Mafia Ties Book 1: Golf Player and Mafia Boss

Jao

"I need to release myself," I mutter, shifting uncomfortably on the velvet couch. My balls are heavy and itch like hell. I pinch them through my trousers, sinking deeper into the plush darkness of the club’s furniture.

Lucky shoots me a look—disgusted? Confused? I can’t tell. Don’t care. He finally says, "Didn’t you just do that with someone in the restroom, like, five minutes ago?"

I huff, low and slightly annoyed. Yeah, I know I’m addicted. Not my fault people find me hot. I’ve got no power to resist. My body’s always hungry.

"I don’t get how you’re still going," he adds, lifting a beer bottle off the round glass table and taking a sip. His dark full lips curve slightly. "Seriously. I don’t get it." He shakes his head.

"It’s not my fault," I say, grabbing my own bottle, eyes wandering—and landing.

There she is. A woman. A goddess with curves like sin, giving me that look from across the room. She’s alone. Wrapped in a tight blue mini-dress that screams take me now.

I tap Lucky’s thigh. “Be right back,” I murmur, my eyes still locked on her.

Lucky clicks his tongue. Yeah, he hates when I vanish like this. But it’s not up to me. I’m not the hunter. I’m the prey. They come for me.

"You need someone to tame you. Lock you in chastity for years," he calls after me.

I glance back. He rolls his eyes like a pissed-off girlfriend.

Lucky Jameson, he’s the hottest dude in the city. Smooth dark-brown skin, an actor, a literal god walking among mortals. New York got blessed. People throw themselves at him, and he just gives them that dead inside look.

He’s a mystery. Doesn’t date, doesn’t hook up. Me? I’ve tried resisting. I just can’t. My drive’s spoiled and I have zero type.

The woman licks her glossy lips as I approach. She eyes me from head to toe like I’m dessert. I love it when they do that—proof I’m irresistible.

She grabs my hand. I follow.

The club’s huge. She leads me through a hallway. I know what’s back here—rooms. People come here to... do things. I usually settle for the restroom, fast and dirty.

She giggles, walks like she knows what she’s doing. She’s gonna break my back, and honestly, if I get what I need, I won’t mind.

She swipes a key card. The door unlocks. She curls a finger at me—normally I’d hate that, but right now? My body’s screaming. No time to argue.

I step inside.

I don’t usually strip completely, but damn—this woman is sexy. Well-built to be worshipped. I lift her easily, loving the weight of her in my hands. She giggles again. I hate it—sounds fake—but I don’t care.

"You’re hot," she purrs.

I don’t reply. I don’t flatter. I’m here for one thing. Compliments make things messy.

I bury my face between her... yeah. She laughs that high-pitched laugh again. Ugh.

I drop her on the bed, protection already in hand. I rip it open without a glance at her. She smells amazing—not gonna lie.

As I slip it on, my eyes fall... and I look away.

She stares at me, mouth wide. She didn’t expect the size—I can tell by the way her eyes widen, cheeks flush, then flick up to my face and back again.

I smirk.“Be gentle,” she whispers, voice trembling. I don’t do gentle.

She led me here. No words. Just action.

I get into position. She moans. Her body’s ready. I flip her over—don’t want to see her face.

I grip her and position myself, and move in deep and hard. She screams into the sheets, muffling the sound.

It’s loud, but not the loudest I’ve heard. I’ve heard every kind. This one? Mature, but still sexy.

Never been with someone like her before. Never cared to. But tonight? I needed release. No time for preferences.

“Ffff,” I groan, flat and raw, one hand pressing her head into the bed. For a second, I forget she’s even real.

I lose control. Grab her waist. Move like it’s instinct. I feel her body start to tremble.

Minutes pass. Her screams fade. Too quiet. Shit—did she faint?

I stop. Didn’t even finish. I pull away.

Sobs.

Ugh. This is why I don’t do beds anymore. Public restrooms are better—quick, messy, no tears. Beds? They cry. Then I have to say sorry and leave.

