1. CAL
A crash stumbled through the apartment, waking me up.
It was trailed by incoherent drunk ramblings.
Out of bed in a crop top and my tight booty shorts, I sauntered into the living room.
Frankie had stumbled, slipped, and slumped into the sofa. The coffee table was now in two, and there was blood everywhere.
"Baby," he said, seeing me. "Oh baby. Fuck. I'm sorry."
I wiggled my way onto the sofa for him to place his head on my lap. There was blood in his hair and all over his hands. "It's ok," I told him, inspecting his head to see if there was any glass in there. "I take it tonight didn't go well. You know I don't like it when you go drinking with your brothers."
Frankie belonged to the Borgesi crime family. I hadn't known this when he took me in. I don't think I even figured it out until I was already deep in love with him. He was their hitman, another fact I only found out when he promised to kill whoever wronged me, and he meant it. Unfortunately for both of us, we hadn't found out who'd kidnapped and tortured me two years ago. They'd left me beaten and bruised, most of it I'd blocked out.
"It was my fault," he snickered. "This bastard made a gay joke, then someone said they'd seen who I'm with, talking about you, you know I don't like people talking about you. You know that. Right?"
I gave him a kiss on his bloodied forehead. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, baby," he said. "So, I gave him a beating, almost punched a hole right through the fucker's face." He chuckled, lifting his head up, his lips puckered to kiss me. "I love you to the moon and back, you're mine, you know that."
"And you're mine." I accepted his kisses. "But you're not getting into bed like that. I think we had to burn the last sheets you got blood on."
"Baby, how do my hands look?"
I took one look at them and knew he was going to need stitches.
My mom was a nurse. I knew how to clean wounds and do a basic stitch, and I'd now had plenty of practice thanks to Frankie. He'd never let anyone else do it, and he'd never let anyone else see him like this. The sweet, affectionate side of him was not public knowledge, and that's probably why that guy at the bar got pounded into oblivion.
The first thing I had to do was check his gun. I made sure all the bullets were accounted for. At least the night hadn't gone that sour. I didn't like him to drink with his gun on him, mostly because of what he might do to someone else with it.
Undressing him out of his clothes, I folded them and placed them on the arm of the chair with the gun on top. They had blood all over them, but that wasn't my job, my job was to be taken care of, and to do my best to uncover the truth about what happened to me.
I attempted to sober Frankie with water, holding a bottle to his lips. I lied and told him it was vodka. At first, he spat it out.
"If you don't drink this, you're sleeping on the sofa," I told him, wrapping my finger around the gold chain on his neck and tugging at him. "I don't want you to, but I can't get you up."
He snickered. "I can get something up for you," he said, taking hold of my hand and running it down his hairy torso. "You want that, baby?"
"Pweese," I said, pouting. "But I don't want to ride your whisky dick. It's like fucking a gummy worm. And there's no reward to that." I swung my legs around and sat on his torso. "The only way you're getting a happy ending tonight, is if you drink some water and take a bath."
He looked at me, a big smile on his face. "You love me."
"I do, which is why I'm trying to get you to stop smelling like booze and blood," I said. "Even if it does turn me on."
With his hand in a loose fist, he rubbed his knuckles against my cheek to stroke me. "You gotta say the words," he said. "And now it looks like you need to get cleaned up."
Since he was ten years older than me, I playfully called him Daddy. And he was everything you could need in a Daddy; strong, protective, and he never let me sleep without a treat. "Please, Daddy, you don't want me to sleep alone," I said, gyrating on his torso. "Someone might come in during the night while you're not there."
That got his attention. "Nobody is coming for you," he said. "Gimme that water. I need to keep you safe."
He downed the entire bottle, then asked for another. It only took fifteen minutes after that for me to get him to the bathroom. I took his boxers off and sat him down in the tub. There was a showerhead for me to use, which was better than running him a bath.
First, I rinsed the blood off myself in the sink, it was better that way, he'd only get frisky if I joined him in there.
Washing the cuts on his hands and the blood from his head, I never made a big deal about how busted he got sometimes. The rule was always no doctors, unless you could lie well. If he came in at the same time someone came in with a busted face, it would only have the police on standby, and they were looking for any reason to put Frankie and his family behind bars.
Frankie laid on the bed once he was out of the shower. There was a towel around his waist, and another behind his back. His abdominal muscles and those delicious cum gutters were both shining and flexing as I walked around him.
"Ugh tomorrow is Sunday," I grumbled, my mood dampening. "Your mom is gonna be asking all types of questions," I told him, taking a bottle of sanitizer for the cuts. It stung like a bitch, but you'd never know that by looking at Frankie's face, he didn't even flinch.
"She always does," he said. "More importantly, she'll ask why you're still with me."
As she did, every single time we went to the house, his mother told me I was too good for her son. She'd told me I was too pure for this lifestyle; she just hadn't seen the side of me that matched up perfectly to him. It was the side of me that had been practicing with a knife, and together, we'd eliminated several people who were trying to horrible things, like the things that had been done to me.
"And I'll tell her that I love you, and it will make your brothers uncomfortable, which will lead to us leaving early," I said.
"Perfect," he said, lifting his hand and stroking my face. "You're my perfect boy." His thumb pulling on my bottom lip. "What do those lips do, baby?" His other hand reaching over to slip up my crop top.
"Frankie, I need to fix your knuckles, I guess this is what happens when I hide your brass knuckles, you just fight anyway," I grumbled to myself. "Stop moving, or I'll bite."
He coughed, trying to laugh. "Bite me, then. If I'm gonna have marks on my body, I want them to be from you, baby."
