by Fiona Murphy
Thinking about me?
My phone rings, and I smile.
She’s talking before I even have the phone to my ear. “I am not thinking about you. I’m wondering if someone was killed in this house and that’s why it’s so cheap. I’m wondering if I would still buy it if I found out someone was killed in it. I’m also wondering if it’s haunted, and if it is haunted, is it like a prankster who opens doors and knocks on walls, or if it’s super evil and will give me bad dreams that send me screaming into the night wearing nothing but panties and a shirt. So there.” I can barely breathe I’m laughing so hard. “Okay, okay, I was wondering if I showed up on your door crying from a scary ghost if you’d let me spend the night.”
I’m not going to address the fact she isn’t moving anywhere, we’ll argue later. “Why would you wonder if you would get to spend the night? Of course you would.”
“Hmm... in your condo, or in the one downstairs somewhere in this building?” Why am I not surprised she knows about my other condo? “Yes, when I spent the Thanksgiving weekend there, I snooped unrepentantly. I was surprised there wasn’t a single sign of a woman ever being in the place. When I mentioned it to Claudine, she said you never allowed women to come to your place. She mentioned another, smaller condo somewhere in this building that you own and where you take women.”
“True. I didn’t want a woman in my home. I value my privacy. There was no one I wanted around for longer than it took for me to feed them and fuck them. Considering I get antsy when you’re out of my sight longer than twenty minutes, and even after spending all day with you I hated walking away from you tonight, it’s a guarantee you’ll be here in my bed. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Ah, I’m such a lucky woman.”
“You’re a smart-ass is more like. There’s just one thing: I’m not going to assume I know how you feel, but I do want you to stop comparing yourself to women in my past. They are in the past for a reason. I can’t change the things I’ve done; I’m not saying I would even if I could. I promise you, I don’t think of them, I’m not comparing you to them. I’ve never done it before, and I’m not going to start. This right now, you and me. This is all that matters.”
I swear I can feel her smiling through the phone. “Yes, Dante. Whatever you say, Dante.”
“I should have recorded you to play it back later. I’m pretty sure you’ll never say it again.”
“You know me so well.” Her yawn is quick—she’s trying to hide it.
“Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a feeling I won’t be having dinner with Enzo. I’ll be home around five thirty.”
“Sounds good. Night, Dante.”
“Night.” This time when I close my eyes, sleep envelops me completely.
9
Bethany
This day is taking forever. I’ve done yoga for over an hour without it helping to ease my tension. I’ve read an entire romance novel that might as well have been porn. I highlighted my favorite parts then spent a solid twenty minutes with my vibrator and I’m still fidgeting, waiting for Dante’s call, please let him call.
When my phone rings I snatch it up. It’s a little after five. “Hi.”
“Hey, I’m wrapping up now. Want to go to dinner? Sushi?”
“If I promise not to wear anything clingy, can we eat here?” He’s quiet for a minute. “Please, Dante.”
“Fine, nothing clingy and I’ll grab takeout. Sushi, okay?”
“Sounds yummy to me. A California roll, instead of crab, salmon and some shrimp tempura please.”
“Got it, see you in forty-five minutes. My place and nothing tight.”
“You’re no fun.”
His answer is to hang up on me. I deserved it.
I’m wandering around what I’m going to call his library considering the amount of books in here, but it also holds a massive piano and a wall of family pictures. We share not just the love of books, but we seem to like the same ones of mysteries and thrillers. He has a few sci-fi, one of the few genres I don’t read, but there aren’t many.
I can’t stop looking at the pictures. There are some when Dante and his brothers were little kids, even one with Cesare proudly holding his baby brothers. I love the Halloween ones, Dante in a skunk costume with the words “Lil’ Stinker” across his chest. Then there are the pictures of Cesare and Alicia’s wedding. Me on Alicia’s side and Enzo on the other. It was supposed to be me and Lydia and Enzo and Dante, but only two days before Dante’s ex went into a meltdown when her father collapsed from a stroke. Dante flew out to be by her side, hating every minute from his later admission.
