Open Your Mouth

Welcome, angels!

A couple of things:

♡ I don’t always mention contraception or STI’s, please assume the characters are being safe and not playing pregnancy roulette.

♡ I use British English. Please don't correct my spelling with American English (it’s super annoying sorry 😩).

♡ That being said, if you notice any grammar mistakes, it would be great if you could point them out. Occasionally, I use conversational language that may be grammatically incorrect. For example 'You good?' instead of 'Are you good' etc. Feel free to ignore those.

♡ I write mature romances. The words ‘clit’ and ‘cock’ will make an appearance. If that’s not your thing, please leave without complaint.

♡ You can follow me on Instagram, naughtyxchristian.

This is the third book of the four-part Mafia series. You do not have to read the first two, this can be read as a standalone, but some references won't make sense.

Book 1: Not On Your Life

Book 2: Yours for the Taking

Book 3: Open Your Mouth

Book 4: Ill Repute (Coming July!)

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆☽Ⓛ❈Ⓒ☾⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Set at the beginning of Book Two (during Gio and Lia dating).

Ambra.

My mother was a stripper. She found the best way in life was to go with the flow and make the most of every opportunity. She died when I was 16 but I always live by her words and I carpe diem the shit out of every day in her memory.

I check my heels are clipped on tight, but not too tight, then I roll my shoulders and readjust my bra. On the other side of the wall, I hear the music quieten down. My heart beats faster, as it always does right before I go out there.

“As always, we end your evening with our talented star, Ambrosia Swallow!”

Pasting a fake smile on my face, I concentrate on swaying my hips as I stride out onto the stage. The glinting silver pole in the centre calls to me. I slowly make my way over to it as the MC, Dan the Man, continues.

“Many of our regulars are familiar with Miss Swallow. She is dually talented you see, and I’m not just talking about that fantastic rack.”

Internally, I grimace, but on the outside, my sultry smile remains unchanging. I clasp the cold pole in my hands and swing myself around in a teasing twirl to warm them up.

“Ambrosia hear can both dazzle you with her body and her voice. Give it up for Miss Swallow as she entertains you with her tits, I mean wits!”

It’s an old joke that he makes often, but I don’t complain because Dan is just doing his job like the rest of us. I hook my foot around the pole and hang myself off it. The music changes and the song gets louder. Knowing that the microphone taped to my cheek will pick up my voice, I open my mouth and begin to sing.

I discovered the artist Jake Hill purely by accident a few years ago. I’ve loved his music from the moment I heard that first song. His lyrics are funny and clever and I love that he wants to bring gay into country.

In a bid to get more customers into the strip club as the market became more competitive, the owner, a woman we only call Madame, agreed to let me sing. At first, I tried romance songs but no men come into a strip club for romance. Eventually, we found out that sexy and comedy works best. I use Jake Hill’s songs and remaster the lyrics to cater for a heterosexual audience. Tonight’s song is ‘Keep Ridin’ Me’ and I’ve changed the lyrics to fit.

“Yeah, your moustache tickles my butt crack, baby. You know that’s fine with me. You said you wanna cover my face with love, so maybe I’ll find out and see.”

I sing as I spin on the pole, purposefully taking breaths between the verses. I’m smiling as I sing the chorus because it’s my favourite.

“He spreads my cheeks, and he makes me scream. He’s my number one daddy, gotta make him cream inside of me.”

There’s a few hoots from the crowd as I spin with my legs open, shoving off the tiny scrap of fabric between my legs. When I turn again, I can make out a few faces in the audience. There’s always the regulars, the ones who come back week after week to get a look at the girls. Then there are the ones that come once or twice, never to be seen again.

There’s someone I don’t recognise at the back right. I can’t make out much of anything with the lights on me, but I can feel his stare. Knowing that it might get me a big tip, I keep my eyes locked on him as I sing the next part.

“You got a way with your words and a big fat cock. And I don’t care if it hurts, no, don’t you stop.”

Smiling again, I lift myself up and hang upside down for the remainder of the song. The crowd goes riotous with applause when I finish. I’m breathing heavily, sweat has pooled between my breasts but this is when I feel most alive.

My father, Mafia Don Aldo Martelli, has no clue that his bastard love child earns a living by stripping and spinning on a pole. Thanks to the fact all dancers have to wear wigs, I remain anonymous behind green contacts and a pastel-purple wig that comes to my jaw. Papà has no idea that half of his precious city have seen my tits bounce with glitter pasties on my nipples.

I’m 22, while he may control a lot of things, he doesn’t control me.

Another girl takes over from me and I step down from the stage. This is the part I’m the least fond of. I walk through the crowd, smiling and cocking my hips as creepers stick notes in the waistband of my underwear. They all like to cop a feel. I give them fake smiles while all the time I’m silently counting the money in my head, working out how much I can make tonight to build up my savings.

My father is rich as fuck, but his money comes with conditions, as my sister Lia well knows. She is being made to marry by the time she is twenty-five to procure her inheritance. I know that Aldo Martelli will apply the same conditions to me. He didn’t have to give the condition to our brother, Aurelio, because he met his wife Diana and wanted her to be his instantly.

