Mafia Games by Vi Carter

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RICHARD

 

She was hesitant about leaving the dog. I repeated my earlier words that I would find him a good home, but she still looks doubtful. I can’t blame her, but it still annoys me that she won’t take my word for it.

I happen to like animals. Just not ones who have been beaten because it makes them volatile. Claire follows me down the stairs as each step takes the light out of her crystal blue eyes. Now she’s the one looking like a beaten-down dog. My gut tightens. The sensation is new to me and one I associate with Claire and Claire alone.

Guilt.

I press the card against the scanner, and the door into the box opens. She’s staring at the empty coffin off to our left. That’s why I took her for a walk. I didn’t want her to see us remove the body. I regret her seeing me kill him—regret, another emotion that felt wrong to me.

She still hasn’t moved. “Come on, Claire.” I keep my back to her, giving her time to come into the box herself. I really don’t want to force her, but if it comes to it, I will.

She passes me in a flash of white. She’s disheveled looking and tired, but it doesn’t take away from her beauty. She folds her arms across her chest, and I step in behind her. The space is filled with her scent. Her smell is something sweet and earthy. I stop at the drawing on the floor again. It’s remarkable.

“Maybe I could get you an easel and some paints,” I say.

Her head jolts up to me. Her cheeks tinged pink. “Charcoal.”

I nod my head. I hadn’t seen an easel or charcoal in her apartment. I had found stacks of filled-in coloring books and an endless supply of puzzles. Giving her these, I am hoping to ease her homesickness.

I take the bandage out of my pocket and walk to the small sink. Running the tap until the water is warm, I take a towel and hold it under the spray. “Sit on the bed.” I command, without looking at her.

I squeeze out the towel and turn off the tap before looking at her. She’s sitting on the bed, picking at the edge of the bandage. The moment I step towards her, her bowed head rises, and crystal blue eyes track my steps.

I like how she looks at me. She’s half afraid, but behind all that terror are questions, intrigue.

I don’t think her intrigue is as deep as my fascination is with her. I don’t think anything has cut me quite this deep.

I want to sit down beside her, but the slight tremor in her hands has me kneeling at her bare feet. I should have gotten her shoes. Another oversight I will fix.

“Give me your arm.” I hold out my hands, and she does as I say. I love the feel of her skin under my fingertips, and the urge to caress her flesh has me unwrapping the bandage to give my hands something else to do. The bandage floats to the floor. Fresh blood still pools from the wound. I hold her arm, so her palm is upright. I don’t clean the cut straight away. I’m transfixed on the red liquid. My cock grows hard in my trousers. My thumb inches closer, I stop over her racing pulse. Her heartbeat is erratic, and when I glance up at her, she’s watching me with wide, frightened eyes. I let my thumb trail to her wound. She inhales sharply before pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. I want to taste her. I want to taste all her pain.

So I do.

Bending my head, I bring her arm up to my lips and press a kiss to the open flesh. She tries to pull her arm back; it’s a weak attempt that I easily fend off and tighten my grip on her. My tongue flicks out, and I taste her blood before looking back up at her.

Her blue eyes fill with panic. They shoot up to my lips. Horror reflects in her voice as she speaks. “You have blood on your lips.”

My tongue flicks out, and I lick the blood off.

“My blood.” She speaks again while staring at my lips, and I want to kiss her. I want her to taste what I taste.

I don’t have to rise to meet her lips. All I have to do is lean in. My fingers are still wrapped around her wrist. Her pulse pounds ferociously.

I want to capture her face in my hands, I want to touch her hair, I want her trust.

I want her.

Claire’s lips part as I inch closer. With her blood in my mouth, I pause; her chest rises and falls rapidly. She hasn’t pulled away from me even through her clouded fear.

I smile at that internally.

I move back, like the spell that her beauty casts over me is broken. Her lips tug down, and I wonder if she is about to cry. I’m almost tempted to wait until she sheds more pain. I just might taste her tears too. It’s the fear that tightens her jaw and gives her a wild look that has me knowing I need to hold off. I don’t release her wrist but loosen my grip and break eye contact. I pick up the damp towel and clean her wrist softly, trying not to put pressure on it. I don’t want to be tempted by more blood. Once I have her wound clean, I re-bandage her wrist. My cock doesn’t ease down, it painfully throbs in my trousers, and I rush through the rest of the job as the want for her increases. Once I’m done, I march from the box, lock the door and make my way upstairs. I need space. The distance does nothing to help my raging hard on.

Marcus stands in the hallway and opens his mouth to speak. I hold up a finger in warning, and his mouth snaps shut as I go upstairs to my bedroom.

The door bangs as I slam it. Anger at how she makes me feel has me marching to the bathroom and turning the shower on cold. That should cool down all the hot blood that pulses through me. I loosen the belt on my trousers and shove them down along with my boxers. My cock is almost painful to touch as I stroke it, picturing her, imagining her mouth around it. A groan is ripped from me as I pump harder. Licking my lips, I taste her blood again. I want so much more of her. I let my cock go as I take off my clothes and step into the shower, turning the temperature up. I don’t step under the stream but lean against the tiles and resume pumping my shaft. I picture her in her white panties, on her knees, sucking my cock. Her small tongue flicking out and licking my balls.

“Fuck.” I pump faster with the image of her in my head. Three final jerks, and it’s all over as my seed flows across my hand. Opening my eyes, I step into the spray and wash it all off. I’m only coming down from such a high, but I still keep an eye out. I’m still wary in a shower. That’s where they nearly beat me to death; where they took too much blood from me. My hands run down my torso that’s coated in scars.

I will have my blood debt paid back in full. With a renewed determination, I wash and get ready to make another one of them pay.