Mafia Games by Vi Carter
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CLAIRE
I woke up this morning, the mattress beside me cold. The fear that clutches my throat isn’t because Richard is no longer in our bed. It isn’t all the things that should stir fear in my heart. It isn’t the idea that I was kidnapped; it isn’t because I witnessed someone dying. Fear tightens its fingers around my throat because, for one tiny second, I thought I was back in my own bed. I thought I was back in my own apartment. I thought I was back in my old life.
I thought by Richard placing me in the glass box that he had placed me in a cage. He hadn’t. He freed me from a cage that had no walls. My life had been filled with nothing but uncertainty and fear. For the first time in my life, I understand freedom.
I take a shower, my body still humming with last night’s escapades. Richard is an unselfish lover, always wanting to please me first before himself. The ache between my legs is subtle, but it still throbs in the background. Turning off the water, I get out and wrap myself in a large white towel. Moving to the mirror, I wipe the steam away. I meet a pair of large blue eyes, blue eyes that are clear for the first time. When I think of Richard, I smile and quickly cut it off with a bite to my lips. I’m falling hard for him. Everything that is wrong about him is what makes him right for me. He’s lethal, and falling for a man like him is dangerous. I look away from the mirror and finish brushing my teeth before getting dressed in a pair of cream linen trousers and a red blouse.
Brushing my hair out, I tidy the room before walking downstairs barefoot. I don’t expect to see anyone in the kitchen apart from Mario, who greets me every morning with a warm smile. This morning there is a much nicer surprise waiting for me in the kitchen.
Richard sits at the breakfast bar. His phone in his hand, his brows drawn as he focuses on the device. A black suit jacket is strewn across the back of a second stool. He isn’t aware of my presence, and I take a moment to appreciate him. The white shirt he wears is stretched across his wide frame.
I’m smiling again. All the sharp angles of his face are defined as he concentrates.
“A cup of tea?” Mario asks, breaking the spell.
Richard doesn’t look up but lowers the phone to the counter, and his brows relax as he picks up his own cup of tea.
“Thank you, Mario.” I smile at him before turning to Richard, who’s watching me. The look in his dark gaze sends shivers down my spine. I want to ask what’s bothering him.
“How did you sleep?” He asks.
My face blazes as I think of last night. I dip my head as I walk to the breakfast counter. Richard pulls out the stool beside him for me to sit on.
“I slept well,” I answer as I slide in. The smell of his cologne circles me. My stomach tightens.
Mario places a cup of tea in front of me. “Thank you.” I take a sip of the tea. “How did you sleep?” I ask Richard, without looking at him.
“Like a baby.” His words are whispered, and when I glance at Richard, his eyes are a soft brown, he’s smiling, and my core tightens.
“Good,” I say as my heart hammers.
His smile dissolves into a grin. “Good.” He repeats.
My heart pitter-patters, and the smile takes over not just my lips, but I feel it like a balm to my soul. My smile turns into laughter. “Good.” I have no idea why I’m saying the word again, but when he continues to smile, I’d say ‘good’ on repeat all day every day just to keep that glorious smile on his face.
“I want to show you something.” He gets up from the breakfast bar. Stretching around, he brushes his hard chest against my back. The warmth circles me as he picks up my cup of tea. The moment he steps away, I feel the loss of his body against mine.
I follow him out of the kitchen and down the hallway that leads to the swimming pool. I wouldn’t object to a swim with him. I’m already picturing his tanned chest, strong, toned legs, and his experienced hands. His shoulders move up and down, the white material almost a sin. He should never cover up. My mind leaves the gutter as he takes a left. The disappointment is short-lived that we aren’t going to the pool, as he pauses outside a room that I’ve never been in. In fact, only a few days ago, I tried to see into this room, but the door was locked.
He turns the handle, and he pushes the door open and stands back, allowing me to go in first. I step into a space that leaves my body light. The white room has empty frames covering three of the walls, the fourth wall is made of glass overlooking the garden. I step deeper into the room, my throat tightening as I take in everything, including the large easel that holds a blank sheet of paper. It’s to the right of the room, facing the wall of glass.
Richard passes me, and I can’t move. A workstation is filled with every shape and size of papers, brushes, and the more I look, I see every shade of paint in small tubes. The shaggy rug under my feet is the bluest I have ever seen; it complements the white-walled room.
“What is this?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I know what I’m looking at. The most exquisite art room I could have ever imagined.
“This is for you.” Richard’s voice is different. I glance at him. He still holds my small cup of tea, that looks tiny in his huge hands.
I want to ask why?
He walks to all the empty frames. “You can fill all these. You might even draw me again.”
My throat and eyes burn, and I turn away from him and face one of the walls filled with empty frames. I don’t want him to see me cry. “That is a lot of frames.” My voice wobbles. I blink, and tears fall, so I wipe them away quickly.
“You have a lot of time.”
Time. “Do I?” Or are my days numbered here? I turn to Richard, who’s standing in front of me.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he says.
A lump in my throat keeps my words down. I don’t want to leave. My hand trembles as I wipe my lip like I can stop the shake that’s started to take over my body. It rattles my soul, and this room is so much more than a kind gesture. This room is a future I’m craving.
