an early morning swell is what brings me to consciousness, but it’s the satisfying soreness between my thighs that makes me open my eyes and smile.
I shift onto my side and prop myself up on my elbow, watching Rafe sleep. He’s on his back as always, one inked arm disappearing underneath my pillow. Lips parted, dark lashes fluttering. I study the even pulse in his clean-shaven throat, and wonder what he’s dreaming of. Would it be narcissistic to hope that it’s me?
I reach up and run my hand over my wonky braid. I know he thinks of me when he’s awake, at least. Why else would he learn how to braid hair for me? Sure, it’s a mess, but the thought of him practicing warms my heart.
“Kick me in the shin again, and I’ll spank you harder than I did last night.”
I jump at his sudden warning slicing through the silence. When I don’t reply, he pops open an eye and smirks at me sleepily. “Never mind, you’re just admiring the view again.”
“No I’m not.” Yes I am. “I’m thinking.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Shut up.”
His dimples deepen, and he runs a large paw over his cheek. “All right, thinking about what?”
“You know, how weird it is that you’re my boyfriend now.”
He frowns, jaw tensing. “You trying to piss me off before nine a.m?”
I laugh, dropping my head onto his bicep and curling into his side. We spent Valentine’s Day in the penthouse suite of the Visconti Grand, and the very next day, moved back onto the yacht. But despite what Rafe said about wanting all my stolen clothes hanging up next to his and my girly candles lit in every room, it’s not enough for him. He wants a rock on my finger too.
For a few minutes, I study his chest rising and falling. Watch the serpent on his collar dance, and the playing cards on his abs come to life. Hot with a sudden desire to interrupt his peace, I trace a line down his stomach into the dark hair below his navel.
He tenses underneath my touch. “Where’s that hand going, Queenie?” he murmurs into my hair.
I respond by cupping his warm weight, slowly massaging his length until it hardens in my palm. He grunts in approval and rolls his head back onto his pillow.
My hand slides up and down his erection, my mouth watering as I stare at it in fascination. In the cold light of day, he looks massive. No wonder my pussy is chronically aching. As I draw down to his base, his watch shifts on my wrist, revealing the diamond tennis bracelet underneath.
A quiet groan escapes his lips, and he reaches down to touch it. “Nice bracelet; is it new?”
I glance up at his half-lidded gaze. “Yes, and it was very expensive.”
He pushes up into my palm, his fingers digging into my hip. “Fuck, I think I’ve finally found a fetish: you spending all my money. There must be a name for that, right?”
I laugh, swiping my thumb over his glistening tip and enjoying the way his body shudders underneath me. “You already have a fetish.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm. A panty fetish.”
He pauses. “The fuck I do.”
“Yes, you do. You’re always stealing my panties.”
He breaks into a strangled laugh. “You’re so cute, baby.” His hand twists into the base of my hair and lifts my mouth to his.” I don’t have a panty fetish; I have a ‘whatever’s been between Penny’s ass cheeks’ fetish.”
“Oh,” I say, flustering.
He kisses me, then kisses me again twice as hard. I twist out of his grip and nestle back into the crook of his arm, teasing him with lazy strokes.
His restless hiss coasts over my forehead. “Faster.”
“Can’t.”
“Is your wrist broken, or something?”
“No, I just don’t want you to come in sixty seconds.”
I brace myself for the inevitable impact. It comes hard and fast on my ass, accompanied by a growl about me being a little shit. Rafe rolls me onto my back and roughly parts my thighs, dipping between them. He’s all mussed hair and dangerous gaze as he looks up at me.
“I’ll make you come in thirty—how about that?”
A shiver rolls from my head to my pussy, where it thumps in my clit in anticipation. “A hundred bucks says you can’t.”
“Deal.” He catches my wrist and stares down at the watch face. When the long hand brushes the top of the hour, he dives straight for my clit.
Fuck.
He sucks hard and fast. Wet heat, sharp nips, back muscles flexing against my calves. I’m blaming my agreeing to this bet on it being too early to think straight. I should have known I can barely last ten seconds under this man’s tongue, let alone thirty.
