“Last I heard, he was in New Mexico. He said he had a fiancee, and that they’d both come visit me soon. That was five years ago, before I moved to LA. The number he gave me doesn’t work anymore. I can’t find him. He hasn’t spoken to my parents. And since he doesn’t know I moved, he won’t be able to find me.” I can’t hold it back anymore. Tears stream down my face. I wipe my face on an apron. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Sal wraps his arms my waist, and pulls me closer to him. He doesn’t seem to mind the flour that’s getting all over his suit. His close presence is a comfort, and helps to slow my tears.
“Stephen has mental health issues,” I say. “I suspect he’s bipolar, maybe with a few more co-occurring conditions. I can’t know for sure. He never saw a doctor.” I sigh, deeply. “Anyway, throw drug use into the mix, and you’ve got a self-destructive cocktail.”
Sal stares into my eyes. “It sounds like he destroyed more than just himself.”
I laugh, sardonically. “You’d be right. That’s why I’m here, actually. I studied psychology to understand my brother’s mind. I came here, started this center, to help people like him, and their families.” I roll my eyes. “Crazy, right? I couldn’t fix my brother, so I want to fix other people.”
Sal takes my chin in his hand, leaning in closer to me, and scanning my face with his eyes. But unlike usual, he doesn’t look like he wants fuck me or eat me. He’s trying to understand.
“You’re selfless, Molly. I’ve never met anyone like you.” This isn’t a compliment. He’s not trying to make me feel better. This is a simple observation that he delivers coldly, with a bit of amusement. In other words, he’s not full of shit.
I feel like the ground has sunken in beneath my feet, leaving me weightless and floating. With only a few words, Sal has wiped away the insecurities that have plagued me for years. With him, I feel whole. I feel okay.
Sal’s gaze grows more intense. He tightens his hands around my waist. I close my eyes, waiting for him to kiss me. The air between us shifts as he leans forwards. But just before our lips can meet, there’s splash and sizzle of the pot boiling over.
I open my eyes in a panic, and rush to cut the heat. After removing the lid, I get the stock under control. I grab a towel and start to wipe up the mess.
“This is dangerous business,” Sal observes.
“Yes,” I say, with a laugh, and point at the burner. “We’re literally playing with fire.”
Sal chuckles politely at my bad joke. Once I get the stock cleaned up, and the heat adjusted to a low simmer, I walk over to Sal, hoping to resume where we left off. But in just that short amount of time, something’s shifted in him. The warmth in his eyes is gone. He avoids looking at me. He steps away from me, back to the cutting board.
“Anything else you want me to do?” he asks.
My throat tightens. I want to cry. What happened? It felt like we’d closed the distance between us, if only for a few moments, but now, we’re back to where we started. I take out the eggs from the refrigerator, and a large metal bowl.
“Could you separate these egg whites for me? Like this.” I demonstrate by cracking an egg, then slowly transferring the yolk back and forth in the shell halves while the whites fall into the bowl. “Got it?”
Sal nods. He squares his body towards the bowl, then works quietly, cracking the eggs, one after another. While I stir the stock, the nagging doubt creeps back into my mind. Was it something I did? Something I said? Maybe he’s thinking about his father.
But whatever it is, he’s not leaving. I decide not to push him. His silence and coldness are frustrating, but if his dog anecdote is any indication of his childhood, it’s hard to blame him. This is a man who is virtually allergic to emotions. He’s shut them down for so long, he has no tolerance for them. I have an inkling of hope that I’ve unearthed something dormant inside of him. I have to keep in mind that he’ll need some time to process these feelings. I’ll need to be patient.
We work silently together, talking only with Sal asks me what task he can do next.
Chapter Sixteen
Salvatore
Dirty. Soiled. A lost cause. This is how I feel while I sit around this table of do-gooders. But they have no clue I’m stewing in self doubt. I wear my mask, the one I’ve perfected over many years. I can adapt to any situation, and be who I need to be in any group of people.
