“Some room,” he grunts, coming in and shutting the door behind him. He’s already started pulling off his shirt.
I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky with this room; Nick’s right, it’ssome room. About the size of my whole apartment back in New York, and I have a larger apartment than most people living in New York would ever see.
“I know, right?” I say to Nick, and I keep stroking myself as I lie there on the bed, legs wide open so he can see the butt plug I’ve got in my ass.
Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not the kind of guy who usually brings a butt plug to a wedding—notthat I found it in the bathroom cabinet, either. But I had a feeling that Nicky and I might end up here, and lately he’s been into my toy collection, so I wanted to make sure I was prepared in all possible ways.
A good lawyer is always prepared.Overprepared, if he’s smart.
And I am smart.
Nick pulls his eyes off my asshole and looks around the room, telling me silently that I might be tempting, but he’s not going to let me take the lead. I look around as well, wondering what he thinks as he takes it in. Gold velvet drapes, heavy silk tapestries, ornate mirrors, and small—but good—Renaissance originals. No Old Masters, but they aren’t from amateurs, either. Just like the ballroom below, we could be in Renaissance Italy. Or the palace of Versailles. Or even Pompeii a couple of hours before the volcano blew.
I get that sense a lot these days. There’s something brewing, even if the Morellis are smart enough to keep the particulars quiet, even from their lawyers. We only need to know certain things. And we never ask about anything that could get us into trouble, attorney-client privilege notwithstanding. So I’m not sure what it is that makes me ask, “How did the meeting go?”
At least it has the benefit of yanking Nick’s gaze back to me. “That’s my business,” he tells me, and he starts taking off his shirt. “Not yours. You only need to know what you need to know, right?”
It was the first thing I ever said to him when I rolled up to his interrogation about amisunderstandingin downtown Manhattan. “Just tell me what happened. I only need to know what I need to know. Don’t tell me any future plans,” I said to him, right after I told him my name and that I was his lawyer and to keep his mouth shut. Back in those days, my father attended all higher-level Morelli arrests. I was sent to deal with the dregs. But that day Papa was tied up with a problem that Tino Morelli wanted him to sort out personally, so I got sent in his place to manage Nick Fontana’s problem.
I did so well that even my father couldn’t criticize me. Since then, I’ve been asked for more and more by the Morellis, and especially by the higher-ups. Once Nicky made Capo, he started asking for me exclusively. Nothing my father could do about it except grind his teeth. When a Morelli asks, we jump. And Nick? He could ask a hell of a lot more from me. Sometimes I worry that he knows it.
He’s stripped off his shirt by now, and I take in that broad, hard chest with a sigh of appreciation. “I only ask about the meeting,” I tell him, “because I’m making conversation, and it seems like most of you Morellis are all business, all the time. Except when your dick is inside me, of course.”
Nick just raises an eyebrow. He’s used to me mouthing off, even likes it, I think, otherwise how come he keeps coming back for it?
“You want conversation? I’ll tell you all about the meeting if you really want to know, Bianchi.” He balls up his shirt and throws it over his shoulder, eyes fixed between my legs. “If you’re so desperate to get yourself killed for information.”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “You were right the first time. There’s stuff I need to know and stuff I definitely don’t.”
“Good, because I didn’t come up here to talk business,” he says, and at last he gives a wolfish smile. “Hey—you bring those nipple clamps you love so much, too?”
“The clovers? Nah. Special occasions only for those.” The truth is, those nipples clamps arewaymore intense than I wanted for this weekend. Nicky’s only used them on me once before, and I’ll admit I had one of the best orgasms of my life—no lie—but I also got a noise complaint from my neighbor the next day.
“Pity,” he says. “They really make you scream.”
“And we’re trying to keep it quiet tonight,” I say impatiently. “Come on, Nicky, let’s get on with it.” I wave a hand over my body like I’m inviting him to his second all-you-can-eat buffet of the night.
“Okay. Get that thing out of your ass so you can fit me in instead.”
He likes to act this way, as though the plug is something beneath him, but the reality is it excites him just as much as me. “I thought you might want to do that yourself.”
“That’s what you thought, huh?” He undoes his belt buckle slowly, pulling it out of the loops. No tuxedo for Nicky tonight; getting him into a regular suit is hard enough. He bends the leather length of the belt over double and slaps it into the palm of his hand a few times, still watching me.
Sometimes he likes to spank me. Sometimes he likes to pinch up and down the inside of my thighs, make me curse him out. Tonight…I think it’s pretty clear what he wants to do tonight.
So I stretch out slowly, turn over, and present my ass to him. “That’s what I thought,” I confirm, looking over my shoulder. “Well?”
Chapter Six
Carlo
“You can wait right there, like that,” Nick tells me, and then kicks off his shoes, while I think about the scuff marks he’ll have on them later. He isn’t the kind of guy who spends all his money on clothes. He’s more laid-back than his Family brothers, than me, whether he’s on or off duty. Wealth, or the appearance of it, doesn’t seem to matter to Nicky, and I like that about him.
I’m at home in all the same designers that the Morelli men like to wear—I have to be, for work. But Nick? He’s more at home in sweats, which make up the bulk of his casual outfits that I’ve seen so far. And maybe he’s even most himself when he’s naked, like he is now, having won the war with his socks and pulled off everything else. He kicks his dress pants aside and I wonder if he realizes it’ll be obvious by the creases in his clothes exactly what he’s been doing.
I don’t think Luca D’Amato would care, unless he knewwhoNick was doing. Something tells me the Morelli Don would take a similar stance to my father about our fraternization.
Doesn’t matter. No one will ever find out.