I feel as though my nerves have been doused in gasoline, and Rafe’s mouth is a lit match. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think of the most boring For Dummies books I’ve ever read. It’s a toss up between Auto Repair and Mutual Funds, for sure.
Oh, no. Rafe cuts a sloppy path from my entrance to my clit with his tongue, and that familiar burning pressure spreads inside me. My limbs grow heavy, and being the sore loser I am, I try to twist myself out from underneath him. He hisses in response and clamps me in place with one hand, while his other disappears between my thighs.
He glances up at me. “Cheater,” he grunts, before he drives two thick fingers into me.
Oh, god.
The pressure erupts, flooding through my core and vibrating every muscle in my body. As my orgasm floats down around me, my high is marred by annoyance.
I prop myself up on my elbows and glare down at him. “Fingers are cheating.”
He licks my juices off his top lip, eyes dancing with humor. “No, I just know how to work this pussy, because it’s mine.” His gaze slides back down to my sex and sparks with dark satisfaction. “All mine.”
“Not yours,” I mutter. Partly out of habit—I’ve said this nearly every time we’ve fucked—and partly because I’m pissed off I’m down a hundred dollars, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.
His eyes flash. He grazes his fingertips over my slick folds and circles my sensitive clit. His glare jumps back up to mine. “Who’s pussy is this, Penelope?”
“Not. Yours—” I gasp as he pinches my clit. “A tortured confession is not a true confession.”
“I’ll take any confession.” He stretches me open with his fingers again. “Who’s pussy, Penelope?”
I grind my jaw together. When I don’t reply, he sinks his teeth into my inner thigh. “Depends!” I yelp.
His back muscles tense. “On?”
I swallow thickly, knowing Rafe won’t let this drop until I give him my caveats. I clear my throat, suddenly feeling too hot for a crisp March morning.
“If you’re nice to it,” I whisper.
He smiles lazily, giving my clit a gentle kiss. “I’m always nice to it. What else?”
“If you promise to never leave it.”
He frowns, but stops himself from biting out a sarcastic retort. Realization softens the planes of his back. I feel vulnerable. Uncomfortable. Needy. It’s obvious I’m not talking about my vagina anymore.
I hold my breath while Rafe slowly climbs up my body and pins me under his weight. He presses his lips to mine. “I promise, Queenie. I’m here forever.”
I sigh. Wrap my legs around his hips and draw him closer.
“Then it’s yours.”
Rafe’s whistling while he makes breakfast. Whistling. I watch him from my spot on the counter in amusement. He’s wearing nothing but black boxers and a half-baked grin, and maybe I’d give him some warning about oil spitting from a hot pan, if I wasn’t so selfishly enjoying the view.
He slides past me under the pretense of getting two plates from the cupboard, but I know him better than that. It’s no surprise when he stops short, dips his hands between my thighs, and cups me. “Whose pussy is this?”
My sigh melts into a laugh. This asshole’s asked me three times in thirty minutes, and I’m hoping the novelty of me saying ‘yours’ wears off soon. When I reach down and grab his cock through his boxers, his jaw clenches and his gaze heats.
“Depends. Whose dick is this?”
He dips to kiss my throat, smiling against it. “Yours, Queenie. Forever and always. Although, if you don’t get your hand off my crown jewels immediately, you’ll be eating very burnt eggs for breakfast.”
I let him go, grinning like a maniac as I watch him plating up. I’m barely aware of the galley door opening, until Rafe glances up and barks something out in rapid-fire Italian.
“Gesù Cristo,” he mutters, sweeping a hand over his hair.
“Gesù Cristo indeed.” As much as I love living with Rafe, I don’t love also sharing our home with a bunch of people on his payroll. He hasn’t opened the yacht as a bar again, but still, there’s a dozen crew members needed onboard just to keep it afloat. “Rafe, we need to move.”
He frowns up at me. “But I like having an ocean between you and everyone else.”
I laugh. “Yeah, but it’s a pain in the ass. Besides, how can I walk around naked if there’s a chance I might bump into the first officer in the living room?”
“You wanna walk around naked?”
“Uh-huh.”
He pauses. Rakes an eye over the hem of his hoodie. “Then we’ll start looking.”
Christ, I might not swindle men for their money anymore, but they sure are easy to fool in other ways.
