Patrick: A Mafia Love Story (8 page)

She writhed under the dual attention of his fingers inside her slit, coupled with the thumb in her backside. He was thrusting them together in concert, occasionally tightening or squeezing his hand in a way that sent her jumping off the bed each time he did it. Her nerve endings buzzed with intense pleasure, and she could feel an orgasm approaching as he continued to strum her with his expert touch.

She couldn’t stave it off anymore, and her pussy clamped tight around his fingers, drawing them in deeper. Her back passage did the same, and he let out a groan that sounded like he was almost in pain as she cried his name while she climaxed.

Seconds later, his hand was gone, and he lifted her onto her knees. There was no time to adjust, but no adjustment was necessary as he lined up his pulsing cock with her opening and pushed inside her forcefully. Patrick tangled a hand in her hair, forcing her head backward and her back to arch for him. She screamed as he pounded into her, but it was a scream of primal pleasure, not one of fear or pain. She had never imagined sex could be like this, and she’d read her share of erotic romances. It was animalistic and raw, and she knew he wasn’t holding anything back. Neither was she, and she strove to meet his every wild, deep, and demanding thrust.

The room was filled with the sounds of their passionate onslaught against each other, peppered with cries, moans, grunts, and the sweet slap of flesh against flesh.

He jerked harder on her hair, likely without thought, when he started to come. She strained backward against him as much as she could, bringing a hand between her thighs to rub her clit. It only took a couple of strokes to send her over the edge, and she convulsed around him.

Afterward, they collapsed into a sweaty heap, and she found it almost impossible to move. “Patrick?”

“Yes, Lauren?” He sounded as exhausted she felt.

“If that was your idea of punishment, feel free to discipline me anytime.” She said it playfully, because she didn’t want him to think she was actually okay with him punishing her.

He laughed softly before pressing a kiss to her shoulder and pulling her closer to him. “Let’s just call that fun and remove discipline completely from the picture.”

She liked that idea, but she hoped fun would still include the occasional spanking, because it had been delightfully wicked pleasure, much to her surprise. The entire experience had been surprising, full of revelations, and she couldn’t wait to do it again.

They had chosen to have a moderate-sized wedding, since he had people that must be invited. The invitations had gone out, and the ceremony was in four weeks. He had wanted desperately to accidentally forget to send Peretti an invitation, but it was a slight that wouldn’t be easily forgiven. Especially since Alexei Varnakov would be in attendance, having already RSVPed to attend in his father’s place.

Patrick was reluctant to have the other man at his wedding, not just because he loathed Peretti, but also because he wanted to keep Lauren as far away from the Perettis as possible. He was sweating bullets that the other man might recognize her maiden name. At least he had managed to have the invitations altered at the last minute to remove her father’s name. She had insisted on the invitations reading “daughter of Howard Welsh,” and he’d pretended to go along with it, but there was no way in hell he was going to have that man’s name on the invitations for the Perettis to see.

She had been understandably upset and disappointed with the final product, when the invitations had arrived without her father’s name on them. Lauren had seemed to accept easily that it was just a mistake on the printer’s part, and when she had suggested they delay the wedding by a week to allow time for reprinting, he had pointed out their deposit was nonrefundable, and most of the invitations had already been sent by his efficient assistant. He’d kissed away her disappointment, hating to cause her pain, but having good reason to shield her connection to Howard Welsh.

Assuming the matter settled, it was disconcerting to have her come bouncing happily into his study just a few days later, a new box of invitations in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Mementos for the wedding.” She passed him one. “They’ll double as placemats.”

He exhaled softly, relieved to find out they weren’t new invitations with her father’s name. The relief lasted until he opened the one she handed him, finding a collage of photos inside. At first glance, it was simply the two of them, but as he peered closer, his stomach dipped with dread to see pictures of his mother and father and himself as a younger man, his younger brothers and his two sisters, and of course, pictures scattered throughout of her with her father too.

