The Escape: An Irish Mafia Romance (Downing Family Book 1) Read online

  My job wasn’t done though, even once I got him to the room. Declan was trailing along behind us, quietly giving orders on the phone for a quick meal and plenty of bottled water.

  I wasn’t so sure our efforts would amount to much—Sean was wasted.

  “Seriously, man,” he said, leaning more heavily on me now. “You are the greatest.” He hiccupped and stumbled.

  “You’re just saying that because I’m hauling your drunk ass to bed,” I said wryly. Without looking back at him, I asked Declan, “Just why am I the one hauling his drunk ass to bed? Isn’t that like your responsibility as the oldest?”

  “It would have been…but the dumbass picked you to be his best man.” Declan edged around me with a smirk and added, “He’s all yours, man.”

  I gave him a death glare as he unlocked and opened the door. “If you dare leave me alone to deal with him, I’ll have your ass.”

  For a few seconds, I thought he just might, but then he grinned at me. “Would I do that to my baby brothers?”

  “Yes,” I retorted. “But I’m glad tonight’s not one of those times.” After all, I had plans for what remained of the night.

  As I guided Sean inside, he groaned. “Man. I think I’m gonna puke.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve already emptied your stomach.” I dumped him on the couch and went immediately to the small beverage service in the room and grabbed him a bottle of water.

  He gave me a dirty look. “Unless there’s vodka in that bottle, I don’t want it.”

  “You’ll be glad I made you hydrate when you’re not totally trashed in the morning.”

  It took some doing, but between Declan and me, we managed to coax a full bottle of water down Sean as we waited for the food to be delivered. I had no idea if a BLT and fries would help, but it was Declan’s go-to remedy to prevent hangovers. Since I didn’t want to deal with the wrath of my sister or Isabel in the morning, I was up to trying anything.

  The food showed up just as Sean was nodding off and I left Declan to deal with him as I answered the door.

  At first, Sean eyed the food like we were trying to poison him, but then some of the fog in his brain lifted and he dove into the salty, fat-laden meal like it just might be his last.

  By the time he’d shoveled the last of the fries into his mouth, I felt it was safe to stop hovering and went to dig up some ibuprofen.

  He took those and guzzled down more water, then looked around, gaze surprisingly alert. “Are we still at the hotel?”

  “Yeah.”

  He groaned and fell back onto the couch, closing his eyes. “Isabel is going to kill me.”

  If luck was with us, then Isabel had been partying as hard as Sean and she wouldn’t have time to worry about him in the morning. I didn’t tell him that, though. Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I said, “Look, it was your last night of freedom. You enjoyed yourself. I call the mission a success. And don’t worry, I’ve already got plans for tomorrow morning laid out.”

  I did believe in being thorough.

  “You swear?” he demanded, borderline belligerent. “I can’t be late to my own damn wedding.”

  I doubted he would be the first, but I nodded, electing to remain quiet.

  “Okay.” He looked around with a heavy-lidded gaze, then heaved himself upright. He was able to do it on his own and after a few wobbly seconds, he proved he was sobering up as he made his way to the bed, stripping out of his clothes as he went.

  I grimaced and shared a look at Declan. The last thing I wanted imprinted on my mind was a look at my brother’s naked ass, but Sean clearly didn’t care.

  Once he’d fought his way under the covers, I put another bottle of water by the bed, along with the bottle of ibuprofen. “Take some when you wake up. And drink more,” I warned him.

  Knowing there wasn’t much else we could do for him, Declan and I headed out.

  We lingered by the elevator a few minutes later. “You can go on,” I told him. “You’re sober and you drove here so you might as well go back to the estate and play peace-keeper if anybody gets pissy about him not being there.”

  “Exactly how I want to spend the next twelve or fifteen hours,” Declan said with a shake of his head. But he had a slight smile on his face so I didn’t take it to heart. He jabbed the button to go down to the main level and as we waited, he eyed me. “You sure you can get him and the others to the house in time tomorrow? Should I come back?”

  “I can handle it.” Two of the others had already gone back to the house—Sean’s friends, Cedrick and Dominick. If I knew anything about the Castellanos family, then I figured I wouldn’t have much to worry about with Duardo and Marcos. Basilio, the head of the powerful Castellanos empire, seemed to run things with an iron fist and I doubted his sons would do anything to mess up his daughter’s big day.

  Still, I’d keep an eye on everything. That, it seemed, was my calling in life.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Declan didn’t linger another second, the elevator doors gliding open to admit him.

  I waited until he headed downstairs before moving off down the hall to the room I’d been given for the remainder of the night.

  I opened the door to my suite only to be greeted by silence.

  I didn’t bother turning on any lights as I stripped out of my shirt, leaving it draped over the back of the couch as I moved deeper into the rooms.

  The bedroom was off to the right, and as I’d expected to find, there wasn’t a light on in there either.

  I hit the switch as I stepped inside and leaned against the doorframe, watching as a bleary-eyed woman lifted a hand to block out the light.

  Peaches, the stripper from the party, lay there, her tousled, red-brown hair falling free to her shoulders.

  As she focused on me, recognition flickered and I watched her let go of the sheets and blanket she’d clutched against her chest.