I guess it was a blessing in disguise that Dante’s last hurrah on this earth was blowing the port to shit. It’s given me an extra three months to rework the cliff bar and casino in Devil’s Dip, and I must admit, it turned out exceptional.
We decided to rebuild another hundred feet above sea-level, moving us out of the way of future explosions and giving patrons a completely uninterrupted view of the horizon through the panoramic window. Inside, the decor is signature Raphael Visconti. The finest velvet-clad poker tables, the shiniest roulette wheels, and a fully-stocked bar serving every Smuggler’s Club edition ever made, even the rare ones.
However, because of a certain red-haired beauty, I’m still on the vodka. I take a sip, just as Angelo’s shoulder brushes against mine. I stare out at the sun dipping below the water and bite back a smirk. I don’t need to turn around to know my brother’s seething; he’s got this way of breathing like a rhino when he’s on the verge of smashing something up.
His tone is ice-cold. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
I do a lazy sweep of the guests filtering through the doors and admiring the view. “Really? Everyone looks like they’re having a great time.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I second Angelo’s sentiment,” comes a silky murmur from my left. I turn to meet Tor’s shit-eating grin. “It’s an absolutely awful idea, cugino. I fucking love it.”
Yeah, he loves it because we finally reached an agreement. I get a third of Cove, but he gets forty-nine percent of my shiny new cliff bar.
“You won’t love it when you’re dodging bullets, dickhead.” Angelo mutters under his breath and glances toward the elevator. “Where’s my wife, anyway?”
“Out shopping with…Penny.” I almost say, out with mine, but stop myself. Unfortunately, she’s not my wife.
Yet.
“I don’t like it when they hang out.”
Now, I pin him with a blistering glare, annoyance twitching my fingers. “Why not?”
“Because she’s teaching her things.”
“Like?”
“Like how to play blackjack. Rory’s good at it now.” He swigs from his whiskey glass, eyes darkening. “Tell me why I’m losing every hand we play? Something’s not right.”
Tor and I exchange amused glances. Angelo rarely gambles, and probably doesn’t even know what card counting is. I don’t snitch on my sister-in-law though. We’re starting The Real Housewives of Atlanta next week, and like fuck am I watching the franchise on my own.
I steal a look at my watch, and my eyes follow Angelo’s to the elevator. Penny, Rory, Wren, and Tayce were out shopping all afternoon, then spent the evening getting ready at my brother’s house. My girl’s only been gone a few hours, but I’m already itching to see her. Feel her. Fucking kiss her. Christ, I’ll even settle for staring at her like a simp from across the room at this rate.
The elevator doors ding and a familiar laugh floats out of them. I turn to watch Penny and the girls step out into the room.
My next breath catches in the back of my throat. She hasn’t even taken her coat off yet, but I can already tell she looks incredible. Gold hoops, big, red waves, and a tight dress only a few shades darker. Her eyes sweep the room, then land on me.
Her smile cracks my heart in two.
Squeezing the poker chip in my pocket, I set down my glass and move to greet her. I stoop to give her a kiss and tighten my grip on her nape when she pulls back. “Plus tip,” I mutter, stealing another one. “And VAT.”
I help myself to a third, feeling her smile against my lips. “It’s beautiful in here,” she says, walking over to admire the view. I follow her like a puppy, drinking in the way the low-hanging sun casts a golden glow over her face and makes her eye shadow sparkle. “But I’m confused. It’s not Opening night, is it?”
I slide in beside her, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. “Not quite, Queenie.” I glance around us, then pull her into an alcove. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Her face falls. “Oh god, what have you done—”
I grip her chin and plant a kiss on her lips. It’s my new, nice way of getting her to shut up. Always works like a charm. “You see all these men in here? They’re all for you.”
She frowns. “You’re pimping me out?”
“Business isn’t going that badly.” Yet. “I mean, they’re all lined up for a visit to The Grotto. I thought you might want to have a little fun with them first.”
Her eyes grow wide, and she scans the room as if seeing it in a new light. “Seriously?” She steps closer and drops her voice to a theatrical whisper. “You’re telling me I can swindle anyone in here?”
“Swindle the shit out of them, baby.”
“But I’ve gone straight.”
