Saints and Sinners (16 page)

“What in the shit do you want? Can’t you come back later?” growled his uncle, eyes half-closed.

“May your cock rot and fall off for all I care. I want to talk to you about that bastard Skinny Lonnigan.”

Opening one eye slowly, the Irish gangster grinned. “If that’s all you came to tell me. I know he’s a bastard. But
you’re
a
jackass
for interrupting me and my lady friends.”

At his uncle’s insolence, Reilly slammed his fist against the desk and caused a pot of ink to spill over the top.

His uncle jerked in the chair. “You freakin’ moron! Now look what you damned well did. I ought to kick your lousy arse for such a trick.”

“And I ought to smash your face in for allowing Skinny to make that batch of hooch.”

One of the women crawled underneath the desk. The other tripped over herself while struggling to make an escape. No sooner did she get through the doorway than Reilly slammed it shut behind her.

“You? Smash my face? Do you know who you’re dealing with?” The elder Dunne’s cheek twitched.

“A guttersnipe. A dirty, filthy rat who belongs in the sewer along with that hooch Janet drank.”

Morgan Dunne shoved the chair back. The legs scraped against the floor hard enough to peel up wood and varnish. “Watch it boy-o. I could have your throat slit.”

Reilly pulled himself up to full height. He’d rise to the challenge like the hot-blooded Irishman he was. “Go ahead, you piece of shit. You’re not man enough to do it yourself. One of your mealy-mouthed minions would do the job for you. Hell, they probably even have to screw those whores for you.”

The wily gangster’s face flamed. Around the desk, he charged, heading straight for Reilly’s gut. “I’ll make you pay for those words.”

Reilly caught him by the shoulders and held him in a tight grip. “I’ve paid enough over the years. Now it’s time I got out of the stinking sewer for good.”

Instead of taking a shot at his nephew, Morgan softened his stance. “So, you forgot who gave you the freakin’ money to open that clothing shop, did you?”

Would he never be rid of that lie? “No. That money was
stolen
from me. By
you
.”

“I managed your money well. Why all this fuss about Janet Muldoon? She’s just a coat-check girl. If she swills too much liquor, why is that my fault?”

Any number of arguments came to his mind. “You and this place. I hope Joe Masseria crushes you like a cockroach. He’s in charge of the Lower East Side now. In case you didn’t take time to notice. It won’t be long before he’ll deal with your sorry arse.”

“If you give me that girl for one night, I can square things with him. I want a stab at her, too. One of his enforcers wants to play a little rough with her for a while. Then we’ll give her back to you. Hell, they don’t mind that she’s Irish.”

What a loathsome piece of work. A man could take many jabs at him, but when someone messed with Moira, then that was more than he could take. She’d be his wife soon. No man was going to use her and cast her aside like a dirty rag.

Morgan Dunne’s head snapped back as Reilly’s fist met with his uncle’s wide jaw. Morgan slumped against the desk.

“Get out of here! I don’t want you or your girl. I’ll see you in Hell, Reilly. You’ll be glad for the company!”

Good. He’d won that round. Time to check on Moira. She’d be worried about him, and he mustn’t keep her waiting.

* * * *

Before returning to Sullivan Street, Reilly detoured and headed uptown. Where Sixth Avenue met West Seventeenth. He admired the gleaming shop window.

Dunne’s Clothiers.

Damn his rotten Irish luck. His shop wasn’t ritzy enough to attract a lot of the upper-crust who frequented the Fifth Avenue establishments. No. He was stuck here on Sixth. One avenue away from hitting the big time. Someday he’d make it there. With Moira by his side.

He removed his Homburg. How could his uncle contend that
he’d
paid for this place? Morgan Dunne had taken the money left in his late father’s strongbox and supposedly “invested” it for the young orphan. Now he had the balls to contend it was his money? No. The money from his late mother’s inheritance paid for the purchase of the clothiers.

With his clean handkerchief, Reilly wiped a small section of the glass on the adjacent shop’s window. For Rent. What a swell place for Moira and her mother to set up that dress shop. Plenty of space. A good business venture. He memorized the contact’s name. Tomorrow, he’d work a bit of bullshit and magic into his pitch and hope to come out ahead in the deal.

Chapter 13

Moira glanced around Reilly’s bathroom. Much smaller than she originally thought.

“It’s cold. But we’ll keep each other warm in there.” A devilish grin slipped across Reilly’s lips. Water flowed from the faucet, its splash mingling with the beating of her heart.

Moira removed her clothing and stepped into the tub wearing only her chemise. Today, he promised they’d share this tub for the last time.

“Things are going to be better before you know it.” Reilly turned off the water and reached for her.

Pulling her toward him, he gently sucked her nipples through the fabric of the chemise. She grasped the edges of his union suit and ripped it away from his chest. Buttons flew in every direction, some landing in the tub while others rolled across the floor.

“I want to have my wicked way with you, Moira. Even more than that, I want to make you mine forever.”

Water lapped against her lower legs. “There’s nothing I’d like more. I love you, Reilly.”

“Not half as much as I love you.” He buried his face between her breasts. “The sweet smell of you makes me drunker than any liquor ever could.”

He shucked the chemise over her head and tossed it into the corner. His breath came in waves and floated across her neck. How it warmed her and made her long for another turn in his bed. Every inch of her body swelled and sought his. Moira knelt in the tub and saved space for Reilly.

As he undressed and joined her, her pulse quickened. His body was so beautiful. He stood in front of her, and his hardness brushed against her lips.

“Looks like the devil isn’t just on Sullivan Street,” she said.

“He’s not on the street but in here with you.” Reilly lowered himself to her level and cupped her bottom with one hand. With fingers of the other, he parted the tender folds of her sex. When his ornery fingers plunged inside of her, she moaned for more.

