Enshrine

by Chelle Bliss

  body on top of mine makes me feel enveloped and swallowed whole.

  I wrap my legs around him and tip my ass when his hands slide underneath me. His cock hits the perfect spots, causing my orgasm to grow quickly. I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.

  As he pushes back inside, deeper this time, everything in my body tightens. I close my eyes and let the orgasm crash over me. My toes point and I bite down on my lip to stifle the screams of pleasure as he relentlessly pummels my body, chasing his own release. When he collapses on top of me, out of breath and sweaty, I smile against his skin and gasp for air.

  If I could pick a way to die, fucking Bruno would most certainly be the best way to go.

  27

  Breakfast of Champions

  “Did you guys sleep well?” Mrs. Bruno asks when we walk into the kitchen. She’s holding a coffee mug near her lips and trying to hide her devious smile

  “Great.” Bruno looks down at me and squeezes my hand.

  “Yeah, great.” I smile and bounce from foot to foot because I know we weren’t as quiet as I thought.

  “Sounded like it,” she mutters before lifting the mug to her lips.

  “So what are you kids doing today?” Mr. Bruno asks, sitting in his boxers and reading the newspaper.

  “Um,” I mumble and try not to stare at his half-naked father.

  “Shit, Pop. Can’t you wear pants, at least?”

  He sets down the newspaper and glares at Bruno. “Why? Please, my swimsuit shows more.” Mr. Bruno laughs, lifting the paper in front of his face.

  “Thank fuck it’s snowing,” Bruno mutters, his eyes darting to the ceiling.

  “Heard that. Hot tub, baby.” His father chuckles behind the paper and shakes it a little for effect.

  “Christ,” Bruno hisses.

  “It’s okay.” I squeeze his hand and smile. “It’s his house. I’m not bothered by it.”

  Gabby comes skipping into the kitchen. “Good morning, family.” She heads straight to the fridge, ignoring us before she buries her face inside and searches for something.

  “Top shelf,” Mrs. Bruno yells over her shoulder and then looks at us. “She’s into that soy shit.” She makes a face and pretends to gag.

  “Coffee?” Bruno asks me, deciding to ignore everyone in the room.

  I follow him around the kitchen island, trying not to stare at Mr. Bruno anymore. “I’d love a cup.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he slides the coffee cups in front of the pot.

  I lean against the counter and face his family. “Don’t be.” I don’t care how quirky and foulmouthed they are; I like them.

  “What do you want to do today?” he asks me, filling our mugs before sliding one in front of me to add my sugar and milk.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Oh no,” Mrs. Bruno chimes in, eavesdropping on our conversation. “It’s Christmas Eve. You know what that means.”

  Bruno hangs his head and sighs. “No, Mom. We’re doing our own thing today. Callie doesn’t—”

  “I’m game for anything.” I laugh and plop two spoonfuls of sugar into my mug. “What’s the plan?” I ask as I stir my cup of heaven.

  “Fuckin’ women,” Bruno mumbles, tapping his spoon on the rim of his mug and feigning annoyance.

  “Well.” She pushes her chair back and stands. “We have a tradition. Today, we cut down our tree and decorate it as a family. Always have and always will, as long as I’m alive.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I say behind my mug. Never in my life have I helped cut down a tree. My parents opted for the fake, plastic trees when I was growing up.

  “What a nightmare.”

  I shoot Bruno a look like I’ve seen Lee give him a time or two to silence him. “Hush.”

  “Then we’ll make dinner, maybe sing Christmas carols, and go down to the church for mass.”

  Bruno crosses one arm over his chest and holds the mug in front of his face. “Um, Mom, I’m not going into town.”

  “Why?” She glares at him with her hands on her hips.

  I lean over so only he can hear me. “Just go. Make her happy,” I tell him and rest my hand on his arm. “I’d give anything to make my mom happy one more time.”

  “Fine, Mom. We’ll spend the day with the family.” His face tightens as if he’s in pain. “Even church.”

  I smile and his mom claps her hands. “Yes!” she cheers.

  “Gabby, go get your brother’s ass up. It’s time to get a tree,” she yells while walking toward the sink with her empty coffee cup she grabbed from the table.

