“Give Marco the rundown when you see him next,” I say. “Meanwhile I’ll work with Clayton on finding us an insider for the Bratva.”
“Copy that.”
“All right. Take care, man. Talk soon,” I say, eager to get off this shitty call.
“Sure thing. Enjoy your honeymoon,” he says.
“Ha ha.”
I hang up and slip the sat phone in my pocket, running a hand over my mouth. I have a lot to think about. People to call, decisions to make. But first, I need my guests to depart.
It took some doing to peel Esme off of me last night. She’s been following me around like a puppy since she arrived, which I guess I should have expected. The only reason I invited her is because Clio Romo, of the Naples Romos, has always had a thing for her, and I knew he’d enjoy the eye candy. But it backfired royally. My ex-fling (if you can even call our random conjugal visits over the last few years a legitimate “fling”) stuck to me like velcro. Forcibly removing her from my person only made her worse, unfortunately. She likes a challenge, and she likes it rough.
Luckily, the men and I had a lot to talk about, and the women I invited on board know when they’re forbidden from hanging around—girls who don’t understand the power dynamic around me and my associates aren’t asked to come back. So off they went to their own rooms. As soon as I was alone with my family’s mafia allies, we got down to business. A lot of drinks were consumed. A lot of jokes were thrown around. And a lot of concerns were voiced out loud.
The Brunos have been making quite the name for themselves over the last year, and not in a good way. There are a lot of people on the fringes of the mob scene who want to be more involved in the dirty underground, and they’ve gravitated toward Bruno, pledging their loyalty and increasing his numbers. But those of us who want to keep the playing field clean are united against them. Our numbers are going up, too. We’ve bested the Brunos before, and Bratva or not, we’ll do it again.
For now, I’m tense with pent-up energy. As much as I’m itching to take action, there’s really nothing I can do until I hear from Clayton. I’ve already paced the deck of this yacht so hard, I’m surprised I haven’t worn a groove in the boards. I think it’s time to go find my wife.
Since I told her to go for a swim, I check the pool on the starboard side of the yacht first. And there she is, swimming a lap, her red hair trailing behind her. She’s the only one in the water. I expected to find the other women lounging around as well, but they must be below deck giving my guests one last round of personal entertainment before they depart.
Candi turns and swims back toward me. That’s when I realize: she’s naked. Completely naked. No straps from a bikini top to interrupt the creaminess of her soft skin, no bottoms down below to obscure the perfection of that ass. When she reaches my side of the pool, she grabs onto the lip and bobs there for a moment. Droplets of water roll down her neck and between her tits, making my mouth water. The pink edges of her areolas are just barely visible below the water line.
My cock jerks. I’m more than ready to give it what it wants.
“Well hello,” I say smoothly.
Candi rolls her eyes, turns around, and starts swimming back to the far end of the pool. Gotta love that saucy attitude. A smirk plays at my lips as I watch her go, but my mouth goes dry the second she rolls over into a backstroke, flashing the wet, naked front of her body as she swims.
She’s doing this on purpose. Teasing me. Flaunting her assets, just to get a rise out of me.
Consider it mission accomplished.
I whip my clothes off as quickly as I can and lower myself into the water, barely breaking the surface. She’s treading water lazily in the deep end now, facing away from me as she stares out at the Atlantic. I’ve almost reached her when she hears me and spins. Her eyes narrow.
“Why are you here? If you wanted to wash off the stench of your whore, you could have done it in the shower instead.”
My whore? At first I’m confused, but then I realize she’s referring to Esme. Which almost has me laughing out loud. I can’t believe Candi thinks I’d go back to domestic beer now that I’ve tasted champagne. And although my plan was never to make my wife jealous by inviting Esme on board, it’s fun to know I’ve riled up Candi all the same.
She’s clearly ready for a fight, but I don’t take the bait. I just smile like the devil and crowd her against the side of the pool, boxing her in with an arm on each side of her.
“You know,” I tell her, dropping my voice lower, “there’s a good chance a member of the crew might see us now. Which means you have no choice but to let me fuck you in this pool, because that’s what a honeymooning couple would do.”
“Oh, just like a honeymooning groom would ditch his bride for a bunch of skanks on a yacht?”
“Do I sense some jealousy?” I say, knowing it will rile her up.
She scoffs and tries to duck under my arm, but I grab her by the waist and push her forcefully against the pool’s siding again. She struggles for a brief second, then goes still in my arms as my stiff cock nudges against her inner thigh. I lock eyes with her, and she sucks in a shivering breath. The wet glide of our bodies gives me goosebumps.
“Did you forget my no-touching rule?” she says.
“Not at all. Tell me to walk away and I will.”
I’m bluffing. There’s no way I’m leaving. But she doesn’t make a move.
“I’m waiting,” I add.
Glaring at me with pure hatred, she wraps her hand around my length and squeezes, making me shudder. Such a good girl. Always hot for me, even when she’s fuming mad.