“I remember seeing those pictures and thinking, damn Bethany is cute as hell. Enzo told me to quit being a pervert, you were too damn young. Looking at you now, you don’t look too damn young.”
“It’s not tight.” The white lace top doesn’t even show my breasts. It’s long enough it goes past my ass, which is covered in silky white boy shorts. He backs away as I come toward him. “Dante.” I whine, as I follow him down the hall.
Shaking his head, he mutters, “No, food first. I’m getting changed, go get the food unpacked.”
He closes his bedroom door in my face. Asshole. I stomp into the kitchen.
***
Dante
Christ, Bethany is driving me out of my mind. I have zero experience with needing to control my sexual urges because it’s never been necessary. I’ve never wanted a woman this much, ever. Before, sex was just sex. A need as basic as hunger to be satisfied. I wanted sex, I made a call and I got it. In the rare times I couldn’t find a woman to fuck, I jerked off and went about my day. But Bethany, close enough to touch, begging me to fuck her, this shit is hard.
A flick of my wrist sends hot water flooding me. Closing my eyes, I’m jerking my cock hard and fast at the memory of Bethany in the lacy white top and the way whatever the hell kind of bottoms she was wearing showed a white lace thong underneath. Fuck. I come hard and fight to stay standing as I lean against the tile.
I lose track of time until my stomach grumbles. With a sigh, I turn off the water. As I dry off in my walk-in closet, I decide tight jeans and an even tighter shirt are necessary weapons against Bethany’s roaming hands.
When I walk into the family room kitchen area, Bethany is on the couch watching television. My food is on a plate on the kitchen counter.
“You were gone forever. I was hungry so I didn’t wait for you,” she says around a bite of shrimp.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I fill a glass with tea. Then grab my plate before going to sit beside her. “What are you watching?”
“Movie on Ted Bundy. I’ve been wanting to watch it but I wasn’t in the mood.”
“It’s good. I’ve already watched it.”
“You want me to find something else?”
“No, I’m good.”
My phone goes off with a text. I check it, Theresa has a question about what I sent her today.
“Who is Theresa and why is she texting you?”
I couldn’t hold in the laughter if I tried. “She’s the assistant for the foundation. She has a question. Do you want to read all her texts?”
She shrugs before taking a drink of her water. I hand her my phone. “Here you can read through it.”
Her eyes go wide, and with a giggle she accepts it. I snatch her phone. She rolls her eyes then gives me the code to unlock it.
I’m flicking through her texts. Not many, a few guys, they all have to do with school projects or studying. When I see it, I go still. “What the hell is Dom’s number doing in your phone? All of ten people in the world have his number.”
She opens her mouth then closes it again. I check; at least she hasn’t called it. “It’s not a big deal, please lower your voice. Dom gave me his number the night of my graduation party or whatever. He wanted me to have it in case I needed help with something I couldn’t go to Cesare for.”
“Delete it. Now.” I hand her back her phone.
; Shaking her head, her eyes are wide. “No. I doubt I’ll need it, but you can’t tell me I’m not allowed to have another man’s number in my phone.”
“Dom isn’t another man. He’s a captain in the Outfit who might seem charming and nice, but he’s also very fucking dangerous. Delete his number now.”
A hand goes over her face. “Dante, you’re going overboard here.”
“No, I’m not. Anything you need, me or Che, we’re here for you. There’s no need to have Dom’s number in your phone. Unless you want it for another reason.” Why the hell won’t she fucking delete it?
“Jesus, Dante, it’s not like that. I don’t see why you’re acting like this.”
“Dom is family, I love him, but I don’t ever want his world touching you and if you call him for something it will.”
With a sigh, she looks from me to the phone. “Okay, fine.” I watch her delete the number then hand me the phone. “Happy?”
I toss it on the table, relieved she gave in. “I’ll get there.”
We turn our attention back to our food. We eat without talking for a while and slowly the tension eases away until it’s gone entirely.
