LifeoftheParty Read Free

sack. If this gets you
hot, then, player, get up here.”
    “That’s not what does it,” he said, prodding her to open as
he braced himself over her. His cock nudged her slick pussy as he slid one hand
down her leg. “It’s the swollen ankles that really get me off.”
    “And the nipples as big as coasters? I feel like I should be
giving birth in a potato field.” He brushed his hand down over her belly, his
finger circling her clit. “Let me know how I’m doing down there, Roark. I
haven’t seen it in months.”
    “It’s still there, don’t worry,” he said, easing himself in,
half entering, as far as he’d let himself go. She groaned, brushing his cheek.
It was almost enough to set him off.
    “That’s it, big boy,” she whispered, writhing slightly,
“show me how the whales do it.”
    He stroked her easy, arching over her to kiss her enormous
breasts, her skin warm and tasting of sleep and something he couldn’t define
yet still made his head spin. And his cock harden even more.
    “Jesus, Pam, I think I’m already gonna—”
    The doorbell rang.
    His head shot up. “What the fuck!”
    Pam stiffened. “Who can that be?”
    He could feel her pulse kicking up as he slid himself from
her. “Fuck if I know,” he said, grabbing his jeans from the floor. Then, out of
a habit too long ingrained, he opened his bedside table drawer, punched a few
numbers in a heavy metal box and, lifting the lid, pulled out his pistol. He
loaded the magazine, then tucked it into his waistband. “Be right back.”
    The bell rang again. Pam grabbed his arm. “Jesus, Roark,”
she said, glancing at the weapon, “do you really think that’s necessary?”
    He shrugged her arm away, gently but firmly. How could he
possibly explain it to her? Maybe it was the Italian kicking in again, that
fiery yet feral part of him wanting to protect his woman and his cave, or maybe
it was just the Irish cop he’d always be. Whatever it was, he said, “Stay here.
I’ll be right back.”
    The bell rang again, this time nonstop. Roark trotted
lightly down the steps and into the big colonial’s center hall. He could see
the shadow of a man through one of the skinny windows running the length of
either side of the door, hear the bell silence only to be replaced by an
insistent banging. Two long strides across the sanded hardwood and he clutched
the knob, his other hand hovering just above his waistband.
    “Whoever you are you better be bleeding,” he said.
    More banging before, “Carmelli, you motherfucker! Open this
motherfucking thing or you’re a fucking dead man!”
    Roark sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He
opened the door to find Doug propped against the jamb.
    “You motherfucker,” Doug said, swaying slightly. “I’m
gonna—”
    Roark stepped aside and let his old partner and best friend
fall flatly yet firmly on his face.

Chapter Two
     
    CARMELLI RESIDENCE – RIVERBORO
    WEDNESDAY 30 OCTOBER
    10:34 A.M.
     
    Doug needed to puke. What a bitch he had no idea where the
toilet was.
    He reeled from the bed, his feet hitting unfamiliar floor,
desperately scanning the room. An uncurtained window, boxes lining the wall,
three doors, two on one side. Where the hell was he? Think, think. He
left some place to come to…to… “Fuck.” He palmed his forehead, his stomach
lurching, his brain ready to roll out of his cranium. He needed to find
someplace to hurl in ten seconds or he was going to make a mess on someone’s
hardwood. He clasped his mouth and leapt toward the door in front of him.
    Sometime luck smiles at you. Behind the door was a bathroom.
Doug threw back the lid and emptied his lurching stomach. Not that there was
much in it beyond scotch. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Peanuts,
maybe? Or some bar food. Whatever. He straightened up, pissed, flushed. To his
right lay the shower. He shrugged off his trousers, shorts, ran a hand up his
shoulder to slide off his holster— Wait a minute. He