I took his hand and poured more of the sanitizer on the cuts. "After."
For me, stitching the cuts on his skin was like stitching clothes, except we'd learned not to use fabric thread after the first time. Now we had the medical-grade supplies. It felt like I was in an emergency room playing doctors with my surgical thread and tray of instruments.
"Looks like you're gonna be ok," I said. "Now, let me see what else you might need help with."
He immediately pulled at the towel around his waist, his legs spread and his cock chubbing up against his inner thigh. "You know what I want."
Frankie's body almost looked like it was chiseled from marble, and any chance I got to run my hands up it, I took it. The hair pattern on his chest, lead down into a happy trail to the happiest of rewards known as his cock. "I know what you want," I said, giving him a kiss. "Let me put this away. I expect you to be hard when I get back."
He gave my ass a spank as I climbed off the side of the bed. "You don't tell me what to do," he said. "You ask, and you make sure to ask politely, and address me properly." His voice petering off as I went to the kitchen.
There was his playfulness coming out, and an assurance his cock wouldn't become a gummy worm inside me.
The equipment went inside a box under the kitchen sink, and the wipes with blood on them went into a biohazard tub.
On my way back to him, I hiked my booty shorts up between my cheeks. It made my balls feel like they were being cupped.
Frankie was at full mast, sitting up in bed with a hand stroking his cock. His other hand was prepared with lube, although it wasn't always necessary, he was uncut, and he produced a lot of precum, often enough to use as lube.
"Climb on," he said, squeezing his cock at the base. "No whisky dick here."
I gnawed on my bottom lip. "That's all you had to say." I turned to take my shorts off, while looking behind to see him stare. He whacked his cock against his thigh, the wet slap had my hole throbbing and my cock twitching.
I bounced on my knees on the bed until I was straddled across his hips. I leaned against the tip of his cock while one hand traced a line down my spine, and the other applied lube to guide his cock inside me.
"I fucking love you," he said, pressing his mouth against my neck. He sucked my skin, leaving his mark.
His cock went deep, I swayed, back and forth, lifting a little on it and then back down. "I love you," I said, the tense exhilaration of holding my breath to keep myself from moaning pulsed through me.
Pinching gently at my nipples, he looked up at me, seeing the effect it had on my body. It was electric. I clenched and rode him harder.
I placed both hands above his head against the wall and used it to push. It was driving force and power into me as I bounced on his cock. The faster I went, the more pleasure rolled behind his eyes.
He wrapped a hand around my neck, pushing my head up. "You'll always be mine."
I placed a hand around his neck. "And you're mine." Staring deep into each other's eyes, it was a stand-off. "If your dick ever thinks about going inside someone else, I'll break it off." I bore down on him, clenched my ass muscles around his cock. "It'll be easy to do."
He let out a rumbling snicker felt through his cock. "You need to practice that line," he said, letting go of my neck. He wrapped his arms around my back and rolled us over. Now he was on top, with all the control. His gold chain dangled from his neck. He thrust hard inside me, showing me just how strong he was. "And I'll murder anyone who tries it with you." He kissed me.
I knew that was true, people had been given broken arms just for looking at me, and several detached retinas from powerful punches to the face.
Cum burst out of my cock seconds after he said it, there was no holding back when he was touching all my senses. The final sense he'd touched was the deep whispering voice in my ear, that usually hit me instantly.
"Good," he said, kissing my nose and thrusting against the tension of my post-nut twitching. He filled me up with cum, keeping his cock inside until he was sure I'd taken it all. He laid on top of me with his entire body, like a weighted blanket, I was ready to sleep. "I'm sorry I came home drunk," his deep voice whispered in my ear.
I knew he was. He rarely got this wasted anymore, but it had been his younger brother's birthday, and birthdays in the family where a huge deal.
"It's ok," I said, hugging his body. "But tomorrow, you're gonna have to fix the table you broke, and—"
He nuzzled his mouth and chin into the side of my neck, distracting me. "I'll make it up to you, maybe something gold, or something sparkling."
"Ooh. Maybe both."
"Maybe," he said, pulling out of me and rolling over onto his side of the bed.
I wish I could've slept with him and his seed inside me, but those romantic ideas of intimacy had been squashed a long time ago. It meant neither of us could move, and when a dick becomes soft, it just slips out.
Frankie was asleep, snoring when I got back to bed.
I made sure to roll him onto his side to be my big spoon and stop the snoring.
Tomorrow was going to be fun, sarcasm intended. His family was huge, and they intimidated me. They intimated everyone. Frankie was considered the toughest because of what he did, but I could see they didn't respect him as much when he brought me around, almost like him being gay reduced his value.
We saw his family once a week, it was a tradition, each Sunday the family came together, that meant all the wives, girlfriends, and children. I didn't fit in, some of them even refused to acknowledge me. His mom liked me though, but she was also trying to sabotage us. From every angle, it felt like nobody wanted us to be together, all because Frankie had rescued me from a crack den. They assumed I was a junkie, but that was far from the truth.
I'd been trying to make some extra cash while doing my post-graduate studies. One of the ways I made money was making websites. My memory played tricks on me, sometimes I remembered being in a cybercafé, and other times it was outside on a park bench when the kidnapping happened.
I'd been learning how to code and hack from a friend, Sutton, he'd just gone back to New York to deal with something there.
Part of me wondered if they'd meant to kidnap him that day instead of me. He was far more talented.
They'd asked me questions I didn't know anything about, and even though it had been two years without any new information, I was determined to find out who they were, and get them back for what they'd done to me.