  Gabby sets her half-drunk soymilk on the counter and rolls her eyes. “Mom, I’m right here. You don’t have to yell.”

  “Just go get Lucca and zip it.”

  Gabby storms off, taking the steps two at a time. Her heavy footsteps echo in the kitchen. “Lazy ass. Get your ass up. It’s tree time.”

  Lucca’s voice is muffled when he yells at Gabby.

  “Get up or Rocco’s coming to wake your ass up.”

  A loud thud sounds before frantic feet move around the room above us. I look up at Bruno and he smiles widely. “Smart kid.”

  “You’re a bully,” I tell him and purse my lips.

  His jaw ticks, but a smile spreads across his face. “He’s my brother. Someone has to harass him.”

  “That’s not your job.”

  “Yeah. It is. He doesn’t seem to be lacking in cockiness, for all the shit I put him through.”

  “True.”

  “Okay, you two,” his mom tells us and grabs the mugs from our hands. “Go get ready. We have a tree to chop down.”

  Bruno gives me a look as I reach for my cup, not ready to relinquish my cup of java. “Okay,” I grumble with a fake smile.

  “It’s your fault,” he whispers when we walk out of the kitchen and stand at the foot of the stairway.

  “My fault?” I ask, placing a hand on my chest.

  “I tried to get us out of it, but you just had to please my mom.”

  “Oh, shut it. We’re cutting down a tree.” I stick my fingers into his chest and narrow my eyes. “And you’re going to like it.”

  He lifts me up, tosses my body over his shoulder, and runs up the steps while I scream bloody murder. He smacks my ass and laughs. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever,” he proclaims when he throws me on the bed and climbs on top of me.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” I tell him and try to push him off, but I fail.

  “You want this,” he whispers and pushes his cock against me.

  “I do,” I admit.

  “After the tree.” He kisses my lips before jumping off the bed in one quick movement.

  “But—”

  “You picked cutting down a tree, and that’s what you’re getting.” He grabs my legs and pulls me off the bed before carrying me to the bathroom. “If you beg, maybe I’ll let you come while we shower.”

  Excitement floods me. “Please,” I beg, my voice sugary sweet.

  “Please, what?” he asks, holding my hips and pushing me into the en suite bathroom.

  “I want your Yule log, Bruno.” I laugh as he closes the door.

  Bruno doesn’t just give me one orgasm while we shower, but two. This is indeed turning out to be the best Christmas in longer than I can remember.

  28

  Will the Real Bruno Please Step Forward?

  Cutting down a Christmas tree is an experience. I now know why so many people opt for an artificial one. Finding the perfect one that everyone can agree on isn’t an easy task. There’s a lot of cursing and a little yelling until we find just the right one. When we find it, Bruno cuts it down while the rest of us stand by and shiver.

  He and I drive home alone with the tree on the roof of the Range Rover while his parents and siblings follow close behind.

  “Bruno,” I mumble because the entire time I watched him working the saw against the tree trunk I couldn’t get his nickname out of my head.

  H
e glances over. “Yeah?”

  I turn down the volume of the radio, muffling the sound of the Christmas carols. “I have to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”

  “Okay.” I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

  I turn in my seat, adjusting the seat belt so I can watch him as I talk and hopefully he answers. “Who are you?”

  “Babe, what kind of question is that?”

  I swallow down the fear and continue. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t?” His jaw tightens before his eyes return to the road in front of us.

  “You. I mean, supposedly you’re this crazy-ass guy, but then you come home and are the sweetest man. You love your family—hell, you cut down a Christmas tree.”

  “I’m the same man I always am, Cal.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “It doesn’t add up, Doodlebug.”

  “Cal,” he warns and gives me a sideways glance.

  “You’re too nice of a guy to hurt anyone. I need you to tell me who you are.”

  “Why? It shouldn’t matter. You know who I am.”

  I shake my head and twist my hands in my lap nervously. “I don’t. I don’t think I can continue to see you if you’re not honest with me, Bruno.” I lay down the gauntlet. If he likes me, loves me even, he has to tell me the truth. I’ll use any means, including the threat of never seeing him again to get the answers.