Greg is overly thrilled to meet me, and he keeps shooting Molly coy looks that make her blush. Grant is more reserved and serious. I find out he’s an attorney, representing unions against their evil corporate overlords. Greg brags about his partner’s recent case, a class action lawsuit that scored a big settlement for workers who were denied overtime pay for years.
Over the coq au vin, I find out Greg has been in the nonprofit industry for nearly all of his professional life. Greg and Grant are saints. Molly’s an angel. What does that make me? I’m surprised their skin isn’t burning simply by being in my general vicinity.
I float along with the conversation, adding comments when necessary. Anytime they ask about me, I deftly deflect the question onto someone else. I feel Molly casting worried glances my way. Sometimes I grab her hand and give it a quick squeeze, putting her at ease.
I’m here, but I’m not. This is self-preservation. Molly has opened a door inside of me, one that has long been closed tight. My father taught me how to control my emotions. I took it one step further, and killed them completely. At least, I thought they were dead.
Until Molly. She did this. I can’t even look at her without feeling an uprising of emotion. It’s the strangest feeling, bittersweet, not entirely happy, and not entirely sad. Just a nauseating mix of both. I don’t know how normal people stand it.
I see the evening through. After desert, I help Molly bid Greg and Grant goodnight. I want to leave too. I have to leave. But first, I need to make sure Greg and Grant have left the building. Greg had been so eager about Molly and me being a couple, I don’t want to cause problems for her by ruining the illusion. Because that’s what this is, an illusion, right?
To bide my time, I help Molly clear the table and carry the plates to the kitchen sink. Molly finds the bottle of wine I brought on the counter. She holds it up, showing me there’s a little left.
“Should we finish it?” she says, with a smile. She’s back in her apron, preparing to clean. She nervously pushes her hair behind her ears.
Fucking hell. She’s the picture of innocence, of pure, white light. She doesn’t deserve anything I’ve brought her way.
“I’ve had enough,” I say, as kindly as I can manage.
Greg and Grant are surely gone by now. It’s time to make my escape. I feel like an asshole for leaving her with a sink full of dirty dishes, but if Molly knew the full story, she wouldn’t want me sticking around. I shouldn’t contaminate her any further. I fumble for a lame excuse.
“I have an early morning. I should head home,” I say.
“Oh,” Molly says. The rims of her eyes redden. She turns her face to the sink, shielding them, and continues talking without looking at me. “Thank you for doing this. Maybe now Greg will get off my back for awhile.”
Go, Sal. Leave. But my feet stay firmly planted.
“So that’s what this was about? Fooling Greg?”
Molly pauses for a few seconds. “It wasn’t just about that.” She looks up from the sink towards me, her eyes dewy. She clenches her teeth as anger rises in her face. “I thought you knew that.”
“I should go,” I repeat. This time, I force my feet to move towards the door. I hear Molly following me. Don’t look back, I tell myself. Don’t get in any deeper. You’ll only hurt her.
“Sal,” Molly calls.
Her voice is soft and musical. I feel a strange pull in my chest. It used to be so easy to cut off my feelings, to stay level headed in any situation. But I think Molly may be my kryptonite. I turn around. She’s fiddling with her apron, breathing deep and slow breaths. Her chee
ks burn a bright red. She looks absolutely terrified, yet she steps towards me. She places her hand lightly on my chest, and searches my face with her eyes. Her lower lip starts to quiver. She bites it to get it to stop.
“Don’t go,” she says in a steady voice.
My feet are as heavy as lead. I’m stuck here, with her. “Molly-“ I start, but what should I say? You’ve been fooled by a monster, a devil? Like a magnet to metal, my hands cling to her waist.
“You said you chose me,” she says. “Now I’m choosing you.”
You’re not. You have no idea what the fuck I am.
Her flesh is so soft under my hands. She’s like a drug, and I can’t get enough. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. Molly blinks up at me, her lips slightly parted, waiting for me to kiss her.
If I were a man of honor and integrity, I’d leave now, and never show my face around Molly again.
But I’m not.
Blood surges through my veins as I lean down, pressing my lips hard against hers. My nerves light up with the familiar pleasure receptors as I grind against her, my hands grabbing her ass. Her soft curves are the antidote to what ails me, a sweet, cool ointment that will calm the raging fire inside of me. She yields against me, moaning into my mouth. My dick hardens in a instant. All I can think about is sinking into her.
