Nine Years Gone

by Shelly Cruz

  I hiss at his touch, and my legs begin shaking. Fuck how I’ve missed him, his hands, his caresses. My breathing is labored. My eyes are hooded from the pleasure he’s awoken within me.

  I should stop him, but I don’t want to.

  I shouldn’t let this happen, but I need it to.

  I should end this, but greed overpowers me.

  Massimo’s index finger slips between my lips, pushing its way in, his thumb circling, and I moan in response. Lust clouds my thoughts, all reasoning I try to convince myself of, gone. Inside of me, his finger circles, and his middle finger joins, delving deeper within me, causing my legs to buckle from pleasure. I have to grasp onto him to keep from collapsing.

  As he’s rubbing and pushing, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue over my mound, resting its tip there before he begins drawing circles with it.

  I mewl in pleasure and tug at his hair. He responds by licking my folds, dragging his tongue up to my nub and back down. All the while, his fingers stroke my insides, causing me to crash over the edge. He continues circling his thumb while his fingers rub me from within, carrying me through my climax.

  When my breathing slows, Massimo pulls his fingers from me, and I instantly feel the cool air between my legs, hollow because I miss his touch.

  I look down at him, and he’s shifting his head back and away from me, raising his gaze to mine. His chocolate-colored eyes are hooded, dark, and burning with desire. I can still see the love there that I saw all those years ago.

  He lifts his right hand to his lips and starts sucking on his fingers, slowly dragging them out and pushing them back in, savoring the taste of me.

  Fueling my cravings to taste him. Feel him. Love him.

  I bring my right hand from his hair down to his face resting my thumb on his lips, running it from left to right and back again. He flicks his tongue out, taking my thumb in his mouth, and begins sucking it. Our eyes bore into each other, and we cherish each other’s touch.

  “Massimo, I—”

  “Shhh, not now, Lena, please.” His eyes plead for me to stop talking.

  His hands move to my waist and grab my skirt, adjusting it back into place before he buttons my blouse. When he finishes, he nudges me, and I take a step back, allowing him to get up. He stands, his eyes never leaving mine as he raises himself from the couch, his grasp still firm on my rounded hips. Massimo’s eyes emanate a myriad of emotions—fear, anger, hurt, sadness, hope, love.

  “Massimo, I think we should talk about what just happened.”

  “Please, Lena,” he says, shaking his head as his thumb runs across my bottom lip, left to right, and back to the center, resting there, pressing my lips together. “Not today. Let me have this moment, you, what just happened. I have a lot to deal with right now, and I need something good to hold on to.”

  I resign to him, his plea one I cannot refuse. “Okay.”

  His mischievous grin appears before brushing his lips to mine. “Thank you for coming.” He smirks and winks.

  “Massimo,” I pause but decide against saying anything further because he’s asked me to wait. “Never mind.”

  At that moment, the door opens, and we both turn our heads. “Massimo, why don’t you answer—” his sister Stella says as she’s entering the office. She stops short when her eyes land on me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Stella demands, glaring at me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead.

  Stella looks as beautiful as I remember. She and Massimo share the same lips, nose, and thick black hair, but she has striking round blue eyes like their mother, and her olive skin is always darkly tanned.

  She and I spent a lot of time together before I left, and she was excited that I was marrying Massimo. She told me I was the sister she always wanted. I’m sure she feels betrayed by what I did and is angry with me for leaving not just Massimo, but her too.

  Before I can answer, Massimo says, “She’s here with me because I asked her to be.” He tightens his arm around me, claiming me.

  “Really, after everything she pulled? You just let her waltz back into our lives?”

  “My life,” he asserts. “And who I choose to be in my life is my decision. Stay the fuck out of it.”

  “Whatever. If you would’ve answered your phone, I wouldn’t have come here and seen this bullshit.” She gestures her hand in an up-and-down manner. “We need you at the house. Anthony from the funeral home is on his way.” She storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

  “I should go,” I say.

