His hand is on my back then, pushing me down against the cold countertop. I brace myself, gripping the edge, as he pushes into me from behind. It's tight, since I can barely spread my legs apart, but he doesn't seem to mind a bit. I was ready the second he touched me, my body always reacting instantly to him.

The first thrust is gentle, careful, but after that all bets are off. He pulls out and shifts his hips forward so hard that I bang against the counter, almost knocking the damn coffee machine apart.

"Shit," I curse, but that's the last word I manage to speak, because he's driving into me so ferociously that I'm fucking lucky I can still breathe. I arch my back as one of his arms snakes around me, once again finding my clit, as his other hand still presses hard against my back, pinning me in position. He fucks me like he's sprinting toward a finish line, the bang-bang-bang of my body hitting the counter amplified in the otherwise silent house.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I'm gasping and moaning and groaning, grunting like a goddamn cavewoman who doesn't know how to speak.

Uh. Uh. Uh.

I'm barely holding on and my legs are shaky, but he's keeping me in place, like I'm not much more than a rag doll. I can feel the tightening in my stomach, can feel the tension taking over my muscles, gripping hold inside of me. It builds like I'm going up on a roller coaster before I hit the drop.

Whoosh.

A noise bursts from my chest, a growling scream. Fuck. My knees almost buckle from the intensity of the orgasm, but his strong grip keeps me up. He doesn't let up his movements at all, rubbing and thrusting, giving me all he's got, until my orgasm starts to taper off. My cries turn to whimpers, but he doesn't stop, grunting behind me as his body tenses.

I can feel it as he lets loose inside of me.

But in a blink, he's gone.

In a blink, he's out of me.

In a blink, he lets go.

His hands are no longer touching my body.

I instantly miss the warmth.

It's so quick I don't have a chance to adapt to the change. My legs give out on me, and I slip away from the counter, plopping my ass right down on the floor. There's a throbbing between my legs and a tightening in my chest, and I don't know how he did it, but I feel like I've gone twelve rounds in a ring and lost.

I stare up at him as he backs away.

"I've still got a few minutes," he says, his voice calm, composed, "if you want to go again."

I hold my hands up, waving him off. "I'm good."

His expression cracks with a smile as he tucks himself back away, zipping his pants up, straightening his belt. It takes him all of thirty seconds to pull himself together.

It's going to take me all night.

Stepping back toward me, he crouches down so we're eye-level. His hand gently rests on my knee as he slowly rubs circles on my skin with his thumb. He's quiet as he stares at me for a moment. I'm still trying to catch my breath… my panties are like shackles around my calves and my jeans are just fucking gone.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asks, looking me over, his smile growing as he does.

Smug son of a bitch.

"Fine," I say, nodding. "I'll be just fine."

Not if he doesn't stop stroking my knee, though.

Tingles are starting to course through the lower half of my body.

Is it possible to get off just from someone's touch?

Leaning over, he presses a brief, chaste kiss to my forehead, before he stands up.

"I don't know when I'll be home," he says. "You probably shouldn't wait up."

I want to ask him where he's going. I want to know what he's going to do.

I want to know exactly what he's up to.

I want to, but I don't ask, sitting in silence as he walks out.

He's right, you know… I'm not dense.

I could riddle out his plans if I really wanted to.

I t takes a lot to get a meeting with the five families in New York.

Once upon a time, they used to have this thing called the Commission, the organization above all organizations. Membership was limited to the heads of the New York families, as well as the leaders out of Chicago and Buffalo. The seven most powerful men in the country met in secret, making decisions, like delinquency was a democracy. Wanted someone murdered? Ask the Commission. Wanted to invite someone into the fold? The Commission was the only way to go.

Acting without permission would get you killed.

The Commission went the way of all flesh years ago. You're lucky to find two bosses willing to meet now, much less all of them. There are still rules, though… rules they insist we all follow.

Rules I broke when I killed the head of one of those families.

Raymond Angelo.

I stand on the front porch of an old brick mansion in Long Island. It's still light out, but dusk is creeping up. There's a hint of orange in the cloudless blue skyline. It looks almost like fire burns off in the distance somewhere.

The whole neighborhood can see me standing here, but I'm not ready to move yet, even if I am about to be late for the biggest meeting of my life. Because I know there's a chance, when I walk through that door, that it might be the last time I walk anywhere.

They might carry me back out, wrapped in a tarp.

Drop my body in the East River.

I'd never resurface.

The fact that they called me here during daylight doesn't mean a thing. I'm no fool. I never have been. Someone shot up my father's business while the sun was brightly shining.

These men don't let the earth's rotation dictate their schedules.

The white wooden door cracks open as I stand there. I turn toward it right away, slipping the peppermint in my mouth over against my cheek, still sucking on it, trying to calm my nerves. A young burly guy stands in front of me, his face rippled with craters. One of Genova's enforcers, I imagine. The guy has a type. Beasts. I'm not as versed in the inner-workings of the other families, although I've done business with all of them a few times in the past.

They had a job and I handled it, no questions asked.

That was how they knew how to get ahold of me this afternoon, how they knew how to call me in for this meeting. Apparently my number was still on speed dial.

I probably ought to do something about that.

"They're waiting for you," the guy says, his voice high-pitched, almost comically so, like his balls haven't dropped yet. Or maybe they shoved them back inside whenever they fucked up his face. "Follow me."

Should've known they were watching.

No need to knock.

I don't like taking orders from people. I never even liked taking orders from Ray. I'm inclined to resist, but I push back my instinct, following the guy instead.

Now's probably not the time to try to assert my dominance.

Someone shuts the door behind us. Glancing back, I see a guy standing guard right inside the foyer, trying to stay out of sight. Huh. I turn back around, following the burly guy through the house, turning down a long hallway. The second I round the corner, I see we're heading straight for a set of doors, two more guys standing guard outside of them.

The AK-47s over their shoulders tell me these ones are purposely trying to make themselves seen.

Guess they're trying to intimidate me.

They open the set of doors as we approach, and my footsteps almost falter. I don't let them see my hesitation, though.