His Pretty Little Queen: A Dark Mafia, Age Gap Romance (Kids of The District Book 5)
His Pretty Little Queen: Chapter 18

MADONNA MIA.

This damn girl.

With her eccentric, teenage tantrum, screaming about making her accountable for her lack of manners, for her disrespectful attitude, all the while she reminds me to be damn accountable for my promises… I made the damn promises! The assurances!

Were anything to happen to me, my brothers would give her their protection, my sisters-in-law give her company, my wife—fuck—would love, touch, and keep her supple body warm at night… I am sure…

My teeth lock together.

I treated this order of business with Dustin, with her father, like any other—with minimal sentiment. Impartial. Measured. Controlled.

But Fawn is mine.

And no one will care for her with the diligence I will.

Yes, little deer.

You’ve proven your point.

Christ. It’s on me.

It’s not until now, while she sobs in my lap at the premise I may die, that the concept of my own mortality becomes unbearable in the light of her sweet existence.

She is my responsibility.

Pushing off the floor with one hand, I stand with her supported by the other. She kisses my face with wet, tear-soaked lips, trailing across my cheek to replace my mouth as I walk her to the bed.

Bracing myself on one arm, I carry her to the head and lay her down gently. Our lips stay connected, and I consume her moans for more love. More treatment of gentleness. More affection. My sweet, affection-hungry girl. I’ve never kissed a woman as much as I kiss her—

My cock stiffens in my pants as she slides her pelvis along the bruising length.

So needy, my little deer.

She believes she can keep me here with her body. With her tears. With her love.

Christ… She can.

Irritation growls from me.

She is.

Brat.

I wanted to leave while she slept. Peacefully. Hopefully, growing my baby inside her young womb. After having heard and been satisfied with my explanation, accepting it like a good girl, she should have let me leave.

Her arms tighten around me. ‘Don’t go.’

The concern now shifting through me is distracting. Not that this is the most dangerous thing we have conducted. Well, perhaps it is, but— Fuck.

For the first time in my entire thirty-five years of life, I have a reason to live.

Not simply a reason to die.

The Cosa Nostra.

My brothers—they were always good—worthy—reasons to die.

Needing to be inside her while she steals my breath in her mouth, while death warrens through my brain, I unbuckle my belt, hissing at the urgency. I should have woken her up earlier. Fucked her thoroughly.

There is no time.

Her hands fall above her head, where I pin them to the mattress, my weight pressing on her wrists as I release my cock.

Breaking our kiss, I look down and circle the glistening outer folds of her pretty pussy with the crown of my erection.

She is slightly parted and slick as always. Such a beautiful gift for me. Pink. Glistening. A thin, soft coat of lovely blonde hair. My hips rock back and forth as I view her pussy stretching wide, sheathing me until I’m completely swallowed by her. The sensation demands a whimper to break from her lips. Her eyes roll back.

‘No one else will ever be inside you like this,’ I state, luring her eyes to gaze down at the way I fill her snug opening. I push her thighs to the mattress; her legs slip open easily. ‘Such a pretty, agile body. See how you swallow my cock, sweet girl? Accept me inside your pretty body? You hug me in such a lovely way. It’s breathtaking.’

She pants under my gaze. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I won’t die, sweet girl.’ I lean down and take her mouth before she can ask again. As I thrust roughly in her, I slant my lips in a demanding kiss, filling her mouth with my tongue and her yelps to overthrow the begging that will be my undoing.

I start to fuck her tight little hole.

Leaning back, I leave her lips swollen and red in my wake. I take her all in as she rolls her head from side to side, overwhelmed by sensations uncontrolled by her. Arousal looks pretty on her. A crimson gloss mars her chest and cheeks. A plumpness to her panting mouth.

She takes me so beautifully, curving her back, squeezing her eyes shut and gasping each time I punch her depths. ‘That’s my good girl.’

Warmth rushes along my thighs, pleasure sitting heavily in my abdomen as I rub my throbbing erection through her channel. All her powerful, smooth muscles enveloping me twitch, clinging and kneading.

I groan, thrusting in relentlessly, uncertain how she manages to accept me with such grace, such pose when she’s wanton, open, and giving.

My sweet, ravenous little deer.

Against all odds, she is still incredibly innocent even as she lets me fill her with my darkness and perversions.

‘Mine. Who do you belong to, sweet girl?’ I dive in deep with the onset of that question, holding myself at the depth of her. Her hips recoil under the pressure battering her cervix. ‘Say it.’

‘Yours,’ she cries out, and I draw outwards along her gripping walls before rolling in at the angle I know will have her quivering within moments.

I need her orgasms.

‘Who do you love?’ I demand, cursing the question that came unintentionally from me.

‘I love you, Sir.’

Concentrating, I start a rhythm that immediately sends her into a frenzy of seeking her own pleasure. Her body wriggling around, hips becoming needy, careless, uncertain, as she chases me and then becomes overwhelmed, retreating.

Needing to stop her passionate, clumsy motions, I withdraw from her, sending cries of disappointment through her lips. My cock is coated in her juices, sliding down her thighs as I take hold of her hips. I flip her onto her stomach to stop her frantic gyrating.

‘Good girl. Grip the sheets.’ Laying my body down against hers, I feed my fingers between hers. The slender digits tighten around the soft material below.

I enter her wet pussy again and pump in and out at the perfect pace for my little deer to meet her pleasure. Her thighs locked between mine, her body unable to protest under my weight. She is mine to use.

I kiss the soft white skin of her neck.

‘Mine,’ I declare, my tongue sliding out to taste the salty perspiration gathering. To lick her. To coat her. ‘I will return for what is mine.’