“Ugh, if someone mentions how handsome he is one more time I might vomit all this awesome food up. Which would be a damn shame. I’m done. I prefer the straight documentaries.” She grabs the remote and closes it out, then starts searching through the menu. “Have you seen this show? I’m disgruntled the second season isn’t out yet.”
“Mindhunter, oh yeah. I finished within two days of it coming out.”
“You like serial killer shows too?” Her eyes are a soft hazel as they widen.
“Yeah, growing up I wanted to be a criminologist. My dad didn’t know my mom went to my uncle Tony behind his back for money and leads on sales and houses and cheap labor to repair properties to flip. The few times I was home sick, she would take me with her but always made me not to tell my father. Uncle Tony was nice and genuinely caring toward me.
Even knowing what I do now I can’t believe my father turned his back on his family. “I never understood my dad’s refusal to have anything to do with his brother for being a mob guy. Then again, at seven I didn’t know what a mob guy was. Once I figured it out I became fascinated with my family line, their ties going back to Sicily and where it all started.”
“You have a much more interesting reason than me to be into the shows.” She shrugs self-consciously. “Even though I was happy my mom left us, a part of me hated her for it. It was weird because nine times out of ten if you asked me, I really, genuinely was happy, but that one time stirred up a rage inside me that scared the shit out of me. I’m telling my shrink I don’t understand what’s going on with me. Why do I feel like this? She’s all, it’s completely normal. It would be weird if I wasn’t mad, and it’s me not copping to the anger that creates the rage.
“Then she offhandedly says we have to get you to process the anger—those that don’t are the ones who become serial killers. I was nine and it rocked my world. I was already reading Koontz, and King, and Saul. I was terrified if I didn’t get my shit together I was going to become a serial killer. Then I became fascinated with how normal some of these people were on the outside while doing these horrific things behind closed doors.”
“The normal is what always gets me too. Then again, normal is subjective.” Finished with my dinner, I take her plate and mine into the kitchen then run the water over them. “How about pistachio gelato?”
She turns around. “Sounds good to me.”
I scoop half the pint into a bowl and snag two spoons. Settling back onto the couch, I hand her a spoon.
Fuck, she’s nearly on my lap. Her breasts are inches away from me, and my cock stirs. We talk through the first episode of the show as we share dessert.
“Mmm... yummy.” She sighs as she sucks on her spoon with her eyes closed.
I toss the dish down on the coffee table and tug her onto my lap. A happy sigh comes out of her as her arms go around my neck. She tastes of early morning sex, sleepy and sweet, more intoxicating than any liquor. My control is slipping as her untutored tongue tangles with mine; I catch it and suck deep. Her body trembles, her arms clutch me tighter, her soft body melts into mine. I’m feeding off her little whimpers, swallowing them whole, devouring her every response yet none of it is enough. I want more, I want all of her. Shit, I feel her fear and I yank my head back, letting it fall on the back of the couch while I fight for control.
“Dante.” She moans, her head falls on my chest. Her small hands are running over my back. I’m debating throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to bed when she whispers, “Sorry, I got scared for a second. I didn’t mean it.”
Shaking my head, I run a finger over her swollen lips. She isn’t ready yet, even if she thinks she is. Patience. “I’m sorry I scared you. You taste better than any dessert.”
The witch opens her mouth to suck on my finger. It goes straight to my cock. “I like when you scare me. I trust you. I love what you do to me, even when I wondered if I should or not.”
I pull my finger from her mouth. “What are you wondering if you should like or not?”
A soft pink warms her cheeks. “When you threatened to spank me and tore my dress. Every time you get all growly and...” She sighs as she rubs against me like a cat in heat. “I thought it was wrong to like it, shouldn’t I want soft kisses and gentle touches? Only none of those things make me wet the way you getting growly and dominating does.”
Damn, I can smell how wet she is. “That’s a relief because every time I reach for you, my intention is soft and gentle but once I touch you, you make me greedy for all of you.”
Emerald glitters up at me. “Same.” She smiles; her hands go into my hair and pull me to her.