I don’t know how my life will turn out, I don’t have a plan, just a mindset, but I don’t want to be pressured into a potentially loveless marriage for the sole reason of inheriting money. Being an exotic dancer pays pretty damn well, and I’m not a big spender.

I don’t like designer clothes or flashy cars, I like good food and a comfortable bed. I’m not a bookworm like my sister, nor a collector like my brother, the only things I would spend money on is food, fluffy socks (my feet always get cold) and installing my own pole into my place so I can practise at home instead of coming into the club for training sessions. I don’t need a lot of money, I want to save enough working here so that by the time I turn twenty-five, I won’t need my inheritance.

“Loved the song, baby.”

I shoot a smile at the guy twice my age. He’s just slipped a note into my thong so he can have that much.

“Thanks, honey.”

Making sure there’s a teasing sway in my hips, I walk away from the main audience and over to the bar. I can feel lots of eyes on me, but I’m only interested in one pair. Chardonnay pours me a glass of water. I thank her and turn around to subtly check out the crowd as I sip the beverage. Across the bar, I make eye contact with the man I was aware of during my dance. He’s staring again and this time, I can see him much more clearly.

Caruso.

When my client told me he wanted to meet in a strip club, I was game. My brother Giovanni owns and runs several, there was a good chance it was one of Gio’s clubs.

No such luck.

By the time he texted me the name, Silver Linings, it was too late, I’d already agreed. I could have insisted on a different location, but I’m never opposed to seeing half-naked women flaunt themselves.

This club is similar to the ones Gio runs, only a little less upmarket, but I could be biased. The girls are beautiful and barely dressed, two things required for a club such as this to do well. By the time me and fuckface Bartolo have done business, I’ve seen three dances and a whole load of tits, but nothing is catching my interest. It takes something truly unique to catch my eye and most of the time, it’s a gun.

Then this girl wearing a light purple wig comes out on stage and suddenly I’m salivating like I’m looking at a Beretta M9. She sings. I’ve never seen a stripper sing. She doesn’t even take her clothes off, either. She just spins on the pole, shows off her toned muscles and gorgeous body, and sings a song that has me laughing out loud. The lyrics are funny and clever and I’m hooked, just like half the fucking audience it seems.

“Mr Capone, I was wonder-”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss to the imbecile of a client sitting next to me, my eyes don’t leave the purple stripper for a second. “I’m listening.”

He is wise enough to remain silent. He probably knows I’ll put a bullet between his eyes if he talks again. I can’t take my eyes off the girl currently rotating around the pole. Her legs are wide open, showing the tiniest thong covering something I’m dying to see. The song ends and I’m flooded with disappointment.

When was the last time I was this intrigued by a woman? By anyone?

I watch the woman gracefully drop down off the pole and take a bow, laughing to herself. I decide then and there that I need to meet her. I can’t remember the last time I actually wanted to meet someone and get to know them. My life is all about guns and occasionally, my brothers. I’m not even sure the last time I got laid. A month ago maybe? I’ve been so busy with shipments that nothing else has even crossed my mind. I think it’s time I treat myself.

The dancer I want starts working her way through the leering crowd at the front and I divert my gaze elsewhere. Catching the eye of the club’s owner, Madame something, I gesture her over. A smile is playing on her painted red lips as she reaches me. She puts her hands on her hips and casts her eyes over me in appreciation, ignoring the client next to me.

“I want her,” I tell the older woman, point at my little purple-haired minx.

“In what way?” She asks, raising her eyebrows. “My girls aren’t prostitutes. You can have a private dance, nothing else.”

Strangely, I am relieved to hear that Madame isn’t pimping her girls out. In my line of work, I know exactly how dangerous prostitution can be for a woman and even if it is under safe conditions, the John’s hardly treat them with respect. To many people, I am dangerous, crazy, a villain with no conscience. That’s not true. There are plenty of people who have my respect, including sex workers, but the second they lose my respect, I won’t hesitate to litter their body in bullets until they look like a sieve.

“I’ll take the dance.”

“Perfect.” Her red lips spread as she grins. “You can take Room Two, in the back. Ambrosia be with you in about five minutes.”

I turn to the client, I’m not really sure why he’s still here. I thought he would fuck off as soon as the deal was done.

“We’re done here. Leave.”

He blinks rapidly, his eyes wide. “Yes, sure. Um, when should I expect delivery?”

“As I said before,” I say through gritted teeth, because I hate repeating myself, “Two to three weeks.”

“Right. Yes. Perfect. Thank you,” he splutters and scurries off.

With the client and Madame gone, I'm free to watch Ambrosia. I heard the MC announcing her but I wasn't paying attention then, I thought she'd be another faceless entertainer, a woman that I wouldn't be interested in. Now I know how very wrong I was. I am very much interested in Miss Ambrosia.

Even as she gives flirty smiles that don't quite meet her eyes, and hides grimaces as pervy men slide their hands up her body, her beauty doesn't waver. She's all big green eyes and pouty lips. I'd love to know what her real hair colour is. I'm guessing dark from how her eyebrows are almost black.

Her gaze lifts to meet mine and it's like the air fizzles between us as our eyes hold. I wait for her to look away first. The slight flush growing on her chest tells me that my staring has had the desired effect.

Without wasting another minute, I get to my feet and head with purpose to the back of the club. It's time for me to get Ambrosia all to myself.