Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Sneaking out twice in the same week isn’t hard, but it requires a little bit of finesse. And guile.

I shove my hands deep inside my pockets as I approach Julien at the gate, the sunshine glaring through the thick steel bars and casting long shadows on the ground. They crawl up my body in long, dark strips like the bars of a prison cell. How appropriate.

He’s a newly patched member, and he’s eager to please. The older members are used to me pulling shit, always trying to run a scam by them, but not Julien.

I lay my arm across my face to shield my eyes from the sun and he turns around with a little jump.

“Hey, um-listen, I need to go outside for a while. Just for a bit.”

His thick arms cross over his chest as he watches me. “Why?”

I bite my lip. “Um-I’d rather not say. It’s really embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry, but I need to know why if you want to leave.”

Then I lean in, my hair hanging around my face. “Well-I just got my period and we’re out of tampons.”

It’s the magic word.

Julien’s face immediately burns a bright shade of red as he wraps his arms around himself, taking small steps backward. “Uh-well-”

Poor, poor Julien.

I adopt an uncertain tone. “You could get them for me, I guess. I was just going to pop off to the store and get some.”

“No! I mean-yeah, I’ll open the gate. Give me a second.”

A grateful smile spreads across my face as I thank him and head to my car.

Sucker.

I don’t plan on coming back. Not for a very long time. Daddy will just have to deal with the fact that his daughter likes to have sex. With men. I know, it’s a shocker.

Parking at the nearest subway station, I take the train into Montreal. I don’t want to deal with the parking in the city, and taking the metro is just another snub at Dad. Even using the subway was forbidden to me.

My stomach churns as I think about what I’ll say to Johnny when I finally meet him. He told me not to come back to his bar.

I feel lighter than I have in ages when I get out at a stop with a bunch of shopping. There’s not much in my bank account, but I splurge so rarely that I don’t really feel guilty for trying on new dresses.

Maybe he’ll change his mind if I look like this.

In the department store, I look at myself in a sexy little summer dress. It’s a bright-red knit with an art deco design, and it clings to my every curve. Dark eyeliner makes my eyes pop, and my hair shines with the new ginger conditioner that I bought. I look sexy, damn it. No, I’m not model-thin, but who gives a shit?

Fuck yes. I’m buying this.

I walk out of the dressing room still wearing the dress, my black gladiator heels clicking on the floor.

My confidence is blazing when the girl at the register compliments how it looks as I buy it, even as I walk out into the dim early evening as men whistle at me from across the street. It feels different to be free, and I’m too angry to care about the shit I’ll have to deal with when I return home. The summer night is nice and balmy, and everywhere there are couples.

I pass by that bar, already bustling with people, and my heart slams into my chest so hard that I feel dizzy. All of a sudden my confidence bursts like a needle to a balloon.

A group of handsomely dressed people stream out of the bar and dig through their pockets to find cigarettes.

This is stupid. I can’t go back in there. He’ll laugh in my face. Besides, I don’t even know what to say-

You’re going to give up now? Coward.

I imagine myself turning tail and heading home, of making up some excuse to Julien why I was gone so long, and my stomach sinks. Failure isn’t an option. I want to go home with that man. Christ, I want to feel him inside me. The last time I had sex was years ago. Years of pent-up, unsatisfied urges, unable to touch myself in my own bed. The thought of another few years of this is too depressing to contemplate.

It’ll just be one time.

Yes, one wild night to remember.

I march through the open doors of the bar, straight into the thick of conversation and music. I wipe my hands on my dress and wade through the crowd of testosterone. Male heads whip around at me. There are so many here to choose from, but I only want one man.

The man who promised me that he’d make me come hard over his cock.

Is he even here?

I belly up to the bar, avoiding the gaze of the pretty bartender. A chorus of deep male laughter captures my attention. Four dark-haired men in suits hang near the bar, and the breath catches in my throat as I recognize one of them.

Johnny raises a shot glass to his wet lips, throws back his head, and swallows the clear liquid. My heart skips a beat when he licks the salt off his hand. His tongue drags on his skin, and a line of pleasure runs straight to the space between my legs. Goddamn, he makes drinking a shot of tequila look sexy. I want that tongue on my skin.

So what now? Do I just go up to him or do I puss out and order a drink?

If you don’t approach him, someone else will.

The thought sends a jolt of electricity through my legs, and I head straight for him. Even though the bar is crowded, it’s easy to navigate this place. I watch as his head turns, staring at the cocktail waitress’ ass. She sets down drinks for them and walks away.

Don’t look at me.

Don’t look at me.

Scorching black eyes pass over the heads in the bar, and then they crawl up my figure. They flicker back.

Fuck, he looked at me.

I can’t begin to describe the intensity of his eyes. They’re like some kind of personification of a lion’s stalking gaze. Everything about him doesn’t seem entirely human, from the perfectly slicked-back hair to his spotless appearance. He’s too perfect to believe. Then it suddenly hits me: no way this guy is just a bar owner. And my palms sweat as that realization drops into my head.

I want to bolt in the other direction, despite the fact that I just don’t get nervous around men anymore. Why’s he so different? I can’t figure him out.

I’m still shaking as I weave in between his men, inserting myself into that circle of testosterone as Johnny’s eyes lock onto my face.

He looks gorgeous as he lounges on that bar stool. Clean shaven, not a stray strand of hair, and that tantalizing V of skin right below his neck, revealing his tanned skin and a sprinkling of dark hair. He looks at me, recognition dawning on his face as a slight frown knits his eyebrows.

“I thought I told you not to come back to this bar.”

Oh fuck.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.