I laugh in disbelief. “There’s nothing straight about you. Never has been, never will be.”
She stares at me, her shock shifting into excitement. “But what if…”
“Not going to happen.” Although I haven’t seen Gabe since he hobbled out of the church, his men are here in full force. With their scars and tattoos and menacing scowls, they’re doing an awful job of blending in with the marks, but they’re here nonetheless. I’ll also be watching her like a hawk, of course. I won’t have much to worry about—I’ve had the gamblers all vetted. They’re the millionaire chancers, not career criminals. They’ve tried their luck in one of our casinos because they thought they could get away with it, not because they thought they could hold their own if they got caught.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she squeals, slinging her arms around my shoulders and pushing me further into the alcove. She kisses my throat, working her way up to my jaw and to my mouth. The feeling of her soft body against mine is enough to give me a school-boy boner.
“I love you,” she whispers when she reaches my ear.
And that? That’s enough to set my skin on fucking fire.
Besides me, Angelo shifts in his seat. He lifts his whiskey to his lips, but sets it back down without taking a sip. “Fuck’s sake.”
Belmarsh, the lawyer chewing his ear off on the other side of him, flinches.
Nico’s amused gaze heats my cheek. We’ve got a bet going—how long it’ll take until Angelo loses his cool and pistol-whips the guy Rory’s playing blackjack with.
“Anything else for you, Mr. Visconti?”
I glance up to meet Laurie’s sickly sweet smile. With a lazy swoop of my wrist, I signal for another round. “You not liking the new workplace, Laurie?”
She snatches up my empty glass and sets it on her tray. “I like it just fine. It’s on land, after all. What I don’t like, is being two servers down.” She pauses, cocking her head. “Even if they were nasty little bitches.”
She’s talking about Anna and Claudia—Penny wanted them gone, so I didn’t think twice about firing them.
“I’ll get you new servers,” I say. “Even better ones.”
“Get me five. This joint is going to get real busy in summer.”
A squeal rips my attention to the other side of the room. It’s Rory, jumping to her feet and celebrating a win. When she skips over, fanning her winnings, Angelo jumps up too.
“No more,” he growls, planting a possessive kiss on her lips. “Sit.”
“Ah, this must be your lovely wife,” Belmarsh says, rising to greet her.
Rory pauses. Curls her top lip in disgust. Then she shoves Angelo away and cries, “You have a wife?”
There’s a ripple of snickers around our table. Angelo pinches his nose, shaking his head. “Fucking hell. I knew I should have stayed home and watched the game.”
With a squeeze of Rory’s ass and a dark utterance in her ear, he heads to a more civilized corner of the room, where Cas and some of his business buddies smoke Cubans. Belmarsh makes his awkward excuses and leaves, while Rory slides into her husband’s seat.
“How long have you been waiting to use that one?”
“Since I walked down the aisle.”
I rub my amusement away with the back of my hand. “I’m impressed. And I’m impressed with your new-found swindling skills, too.”
Laughing, she holds out her hands, showing there’s a slight tremble to them. “It’s not for me. I get way too nervous.” She sighs. “I don’t know how Miss Artful Dodger does it.”
My gaze snaps to Penny, who’s at the bar with Tayce. They’ve got their heads together, their eyes shifting around the room. Penny talks in a low murmur while Tayce frowns, listening intently, no doubt taking in whatever tips she’s giving her.
It’s ironic—I fucking hate cheats. Yet here I am, hosting an event set up especially for my thieving, sticky-fingered girl to cheat anyone she pleases. I guess I’ve broken every rule and moral code I set in place for myself, anyway.
There’s one more I’m dying to break.
“Make her marry me,” I blurt out.
A server comes over with the drinks we ordered, plus a white-wine spritzer for Rory. She takes a sip, doing a crappy job at hiding her amusement.
“Chill out; it’s been, like, a month.”
“You married my brother after a month.”
“Yeah, but only because he begged.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“Oh, swan. Don’t tell him I told you that. He’s peeved with me already.”
I say nothing. We both know it’ll come out the second Angelo pisses me off.
Rory swirls the ice cubes in her drink. “Buy her the right ring, and she might just say yes.”
