Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) - Kara Hart Page 0,19

around and of course, Joel shook his head at me.

6

Lucas

The whole fucking car ride to Detroit was a disaster. I left the restaurant in a hurry, not because I was a badass. Shit, I wanted that omelet more than anything. But as soon as I had her in my grasp, my cock turned solid as a fucking semi-truck. I couldn't just stand there with my dick in my hands.

It had been a long time since anyone had made me feel like that. When was the last time I got laid? I searched my memory for a time that stood out. Well, there was that woman in Brazil, that real dark skinned woman. It was right after I killed that son of a bitch for giving me some false information. But I wasn’t the type of guy to think about fucking after shattering a man’s skull with my 9mm, so I ended up spillin’ my guts to her and paying her extra for it.

No, it had been at least 6 years. Brenda, my ex, most likely. Shit, I didn't even want to think about that woman and what she did to me. Or, better yet, what I did to her heart.

Women weren't a thing to me after her. Too much effort. Too many nights listening to them whine about this and that, promising them a life you know you can't give, and raising some children you didn't give a damn about. That's what “love” was and sex always led up to that, so why even try? But this woman, Dahlia, had to be tamed. She needed some extra time with me.

Coming home was even worse. My brother was on one of his benders again. “You kiss the bitch and then you kill her, he said!” He made a hanging noise, as if a noose had fell around his neck. This was his bit, telling jokes while cocaine residue hung on the edges of his nostril.

I waited for the punchline to his stupid joke. In fact, everyone was waiting for it. But it never came. Ricky just sat there, cackling to himself like a fucking mad man. My father, old enough to get noticeably annoyed by trivial displays like this one, wiped his lips and set his napkin down on the table.

“The punchline?” He asked, taking out a cigar and lighting it. His mansion was a gorgeous mock of old Italian wealth. It might have been the most expensive and well-kept home in Detroit. The chandelier above us flickered against the dark recesses of the room.

“What?” Ricky said wide-eyed and dumb. He had brought some hooker or call girl to dinner. I could just feel my father’s eyes burning through her. A disgrace. He might say to himself.

I tried not to make eye contact with anyone at the table. The tension was too much. I was a solitary type of man. I did my job, collected my money, and slipped back into the cracks until someone summoned my name once again. I didn't like all these family get-togethers. Ricky always made things uncomfortable and dad didn't know how to deal with it properly. There were times I was surprised he didn't take him to the basement and chop his fingers off. It's not like he was above that type of behavior.

Father, The Don as we used to joke, chewed his food angrily. “The punchline! Where's the damn punchline?”

Ricky looked down hard at the table. He was having a hard time deciding what the best way to answer was. “That was the punchline.” He stuttered. And when no one backed him up, not even his call girl, he said “Anyway, it's not your guys’ type of humor, maybe.”

I was barely even listening at this point. I couldn't stop thinking about that Dahlia woman. I looked at the table in front of me and breathed out loudly. I imagined her on the table, bent over for me like a good girl, whispering filthy things to me. Give me that fat cock. Push it inside me. Split me open. Make me yours. She would say. She spread her legs and placed the palms of her hands against her ass, spreading her soaking hole apart for me. Her wet panties lay around her ankles, against her shiny black heels.

“Can you all excuse me for a second. I have to use the bathroom.” I said, nearly sweating with desire. Shit. This isn't good. Calm yourself. You're at family dinner. Just take a deep breath, wash your hands,