Yes, this is what I need, to fulfill my carnal desires. Fuck morality. Fuck emotions. Fuck right and wrong. I want her, so I’ll have her. I grab a big handful of her thick, curly hair, tug her head back, and kiss her deeply. My body warms with pleasure. I wedge my thigh between her legs, making her moan and sigh.
Here it is, the fulfillment of my desires, to take sweet, innocent Molly and thoroughly corrupt her. This is who I am, I remind myself. The world, and the people in it, exist solely for my benefit.
I’m still grinding my thigh into her clit, and I imagine she’s nice and wet by now. She clutches the back of my neck, her eyes fluttering up to mine. I feel a sudden urge of sickly emotion, but bite it back, and distract myself by burying my face in her soft tits. I bite her nipple through her blouse, teasing it to hardness with my teeth. She throws her head back, writhing against me, saying my name.
I feed off of her desperation for me. It’s a powerful position to be in. She wants what only I can give her. I guide her hand to my hardening cock, showing her just what’s in store for her. Her fingers tighten around my shaft, making me grunt. I’m ready to rip her clothes off and fuck her where she stands. But I’m going to take my time. I grab her hair, pulling her head back, and looking into her face.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Molly?”
She blinks, redness rising in her cheeks. It’s clear she’s not comfortable with dirty talk. My balls tighten as I remember what drew me to her in the first place, that she fears me. I think she’s going to melt into a delicious tangle of nerves, but she doesn’t. She looks me right in the eyes.
“Yes,” she says, with a wicked smile on her lips. “Fuck me, Sal.” She returns her hand to the front of my pants. My knees start to buckle.
Miss Molly, have you been learning from me? Where is my shy, quivering flower that could barely bring herself to speak to me? The one I thought I could devastate with my cock? Maybe I underestimated you.
She takes my hand and leads me to the couch. I allow her, since this new, confident person is just as hot as the old. When I’m seated, she crouches in front of me, and swiftly unzips my pants. Reaching inside, she takes my cock into her hand, and releases it from my pants.
“Do you want me to suck it?” she asks, trailing the tip of her tongue against her bottom lip. She tries to keep up the sex vixen act, but she laughs, breaking character. “Sorry,” she says, covering her face. “Do you want me to?” she asks more timidly.
My stomach tightens with yearning. There. That’s what I want. Growling, I grab the back of her head and push it into my lap.
“Put my dick in your mouth, Molly. That’s right.”
Her mouth is wet and warm against my hard, raging flesh. I push on her head, making her take me deeper. Fuck this feels good. I haven’t had a woman since meeting Molly, which for me, is quite a feat. I’ve barely even jerked off. I’m incredibly sensitive. If I’m not careful, I’ll blow right into her mouth.
“That’s enough,” I growl.
She raises her head, giving me a questioning look. Standing, I remove the rest of my clothes while she watches. I let her take me in, completely naked, tall and muscular. After her eyes dance over every inch of me, I help her to her feet, then slowly, and carefully, undress her.
She’s compliant as I unwrap her. The more skin that’s revealed, the harder my erection rages. When her tits bound free, I’m practically salivating. I bury my face in her chest, hungrily sucking and nibbling her nipples. She strokes my hair tenderly, and I have to remind myself that this is only about pleasure.
I slide my hand down the front of her panties. She’s wet and warm and soft. I find her engorged clit and press into it. Her moans are like beautiful music. I want to hear more of it, so I press harder, rubbing in small circles. She clutches my back, going limp in my arms. I rub her until her muscles tighten, then release, her face awash in ecstasy.
I’m not exactly a generous lover. I always make sure my partner has a good time, but I don’t get any real satisfaction from their pleasure. But to see Molly’s eyelids flutter, her face scrunch as she loses control, and the small smile in her afterglow, feels so good that I almost stop caring about my own orgasm.
Almost.
You’ve been patient, Sal. It’s time for you to have your treat.
