Mick Sinatra 3: His Lady, His Children, and Sal by Mallory Monroe Page A

liquid
shoot inside of her; as soon as he saturated her to a point that seared her,
she arched her hips high with a euphoric orgasm.   And suddenly Mick was the one who could not
bear the intensity. Mick was the one who clenched down hard as his cock pushed
so far inside of her that the only thing not inside of her were his balls.   He began to throb like a rapid heartbeat deep
inside of her.   And his cum kept
coming.   His cum kept shooting out
against her pussy until she was drenched in his cum.   And they both were emasculated.   But wonderfully so.

 
    Early that next morning, when Roz woke up, Mick was
inside of her again, fucking her again.   He was lying behind her in the spoon position.   His hands were squeezing her breasts in that
sensual way she loved, as he did her.   And she began to poke out her butt, to give him even greater access, as
she closed her eyes, muffled a cry of elation, and climaxed yet again.
    Their big, beautiful home was as quiet as a field of
dreams.   Except for the bed shaking, body
trembling, lovemaking that Mick Sinatra was indisputably putting on his wife.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 
    Mick arrived at Sinatra Industries later that
morning.   He arrived like a man
rejuvenated.   Even the workers in his
corporation, who all feared him and avoided even riding the elevator with him,
didn’t get him down.   It wasn’t until he
made it to his suite of offices on the top floor, and saw his youngest son Joey
waiting for him, did he realize just how ephemeral happiness could be.
    Joey, who was slouched down in the chair against the
wall of his secretary’s office, with gold chains hanging down in front of his
oversized jersey, with his sagging, hip-hop style jeans, stood up.   “How could you do that, though?” he asked his
father with a look of grave disappointment on his face.
    Mick was well aware of his surroundings.    His executive assistant, along with four
other assistants, comprised his secretarial staff.   They all were hard at work at their desks.   But they didn’t fool him.   They were all listening with rapt attention.
    He kept walking toward his office.   “Come with me,” he said to his son.
    “But how could you do it, though?” Joey asked again.
    Mick stopped his walk and looked at his son with a
hardness that stopped Joey cold.   Mick’s
entire secretarial staff, who themselves had been on the receiving end of
Mick’s wrath before, were now looking too.
    Mick didn’t tell Joey to come with him again, as if
his son was deaf.   He simply gave him
that look.   And it was enough.   Mick began walking again, and Joey,
sufficiently assured of his own demise if he did not comply, closed his mouth
and followed.
    Mick entered his office, which was as large as an
average apartment, and headed behind his desk.   He put his briefcase on the desk, sat down, and motioned for Joey to
take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
    But Joey wasn’t interested in sitting down.   He knew his father was not the man to trifle
with.   He knew his father could be as
cold as a winter night.   But he also knew
what happened was wrong.   Nobody mistreated
his mother.
    “How could you kick her out of her own house?” he
asked Mick.
    “It’s not her house,” Mick responded in a measured
tone.
    “But it is her house!” Joey wasn’t trying to be
measured.   He was animated.   “It’s our house,” he added.   “You bought it for her so she could raise me
there and keep me out of your hair.   You
bought it for her so you wouldn’t feel guilty about being the lousy father you
are.   It is her house!”
    Mick continued to sit there and watch Joey speak his
mind.   He was a young man, barely twenty,
who had been heading down the absolute wrong path.   Mick brought him into his company and, by all
accounts, Joey had turned his life around and was serious about their
partnership.   But he wasn’t taking this
like a