  Her breathing hitched as I moved closer.

  Sitting on the side of the bed, I reached out and caught a heavy lock of her hair, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.

  “You wanted me naked and waiting when you got here,” she said, her voice throaty.

  “So I did.” I continued to study her for a long moment, then shifted enough so that she could slide free of the bedclothes. “Get out of bed. On your knees.”

  Her mouth parted.

  “I want my cock in your mouth,” I added.

  Her cheeks went pink and she squirmed free of the bedclothes and slid from the bed.

  She went to her knees in front of me.

  “Take me out,” I told her.

  She nodded.

  I watched as she wet her lips with her tongue. “I want you to lick my cock just like you licked your lips. Can you do that, Peaches?”

  She squirmed again as she whispered, “Yes.”

  I had no doubt she was already turned on and I leaned back against the mattress, my weight braced on my elbows as I watched her drag my zipper down, freeing my erection.

  She wrapped a free hand around the base, then, darting a look at me, she dipped her head and took me inside the wet cave of her mouth.

  Peaches moved with a practiced ease and I had no doubt she’d spent quite some time perfecting her craft.

  A soft moan escaped her as she worked me.

  “Do you like sucking cock, Peaches?” I asked her.

  She nodded, the movement awkward as she still had her lips wrapped around my length. The heated look she shot me left no doubt in my mind that she was telling the truth, though.

  I watched her through slitted eyes, shuddering as she took me almost to the back of her throat before gliding back up.

  Finally, as I felt my orgasm drawing closer, I pulled her head up, fisting a hand in her hair to hold her back when she would have gone back to sucking me off.

  She whimpered low in her throat as I wrapped a hand around my dick. I sat up as I stroked myself, watching her face. Her eyes dropped to follow the movements of my hand and I
saw the hungry lust raging in her eyes.

  “Do you want me to fuck you now?” I asked her.

  “Yes.” She swallowed, then in a raw, husky voice, she added, “Please. Please fuck me.”

  “Call me sir … and ask for it.”

  She whimpered again, then, without batting a lash, she said, “Please, sir. Would you fuck me?”

  I let go of my cock and stood up.

  She had to fall back on her butt, catching her weight with her hands to avoid me as I straightened.

  “I’ve got condoms in the bathroom,” I told her. “Bring them in here.”

  She all but ran from the room and when she came back, I was sliding my belt from the loops around my waist.

  “Open one up and put it on me,” I said, folding the belt in half.

  Her eyes fell toward it, half-terrified, half-aroused.

  I recognized the look.

  I’d been playing around in the world of BDSM almost since I’d started having sex, thanks to a mind that was innately curious and always seeking new adventures.

  BDSM was full of them.

  This, here, even though Peaches wasn’t what I’d call a submissive woman, was just another adventure. I found myself wondering how far I could push her, how far she’d go for me.

  “Would you like me to spank you?” I asked as she eased closer, the condom clutched in one fist.

  “I …” She glanced nervously at the belt. “Would it hurt? Leave a mark?”

  Something told me that latter was more important than the former. I smacked my hand with my doubled-up belt before answering. “I can make it hurt … or not. I can leave a mark … or not. It’s up to you.”

  “I don’t mind a little pain.” Something clouded her eyes then as she added, “But I can’t have any marks on me.”

  I nodded, understanding. She made her living off selling her body—whether she was dancing on stage or doing something more … primitive, her body was her livelihood. I wouldn’t mar the package.

  “Some pain then.” I flashed her grin and crooked my finger. “No marks. Put the condom on me, then bend over the bed. I want your ass in the air for me.”

  She did as instructed and when she was in position, I moved to her side, stroking my hand down the soft, pale flesh of her butt. She’d be red from the spanking no doubt, but what few marks I left would fade by morning.

  I brought the leather down on her butt.

  She jolted in surprise, her fingers curling into the comforter as a low, raw moan escaped her.

  “More?” I asked.

  She gave a jerky nod and I swatted her again, then again. She was trembling by the time I stopped and shoved two fingers inside her hot, wet cunt. She clamped down around me, crying out.

  I continued my ministrations, working her to a whimpering, whining edge where she was begging for relief.

  Only then did I move to take my place behind her.

  She gasped as I tucked the head of my cock against her, a shudder wracking her body.

  But when she would have pushed back on me, I caught her hips, bracing her with one hand, while administering a sharp blow with the other. “I’m in charge here, Peaches,” I warned her.

  I was always in charge.

  She whimpered again, the sound lower, rougher.

  But she didn’t try to move back on me again and after a few seconds, I began to ride her, thrusting inside her with a slow, lazy rocking of my hips. She clamped down around me greedily and I grunted as she started to milk my prick.

  But I held back.

  Dropping the belt, I shoved a hand into her red-brown curls and pulled, guiding her up from the bed until she was suspended, impaled on my cock, held in place by my restraining grip in her hair.

  She cried out, loving it.

  Peaches shot her hands back, seeking to catch my hips, so she could grind against me, I assumed.

  I spanked her. Hard.

  “I’m in control,” I reminded her.

  She moaned, low and long, the sound echoing all around us.

