Read Online REMEDY: A Mafia Romance (Return to Us Trilogy Book 3) by M.K. Gilher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M.K. Gilher
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could the reality he's described be so different from what I remember? He wasn't just another man who disappointed me. A pivotal event in my life was something I thought didn't happen. I forced myself to believe he didn't mean his words, but I forced myself to believe a lie.
I open my mouth to deepen the kiss and grab his shoulder, digging my fingers in to pull him closer. I need him inside me. We have to rekindle this seed that's been dormant under the snow for almost two decades. He gives in to the kiss for a blissful moment and forces his tongue against mine. His body screams at me to reconnect. Just when I think I'll get my way, he withdraws with a frustrated sigh, removing my hand from his shoulder and pushing me back against the pillow.
He maneuvers to a spooning position behind me, and his erection pokes my spine. I wiggle my ass to tease him.
His firm hand squeezes my hip and holds me in place. "We can't, Ivy. Stop torturing me. Sleep."
"You're torturing me too with that story, that kiss, that delicious cock against my backside."
He groans and nuzzles his nose into the hair at the back of my neck. "Your pain meds should be kicking in. We'll talk more in the morning."
I close my eyes, and the eighteen-year-old images trickle to my cortex in rivulets.
Driving scary fast in that Mustang and the shock when he popped up from the backseat.
The pink pastry box.
Feeling a boy inside me for the first time.
The disappointment when he didn't come back.
One thing before I drift off. "For the record, I did not jump you. You totally jumped me."
He chuckles. "Yeah, right. You wanted me bad."
I did want him badly. Still do.
Chapter 7
Ivy
We sit at his dining table eating a breakfast of coffee, English muffins with raspberry jam, and fresh cut peaches and pears. It's all delicious, and I love this normal, intimate moment between us without the ever-present edge of tension created by the dark secrets he keeps.
The morning is bright, and Jacade's posture is more relaxed and at ease, probably because he has finally trusted me enough to tell me his story, however bleak it might be, and in turn reduced the burden on him. The swelling around his eye has lessened, but the bruising is an angry shade of dark purple I wish I could wash away with soap and water. He's removed the bandage from his lips, and I inspect the vertical gash on his lower lip for the first time. It looks so much better than the bloody open wound I saw when I walked into his cell. I'm relieved his lips will heal, and I can kiss them again.
I stare at him and try to imagine him as the ruthless gangster he described himself to be last night. To me, he's a respected surgeon. How could he have lead two lives for so long?
"Go ahead, ask."
"Are you in the mob?"
"No. We clash with them sometimes, but it's not the Mafia. The Council for Strategic Advancement operates as a non-profit corporation that sponsors teenage boys through college. In return, the men are indebted to the organization for the rest of their lives."
"Your whole life? How do they control you?"
"The council keeps tabs on our finances and holds our crimes over our heads. Council members are… encouraged to donate a percentage of their gross salary to the NPO." He says encouraged and donate with irony in his voice. "We're also required to patronize member-owned establishments."
"And what are your establishments?"
"My investments are mostly in the hospitality industry. Mogul was the first business I got off the ground and running. La Mia Edera was second. I own a few casinos in Vegas and Atlanta."
"And what establishments do they make you support?"
"I contribute to the underground fighting ring run by Colonel Mahoney and donate to campaigns for judges like Conroy and senators like Boothby. Some members sell pharms and narcotics. A few still boost and chop cars."
"Narcotics? Like cocaine?"
"Yeah, and meth, X, some weed." He looks down, and his brow furrows. Talking about it is
I open my mouth to deepen the kiss and grab his shoulder, digging my fingers in to pull him closer. I need him inside me. We have to rekindle this seed that's been dormant under the snow for almost two decades. He gives in to the kiss for a blissful moment and forces his tongue against mine. His body screams at me to reconnect. Just when I think I'll get my way, he withdraws with a frustrated sigh, removing my hand from his shoulder and pushing me back against the pillow.
He maneuvers to a spooning position behind me, and his erection pokes my spine. I wiggle my ass to tease him.
His firm hand squeezes my hip and holds me in place. "We can't, Ivy. Stop torturing me. Sleep."
"You're torturing me too with that story, that kiss, that delicious cock against my backside."
He groans and nuzzles his nose into the hair at the back of my neck. "Your pain meds should be kicking in. We'll talk more in the morning."
I close my eyes, and the eighteen-year-old images trickle to my cortex in rivulets.
Driving scary fast in that Mustang and the shock when he popped up from the backseat.
The pink pastry box.
Feeling a boy inside me for the first time.
The disappointment when he didn't come back.
One thing before I drift off. "For the record, I did not jump you. You totally jumped me."
He chuckles. "Yeah, right. You wanted me bad."
I did want him badly. Still do.
Chapter 7
Ivy
We sit at his dining table eating a breakfast of coffee, English muffins with raspberry jam, and fresh cut peaches and pears. It's all delicious, and I love this normal, intimate moment between us without the ever-present edge of tension created by the dark secrets he keeps.
The morning is bright, and Jacade's posture is more relaxed and at ease, probably because he has finally trusted me enough to tell me his story, however bleak it might be, and in turn reduced the burden on him. The swelling around his eye has lessened, but the bruising is an angry shade of dark purple I wish I could wash away with soap and water. He's removed the bandage from his lips, and I inspect the vertical gash on his lower lip for the first time. It looks so much better than the bloody open wound I saw when I walked into his cell. I'm relieved his lips will heal, and I can kiss them again.
I stare at him and try to imagine him as the ruthless gangster he described himself to be last night. To me, he's a respected surgeon. How could he have lead two lives for so long?
"Go ahead, ask."
"Are you in the mob?"
"No. We clash with them sometimes, but it's not the Mafia. The Council for Strategic Advancement operates as a non-profit corporation that sponsors teenage boys through college. In return, the men are indebted to the organization for the rest of their lives."
"Your whole life? How do they control you?"
"The council keeps tabs on our finances and holds our crimes over our heads. Council members are… encouraged to donate a percentage of their gross salary to the NPO." He says encouraged and donate with irony in his voice. "We're also required to patronize member-owned establishments."
"And what are your establishments?"
"My investments are mostly in the hospitality industry. Mogul was the first business I got off the ground and running. La Mia Edera was second. I own a few casinos in Vegas and Atlanta."
"And what establishments do they make you support?"
"I contribute to the underground fighting ring run by Colonel Mahoney and donate to campaigns for judges like Conroy and senators like Boothby. Some members sell pharms and narcotics. A few still boost and chop cars."
"Narcotics? Like cocaine?"
"Yeah, and meth, X, some weed." He looks down, and his brow furrows. Talking about it is
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