by AJ Wolf
Walking forward with her, I press her back up against the tile of the pool wall, adjusting her so I can feel each grind of her hips against my swollen dick and grab her tits through her shirt; they easily fill my palms, heavy in my hands even with her bra. I can feel her nipples hard through the thin cups, knowing that the outline of the lace is dark against the pale wet fabric of her shirt without having to look.
I want to taste her skin, suck one of her perfectly pink nipples into my mouth, but I keep my lips glued to hers, taking what I can with my hands. I’ve memorized every trace of her fingers on my skin, every dig of fingernails, tug at my hair, savoring each and every touch she places on my flesh.
I almost don’t hear it, the phone ringing from the pocket of Laney’s shorts. But even when I do, I keep kissing her, holding on to the last few seconds I get with her because I know the minute she hears it, she’ll pull away from me.
Almost the exact time I think it, she pulls her lips from mine. Her dilated pupils leaving my face to look in the direction of her clothes. I know what she’s about to say, so I speak before her, sparing my heart that kind of pain. “You should go, Laney Girl.”
Her breaths are still coming in quick pants, the water on her skin sparkling in the low light with each rise and fall of her chest as she looks from her phone to me, trying to find the words to say. I take her moment of uncertainty and pull her back to me for one more lingering kiss, dragging out the seconds it takes for our lips to part.
“Go, Laney.”
I almost wish she hadn’t listened, watching her pull from me to swim toward the pool ladder. Her footsteps are painful to watch, each slow step taking her farther from where I want her to be and closer to the monster who tore her from me. She pauses after sliding her shorts on, the shine in her eyes completely gutting me. She doesn’t even check her phone. Just forces a watery smile before heading toward the pool doors. At the thunk of the lock, I sink under the water drowning out the sight of her leaving.
My clothes are still wet when I walk into the house, my underwear leaving a dark wet stain on the butt of my denim shorts from the drive home. My hair is dripping at the ends. The baby hairs around my face curling and wild from not rinsing the chlorine before it started to air dry. I’m focusing on the way my feet squeak in my sneakers, the way my skin feels dry and my shirt is cold on my back. All the little unimportant details in an attempt to calm my racing heart and stop my hands from shaking.
Donatello is sitting on the couch in a pair of joggers, shirtless with a glass of something in his hand. His eyes are on the TV until he notices me standing in the entryway staring at him. He doesn’t smile when he sees me, eyes taking in everything I’m saying without words. My wet clothes aren’t the problem or my smeared makeup. It’s the tears he can see me fighting. The guilt painting my features an ugly shade of red, revealing my dirty deceit as if I were holding a sign against my chest.
He looks away from me with a slight shake of his head, throwing back the rest of his drink before he drops it on the side table. He leans forward to rest his arms on his knees and I watch as he runs his hands over his face. Stepping out of my shoes, I drop to my knees in front of him, silently begging him to look at my face as he keeps his eyes on the floor.
I’ve never been in this position. I’ve never been the one feeling like I needed forgiveness. It feels worse than my heartbreak ever did. Vile and wrong; spilling like ink over everything good, and making it a dark splotchy mess that’s impossible to clean, staining my fingers as I try to scrub it away. My heart is torn in two, warring inside my chest over feelings I have no right to feel.
“Jessie kissed me.” His eyes finally rise to my face. They’re red etched with a slash of hate that almost stops me from saying more. It brands across my heart as a permanent scar, an everlasting reminder that I’m the one ruining things this time. I should tell him that I didn’t want Jessie to kiss me, that I felt nothing and regret letting it happen. But I don’t. I wanted that kiss just as badly as he did. I didn’t even want him to stop, and if Beverly hadn’t called, I’m positive I wouldn’t have because in that moment he was all I could think about. All my stupid little heart wanted. “And I let him, I wanted him to.”
The disappointment on his face hurts worse than if he had started yelling. The way he watches my tears but doesn’t touch me. For once they aren’t even because of him and yet that’s somehow worse. “Then why are you here?”
