Page 49 of Mafia Captor

“Over here—oh God, that hurts!” He gives a deep groan. “We’re in the garden.”

I’m relieved to hear his voice, but why is he in pain? My search for them has the gauge on my moisture needle moving from glistening to sweating. I slow to a walk, not wanting to care about what my man thinks of how I smell… but of course my nose strays to my underarm for a whiff.

Sweet Lavender deodorant imported from France just for me. Still as fresh as this morning when I first glided it onto my skin. I make a mental note to find out where he got it and order it for all the Beauties.

Now that I’m sure I don’t stink, on to more important things, like saving my baby brother.

“Beckett, I’m coming!” A fluff of my freshly washed and curled hair, a straightening of the hem of my mint-green wrap dress and I take the final step to the end of the path, ready to take on whatever is lurking on the other side of those bushes.

Boston is a bad boy. But he’s a great man. I brace myself, not letting my imagination get away from me, knowing in my mind, Beckett’s probably just fine—

What… the…

I blink. Hard. Twice.

It’s a human stack of two half-naked men, sweat glistening from their overexerted muscles. My almost-fiancé has his hands pressed into the grass, balancing his body weight on the balls of his feet. Beckett is on his back, hands wrapped around Boston’s ankles, the balls of his feet pressed into the backs of Boston’s shoulders.

Beckett calls out, “Three. Two. One. Go!”

They both grunt, dipping down toward the ground in a two-man synchronized pushup. I watch as they continue to repeat the process, counting out loud as they go. Each number they call out is more strangled with their effort than the last.

Finally, they reach their goal. Boston collapses to the ground, Beckett tumbling off his back. My brother rolls across the grass, clutching his belly with laughter.

Boston flips onto his back and holds up his hand. He slaps Beckett a high five.

Beckett’s smile is pure joy as his hand wraps around Boston’s.

Boston grins back, saying something I can’t quite hear. Whatever it is, it makes Beckett laugh. A full-on belly laugh.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the simple gesture. Is that… a…teareasing into the corner of my eye? My heart makes a lump in my throat. My fingers are suddenly at my hair, wanting to straighten… something, anything. I feel very ruffled, out of place here in this… bromance moment, yet I don’t want to leave.

Seeing him with my brother… It shows me there are family men out there to be had. Ones who would never abandon the ones they love. It almost makes me regret turning down that proposal.

Almost…

I want to keep watching them.

Having recovered his breath, Beckett laughs. “Fuck yeah! We hit twenty that time.” His eyes catch mine, going wide like he’s ten again. “Oops. Sorry, sis.”

Trying to be the “cool big sis” I brush off his apologies with a waggle of my coppery-pink fingernails. “No worries. I’ll just sit here and watch you guys for a minute. Pick up some workout tips while I get some sun.”

Hearing my voice, Boston rolls toward me, lazily resting his chin in the cup of his palm. He gives a low whistle as his gaze roves over my curves, lapping up the view of my breasts wrapped in the thin mint green fabric, the neckline dipping just low enough to offer him a peek of the curve of the tops of my breasts, perfectly displayed thanks to my Italian lingerie, a black bra ordered from a catalogue left on my nightstand the other day.

The cups are made of see-through lace material, the band of the bra a silky black, forming a triangle between my perfectly perky breasts. Of course, I ordered the panties to match. The sheer lace triangle in the front displays the Brazilian wax I had done last night.

Boston would have wanted me to treat myself.

I ease onto the stone bench, lifting my leg, crossing it over my other, my dress sliding up my thighs. I let it. Pressing my hands into the bench behind me, I ease my shoulders back, pushing my breasts upward. Hey—he paid for the bra, he might as well enjoy the full benefit of his purchase.

He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. His eyes are hungry. Greedy. Seems like he’s loving the total package I’ve put together with his tastes in mind.

Running a hand down the plane of his smooth chest, he takes me in. His hand goes suspiciously close to his groin, dipping below his waist. A subtle caress of his palm over the crotch of his sweats has me shifting my weight in my seat, pressing my thighs together.

The fact that I’m turning him on so much, just the sight of me in this dress, sitting on this bench, turnsmeon.

He gives me a look that further melts my already dripping Italian lace panties. “Damn, girl. You look good enough to bench press. Get over here and let me do my thing.”

Heat rushes to my face but I will the blush to cool. Lifting a brow, I say, “Looks like you’ve been doing just fine for yourself with the barbell. I’m just here to watch. Though I did enjoy the creative push-up routine you guys came up with.”

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