Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I sat on the side of the bed. Peter watched me somewhat warily. Did he think I was freaking out over the kiss? What would he say if he knew that wasn’t it, that my biggest fear was how he would react if he knew I was in love with him? I wasn’t ready to tell him. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.
I took the washcloth, cleaned off his stomach, then wrapped it around his cock and stroked him a few times. He hardened under my touch. I’d known he would even though it hadn’t been long since he’d come. He was always eager for me, just like I was for him. We were a good match in bed. There was no doubt about that, even if we were a disaster everywhere else.
“Come on,” I said, releasing his dick. “We’re going to my room. I want to sit on the balcony.”
Peter frowned. “It will be cold out there.”
“I have a heater, and I’ll keep you warm.”
“All right,” he said as if I’d given him a choice. One thing I’d learned about Peter was that he didn’t need choices. He trusted me in a way no one outside my family ever had. People did what I said because they were fucking scared of me—and they should be—but Peter wanted to obey me. Sure, I’d been with plenty of men who had claimed to be submissive, men who did what I said and liked it when I was rough with them, but it was all a game to them or a ploy to get something from me. With Peter, submission was totally different. He longed for my dominance.
I pulled my pants back on and dressed Peter in his silky robe, then led him to my room. He sat on the loveseat I’d placed on my balcony so I could recline while I sat out there. I tucked a blanket around him before stepping back inside to pour whiskey into two glasses. I opened my finest Cuban cigars and selected one. I didn’t smoke often, but it was definitely a night that called for one. I set Peter’s drink in front of him, and he frowned. “I don’t usually drink anything strong.”
“Tonight you do.” I placed my glass down on the small table that just fit in front of the loveseat. Then I moved to the railing, lit up my cigar, took a long pull from it, and blew out smoke rings.
Peter made a strangled sound as if he’d nearly choked on his whiskey. “I didn’t know people could really do that. I thought that was just something in movies.”
“I can do a lot of things most people can’t, but this is easy. I could teach you.”
“No thanks. I don’t smoke. You shouldn’t either.”
Rather than being annoyed by his words, the knowledge that he cared warmed me. “You sound like my brother. Sometimes he acts like a fucking health freak, running ten miles a day, refusing to enjoy the pleasure of a cigar.”
Peter looked unconvinced. “He eats everything Lola makes for him.”
I snorted. “Well, he is Italian.”
Peter laughed, and that joyous sound pushed away the last of the fear I’d been hanging on to since I saw Peter being dragged away from me.
“What about Devil?” Peter asked.
It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. I was too busy being mesmerized by how fucking good he looked on my balcony. I’d never brought a man out here. This was my retreat, the place I went to be alone. Even when it was fucking freezing, I often stood out here and looked at the lights of the city in the evenings.
“Devil fucking loves these things,” I said, raising my cigar then flicking ash over the balcony railing.
I turned and saw Peter gazing at me with a dreamy smile.
“You better not be thinking about my cousin.”
He laughed again. “I’m just watching you. You’re so…”
“What?”
“You really look like a mob boss right now.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah. You’re all danger and power, and you fit so well here, among all this.” He gestured around, indicating the balcony and my room.
If he thought this house was extravagant, I couldn’t wait until I could take him to our house in Weston. “There’s no point in doing what we do if you’re not going to enjoy the spoils.”
“I guess not, but there’s always someone wanting to kill you, isn’t there?”
“Or kill my family or take everything I’ve worked for or all of the above.” I took another long pull on the cigar and blew out the smoke.
“And it’s still worth it?”
“You name anything you want, and I’ll get it for you.”
“I want to know you’re safe.”
I shook my head. “You know that’s not what I mean. No one, not even a nondescript accountant who’s never done anything more criminal than drive sixty in a fifty-five can promise you nothing will happen to them. Any of us could get hit by a car tomorrow.”