  He doesn’t speak at first, just drives. I watch as his chest heaves up and down and his eyes move around as if weighing his options. “If I tell you, you’re going to be in danger.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t know the people in my life, Callie. It’s better if you don’t know the whole truth.”

  “I think having you in my life at all is dangerous. But I want to know who the real man is who I’m falling in love with.”

  “You’re falling in love with me?” His voice has softened and his face relaxes.

  “I am. I have, I mean.” I sigh and collect my thoughts. “I’m afraid to love you. I can’t love someone who hurts people for a living. I don’t know who you really are, and that scares the crap out of me. I want to love you with my entire heart, to give myself to you completely, but I can’t as long as I don’t know who the real Rocco Bruno is. And I don’t know who he is. I mean, I know who he is when he’s at home with me, taking care of me when I’m sick and trying to get through my chemo, but I don’t know who the man is who goes outside my apartment and makes people walk a little faster and keep their heads down when he’s passing.” I hit babble level and keep on going. “I want to say he’s not that man. Not the one who kills people. Not ‘The Butcher.’ He can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. Doodlebug can’t hurt people. He’s too good.”

  “I’m right here, you know,” he interrupts me.

  “For fuck’s sake, who are you?” I demand, dragging my fingers down my face in aggravation, and I start to hyperventilate.

  “Calm down, Cal. You’re getting all worked up. Breathe, babe.”

  “How can you tell me to breathe at a time like this? You may be wanted by the cops. I may be aiding and abetting a felon, and I don’t even know it.” I suck in more air and keep on going. “You broke in to my apartment. I mean, that was my first clue that something wasn’t right. Normal people don’t do that shit. You did, though. You fucked me and failed to mention that fact to me for a long time, Bruno, a long fucking time.” I suck in a little more air. “Every day, I fall a little more in love with you, and I’m scared to death that one day the cops are going to bust down my door and haul your ass off to jail. My face is going to be splashed on the front page of every newspaper as the woman who loved the most notorious criminal in New York City. I don’t want that. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” I gasp for air this time, feeling slightly light-headed from my rant.

  “Okay,” he whispers and grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “Calm down and breathe a little and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “You will?” I ask between breaths.

  “I will,” he promises with a nervous look on his face. “When we get back to my parents’, I’ll explain everything.”

  “You’re lying. You’re just placating me.”

  “I’m not, babe. I promise to tell you everything when I can hold you as I talk. I’m not doing this shit in the car.”

  I gnaw on my lip and think. Is he fooling with me? I don’t like the idea of him lying to me again. “If you don’t, I’m going to ask your parents or inform them of your status and new nickname. You’re not Doodlebug anymore, Bruno.”

  “They know all about me, Callie.” His voice is remorseful and sad, which doesn’t bode well for my hopes that everything about him has been a lie.

  “Oh,” I blurt out. “Well, then.”

  “You can ask them who I am if you prefer to hear it from somebody else.”

  “No,” I admit and frown, staring down at my hands, knowing I probably sounded like a crazy lunatic moments ago. “I want to hear it from you.”

  “We’ll be home in ten, and you’ll know more than you ever wanted to. Promise.”

  “’Okay,” I whisper, dropping the conversation and turning the radio back up to get lost in my thoughts. I replay his comments in my mind over and over again. His words were ominous and didn’t console me at all.

  What if he is a killer? Would I still love him? It is impossible to think I can, but then there is the other side. The man who has taken care of me when I had no one else.

  Would hearing it from his own lips change my feelings? I don’t know for sure, and that scares the shit out of me.

  * * *

  Thirty long minutes later, Bruno has carried the tree into the house and placed it in the stand. When he stands and wipes his hands on his jeans, removing the sap, he motions toward me with his chin and looks at the stairway. I take it as a cue. It’s now or never. Soon, I’ll know who the man I’ve fallen in love with really is.

  The thought terrifies me.

  I nod and hold my hand out to him. I capture glimpses of him as we walk up the stairway, silent in our ascent until we reach the door. “Are you sure you need to know?” he asks me with one hand on the doorknob.

  “I have to know.” I grimace, but I put my hand over his and turn the knob.

  As I take a step inside, he pulls me backward, spinning me around so our chests collide. “I love you, Callie. I don’t want anything I say to you to change that.”