Nicky the Driver (Underboss Insurrection, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

“You want me to strip for you? You want to watch?” My tone is sharp, but breathy. A slash of color stains his cheekbones. “Yes.” His voice is even, but the word has weight. Heft. “And if I won’t?” “You won’t.”

“When you wanted her, we had leverage, but now—” Tomas shakes his head. “You know this game. A man will do a hell of a lot more not to lose something he has than he will to get something he wants.” Yeah, I know the game. They think she’s their leverage. They’re wrong, but if they’re smart, I’ll never have to disabuse them of the notion. A man will do anything to keep what belongs to him.

Tomas snorts and refocuses on the road. “Hope she’s worth it,” he mutters. She is. Everything I’ve done. Everything I would do. Worth it.

No, it’s gonna kill Paul DeStefano. One day when Zita doesn’t give a shit about him anymore, I’m going to decapitate him with a hacksaw and punt his head off the Widow’s Bluff overlook into the Luckahannock.

“Women aren’t action figures, man. They don’t lose value ’cause someone got in their box.”

The first time I saw Zita, her face was dirt streaked, she was barefoot, and her hair stuck out from her lop-sided ponytail like dandelion fluff. She wasn’t pretty. Not back then. She was skinny as a stick with eyes too big for her face. But from that moment on, it’s been Zita Graziano. That’s the answer. A shrink might be able to explain it, but I can’t.

Some men have Jesus. God and country. A dream. Ambition. I have Zita.

swoon

The way he stares at me—it’s like he’s been missing me forever, and if he looks away, I might disappear, and he’ll never let that happen, not in a million years.

“What would you do?” “You know,” he says without hesitation. “Why? Your pride?” He finishes swallowing the last bite of cookie and crumples the napkin. “I think I’ve proved I have none when it comes to you.”

“She knows what she needs to know,” he says. He’s put his phone away. He’s speaking to Liv, but his eyes are on me. “Yeah?” Liv says. “What’s that?” “She knows what I’ll do for her,” he says, and he holds his hand out to me. His black eyes burn. Shivers zing down my spine.

“You know, none of this is real,” I say. “Isn’t it,” he says. It’s not a question. “You don’t really know me.” He doesn’t answer. “Whatever you think I am, I’m not.” He’s silent, but he tightens his hold on my hand. “When you realize that, what happens? Do you kill me then?” “I’ll never hurt you.”

I glance up at Nicky. His eyes are on me. Of course. If I said, “Kick his ribs in,” I bet he would.

And then, with no fanfare, he lifts my leg and sinks into my swollen pussy from behind, our combined fluids easing his way, and he thumbs my nipples and clit until I come again. All night long. I drift off, and he wakes me up, rolls me onto my back, my side, urges me up onto all fours, and he fucks me over and over until he needs to get lube from his nightstand to even get his cock inside my tender, swollen pussy. I’m raw and sore, but I come, over and over, although it takes longer each time.

Nicky interrupts my thoughts. “How do you take that thing out?” “What?” He nods at my belly. “That thing. The IUD.”

I know that he’s obsessed with me. That he’s been stalking me for years. I know that he fucks me like a starving man, reverent while he crams me in his mouth. Paul was fairly insatiable when we lost our virginity to each other, but he never fucked me like that. Like he’d been waiting his whole life.

Lucca leans forward. “Do you know that when he was a senior in high school, he killed a man so that I’d get Tony Junior to let him into your bedroom when you were sleeping over at your girlfriend’s?” His eyes light up. “Do you know how many bodies he’s laid at my feet to earn you? How many of my enemies he’s erased? How many bullets he’s taken?”

“Would you kill me if he told you to?” “No.” “Would you kill Mattie?” “No.” “Why not?” “You wouldn’t forgive me.”

When I fucked her out of her head, she treated me like what I am—hers.

Some men have hearts. Souls. Walls. I have Zita Graziano. I’m not ashamed. I look at her, and something inside me chants “thank you” into the void like a hallelujah. I’m weightless. Superhuman.

Lucca Corso is insane, but he offered me a better job. And he gave me Zita. He also thinks he can threaten her, make her worry about Mattie. That’s not gonna work.

“I shouldn’t let you do this,” she murmurs, her lips brushing the stubbled underside of my jaw. If it makes it easier for her to believe she’s doing this against her better sense, that’s fine. When she comes on my face, her scream’s not gonna sound the least bit conflicted to the neighbors on the other side of the wall.

“I’ll make you feel good,” I tell her. I’ll drive all the demons out of her mind. I’ll break her free, and I’ll build her a new life. I’m gonna see her laugh out loud. The little crease on the bridge of her nose is going to disappear forever.

“Has anyone else tasted you, baby?” I slide two fingers inside her, crook them forward and suck on her pearl, lash it with the flat of my tongue. She moans.

Nicky fucks like he’s lost his mind, and he’s trying to find it between my legs. He fucks like I’m hiding something that he’s desperate for. Like I’m the holy grail, and he’s an infidel, so he doesn’t want to worship me, he wants to convert me, despoil me until I belong to him.

He’s wanted me since junior high. He’s done unimaginable things to get me. Me.

“We’re gonna get that thing inside of you out, and I’m gonna put a baby in here.” He palms my pussy, hard, and then slides his hand to my lower belly, gently. “And you’re gonna get fat with our child, and you’re gonna be even more beautiful, and you’ll know it.”

“I’ll always give you what you want,” he says, breathless in my ear, his weight covering me. “Just ask. Always.”

He’s repainting my memories. Now, I was never alone here. He was up there. Not coming closer because I was happy. Peaceful.

“You’re okay,” he says, his breath hot on my mound. “Come lower. Ride my face.” He licks my outer lips, nibbles their fat, swollen folds, and swipes his tongue along the inner lips that peek out. “I’m going to smother you.” I squirm. “You hate me, remember?” he says. “Do your best.”

We stare at each other, the connection so strong I feel like I could reach out and curl my fingers around it, reel him back to me, and I want to with everything I am, not because Lucca Corso threatened me, but because Nicky the driver isn’t his. Not the smallest bit of him belongs to anyone but me.

For a breathless moment, we’re playing chicken, except the conclusion is foregone. I win. I’m the queen. He’s my knight. I fiddle with the last button, the one that’d let my shirt fall open, and every visible muscle in his body strains, his neck, his forearms.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he says.