“I…” My mouth opens and closes. That sharp ache that never fully left my chest spreading to squeeze my throat in an iron grip, making it impossible to keep my lip from trembling. “I love you.”
He gets up, pushing past my kneeling form as soon as the words are out of my mouth, “If that’s true, this wouldn’t have happened.”
I stand, wiping the tears from my cheeks, the black of my mascara smeared across my palms. “That’s unfair.”
“Fucking how, Delaney? It’s unfair of you to go behind my back with your fucking pup and then expect me not to question how you feel for me.”
His words are true, but also wrong and extremely hypocritical. “You’re right, but isn’t that exactly what you expected of me for so fucking long? I’ve spent ninety percent of our entire relationship thinking I wasn’t good enough for you, that you were seeing people behind my back and lying about it.” Lifting the wet fabric of my shirt over my head, I use it to wipe my eyes, dropping it onto the floor. “Even now you have women in your phone. I’m expected to believe you when you say that you never talk to them. Why the fuck are they still in there? Why can’t you just delete their numbers then?”
He rips his phone from his pocket, tossing it onto the floor at my feet and I watch it skid across the hardwood. “Delete them, read my messages, call every number. I don’t fucking care because I am faithful like I’ve always been.” I don’t pick it up, instead drag my eyes from its spot on the floor to his angry gaze. “I know I fucked up. I can’t ever apologize enough for what I put you through, but fuck if I haven’t been trying. Tell me I haven’t Delaney. Tell me I haven’t been exactly what you’ve wanted me to be since we got back together.”
He’s yelling at me and it burns my ears, spurring on my own anger to match his. “Months of finally being a fucking decent human being doesn’t erase the damage you caused Donatello. I believe you’re sorry. I want to believe you have always been faithful, but all I feel is insecure with you. I’m constantly doubting myself and this relationship. Worrying about you suddenly deciding I’m not what you want, questioning everything I do and everything you do. You made me this way. You broke my trust so many times that I am irreparably damaged.” I swallow hard, a shuddering breath forcing me to stop my barrage of pain. “I love you. I have always loved you. I will never not love you. But I can’t love that shit away no matter how hard I try.”
His palm scrapes across his lips harshly, like he’s trying to get the taste of my words out of his mouth, and I notice he’s not wearing his rings. The dark white and purple scars that litter his knuckles and fingers bright on his tan skin. “What am I supposed to do about it now? You’re using the past as an excuse to do whatever the fuck you want, and I’m just supposed to be fine with it? What do you want, Vita Mia?” His sentence ends on a deflated sigh, his hurt bleeding into every word.
“I don’t know.” It feels almost like a lie to say it, sounding harsh coming out of my mouth. I want what I can’t have, so there’s no point in saying it. I can never have both Jessie and Donatello at the same time. It’s not plausible or reasonable to ask that of either of them. Almost as impossible as me being able to tear one of them from my heart. No matter what I do, my heart will break.
“That’s not good enough.”
“As usual.”
“Fuck, Delaney.” He stomps over to me, shoving his fingers into my hair as he cups my face, frowning despite the way his thumbs stroke my cheeks. “What do you want? I will do anything for you. Don’t you know that? You wanted me to stay away from you last year a
nd I did. You wanted me to wait until you were ready to try to be in a real relationship and I did. If you asked me to walk out that door and never look at you again it would break my fucking heart, but I’d do it just to make you happy. That’s all I want, baby. I just want you to be happy.” His thumbs wipe at the tears leaking down my cheeks, his cinnamon breath brushing along my lips. “You’re it for me, Vita Mia. I have no one else. I want no one else. Ti amo più della vita stessa.” I love you more than life itself. His lips graze my forehead and I close my eyes, heart soaking him in. “If you want to be with Jessie, then do it, but come back to me.”
“I can’t do that to you.” It’s whispered after he pulls back, my lips salty with my tears when I pinch them between my teeth.
