Theodora, Teo for short, and Frank met as fellow jurors, but she was a mafia plant who, by fucking him silly, set him up to be the only not guilty vote for mob boss Tony Galliano. When Tony got cold feet, he put out contracts on them both to ensure their silence. They ran. Though the start of their relationship was rocky, fraught with betrayal and deception, Teo and Frank teamed up to rescue her younger sister, Ana, who the mob kidnapped to use as leverage against Teo.
Their goal is to cause so much disruption around Galliano that his superiors will want him gone. Then when Frank kills him, the contracts will die with him. Much unfavorable attention resulted from Tony’s soldiers being killed in D.C. when the Jurors rescued Ana. Then Frank, who has skills – he was in a covert ops unit in the Army – killed two of Galliano’s capos at a Halloween party in Chicago. Life became more uncomfortable for Tony.
Getting to Galliano himself proved difficult, but Teo suggested a possibility. Chapter 3 begins with Frank pursuing her lead.
**
As I stood to welcome her back to our table from the Ladies Room, I admired how gracefully Angela Mancuso moved. Considering her condition. Feeling quite certain that I’d soon know, I also wondered how her 8-months pregnant pussy would taste.
We met when the alarm had gone off as she left Dee’s Maternity Boutique on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. The store manager had rushed out and stopped her, but I intervened, knowing that the security tape footage would show another woman had put the diamond-studded hair clip in Angela’s purse. Just as I’d arranged for her to do.
As predicted, Angela was very relieved and grateful, and accepted my invitation to have coffee. The Dearborn was close and nearly deserted at 2:30, as most of the lunch crowd had dissipated. I led her to a dark table in the back, and when she sat on the curved bench facing out, I slid in beside her. Rather close.
As it happened, I found I was more in the mood for a glass of wine than coffee. Was she? Well, she shouldn’t. But maybe. One couldn’t hurt. We talked easily, about numerous little nothings, carefully avoiding our personal stories, and I found her eyes entrancing. And told her so.
Angela is indeed truly beautiful, a precious waif, no more than 5 feet tall, and certainly less than 100 pounds before pregnancy. Her flawless, creamy skin has just a savory hint of olive, and lustrous black hair frames a face with a high, regal forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a narrow chin. Her vivid black eyebrows and lashes draw attention to her striking green eyes. Both lips are voluptuous, but I especially liked how, when she was pondering, musing over what clever bon mot to deliver next, her teeth lightly chewed the especially full lower one.
As the waiter walked away after delivering our second glasses, I began the game I knew she liked to play. Indicating the couple four tables away, I said, “I wonder what he does. Maybe a lawyer? And her, maybe a new client? No, probably his wife. I do wonder how they happen to be here drinking wine at 3:15 in the afternoon, though.”
As expected, Angela played right along, her voice teasingly coquettish, “I think they just met. I bet they’re not even a couple, I mean a married couple. See how they’re sitting so close.”
I slid a bit closer, so that our thighs just touched, and conspiratorially whispered, “Like this? And married people don’t sit close?”
I was gratified that she didn’t scoot away. After a long, serious sip of wine, almost a gulp, Angela said, “Some do, I suppose, but it’s more fun to imagine that they just met today.”
“Ah, a tryst in the making? That is fun.”
Her emerald eyes twinkled appealingly as she went on, her voice playful, “Watch him sneaking peeks. He really likes her sheer blouse, especially that deep décolletage. Or rather, what it reveals. And he’s often eyed that form-fitting dress. She is very attractive, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, Angela, but if I may say so, you are far more beautiful, much more alluring.”
I thought Angela’s classic face was even more lovely when flushed. Her voice quavered just a trifle when she replied, “Oh, you’re being silly. Look at me, big as a house, and nothing I can find to wear seems to fit. Or look good.”
“You look terrific, are truly beautiful, and very sexy, Angela. Your being pregnant just makes you all the more hot.”
Angela’s face grew a bit more crimson, but perhaps that was because my hand, which had innocently inched onto her thigh some time before, started brushing her leg. Her voice was softer, and she leaned closer. “Well, she is very pretty and he seems awfully attentive. Hmm. I wonder what they’re saying?”
“I bet they’re talking about us, wondering what we’re up to. Why we’re sitting so close and whispering. We do make a very attractive couple, don’t you think?”