Water sloshed over the side, but Reilly didn’t seem to care. He pressed his mouth against her hard nipple.

“Ahhhhhh. Your mind needs washin’.” Moira trembled as his mouth popped free from her breast.

She steadied herself and rose from the water. Gripping a handful of hair on either side of his head, she rocked it back and forth. A hot current flared in her body. Reilly licked his lips and teased his tongue along her wet curls and between her folds. Water traced down her spine and tickled. The radiator whined. He pulled her legs apart and stuck his tongue into the opening of her sex. She tugged his hair harder. I’m losing the battle. Can’t keep control of my body or mind.

“What am I going to do with you…d-devilish Reilly Dunne?”

He raised his head, his face and lips wet from the bathwater and her cream. “I have no idea. We have a lot of years to figure it out together.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I know so. If you’ll become my wife.”

“Oh, you know I will. Nothing would make me happier.”

He hugged her close and helped her back into the tub. From underneath the water, he retrieved the soap and cloth. Scented bubbles soon frothed on her shoulders and breasts. Moira melted against his busy hands. How she loved the man who’d soon become her husband.

Her throat thick with emotion, and Moira coughed to clear it. Life would be lovely together. Things would get better. Reilly promised. If he promised, she believed him. Tears trickled down her cheeks at his proposal.

“Now, my beauty. We’ll have none of that.” His soapy hand swiped at her cheeks and made them even wetter.

“None of what? I can’t help crying. I’m crying because I’m happy. Happy you came into our lives.”

Reilly splashed water over her, and the fragile floral-scented bubbles burst. What an odd grin he wore, rather like someone had carved a crooked slash across his mouth.

“Right now I want to spill some of my seed inside you.”

“’Tis’nt proper. I’m not
Dunne
yet.”

He climbed from the water and helped her out. “Neither am I. Climb up here and take a ride on Reilly.”

Without hesitating, she sprang against him, pulled herself up and braced her knees against his hips. Reilly slapped her bottom, and she gripped his back for support. His hardness stabbed at her crotch.

“What are you waiting for?” She shimmied against him. “What about my ride?”

He squeezed her left buttock, and teased his cock against her wet folds. “Hold on tight.” He eased his hips back and plunged deep into her.

Moira leaned back and he nipped her nipple. A wave of warmth flooded her loins at his thrusting. Their bodies were slick with water and sweat, and she fought to keep a hold on the man she loved. His fingers bit into her bottom, and their crotches ground together. Closing his eyes, he softly uttered an oath. Underneath her hands, his shoulders tensed.

“God in Heaven, I love you more than life, Reilly.”

“And I feel the same, Donegal D…ove. Promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“That you won’t ever leave me.”

“I’d never want to. Never. Ever. Cross my Irish heart.”

His lips, warm and wanton, sucked at her right breast. Gently at first, then harder. He drew the rosy bud deeper into his mouth and past his teeth. Her body, tense as a bowstring, shot upward. Moira shuddered at her own release as his tongue encircled a nipple. She screamed.

The special moment consumed her. Her passion spent, she collapsed against Reilly. Her heart hammered, and she wiggled away from him. His softening penis slipped from her, and she admired it. Why waste this time together with him?

Slowly, she urged him back to hardness.
Yes, Reilly, we’ll take this to an even higher level.
Without much coaxing from her fingers and closed fist, Reilly’s cock surged, and he probed her heat once again. Back and forth, they surged, sharing control. While she nuzzled his neck, her heels scraped against his backside.

The slickness of his skin. The beating of his heart. The closeness of their bodies. Oh, how she longed to hold him like this forever and never let him go. No. They must part, at least for a little while.

“More of my seed for M-Moira,” he said between clenched teeth and gifted her with a second coming.

His eyes danced and he slipped from her. The corded muscles in his neck relaxed. He kissed her softly on the mouth. “Such a wonderful woman. Remember those gloves I worried you about?”

“Yes. What about them?”

“From the get go, I wasn’t meaning to measure you up for gloves. I was measuring you up for something even more special.”

“You certainly had me going.” Moira tugged his left ear. “Such an ornery soul.”

He carried her to his bed and lay down beside her. True, she was caught up in a world of confusion, but one thing remained certain. She’d love him always. Moira closed her eyes and snuggled against him. She palmed his pebbled nipple.

Reilly swatted her bottom.” Am I putting you to sleep?”

“No, and you aren’t Morpheus.”

He drew her close. “No, but these arms will always hold and support you. I’ll make you the happiest woman this side of Harlem.”

“And I’ll
hold you
to that promise.” She opened her eyes and ran her hands through his wet rust-brown waves. “Besides, I see a bit more scrubbing that needs done between those ears.”

“I’m hearing you, Moira. Hearing you fine without that scrubbin’. I’m putting you in that tub for one last time proper. You wanted a bath, and it’s a bath you’ll get.”

* * * *

Moira pressed her knees into the mattress and nibbled Reilly’s earlobe. At his breathy request, she sucked his nipples and covered his chest with lipstick kisses. After all, red looked good on a man like Reilly.

With a wink, she slipped off his lap and crawled between his legs. As she lavished attention on his balls, his hardness filled her hand.

“You make me a happy man.”

When she didn’t respond, he repeated his words.

After one final gentle tug, she freed his balls and blew him a kiss. “It’s not polite to talk with my mouth full.”

A horn honked in the street below, and she clambered from his lap and the bed. Reilly chased her around the room. When he caught her, he lifted her high and buried his face against her belly. “Sweet Donegal Dove. You’re a swell one if ever there was.”

She boxed his chest and back with half-closed fists. “Care to make a permanent place in your bed for me?”