  “Yeah, I need to leave too. Where’s your phone?”

  “My pockabook.”

  He lets go of me, picks up my purse from the couch, and sticks his hand inside, searching for my phone. Once he has it in his hands, he slides the unlock feature and starts dialing. Moments later, his phone rings. After ending the call, he hands it to me with my bag.

  I look at my phone’s screen, Massimo’s number in the most recent call slot. “You still have the same phone number,” I whisper, lifting my eyes to his.

  “I never changed it in hopes that one day you would call me.” His revelation stings, another reminder of what a terrible person I am.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

  “I gotta go,” he says. “I’ll text you when I have details about the service. I want you there.”

  “Is that a good idea, after the way Stella reacted?”

  “Let me deal with that.”

  “Okay.” After what just happened, I want to kiss him goodbye, feel the warmth of his lips, but I have no right to ask for anything. I take a step toward the door when Massimo pulls me back into a hug. I reciprocate, wrapping my arms around his torso, feeling the firm muscles in his back, nuzzling my nose to his neck, inhaling his unique scent. His hands are circling on my lower back, and he drops kisses along my hairline. His arms envelop me in safety like I’ve arrived home after a long journey.

  Before tears begin, I separate from him and step toward the door. “I’ll wait for your text,” I say, walking out of the office. The emotions are overtaking me, anxiety rising because I feel out of control of this situation. I need time away from him to let the fog lift. It’s the only way I can think clearly.

  When I’m outside of the restaurant, I welcome the fresh air. Late September is my favorite time of year in Boston, mostly warm days and cool nights. I decide to call Luci and see if she’s off tonight to come over, but her phone goes to voicemail. I grab my iPod and pop my earbuds in, and hit play, letting Roxette’s “Listen to Your Heart” calm my erratic heart.

  Although it’s dark and I can’t see the water, the ocean is angry, the waves crashing with fury, mirroring the turmoil I feel within. Seems a storm is moving in. After getting home, I decided to drive to Revere Beach to sit along the wall, absorb the salty air, regroup my thoughts, and grab some fried clams from Kelly’s for dinner. Comfort food always goes a long way.

  The ocean air has a way of calming and centering me. And after seeing Massimo, my emotions are all over the place. The last thing I expected was for him to touch me the way he did, for us to be intimate. I know it’s wrong, that I had no right to allow it, but I’ve missed him, and everything that happened in his office felt right. We need to talk, so I can tell him why I left, and we can discuss what just happened. If things were complicated before, our encounter just made it worse.

  Even though I shattered his heart, Massimo still has feelings for me. I felt it in the way he touched me, saw it in the way he looked at me.

  Selfishly, I’m happy about that. But my selfish behavior has already caused enough destruction, and I cannot do any more damage, especially not to him. He has a new life with his boys and their mother, and I won’t ruin that for him. Except, once again, I noticed he didn’t have a wedding band on. Everything I know about Massimo tells me he would wear one. He’s too loyal not to, and I don’t think he would’ve been intimate with me if he was in a relationship or married. I’m so confused.

&nbs
p; As soon as he’s buried his mother and he’s ready to talk, I’m going to tell him my whole story, so we can both have closure and move forward.

  CHAPTER 17

  Should’ve Been Honest

  MASSIMO

  ANTHONY FROM THE FUNERAL home spent a few hours with us, and we made the necessary arrangements for my mother’s service. The wake is the day after tomorrow, with the burial the following morning.

  It’s past midnight when I walk through my front door, kick my shoes off, and go straight to my shower. I need to wash away the day. I turn the water on and let it warm up while I undress.

  Amidst all the grief of my mother dying and making funeral arrangements, Lena was my bright spot—like she always was. Despite the years, my heart still swells when I think of her, touch her, taste her.

  Feminine.

  Sensual.

  Delicious.