I swoop her off her feat, then lay her gently on the couch. I stand over her, completely naked, my cock sticking straight out, studying her from head to toe. Her skin is covered with goosebumps. Her pretty pink nipples are pinched and erect. The tuft of hair between her legs is trimmed and carefully maintained. Does she always keep it that neat, or was she expecting this? I like to think she shaved just for me.
I drop to my knees, kissing a line from her belly button, to the beautiful valley between her legs. The tip of my tongue slides into her slit. She tastes sweet, just like I expected.
Molly reaches down, grabbing the side of my face. She’s begging for it with her eyes. I grab my jacket from the floor, and pull a condom out of the pocket. After rolling it on, I lay my body on top of hers.
This is just pussy, like any other, I remind myself as I guide my cock between her legs. This is all a game.
I press my hips forward. She lets out a breathless moan as I stretch her from the inside. I rise to my knees, preparing to fuck her without mercy. Her legs balance on my shoulders. I grip her waist tightly. I draw my hips back.
“Sal.”
My name on her lips plucks at something in chest. I tell myself not to look at her face, but I can’t help it. She’s looking up at me with moist eyes. I recognize in her face the emotion I had seen earlier. At the time, I thought it was happiness mixed with sadness. Now, looking at her, I see what it really is. It’s a joy so profound that it’s hard to bear.
Fuck. I’m feeling it too.
I let her legs drop from my shoulders, then lie on top of her. My nose touches hers as I stroke her face. We stare into each others eyes, kissing softly, the entire time we make love.
What are you doing to me, Miss Molly? And why does it feel so good that I can’t stand it?
Chapter Seventeen
Molly
Salvatore is a man of extremes. He’s either steaming hot, or cold as ice. One moment, I’m sure that he can’t live without me. The next, I don’t think he wants to be in the same room as me.
After we have sex, there’s no pillow talk. He’s silent for the most part. I’m waiting for him to throw his clothes on and walk out the door with a lame excuse, but he doesn’t leave. Through his stoic expression, I sense a hint of vulnerability. I’m feeling a bit vulnerable myself. Our encounter had been hot, as I expected, but also surprisingly te
nder. When he was on top of me, staring deeply into my eyes, I could see through his cold exterior to the damaged man beneath. That’s who I need to reach, if he’ll ever drop his guard long enough to let me.
Lying next to me in bed, he draws me into his arms. I still can’t believe we had sex. I wake up every couple of hours, convinced that our passionate tryst was just a dream. But as my eyes adjust, I see him lying beside me, his eyes closed, and feel his arm slung tightly around my waist. He doesn’t let go of me the entire night.
At the first pale glimpse of sunrise, I wake up. I look at Sal on the pillow next to mine. He’s awake, and seems like he has been for some time. His jaw is hard. His eyes are focused. His arms are still around me, but the air in the room is chilly.
“Watching me sleep?” I say coyly, stretching.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
I snuggle up closer to him, and tilt my head up, expecting a kiss. Sal turns over on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Rejection thuds dully in my stomach.
He’s afraid of his feelings, I remind myself. He doesn’t know how to handle them.
I sit up, wrapping a sheet around my naked body. Perhaps, the way to help Sal understand his emotions is to be honest about mine. He sits up too, swinging his legs over the bed and planting his feet on the floor. I stare at his naked, magnificently toned back. I reach out and touch the middle of his spine. He flinches, but I don’t pull my hand away. I psych myself up for a moment, then come to sit beside him. I have to make a concerted effort to look at him.
“I really enjoyed last night,” I say.
Sal turns to me, his face twisted in a plastic smile, and kisses my knuckles. “Did you? How many times?”
Deflection. He’s so good at it. I laugh at his joke.
“More than a handful,” I say with a saucy wink. I know I need to get more serious, tell him how I feel, but I’m railing against my natural instincts here.
Sal stands, pulling on his pants. I’m running out of time here. If I don’t take the leap, he’ll walk out of my door. I stand up so quickly I lose the sheet. I’m standing here, completely naked.
Beware the Devil (Mafia Soldiers Book 3) Page 10