She trembles beneath me.

And I wring her orgasms from her, shudder by shudder, as her gasps become my name. ‘Sir. Sir.’

Her choppy pants and writhing motion befall my own catalyst. Her perfect pussy chokes at my cock as her orgasm tears through her body, sending warmth pulsing through me. Heat like wildfire rushes up my thighs and brews inside my balls. My own release crests.

Tightening and growing, I fist her fingers and the sheet within her palms to fuck my cum into her. Grunt with each pulse. My vision floods with a haze of ecstasy. Then suddenly, my own death slams through that blackened moment of desire, pushing through the image of a baby boy with her dual-coloured eyes, of her alone in our bed with him, of her a single parent like her own was—

Fuck!

Of all my broken promises. I roar my orgasm out into her, biting back the petulant fear. I’m fucking poisoned with it. Fear of failing her.

One final thrust, and I still on top of her, my panting gushing from me in warm waves, hitting her spine.

I slide my hand between her abdomen and the mattress, cupping between her hipbones, and say, ‘I will come back for what is mine, little deer. You can do this. Be my strong girl. Let me finish this for my brothers. For you. For our son. And be my brave girl while I’m gone. Be the blood of the Cosa Nostra. My queen. Their queen. I know who you are. Do you?’

Her strained breath vibrates on sobs, before she declares, ‘Yours,’ ripping my stone heart in two.

‘Yes, sweet girl. And so much more.’

I LEAVE her in her slumber—now late—and go straight to the airstrip. Finding the jet ready, idling, yet empty of passengers, I board alone. My brothers seemingly have their own goodbyes delaying them.

Taking a seat, I recline and pull a cigar from my jacket pocket, in need of the mild flavours that have always relaxed me. Lighting it, I draw the smoke in just as I catch sight of Max and Bronson heading across the tarmac towards the jet above the low light of the runway.

The sky is still consumed in night-time blackness. Early morning lines of silver are barely visible along the horizon. Looking out the window as the ember flares in the dark reflective glass, I imagine my sweet girl in the penthouse. A small, foetal-positioned body on a king-sized bed.

It’s only twenty-four hours.

I’ll be back for what’s mine.

I’m inclined to pull up the footage on my phone and check on her; such a habit is always twitching my hands. I resist the urge, drawing the port-scented vapour into my lungs and loosen my tie. Settling in.

When Bronson climbs into the cabin, vivid tattoos exposed at his forearms and neck, I nod to acknowledge him, earning me a wide smile that is anything but wholesome.

There is a swiftness to his predatorial gait as he moves around, his eyes glowing green. I don’t know what goes on behind those unhinged irises, but there has always been a demonic side to Bronson. One that is often so powerful it can’t be restrained. Not alone. His woman and his son, Stone, keep him sane. So now more than ever, while a physical divide separates him from them, I’m sure the darkness is surfacing in the imminence of their bleak absence.

I sigh hard, disappointment rolling down my port-laced breath. I failed him most of all. With my absence. With my cold shoulder. Where I thought the separation was for the best. For them. For Cosa Nostra. For me. I’m not entirely sure that was the right way. The only way… For while I was being trained to lead, at some point during my brothers’ childhoods, Bronson lost his mind and Max lost his hope.

Max follows Bronson into the cabin. Together they approach me, sitting on the opposite seats, both in expectant silence. Waiting.

I lean back, eyeing them, then smother the ember of my cigar in the ashtray. ‘Are you confident in explaining the landscape of the compound to the soldiers?’ I ask Max, getting straight to business, and receive a curt nod in response.

Which is enough. My brother isn’t a conversationalist, but he’s the best damn architect in the city and his comprehension of building plans is second to none. Where I see flat, linear lines, he sees entire three-dimensional spaces. I need him on this. I trust him. ‘Did you use the building records to sketch a direct path in and out of the compound?’

He nods again.

‘Good. Remember, if we can avoid it, no gunshots. Get us in undetected while most of the fuckers are asleep. We replace Dustin and slice throats in beds until we do. I don’t need gun residue or evidence scattered in the dark. We want it to look like a rival gang. Make it sloppy. Messy. Gruesome.’

Bronson smiles.

It’s his kind of raid.

Max looks down at a tattoo running the length of his finger, cursive writing that reads, Ardente One, then to his tattooed wedding band, his dark brows tightening as he says, ‘Dustin is mine.’

‘Yes, brother,’ I agree, and his stormy grey eyes rise, locking on my face. For a moment, I’m reminded of a time when I was eighteen, when Max wanted to stand by me, comfort me, in the way a broken boy comforts another broken boy, but I threw his concerns in his face. He never looked at me the same way again.

I ram the unbidden memory and the sentiment attached down. It will only drag me down, haze my course. ‘You will get your revenge tonight for what happened to Cassidy,’ I assure him. ‘But for now, get some sleep.’

Dustin’s death is for all of us, but to Max, it’s a promise he never kept.

And I can’t imagine a darker place to live than in the pits of a broken word… Christ. There would be no crueller existence. I did that. I’m sorry, brother. I sat by when Jimmy allowed Dustin to remain a partner in Cosa Nostra. I couldn’t understand love—I couldn’t fathom that level of affection.

What it does to a man…

What it means to a man…

To men like us who were barren of its power.

I retrieve my phone and open the footage to the penthouse, catching a sweet girl in hysterics. My heart twists as she hurls pillows around the room, crying in fits that shake her small shoulders. Emotions and feelings far too big for my little deer to handle control her movements.

She needs me, and I need her.

And I’ve made promises too.

I intend to keep them, sweet girl.