  She climaxed once and swayed forward, catching her weight on her hands just before she toppled over.

  I spread my legs wider and continued to shaft her. “We’re not done,” I told her, slamming into her harder.

  She wailed then and reached for the bed, bracing herself as I began to slam into her, harder and harder.

  Her pussy was a wet, snug fist around my cock and she was hot and soft and willing, all I needed for my dick to get on board with anything.

  As she shuddered and bucked around me again, I brought the flat of my hand down on her ass.

  She shouted then and came a second time, her pussy all but squeezing me in two.

  As she sagged, motionless, against the bed, I shifted position and urged her down until she was bent over the bed, the mattress supporting her upper body as I fucked her.

  Vaguely, I heard her crying out, my name a moan on her lips.

  Vaguely, I felt her come a third time.

  It should have been enough to finish me off.

  Yet, even as I started to come, I found myself picturing somebody else. A tall, slim woman with pale hair and skin, her eyes big and expressive.

  Daria …

  Nine

  Daria

  “Wow.”

  I gaped at Isabel as she stepped out from behind the screen that had been erected in the salon we were using for the morning.

  I’d seen pictures of her wedding gown in various stages of completion and she’d shared with me sketches that the designer had come up with, but this was the first time I’d seen her in the dress itself.

  “You look so beautiful,” I murmured, my voice thick.

  She gazed at me quizzically, then smiled. “I must look damn good—you’re talking in Russian and you only do that when you’re super-emotional or super-happy.”

  “I’m both,” I said, rushing to be closer, holding out both hands to her. “You look beautiful—that is what I said.”

  “Thank you.” She blew out a breath and turned to the full-length mirror that had been erected on the far wall.

  I watched as she took in just how amazing she looked, then I gave her another long look as she stood there in her wedding gown. It was lace over silk, giving it an even more delicate appearance. The bodice was fitted all the way down the bottom of her thighs before flaring out loosely. She’d described it as a mermaid skirt. There was a short train where the skirt was longer in the back, but the train was just as understated and elegant as the rest of the dress. It was beautiful in its simplicity, leaving it clear to the observer that the true jewel of the day was Isabel, the bride.

  She went to perch precariously on a small stool, tugging up the hem of her dress to reveal her shoes—clear heels that gave the whole thing a Cinderella-like appearance. “What do you think?”

  I grinned at her. “They are perfect.”

  Just then, a low groan came from the far side of the room and Isabel rolled her eyes before asking solicitously, “Lucky, are you okay?”

  “No,” Lucky said, pushing up from the couch. “I’m fucking hung-over. How could you all let me drink so much?”

  “I hadn’t realized we were supposed to be babysitting you during the party,” I said without thinking.

  The moment the last word left my lips, I realized how obnoxious that sounded. But by the time I managed to summon up an apology, Isabel was already talking. And she said much of what I’d just said. “I was there to have fun and celebrate my upcoming wedding, Lucky,” she said with a negligent shrug. “I wasn’t there to play chaperone. That was actually your job.”

  Lucky looked like she wanted to fire back at Isabel. There was an odd dynamic between them, something I’d noticed from the get-go. While it was clear they had a long history, sometimes I wondered if either of them liked the other.

  Before Lucky could open her mouth to fire something off at Isabel, there was a knock at the door and the hairdresser, along with the makeup artist, came bustling in
.

  “We just want to do one more look-over and see how things are,” Mimi Vonderhouse said, clapping her hands together as she took in her masterpiece. She’d spent hours curling Isabel’s thick, dark hair into ringlets before pinning them atop her head in a deceptively artless cascade.

  Her counterpart, Rachel Sneed, checked out Isabel’s face, taking in the eye make-up, the lipstick, the careful application of blush. “Excellent. You look stunning.”

  While the three of them chatted, I managed to catch sight of Lucky.

  She was giving me a death stare.

  I’d been the recipient of such looks before. One couldn’t be a ballerina of my skill without dealing with women like Lucky. I held her gaze for a long moment, the looked away, affecting an expression of sheer boredom.

  There was a discreet knock at the door and I went to answer, since Lucky was still busy glaring at me.

  I stepped aside as Basilio Castellanos came in, filling the room with his big presence.

  Although we’d met a handful of times, I was caught off-guard by his exuberant hug and the kiss he dropped on both cheeks. “Lovely, Daria. You look beautiful. And where is … ah, there she is.”

  I smiled, a little wistful, as Basilio went to greet his daughter.

  I had no idea who my own father was, so the affection between them was one I’d never understand.

  “Are you ready, beloved?” Basilio asked, holding her hands.

  “Yes. I’m nervous, Papa.”

  “It’s your wedding day.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You are expected to be nervous.” He skimmed the room with a practiced eye. I was startled when he looked past Lucky to focus on me. “Are you taking care of my daughter, Daria?”

  “Of course,” I said, bobbing my head deferentially. I don’t know why he was placing that responsibility on my shoulders. Lucky was supposed to be the maid of honor, but I had every intention of making sure things went smoothly for Isabel for the rest of her day.

  It was, after all, her day. Her wedding day.

  I hadn’t been to a wedding before.