“Are you a monster?” she whispers, voice cracked, no eye contact.

Not the first time I’ve heard that.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, already dressing. Thank God she’s alive.“Just go.”Gladly.

My body refuses to calm down, still tense. I walk out, stretching to ease the pressure.

I spot Lucky again. He’s already killed two bottles.

There’s a basin in the corner. I wash my hands, use the sanitizer.

“You done?” he asks.

“As you see.” I flop onto the couch.

Lucky glances at me—something’s off. He’s acting weird. I hate that. Just say what you want to say.

I stare into his dark brown eyes. His lips twitch.“Say it,” I tell him.

He looks away. “I don’t have time for this, Lucky. What’s wrong?”

I hate games. I’m impatient. Always have been. Waiting makes my blood boil. My brows tighten. Lucky’s still quiet.

“Darn… I’m gay.”

I didn’t see that coming.

He rubs his forehead, eyes cast down. His voice is low, like he’s begging me not to judge him.

“That’s it? Man, I thought you were about to tell me you’ve got stage-four cancer or something.” I pop open another beer. It’s still cold—love that. “If you die, I’d actually miss your boring ass.”

He chuckles. Relief and something more.

“So... what’s your type?” I ask. He glances at me but says nothing.“Don’t expect me to guess, Lucky.”

“I don’t have a type,” he replies, but I don’t buy it. Still, I nod and leave it.

Then it hits me. “Wait... you mean, you’d want me to f—” He chokes on his drink. Coughs so hard his temple veins pop. “I’m joking,” I say, smirking.

He breathes, relaxing into the couch. Poor guy.

Honestly, I didn’t see it coming. Lucky being gay changes nothing. He’s still my guy.

But then—something catches my eye.

Two men. Tall. Broad. Silent. Standing near the entrance like statues with eyes. Bodyguards.

I turn fully to get a better look.

Then he appears.

No way. A man, draped in a loose white suit, steps forward. Dangerous energy rolls off him, but he’s not overdoing it. Tall. Lean. Dark blonde. He walks over to his guards and stands still, waiting.

I lean in, curious. Who’s he waiting for?

I can’t even taste my beer anymore. The anticipation chews at me.

Finally, someone comes up the stairs. Not a woman.A man.

From the side profile alone, he’s a HOT flame in a room of shadows—too hot to ignore, too deadly to touch. Fear and lust in one body. Mafia?

His tattooed knuckles glint with rings. Even from the side, his face looks carved from something hard. Sharp jaw, neat black beard, tight taper fade.

A predator wearing prey’s skin.

My stomach knots. Bitter, deep. I don’t like this.

“Shit,” Lucky mutters.

I look at him. He’s staring too. “Who the hell is that?” I ask.

His eyes go wide. Like, you seriously don’t know?

“I don’t know people,” I add.

“That’s Pablo Gambino. The Pablo Gambino. Cosa Nostra.”

Still not impressed.

“He’s the most feared mafia boss alive. Just looking at him makes my hands sweat,” Lucky says, trembling.

Still don’t care. “I hate him,” I mutter, just as a lady in red passes by.

Lucky gives me a what the hell face.“I hate the mafia,” I clarify.

Jao

I booked a room last night at that club for the first time in my life—just to give that sexy Latina lady a show for the entire night. My cock needed that.

I had her. I stripped that tight dress off her body and let it fall to the floor. Her body was built like a dream. I gave her round booty a solid smack before tossing her onto the bed.

She moaned about how good I looked. I didn’t return the compliment. I never do.

It looked tight, juicy, and ready to be devoured. Her *** was already swollen—popped and pink, just the way I like it.

Groans escaped my throat, but I held them back. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

Rooms make me strip. I was naked, in bed, hard and ready. Her eyes widened when she saw my cock. She actually drooled.

I didn’t want to see her face, so I flipped her onto her stomach, spread her thighs apart, and squeezed her ass like warm buns.

I slid the rubber on—it was already in my h