“You already are, baby.” He takes a deep breath, releasing my hair to bring one of my shaking hands to his face, kissing my fingertips. “Do what you want, but when you’re done, choose me. Love me.”
His words break me in a different way than before, the desperation clinging to every syllable, a splinter wedged into my heart too deep to pull out, pushing the crack in the middle even further apart. I rise to my toes, intent to pull his lips to mine, but he pulls out of reach. He kisses my wrist instead, dropping it from his grasp. The rejection burns behind my ribcage, causing another round of silent tears to fight from my eyes. I shouldn’t have expected him to be fine kissing me after I was just with Jessie, but it still cleaves me in two.
“I have chlorine in my hair. I should shower.” It’s my attempt at hiding my pain and I turn before he can stop me, practically running to the bathroom. I don’t look at myself in the mirror, just peel off the rest of my clothes and turn the water on without waiting for it to get to temperature. I don’t care that it’s too cold, the icy burn is nothing compared to the tightness in my chest.
I go through the motions of washing my hair, the water mixing with my tears helping me pretend I’m fine. I jump when the shower curtain rips back and blink the water from my eyes as Donatello jerks me to him, bruising my lips with his as his tongue wraps along my own without hesitation. He steps into the stall, pushing my back against the tile, his clothes getting pelted by the spray as he lays claim to my mouth.
He pulls back to yank his shirt off, tossing the wet fabric onto the shower floor. “I’m sorry, baby. I just needed a minute.” His mouth crashes back with mine, and I melt into him. I’m sick for kissing two men within hours of each other, and he’s apologizing to me for hesitating when he had every right to not want to kiss me. It’s sweet and wrong and I’m vile for even considering we can make it work, but fuck if my heart isn’t giving me any other choice.
“Donatello?” It barely makes it past our lips, hushed out between breathes. He pauses, water running over his chin as he leans back to see my face better. “I want you.”
His eyes close with my words, opening to land on my lips, his fingers lightly pinching along my waist. “I need you, Vita Mia.”
Grinding my teeth at the obnoxious clapping, I close my eyes, trying to think of every reason why I can’t pull my revolver out and shoot the Bastardo. “Bravo, pup. I didn’t think you had it in you, but boy did you prove me wrong.”
Flicking my cigarette butt on to the concrete floor, I crush it with my boot before turning, holding the last of my smoke in my lungs until it burns in my chest. “You should know better than to doubt me, old man.” I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about, but I honestly couldn’t give a fuck. “Care to enlighten me on why the fuck you’re here?”
He looks like he just ate shit, mouth twisted when I lock eyes with him. “Vita Mia had quite the story to tell last week.”
His term of endearment grinds on my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard and I can feel my own face twisting in disgust. “And I’m sure you made her feel like shit about it also.” I’m getting angry just thinking about it, knowing he probably ran her through the mud like he doesn’t have secrets hiding in the closet that are much worse. My eyes narrow on his face and I take a marginal step closer, “Tell me, did it make you feel like a big man to watch that sweet girl cry?”
I barely dodge his punch, the rings on his knuckles scraping along my jaw. If I hadn’t been expecting him to throw one, the fucking douche would have knocked me out cold. If Donatello is to be respected for anything, it’s his ability to fight, and even with the amount of training I’ve had, there’s a slim chance I’d win. And I’m not too prideful to admit it. He’s earned every scar on his hands through inhumane violence, choosing to break faces with his bare hands over a bat. There’s a reason Capo Famiglia lets Donatello get away with as much as he does, and it’s not just because of his title, friendship, or their mutual love of inflicting pain. Donatello Genovese is probably the only man in the city who could and would kill him and get away with it. Not that I think he ever would. He’s loyal to a fault.
“Are you done?” Both of our heads snap over to the voice. The question said more like an order than an actual question. Capo Famiglia is rubbing his eyes with his palms, lips pursed like he’s already over our shit and he’s only been in the room for a few seconds. “Whatever the fuck this is about, I suggest you handle it on your own time.”