Angela laughed. It was an easy, natural laugh. I found I thoroughly enjoyed amusing her, making her smile. Seducing her. After another large sip of Pinot Grigio, which almost drained her glass, her voice was lower, more dulcet, but tinged with excitement when she said, “Perhaps you’re right and they are talking about us, just as we’re talking about them. How delightful! They probably are thinking us a couple, too. Such fun! Considering my condition, though, we’d have to be a married couple.”
I savored the nervous eroticism suffusing the air, knowing that Angela felt it, too. Sometimes just telling the truth is perfect. “Maybe not. Maybe we just randomly met at some boutique, hit it off, and decided to have a drink.” I timed my next utterance with a slightly more intense squeeze of her thigh. “And see what develops.”
Angela’s fingers brushed the back of my hand as she reached for her wine glass, but it probably was accidental. I noted her breathing was more rapid, shallower, and supposed her heart was beating harder. Like mine. “Oh John,” it was the name I’d given her, “You are naughty, thinking such thoughts.”
My hand kept tickling her thigh, edging ever upwards as I said, “Wait! I’ve got it! You’ve been right all along. They’re not a couple. They just met today, hardly an hour ago, discovered their mutual attraction, and now they’re talking about all the ways they’re going fuck each other.”
When Angela didn’t respond beyond a small startled gasp, I moved my hand still higher on her thigh, leaned even closer, close enough that I knew she’d feel my breath tickle her ear, and whispered, “I wonder if he’s going to enjoy eating her pussy as much as I’m going to love eating yours.”
Angela stiffened and sat bolt upright. She looked at me with wide, wild eyes. “I don’t believe you said that! It’s completely improper, and I, I, I…” She gulped a big breath, drained her glass and found her voice, “I want you to leave. Now.” Her hand trapped mine on her thigh, holding it fast.
But she didn’t remove it.
“That’s not what you want, Angela.” As she stared at me, still in stunned disbelief, I wormed my hand free, took hers in mine, and put it on my erection.
Her sharp gasp was simultaneous with her hand freezing.
But she didn’t pull it away.
Angela’s uncertain tone contradicted her words, “Of course I want you to leave. Whatever could have made you think anything else?”
I curled her fingers around my cock, and naturally caught my breath as my squeeze sent a frisson coursing throughout my body. I squeezed again. I knew she could feel my penis twitch, pulse eagerly against her. After the third squeeze I whispered, “When you went to the ladies room 10 minutes ago you freshened your perfume and lipstick, teased your hair, and undid another button of your blouse. It’s very sexy, Angela, and it totally worked. But you really didn’t need to. I was hooked, totally into you already. I’ve been like this,” my fingers contracted, pinching hers on the evidence, “for half an hour.”
Her eyes stayed wide, maybe in amazement, maybe with wariness when she said, “This is very flattering, John, but I’m a married woman. I can’t do this.”
Despite her objection, Angela’s fingers continued my rhythm of relaxing and gently tightening, even after I removed my hand and it returned to her thigh. She shuddered slightly when it alit. I looked deeply into her eyes and again simply told the truth. “Of course you can, Angela. You can do whatever you want.”
Her hand froze, but remained on my cock. Mine eased closer to the juncture of her hips. Warmth, real heat was emanating from her. She eventually quit biting her lower lip and said, “No, I just can’t. It would be wrong. I want you to leave.”
“No, no you don’t. You want me to do what I said, to eat your pussy. If you don’t want that, why are you so wet, Angela?” The flickering of her eyelids and her soft moan as she unconsciously clamped her thighs together told us both I was right.
I dropped a 50 on the table as I stood. She took my offered hand and I helped her up.
**
Angela Mancuso’s silky lips nibbling up and down my cock felt fantastic, and, even though it had already deposited two loads in her pussy and one in her mouth, her skillful tongue, and the avid, arousing sounds she made as she slurped, began to have their way with me.
The taxi had dropped us at the corner behind her father’s building. I’d kept my eyes forward during the ride, impassive in case the driver glanced back. Angela’s eyes also looked ahead, but they did glaze over several times when my fingers teased into the crease between her inner thighs.
She pointed out the security camera and I followed her lead, hugging the side of the building to evade it. I made a show of turning away when she typed in the number code which opened the outside door to Tony Galliano’s secret escape elevator, but my phone recorded the series of beeps.
Yes, Tony Galliano’s secret elevator. The one from his exclusive Hyde Park South condo taking up the entire top two floors. Angela Mancuso, née Galliano, was Tony’s daughter. Theodora had run into her months earlier, when Teo had come to Chicago to assume the identity of Katrina Reese, potential juror in Tony’s trial. As daughters of prominent mafiosi they’d met often and decided to have lunch to catch up.