They were small images, and he only prayed Peretti or one of his people wouldn’t pay much attention to the souvenir. After all, he could think of no good reason not to leave these at the place settings for their guests. It was a beautiful idea, a way to bring family that was gone into the wedding too, and he couldn’t destroy the pleasure in her eyes by insisting she not go ahead with the plan.

As he drew her onto his lap, his hand sliding under her skirt automatically to stroke her thigh, he consoled himself with the knowledge that Peretti wouldn’t find out about the connection, but if he did, it wouldn’t be until she was already a Murphy. When she bore his name, there was no way Peretti would come after her. When she was his wife, she would be safe.

***

Her dress was everything she’d hoped it would be. Lauren stared at herself in the mirror, awaiting the final fitting, entranced by the vision before her. She looked like a princess with yards of lace and satin flowing around her. The seamstress was on her knees to tackle an errant seam that had dared come undone, so she was allowed an undisturbed few minutes to just stare at herself. She was like a princess from a fairytale.

Her lips twitched slightly as she realized she was probably closer to marrying the villain than the prince charming of a fairytale, but that was just fine with her. She’d always had a soft spot for the bad guys anyway. Not that her husband-to-be was a bad guy. He was good to her, and she was completely confident in her decision to marry him on the upcoming Saturday.

Lauren just wished she had someone here with her at the fitting. She hadn’t met Patrick’s mother yet, because the other woman was traveling somewhere in India. She hoped his mother would be back for the ceremony, but Patrick had seemed iffy about the idea, claiming she enjoyed her travels. He’d also reluctantly admitted Moira didn’t approve of his lifestyle, and she had divorced his father years before the other man was gunned down because she had discovered his illegal activities. She loved her son, but she didn’t approve of what he did.

She’d hated seeing the pain in his eyes as he made the admission, so she had taken him into her arms with the intent of comforting him. Comfort turned to something more, but that wasn’t surprising, since they could barely keep their hands off each other. It would have been embarrassing if she cared what other people thought. But when it came to her and Patrick, she didn’t worry about others’ opinions.

***

The day of the wedding dawned sunny and beautiful, and she almost regretted they were marrying in an inside ceremony, followed by an indoor reception. It had been a safer bet, since summertime usually brought excess heat, but could also produce an occasional wicked thunderstorm. The day matched her mood, and she started the preparations cheerfully, being primped and pampered shamelessly by a professional makeup artist and a hairstylist.

The only part she really hated was being alone through it all. She had made friends in her university in Ireland, but none that had been close enough to bother inviting to fly internationally to her wedding, especially not to act as bridesmaids or maid-of-honor. She had chosen to forego attendants, and she was walking down the aisle by herself. That was the hardest part of all, to think of her father and wish he were there to give her away.

She wondered what he would have thought of her marrying Patrick. They had been good friends, but would he have been okay with the age difference, or would he have protested? She didn’t doubt her father would’ve initially resisted the thought, and he probably would have assumed horrible things about Patrick, but she was certain he would have come around to the idea soon enough.

Her happiness had always been important to her father, more important than almost anything else in his life, and it wouldn’t have taken him long to realize Patrick made her happy. She was sure he would have been the one escorting her down the aisle, and without any reservations in doing so.

The familiar strains of “The Wedding March” began, and that was her queue. She opened the door to the dressing room provided for the bride and attendants and exited into the alcove. The music swelled louder, and with a deep breath, she held her bouquet in her hands tightly, struggling to appear outwardly calm. What she wanted to do was run down the aisle in the ridiculously high heels and launch herself into Patrick’s arms, but she forced herself to remain dignified and aloof, looking like a proper bride.

Patrick waited for her in a pearl-gray morning suit with a turquoise and gray ascot. He had no best man beside him, and she assumed that was because she had chosen to forego attendants. She hadn’t asked him about it, but perhaps she would later. She hated to think she had denied him the presence of a support system or a best friend because of her pathetic, lonely existence. The thought faded away as she joined her fiancé, putting her hand in his after he had pushed back her veil.