His hands drop and I’m surprised to find most of his annoyance aimed at Donatello instead of me.
“I thought you were going home?” Donatello is the one to ask, eyes trailing over The Boss before he continues. “You look like shit.”
“I was, until Beverly said she needed me to pick up more puppy food because apparently the kind we have, that she picked out, has grain as the first ingredient.” He blinks at us before continuing. “Those fucking dogs eat their own shit. I highly doubt it matters what the fuck kind of food they eat.”
Donatello laughs and it’s probably the first time I’ve ever heard the sound, not the fake angry one, but a genuine laugh. I feel like I’m stepping into a moment I shouldn’t be part of. The Boss, sneering over at him.
“I haven’t slept in weeks because of those fucking things.” He looks at me, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Do you know what it’s like trying to sleep in a house with three fucking dogs and two kids that run wild at all hours of the night?” I shake my head, but I think a response from me was unnecessary because he continues on his rant, “Everyone is yelling or barking or shitting all the fucking time. And God forbid I want to fuck my wife. The second my dick is out everyone suddenly needs her. I fucking need her. I need to be balls fucking deep.”
I have absolutely no idea how to respond, but Donatello takes over for me, still laughing like he wasn’t in a rage moments before this. Despite how much I fucking hate him, I’m actually glad he’s here because I have no fucking idea how to handle The Boss right now. “I told you not to let her get those fucking puppies. How many times?”
He grinds his teeth, his jaw ticking with the movement as he shakes his head. “I can’t tell that fucking woman no, she’s too fucking cute.” He’s frowning now, dark eyes giving Donatello a once over. “Why the fuck are you even here?”
Donatello’s entire demeanor shifts, his shoulders tightening as he’s reminded of our previous conversation. “Just having a conversation with, Wolf. Nothing that can’t be dealt with later.”
I’m momentarily thrown off by his use of my Famiglia name. The way The Boss’s eyes narrow on him just the slightest bit telling me more than words could. Apparently someone is on thin ice already.
“Then leave. I have business with him.”
Donatello’s eyes find mine, a silent promise to pick things back up where we left off before he nods at Capo Famiglia. Almost to the door, he yells over his shoulder, “Tell Bev hi for me, yea?”
As soon as the door slams shut, any of the previous lightness disappears from the room, a seriousness settling around us. “You’re lucky I came when I did Wolf or you might have been kissing the dirt.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve taken a hit from him.”
He raises a brow, “If you’ve
taken a hit from Donatello and you’re not dead, it’s because he didn’t want you to be.”
He’s repeating my earlier thoughts but coming from him it feels more ominous.
“Edwardo Prichette. Find me something on him, he’s making millions on his arms sales and I want in on it.”
I nod, making a mental note of the name. All of our conversations like these are said in person and without paper or electronics to keep information as confidential as possible. “When?”
He’s already turned away from me, deeming the conversation over. “Before November. He’s going out of the country for the holidays.”
“Consider it done.” His only acknowledgment is the lifting of his hand, then he’s out the door.
I pull out my phone to call Laney. I have other shit to do but most of it can wait. After hearing Donatello all but admit he was a puttana to her, it adds fuel to my fire. There’s been a chill between us since the pool and I want it gone. I won’t let that Bastardo come between us again.
“Hello?” She says it like she’s eating, and it makes me smile.
“Where are you?”
“Home. Why?” I hate that she calls Donatello’s place her home. I hate anything of hers associated with him.
“Meet me at the docks.”
She doesn’t say anything immediately, just the sound of her breathing against the speaker. “I don’t know, I don’t really feel like going anywhere.”
I know she’s lying. Making up excuses, undoubtedly because of Donatello. So I don’t give her a choice. “Meet me or I’ll pick you up, Laney Girl.”
Again with the silence. I can imagine her pinching her lip between her fingers, I practically see her indecision through the phone.
“What time?” She finally gets out, and I let the tension go that was collecting in my chest.