Sinful Longing (Sinful Nights, #3)(18)
He tapped the wall next to an image of The Sands Casino in the 60s, a home base for Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack that was owned by a New York mob man. “And it spread far and wide. Some of the biggest hotels in the city were owned and operated by this wild combination of Mormon businessmen and the mob, so they could have a legitimate appearance on the outside, and money laundering and street muscle on the inside.”
“The whole notion that there is the underbelly of crime everywhere, all around us, blows my mind,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and miming an explosion.
Colin nodded in agreement. “Handouts, corrupt cops, men on the take, informants, and the guys in suits circulating around town every day, weaving in and out of casinos. Looking like me, or like one of my brothers, or just anybody.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me you’re in the mob?”
He affected a wise guy smirk. “Doll face, it’s time you knew the truth. You’re sleeping with a made man. You want to know who I really am? I’ll tell you, sweet cheeks.” He pointed to an interactive screen on the far wall that read “Mob Nickname Generator.”
“Oooh, I’m finally gonna learn my honey baby’s real name.” She rubbed her palms together as they reached the screen.
He tapped it, and they chuckled at the rubric the screen asked them to fill in: name your racket, with options like money laundering, casino skimming, and blackmail; what’s your role, such as capo, soldier, business associate, corrupt judge; and what is your mob era, with choices like prohibition, the swinging 60s, and the modern era.
Elle went first, entering her picks, then reading her status report. “Ooh, I’m a mob girlfriend. Men buy me things and who am I to turn them down? They parade me around town and take me to dinner, and my name is ‘Elle ‘Moneybags’ Mariano.’” She snorted. “Ha. I wish.”
“My turn,” Colin said, and together they decided he’d be a corrupt politician, and he read the result aloud. “I just take what’s offered to me, okay? Nothin’ wrong with that. The mob slips me a few things now and then—some cash, a free meal, a bottle of my favorite bootlegged whiskey. What’s the big deal? I’m Colin ‘Scotty’ Sloan.”
She dragged her nails through his hair. “Colin Scotty Sloan, you are one handsome fella,” she said, in an over-the-top floozy accent. It was jokey, but it still turned him on. Or maybe it was just that her proximity was making an instant impression on certain parts of his anatomy. Because that part was standing at attention now, announcing its intention to have her, and to have her soon.
“I’m gonna take you out for that fancy meal you deserve, sweet thing,” he said, snaking his hand down her back and squeezing her ass. “Show you off as mine.”
“Oh, I like that, Scotty Sloan. I like it very much.” She slid her body close to his, rubbing her sexy frame against him, making contact with his erection. She arched an eyebrow and gazed south. “Seems you like the idea, too, don’t you?” She lowered her voice to a sexy purr, dropping the mob girlfriend accent and returning to pure, dirty Elle.
“You think so? What makes you say that?” he asked, egging her on.
She pressed harder against his dick and started circling her hips. No one was in this exhibit room but them, with the eyes of generations of made men watching. “This,” she said in his ear, then dropped her hand to his jeans, grabbing him through the denim as she palmed the outline of his cock. He groaned from her touch. “This fantastic hard-on makes me say you like the idea of parading me around town.”
He jerked her even closer. “No, this hard-on says I like doing much more than parading you around, Elle Moneybags Mariano.” He grabbed her hand, walked her to the exit sign, pressed hard on the heavy door below it, and entered a stairwell.
Ah, stairwells. The perfect locations for a little something.
Her eyes blazed with mischief as he spun her around and backed her against the wall. “Like I said, I’ll do more than parade you around. Since that’s what you want,” he said, cupping her face with his hands and gazing at her. He drank in her absolute f*cking beauty with his eyes, savoring the way she looked. The lusty expression, the parted lips, the racing breath.
She was so sexual, so raw in her needs, and he loved it. Loved it so damn much. He lifted his thumb to her mouth, brushing it against her lips. “Do you realize I’ve never gone down on you?” he asked. “What the f*ck is up with that?”
“I know,” she said, breathily. “I want it so badly.”
“Why has this not happened yet?” he asked as he stroked her bottom lip softly with the pad of his thumb.
She shook her head. “Because we’re always screwing? Because we go straight to the main attraction?”
“Maybe.”
“Or because we’ve never been someplace private enough?”
“Maybe that’s it. Because when I go down on you, I want you without a stitch of clothes on. I want to spread you out, worship your sexy body, and take my time licking and kissing and sucking you all over. I want to taste every inch of your skin before I bury my face between your legs,” he said, dropping his hand to her jeans and cupping her. She moaned as he felt how hot she was through her clothes.
“Are you going to do it here?” she asked, and she sounded so damn desperate and hungry and horny that he was dying to strip her jeans to her ankles, kneel before her, and taste her heat. But no. He had patience. He was going to have her when he had time to feast.