REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER SEVEN

I exited the office to attend a meeting with the men downstairs. Natalie paced toward me before I locked the door, her long, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. Her kittenish smile had the opposite effect. I was in no mood to fuck tonight. I had time for a blowjob, though. Yet, when her hand smoothed down my arm, I had a strong urge to reprimand.

"Not tonight," I declined her offer, and her fingernails pinched my elbow. "Natalie."

"Did I do something wrong?" Her freshly glossed lips pouted. "You are never disinclined to receive a good head."

Security paid no attention to us.

I put my back to the closed door. "Maybe later."

"Right." Upset glimmered in her eyes, but she quickly tapered down rejection. "What time shall I come back?"

Her blue eyes glittered in desperation. I suppose she was desperate. I slept with another woman twenty-four hours after she and I fucked in the office, yet she came back, knowing I went elsewhere, fell at my feet, begged for attention and, as if I deserved reverence, swallowed my release.

Natalie thinks she is in love with me, not that she's admitted enamoured feelings aloud, but the word doormat imprinted on her forehead suggested as much.

I entertain it because I am unchivalrous and selfish, but lately, I am bored. And honestly, Natalie's theatrical pornographic moans did nothing for me.

Her fingers played the piano up my chest. "I can do all the work," she purred, tugging the collar of my shirt. "Your men can watch. I don't care."

Josh and Alexa chose that moment to vacate the staff room at the end of the hall. He's in the process of pulling a black T-shirt over his head, and Alexa, laughing at something I was not privy to, jabbed him in the stomach. Discerning the sculpted outline of his abdominal muscles, she complimented him. He beamed in cockiness, which had her eyes rolling, and then, those eyes, the colour still incomprehensible, as they seemed to change, landed on me. It was a hurried look, yet the fact I noticed perturbed her.

"Mr Warren." Natalie's voice began to grate on me. "Your new girl left early last night."

I shot her a sharp look. "What?"

"Yeah." Her finger twirled a strand of hair. "Like two hours before our shift ended."

When my stare revisited the chortling duo, they were gone.

"I thought you had the right to know," Natalie continued, her voice bitter. "I—"

"Enough." Her overt mischief simpered down. "Your shift started ten minutes ago."

Natalie's jaw flexed. "Right."

I joined the men in Club 11's underground conference room. Low-ranked soldiers, tailored and armed, lined the room's perimeter, while my most-trusted, Brad and Nate, sat at the long-stretched mahogany table, awaiting our closed-door conclave. Cherry preoccupied herself behind the corner bar. Her dishevelled image is the result of tonight's rapacious clients. She poured everyone's preferred alcohol, handed over a percentage of her earnings, wads of cash bound by metal clips, and then, politely excusing herself from the room, returned upstairs to assist in the main function room.