with an almost bored expression on his swarthy, unshaven face, like an adult observing the childish tantrums of a spoilt brat.
She was breathing heavily and was not aware that each time her heavy breasts lifted and fell, the man in front of her was getting closer to losing his precious, tightly controlled hold over his libido.
*
Behind his cool exterior, the Capo was fighting a battle. A battle with his controlled, polished self and with the man lurking underneath, the one who wanted to take two strides and take her in his arms again, feel those soft, moist lips under his hard mouth, thrust his tongue into her and show her who gave the orders here.
Make love to her on the lumpy mattress or wherever and make her understand that it was what they wanted, both of them.
*
F*ck, he thought, the only woman he had ever wanted in his bed, was standing before him, her beautiful eyes ringed with dark circles of fatigue and anxiety but she was still so achingly beautiful; her curvy figure, the large breasts thrust out in her agitation and those rounded hips, the swell fo them visible clearly under her snug fit jeans… Ah, F*CK!
*
Making a supreme effort, he drew his lips back in a mockery of a smile.
A smile with was no humour in his grimace.
*
‘Then you can sleep on the floor.’ he snarled.
She recoiled in shock at his words.
No one had ever been so rude as this insufferable man before her and she loved him?
Growing angrier by the minute, she stood, glaring at him, her breath coming in gasps.
He continued speaking,
‘This is it, baby, take it or leave it. because Tio Javier has only one bedroom that is usable; he will be sleeping in the front room tonight.’
She stopped then. The fight went out of her.
That dear old man had given up his comfort for them?
Making a fuss over sleeping arrangements seemed so small and petty suddenly.
She was so tired, so desperately tired and to sleep on the ground…
Sighing, she turned away, her hand smoothing out the golden curls futilely.
She acquiesced grudgingly,
‘Fine but you make sure to keep to YOUR side of the bed ONLY, Philippe!’ She rolled her eyes at him as she spoke, threateningly, trying to be haughty but she was too weary.
*
There was a knock on the door and the Capo spun around, his hand on his gun. Ria tensed, her breathing becoming harsh.
But the voice that followed the knock was wavering and aged:
“It is only I, Javier,’ said the old man from the other side of the door.’I have brought you some food.’
When the door was opened, he stepped inside a broad smile on his weathered old face. He chuckled apologetically and said,
‘Bread and cheese. Humble fare. All I have.’
Ria smiled tentatively, grateful for her stomach was rumbling.
“Thank you,’ she said sweetly and the Capo felt his insides clench.
She looked so damned beautiful, so f*ckingly desirable, as she dimpled at the old man who blushed in happiness. Although she was weary and upset, she could make him get a hard-on with just a look, a toss of her head and a word.
The f*ck was he going to do?
How would he spend the night beside her and not take her as his body craved?
*
Claude
He stood awkwardly, understanding dawning on him.
Ah, f*ck, he thought in growing embarrassment. he must have interrupted…
‘” Uh…huh…I shall come back later, sorry Sir,’ he began to mumble, anything to get away from his father’s cold and threatening look.
But even before his father could say something, he heard his Mumma’s dulcet tones from within the rooms,
‘Lucien? Who is it?’, came his mother’s sweet voice and she padded across, a vision of loveliness, her deep brown tresses cascading down her back in rich waves, the small plumpness around her stomach making her look even more desirable.
Claude was young but he had been with many women; no woman could match his Mumma’s loveliness, he thought as he gazed at her. Small wonder then, that Pappa hovered around her like a hawk when they went out together; or that unmistakable look on his face that said that she belonged to him, Lucien Delano, the Mafia Don.
She was tightening a baby pink robe, fluffy and soft, around her waist as she walked, her mouth pink and slightly swollen, the tell-tale marks of beard burn on her throat. His Mumma, he realised, had the unmistakable look of a woman who had just got up from the bed after sharing it with her lover, that slight glow, the telltale flush on her cheeks. The dreamy soft look in her eyes.
‘Ah, damn! ‘sighed Claude inwardly. He could not have come at a worse moment. Pappa had definitely been f*cking her.
Proserpina Delano’s eyes lit up as she saw Claude but Pappa beat her to it.
“What is it, son?’ growled the Mafia Don.
Claude felt embarrassed; he knew his father could not keep his hands off Mumma; when he was growing up, he had heard bawdy details of what a great, lusty man his Pappa had been, his unbelievable, indefatigable sexual prowess, the endless stream of wh*res and mistresses who had kept him pleasured; until he got seriously attached to his much younger wife, that is.
But the evidence was here, before him. Of course, the six children Mumma had borne him, with another baby on the way…
Apart of course, from the flush on his mother’s face, his father, the broad chest and the air of having conquered a woman stamped on his hard face as he authoritatively pulled Mumma into his arms and stood, watching Claude with that eagle look of his, the look that invariably made Claude wish he could turn tail and flee.
‘It’s nothing, Sir.’ he said and turned, prepared to leave.
‘Son,’ said the Mafia Don drily,’ Your mother and I were in bed. But you can tell us why you came seeing since you have woken us up.’
Claude turned back shamefacedly and said,
‘Pappa, I have been trying to get through to Ria…’
At the sound of his words, his father’s expression hardened and Claude saw the look of apprehension on his mother’s face.
‘Lucien…?’ she whispered in that throaty way and his father looked ready to kill for her. The gentle look on his face as he gazed down at the face of the woman he undeniably loved was gentle and tender. it transformed the harsh, cruel look on his visage.
‘Ah, Woman.’ he growled, but he sounded almost sad.
And then, pulling her into his arms, he said,
‘Come in son.’
*