Richard towers over me, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t. All the words I should be saying aren’t there. If I bring them to the surface, they will sound as hollow and untruthful as they feel. I should be saying I want to go home. I don’t. I should be saying you’re a monster. He’s not.
He holds out the small cup of tea. I take it and try not to spill any. I spin away from him again and try to settle the conflict that tears through me by walking around the room.
“You did this for me?” I ask, stopping at the station that holds all the different colored paints. Every shade of every color fills the space. Hundreds of colors, all new, all sealed, all ready to be brought to life on a canvas.
“Yes.” Movement outside has me looking at the wall of glass. Connor races around the garden; so fast it’s hard to track him. I want to add, is he for me too? Is that why he kept Connor?
It’s too much.
Hands caress my arms, and the blouse is no barrier for how his touch feels on me. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to paint, Claire.” His voice holds a hint of disappointment.
I tighten my fingers around the mug. They are itching to start painting. “I like it,” I whisper.
Lowering the cup to the sideboard, I turn in his arms. “I’ve spent most of my life afraid.” I can’t hold his gaze as I speak. “Afraid of Leonard,” I admit. “Afraid of my own shadow.” I’m thinking about how I turned off every appliance before going to bed, afraid of fire. Or making sure I thought before I spoke, as I was afraid of offending someone. Afraid, afraid, afraid.
Be brave.
A laugh jolts my pain. “You took me from a cage.” I look back up at Richard and blink. Tears spill. “I’m not afraid anymore.” I don’t think my words will mean much to him, but to me, not being afraid anymore frees my soul.
Richard’s large hands encase my face, and I close my eyes against the warmth and security they provide. “Nothing will ever hurt you again.”
I turn my face and press a kiss into his palm. “I don’t want to leave,” I admit.
Opening my eyes, I look into his face. He dips his head and presses a kiss to my lips that heals me a little bit more.
His kiss isn’t enough. My hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt; I want to touch his flesh. His hands dig into my wet hair before he helps me with his shirt. He lifts me up, and I’m sitting on the edge of the sideboard. I have a second thought of telling him not to mess up all the paints that are perfectly lined. All words fail me as he pushes his rock-hard cock against me. My fingers skim tanned skin. His pecs move under my touch. I drag a nail across his nipple, and he hisses in pain. The kiss is broken, and his eyes drink me up with darkness.
“You want to play dirty?” he asks.
My core throbs. “With you? Yes.”
His lips move to my neck, his tongue flicks out and wets the skin before his teeth drag across the sensitive flesh. I drag my nails heavier along his nipples as he presses down on my neck. Red marks are left along his chest. He stands back and unbuckles his trousers, and pushes them down along with his boxers to the ground. His cock springs free and the excitement of having him inside me has me opening the buttons of my shirt. I pause and take a peek at the large open window. Anyone could be watching us.
Richard steps closer and opens the button of my shirt. “Are you worried about someone watching?” He asks.
“No.” The answer surprises me. The thoughts of someone watching us turns me on. My red blouse flutters to the ground, and I push Richard back so I can follow the blouse down to the floor. My knees press into the shaggy blue rug, and I look back up at Richard as I take his large cock in my hand. I’m still watching him as I run my tongue along the side of his shaft before taking his cock into my mouth. I gag as the head hits the back of my throat. Dragging my lips back up, I stroke his shaft before running my tongue along the head; his cock twitches in my mouth, and his hands land heavily on my head, pushing me deeper towards his cock. His balls are heavy as I take them in my fingers and squeeze them before dipping under and taking them one at a time in my mouth. The growl from his lips satisfies me, and I lick and suck his balls while stroking his cock. I lean out and look up at Richard. I’m off my feet in a second as he drags me up and pulls the string on my linen trousers open. His fingers flutter along my core, and he doesn’t dip them in. I want him to, so badly. He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, ready to accept his cock that he plunges inside me. He carries me to the nearest wall, and my back impacts with a frame that sways and crashes to the floor.
The frame shatters, the glass cracks, but we don’t stop. Richard continues to plow himself into me. My nails drag across his shoulders, and when he hisses and uses his pain as a driving force behind his thrusts, I dig my nails deeper. He plows into me deeper. His mouth is hot on my neck, and I’m preparing myself for the pain. His tongue licks the sensitive skin, and the pain comes hard and fast. There is a moment where I want to end this as the agony is too much. My body temperature soars, and Richard’s thrusts grow more frantic. Each thrust takes me back to the pleasure I had felt only seconds ago. I cling to him as his teeth break the skin on my neck. The warmth of my blood trickles, and he growls before his tongue darts back out. His mouth moves to mine, and I look into his black eyes before I suck his tongue that’s coated in my blood.
“Fuck.” His growl has him burying his head in my neck again, his tongue moving in fast circles around the cut. I dig my nails into his shoulders. My back slams repeatedly against the wall, and my cries grow louder as the pleasure and pain continue to build. His teeth graze the cut, and the burn takes me over the edge as my body spasms. He fills me with his seed and the room with his ecstasy, and we both come down together.