Slow, slow, it’s not working, second by second I’m delving deeper, wanting to gauge her every response, what makes her whimper, what makes her moan. I ease back, trying to gain control over my hunger. Bethany groans, pulling me tighter to her. Before I lose it my hand goes into her hair to hold her in place as I raise my head. Her little gasp has me gripping her tighter as my tongue traces her pulse hammering beneath her skin. When my cock stops leaking I go back to her mouth, slow, slow, better, yes. She moans into my mouth as she picks up what I’m teaching her. But slowly the hunger is building again. This time I discover the spot right behind her ear that has her moaning my name, then shivering as I nip at her earlobe.
Another taste of her, one last time. Now both of us are slower, savoring this new knowledge of each other. When we pull away to catch our breaths we come back together in harmony, Bethany tilting her head before I’ve even moved in sync without saying a word. Then her eyes close, and I feel her deep intake of air. I smile as I pull away; her eyes flutter open in question. I press my lips to the tip of her adorable nose. “You’re sleepy.”
She shakes her head, only to yawn. “It’s really annoying how you’re always right. I get to be right too, sometimes, don’t I?”
“We’ll see. I’ll think about it.” I pick her up, intending to carry her across the hall.
Her hands around my neck, she bites my neck lightly. “Ow.”
“Put me down. I’m way more tired than I thought I was. I’m already getting cranky at the thought of you leaving me alone again, even though I’m way too tired for anything to happen. When I’m this tired I don’t have to make sense. I can make it across the hall. If you take me to bed I’m pretty sure I’ll throw a tantrum I’ll regret tomorrow.”
It’s hard not to laugh. “Your wish is my command.” I lower her to her feet.
“No, it’s not, because if it were we would already be in bed right now. But whatever. Goodnight,” she snaps as she walks away.
I catch up to her before she opens the door. I tug her around to face me, then back her up against the door. A hand under her chin forces her head up to look at me. I kiss her with all the longing I’m feeling too. I don’t want to send her across the hall bu
t she’s not ready, not yet. Candy sweet, mine all mine soon, damn it. I growl low—she’s using what I’ve taught her. Ending the kiss, I step back then walk away while I still can.
10
Bethany
Tonight we’re sharing tiramisu for dessert. I love the way we share dessert. Which is weird because normally I’m very much, Bethany doesn’t share food. I hate when people pick off my plate, and a few times I’ve slapped Alicia’s hand hard enough to leave a mark. Then again, this isn’t mine, it’s ours, and it’s weird how much I love thinking of it that way. Tonight we’re watching a John Woo movie I’ve never seen before, which is crazy to me because I thought I’d seen them all. Dante has the kind of movie library that would make movie nerds salivate.
We spend hours sharing our favorite movies and books, some of them the same. He’s already planning what we’ll watch on a movie day over the weekend. There’s a new level of comfort, of intimacy, where even though I’m dying for him to kiss me again since I know he will before the night is over, I’m not frantic for it like I’ve been every time I got close to him in the past. When he pulls me into his arms I snuggle close, loving the feel of his arms around me. I’m in a loose oversized T-shirt and silky lounge pants, no bra as usual.
Lord this man can kiss. If they gave gold medals for it he would get them all. Hmm... espresso, spice, all Dante. I get lost in the taste of him. Just when I’m desperate for air, he ends the kiss. His mouth roams my neck, tasting, nipping, making me tremble.
A big hand slides down my back then under my shirt. Oh god, my eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment, needing all my senses for this. He cups my breast as his thumb slides over my tight nipple.
“Please.” I whisper the word, not even knowing what I’m asking for.
He answers by sliding the shirt up over my head. It’s off and I’m bare to him. Apprehension fills me, then dies away at finding his eyes are full of awe. “Exquisite,” he mutters as a fingertip traces over my nipple, so tight and hard it hurts.
I shiver for an entirely different reason. Dante Sabatini called me exquisite; well, my breasts, but they’re attached to me. The man who has fucked actresses, lingerie models both plastic and natural, thinks I’m exquisite. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind he means it. A shiver goes through me at what it means to him, to me. His touch is gentle as he cups the weight of my breast in his large hand.