My laugh is bitter. “I’ve bought her so many rings, when she wears them together she looks like Mr. T.”
I settle into my seat, not really listening to my sister-in-law as she preaches about the value of patience. I’m too busy admiring the view of Penny at the bar. Truth is, despite my caveman instinct to get a ring on her finger so the world and their mamas know she’s mine, the logical part of me can respect her not wanting to tie the knot yet.
She spent so long trying to figure out what she wants in life; now she’s found it, she wants to enjoy it as Penny Price for a while.
And that’s okay. I like her being Penny Price too.
The night is dark and bitter. A fog has rolled in over the parking lot, reducing the figures filtering out of the bar to distorted shadows. I switch on the car engine, turn on Penny’s heated seat, then lean against the trunk while I wait for her to emerge.
As always, it’s her loud-ass laugh that alerts me to her presence. She wobbles into the glow of a streetlamp, arms linked with Rory and Wren, with Tayce on Wren’s other side.
It’s Rory that spots me first. “Rafe!” she yells. “Are we still on for Sunday?” Nodding, I give her a thumbs up. “Good. I’ve picked up more of those watermelon thingies, and—ouch!”
Her heel buckles underneath her, but my brother swoops out of the shadows and grabs her by the waist. “Jesus, Magpie. You need water and a burger. Come on.” He scoops her up and carries her to a waiting car.
Rory waves at her friends over his shoulder. “Call me tomorrow!”
I watch in amusement as Penny says her goodbyes to Tayce and Wren, then strides over to me. She’s concentrating on the ground, clearly determined not to meet the same fate as my sister-in-law.
“Hello handsome,” she says sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat. I slam the door shut behind her and round the car. Once I’m behind the wheel, I shift sideways to get a good look at her.
“Good night?”
She bites her bottom lip, looking up at me through those thick lashes. “The best. Look!”
She dumps her bag out onto her lap, and all her stolen goods fall out. Money she won, wallets she lifted, watches she stole. She holds up a Rolex to the light of the moon and squints at it. “Although, I’m not sure this one is real.”
Shaking my head, I cup her jaw and steal a quick kiss. “You’re a dirty little thief; you know that?”
Her grin grows wider. “I do indeed.”
She stares at me for a beat too long. When her gaze starts to heat and warm the air inside of the car, my eyes narrow. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, Queenie. I thought you’d have learned that lesson last week.” Last time she’d ‘nothing’ed me, I bent her over my knee until she told me what the ‘nothing’ was.
She focuses on her haul, slowly putting the items back in her purse. “Fine. I got you a gift.”
“Better not be a second-hand watch.”
I’m surprised that her laugh sounds so nervous. “It’s not. Here,” she dips her hand in the passenger door pocket, and pulls out a small jewelry box. It sits on the console between us, and I stare down at it, irritation grating on my chest.
“I’m not into any of this new-era shit, Pen. If you’re proposing to me, I’ll throw the fucking ring out the window, and maybe you with it—”
“Jesus Christ, shut up and open it.”
I steel my jaw. Give her one last warning look, then flick the box open.
Immediately, my blood runs cold. Something thickens in my throat, and I can’t seem to get any words out, let alone in order.
Eventually, I manage a strangled, “You’re not wearing it.”
I can’t believe I didn’t notice she’s not wearing it.
Her hand flies to her chest. “I’m lucky, with or without the necklace,” she says quietly. “I have you, I have friends, I have the best job. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
Her fingers slide over mine, and she takes the box from me. “My socks didn’t work for you, nor did you taking your mama’s advice about believing you’re lucky. So maybe this will.”
The four-leaf clover pendant winks as she lifts it off the cushion and dangles it in the space between us. “I had it put on a new chain, so it’s a little longer. More manly, too.” She chokes out an awkward laugh. “Here, let me put it on you.”
I don’t say anything as her soft hands reach around my neck. Can’t. Can’t seem to fucking think about anything other than how I’m stupidly obsessed with this woman.
“There.” She slides the chain under my shirt collar and pats my chest, then looks up into my eyes.
I stare back at her for a beat, while my heart bursts into flames.
My fist finds the back of her hair, and my lips find her mouth.
My heart has caught fire, and I’m in love with the Queen who lit the match.
