He kept going. The bastard. He didn’t care if I whimpered and moaned. He didn’t care if Carmine and the others were nearby. He rolled his thumb along my clit and pressed his fingers against the fleshy little G-spot deep inside my pussy until I came in a wild overflow of stifled moans and gasps. He held me there while my body calmed down, tremors of bliss rolling along my limbs.
His lips were soft and delicious.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered as he took his fingers from my panties and licked them clean.
I nodded, chewing my lip. “Soon.”
“Mal!” Carmine’s voice from the kitchen. Too close for comfort. Mal didn’t move right away. His eyes stared into mine and I felt his need like a heat wafting off him.
But after a few seconds, he stepped back. “Yeah, Car?”
“Get your ass out here. We’ve got some shit to discuss.”
He nodded at me and I saw the pain in his eyes, but he went.
I stayed leaning against the wall, breathing hard. I stared at the ceiling and squeezed my eyes shut. I could still feel him: hard fingers, muscular body, incredible lips. Every stroke, touch, caress, every second spent close to each other, was complete bliss.
And I had to hide it.
I wasn’t ready to tell Carmine. Things were so bad already and I was afraid that this would only make it worse. Carmine didn’t want me like that, but knowing Mal had me instead might make it awkward. I worried he’d see our relationship as a betrayal—as if we were busy fucking while we thought he was dead.
Which was the furthest thing from the truth. We’d held back for weeks, despite wanting each other out of respect and shame. Now that he was back, we were finally accepting the feelings that had blossomed between us, even if they were hard and sometimes hurt.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
When would it be enough?
I shook my head and went to help.
* * *
“This place is a real dump.” Carmine grinned hugely as he leaned back in the grimy booth.
The Lowdown was quiet. Only a couple regulars at the bar and a table of young guys that looked too young to drink. The bartender didn’t seem to care. He stared at the game on TV like it was the greatest thing in the world.
Mal raised a glass. “Here’s to my favorite dive.”
Carmine laughed and toasted him. “Here’s to our new spot.”
I rolled my eyes but raised my glass. “And here’s to you two realizing this place is awful and finding somewhere better.”
We laughed and for a second, things felt normal. I sipped my beer and glanced at Mal. He was looking at me with a smile on his face like he couldn’t believe his good luck sitting to my left like that.
But it didn’t last long. Carmine finished half his whiskey and put his elbows on the table. “The cartel guys think we can burn Balestra out.”
Mal grunted. “You mean they want to light his mansion on fire?”
“My former home,” I pointed out. “Not that I care. Let the place burn.”
Carmine winked at me. “Gladly. And yes, for whatever reason, my cartel friends seem to prefer fire.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Mal said, stroking his chin. “All I care about is making sure Balestra gets what’s coming.”
“We’ve been putting out the word. Quiet and careful. Letting the most loyal of the former Falsone guys know that a new power was rising. Nobody’s heard my name yet, but they will soon.” Carmine drummed his fingers. “I’m impatient. I hate waiting for this shit.”
“We can’t rush it,” Mal said. “You need to gather your strength.” I felt Mal put his hand on my knee under the table, out of Carmine’s sight line. “And Capri and I need to heal.”
I chewed on my cheek. Mal was right. We’d both been through some brutal shit. His knife wound was coming along, and my bruises were fading, but neither of us were ready for a fight.
“Capri’s not coming to a shootout,” Carmine said, waving a hand at me.
“Hey, asshole. I can shoot a gun.”
Mal’s hand tightened. “He’s right. But I’m still not at my best yet, either. We need time still, Carmine.”
“Fucking time.” He leaned back and stared at his hands. There were mottled scars along his fingers and palms. He’d never explained what they were from, but I recognized burns when I saw them. It must have happened on the night my father killed his parents and ruined his life. “There’s never enough time.”
“Relax, old man,” I said. “You’re barely in your twenties and already talking like a senior citizen.”
His eyes seemed tired but he nodded and forced a grin. “You’re right. Listen, I gotta hit the head. You two get me another drink while I’m gone, all right?” He climbed out of the booth and sauntered off.