  She was so responsive to me today. I didn’t know if she would let me touch her, but I missed her so damn much I needed a taste. She’s friggin addictive. When she didn’t stop me, I knew she longed for me as much as I did her. I know she still loves me.

  I step into the shower and welcome the hot water pounding my skin. My dick is rock hard thinking about Lena. I adjust the showerhead, sit on the bench to the side, resting my head against the wall, and begin stroking myself. Images of Lena are vivid in my mind.

  How wet she was. How she mewled when I rubbed her folds, moaned when I flicked my tongue at her clit. Pulled my hair when I fucked her with my fingers, and she coated me in her milk. The taste of her on my tongue, my lips, and my fingers wasn’t enough.

  I’m greedy and want more. I want to grab onto those curvy hips and push into her. Feel her stretch around me as I enter her. Rub her walls when I’m inside of her. Suck on her nipples while plunging into her so that I can fill her with my seed. “Lena,” I grunt as I’m coming, stroking myself until my breath evens out.

  My legs are weak, and I have to remain seated for a minute to regain my strength. Lena is at the forefront of my thoughts. My girl came back, and I need her in my life. I need to figure out how to make that happen.

  Once I’m able to get up, I shower, brush my teeth, and hit the sheets. Let’s hope I can get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow is another long day, where I have to plan for the event after my mother’s burial.

  I spend most of the day at the restaurant in the North End since this is where everyone will come back to after we bury my mother—menu planning with the chef, phone calls with vendors, staff meeting to prep the team. Before leaving for my parents’ house, I send Lena a text message.

  Massimo: Wake is tomorrow 5-9 pm at Nardone’s. See you there.

  I arrive at the funeral home with my father. He was adamant that we arrive early to have alone time with Ma. I hate funerals; then again, who doesn’t? Although this is for my mother, I dread that I have to be here for the next several hours and greet the ton of people who will show up. I’ll have to be social when all I want to do is sip whiskey and mourn.

  My father and I walk into the parlor where my mother’s casket is. Flower arrangements fill the entire front of the room on each side of the coffin and behind it. Despite the magnitude of floral arrangements, it smells like death in here.

  As we approach the front, my father’s step falters, and he moans before his tears start flowing. Watching my father break down in such a manner humbles me. He was always so strong, a tough guy who never let me forget who’s boss. To see him hurt this way, suffer and cry in a way I’d never thought possible, is jarring. With how tough he’d been when I was a child, seeing him now, weeping, sagging shoulders in defeat, is fucking with my head.

  My parents were together their whole lives. She’s all he knows, and I’m not sure how he’s going to hold up without her. He’s a changed man now that he’s lost the love of his life.

  I wrap my arm around my father, and side by side, we take the last few steps until we stand before the casket. I help him lower himself to rest on the kneeling rail, laying my hand on his shoulder. The tears fall from my eyes, despite my attempt to wipe them away and stop them from coming.

  The woman inside that box looks nothing like my mother. In her final days, she was thin, pale, and bald. Cancer is a motherfucker and stripped her of so much. She was seventy, still too young to go. Her death has given me perspective—reminded me that our time here on Earth is short-lived.

  I’ve checked the clock on the far wall more times than I can count—it’s not even 6:00 p.m. yet! I crack my neck, shift my balance from my left foot to my right, and stretch my arms behind me. The funeral parlor is full. Full of faces I see every day and faces I haven’t seen in years.

  Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, spouses, their kids. Friends, my closest friends, acquaintances from the neighborhood, and other business owners from the area. This tradition, or whatever the fuck it is, is too much.

  We’re standing in a receiving line, first the casket, then my father, me, followed by my sister and brother. My boys were standing with me for a little while but got tired and are now sitting with their mother off to the side. I’ve thanked so many people for being here that I’m now just going through the motions, people blurring one into the next.