Though neither of them were actually religious, they’d chosen to marry in a Catholic ceremony, because Patrick’s mother approved. The other woman had showed up last-minute, and she had seemed pleased, if not more than a little surprised, that her son was having a religious wedding.

It was a beautiful ceremony, and she had no trouble following along. Every moment was buried into her mind in sharp detail, and she knew she would never forget the ceremony, or the feel of his hand holding hers, or the sensation of the platinum wedding band sliding down her finger to nestle with the engagement ring already there. Her voice was strong and steady when she repeated her vows, sliding on his ring, and she embraced him without hesitation, leaning on her tiptoe to initiate the kiss before he could.

Patrick soon took over, his mouth opening on hers in a hungry kiss as he bent her back slightly, crushing her to his chest. It was practically a caveman declaration of ownership, but she couldn’t find herself minding too much when they parted a moment later. She was too busy gasping for oxygen and wallowing in the bliss of belonging with Patrick. She knew he would say
to
, and there was certainly an element of that, but she owned him too, whether or not the stubborn man would admit it.

Time passed in a blur as the ceremony ended, and they rode in a limousine to the hotel catering their reception. A never-ending stream of faces passed through the afternoon and early evening, interspersed with delightful food, pleasant company, and romantic dances with her husband.

More than one person complimented her on the family collages she’d included as part of the placemat that would be a souvenir for the guests of the wedding. She was aglow with happiness and how beautifully everything had come together, but her happiness faded slightly when Sal Peretti approached her to request a dance. Remembering what Patrick had told her about maintaining peace, she forced a polite smile and nodded, though she couldn’t bring herself to say it would be a pleasure.

He held her an appropriate distance, his hand never straying from her shoulder, the other one holding her hand loosely. “How did you meet Murphy…Patrick?”

“He was friends with my father.” She hesitated, deciding it would be wise not to reveal that she had any clue about what Patrick did for a living—or by association, what Peretti did. “I think they worked together.” She kept it simple.

He nodded, but his eyes gleamed darkly with a hint of something she couldn’t quite identify. “What was your father’s name? I didn’t see it on the invitation.”

She didn’t have to force a reaction to that. A genuine frown curved her lips as she experienced another swell of disappointment. “There was a mix-up with the invitation on the printer’s end, I guess. They left my dad’s name off, so that’s where I came up with the idea for the collages on the placemat.”

He smiled, but it was a chilling, predatory grin. “Yes, those were most enlightening. What did you say your father’s name was again?”

She frowned with a hint of confusion, wondering why he cared so much, but deciding it didn’t matter. It was a harmless little detail, and she certainly wasn’t trying to hide her father’s name. She knew he had been murdered, and she assumed it was because of something he had done in his criminal activities, but she wasn’t ashamed of him. “Howard Welsh.”

Peretti stiffened for just a second, and then his demeanor relaxed again. “And he was your only family, my dear? I was surprised to see no one stand up with you.”

She didn’t like baring her emotions to this man, sensing weakness could be used against her. With that in mind, she shielded her feelings and shrugged. “I miss my father, of course, and it can be a bit lonely at times to be an orphan, but Patrick and I are family now.”

He smiled slightly. “Yes, you’re no doubt planning a house full of little Murphys.”

She smiled, but didn’t confirm or deny. He hadn’t made the comment in an overly intrusive way, but it was still a personal subject she had no intention of discussing with Sal Peretti.

Fortunately, the music ended soon afterward, and he didn’t seek her out again. In fact, he departed within five minutes of the dance concluding, and she let go of the air of tension that had clung to her without even realizing she had carried it. It was a relief to have the other man gone from the reception, and she soon immersed herself in the celebration once again without sparing the Perettis another thought.