  I feel her before I can see her. Lena’s energy is something my body reacts to. It’s been like that since the day I met her. I know she’s here; I just need to spot her. The room is packed with people. Everyone dressed in black, faces somber, people whispering to each other to keep the noise level down. But the whispers create a storm of noise in my head.

  My eyes scan the room, left to right, and back. The line to greet us extends along the left side of the room and wraps around the wall. That’s where I see her. She’s standing next to Luci; they’re talking, and she hasn’t looked up yet. Her dark curls are loose and wild, with ringlets framing her face and falling halfway down her back. She’s wearing her signature frames. Today they’re black to match her black wrap dress with a deep V-neck, the swell of her breasts peeking out—making my dick twitch. She’s wearing dark wine-colored lipstick, accentuating her bee-stung lips. She’s beautiful. Her eyes shift and connect with mine, and her lips curl up on one side.

  My sister breaks into my thoughts and whispers, “What the fuck is she doing here?”

  I lower my mouth to her ear and say, “Don’t. Not here. Lena is here for me. End of story!”

  “Whatever!” She rolls her eyes.

  I stand back up and shift my eyes back to Lena, who noticed the exchange between Stella and me. Lena mouths, “I’m sorry,” and she looks away, starts talking to Luci again.

  When Lena is standing before me, I wrap her in my arms, tightening them around her lower back. She tucks her arms around my torso, resting her hands below my shoulders.

  I close my eyes, the storm within intensifying. My mother’s death, Lena’s absence and sudden reappearance, and the uncertainty of the unknown of what’s happening between us cause my chest to tighten.

  “Hi,” I whisper into her ear. “You’re the one person I’ve been waiting to see all night. Thank you for being here.” I tighten my embrace, her coconut scent invading my senses, and a shudder runs through my body. I’ve missed her and holding her again like this is a stark reminder of how much.

  “You’re welcome,” she whispers. “I’m truly sorry for your loss. I loved her too and feel terrible that I’ll never have the opportunity to apologize to her for what I did to you.” Her arms tighten around me.

  Lena’s words sear me, and I don’t want to release her. “Thank you. Please don’t go,” I murmur into her ear. “Wait for all these people to leave. I want to talk for a bit.” She nods in response. As she’s stepping away from me, my eyes fall on Camila, who’s glaring at me from the back of the room.

  About two years after Lena left, Camila came into one of my restaurants for dinner. She checked into a reservation for two and waited at the bar. I noticed her sitting alone all night and approached her, which is when
I learned her plus one never showed. She had been stood up for a first date. I was intrigued that this beautiful woman had been left waiting without so much as a call.

  That night I learned Camila is from Argentina. She speaks English with a thick accent, has long, brown hair and hazel eyes. We stayed at the bar until past midnight, long after I closed the restaurant. The night ended with me asking her out. It was the first time I asked a woman out since Lena ghosted because it was time for me to move on. Although I had stopped looking for her, I still hadn’t dated. I’d only casually hooked up with women when the opportunity presented itself.

  Camila and I began dating and, after several months, became exclusive, even if thoughts of Lena always snaked their way into my life.

  I wanted to forget Lena, wanted to not love her anymore, wanted to hate her for abandoning me. But the heart wants what it wants, and you can’t dictate who you love.

  When Camila told me she was pregnant, I took it as a sign I had to move on. Initially, I was upset, more at myself than anything. How could I let this happen with a woman I wasn’t in love with? But I was thirty-seven and desperately wanted kids. If Camila was pregnant, I would be the child’s father. Despite not being in love with her, I had to do the right thing, and we moved in together.

  I knew I would never love Camila like I had Lena, but love comes in different forms, and I thought our relationship was good enough to withstand my frailty. That being parents to our child would help love, in some form, flourish. I settled, thinking my mind was stronger than my heart. I tried to do the right thing for my kids, tried to keep my family together, but it was disastrous.

  I now know I was doomed from the outset, destined to fail, and was a fool to think otherwise. I should’ve been honest with her and myself from the get-go.