by Tessa Thorne
I look up at him. This is the last thing I expect him to say. “You don’t need to make it up to me.”
“You saying no?” He laughs.
“No. I mean yes.” I laugh back. “Yes, you can take me out.”
“Good.” He grins back at me. “Make sure you wear good shoes.”
I open the door as soon as I see Jasmin outside. She looks around at the apartment behind me as she steps inside and drops her overnight bag and purse onto the floor.
“Swanky place,” she says admiringly.
“Hi Aunt Jasmin!” Ethan says from the couch before turning back to his coloring book.
“Hey Ethan.” She waves at him.
“Thanks so much for coming,” I say, and give her a quick hug.
“Of course.” She smiles as she steps out of her heels. “I told you, anything you need, and I meant it. I didn’t get a chance to ask though. What are you doing tonight? Got a hot date?”
She flashes me a wide grin and wiggles her eyebrows playfully. I’m about to say something when I hear Rocco coming out of his room, and Jasmin’s jaw drops open and her eyes go wide.
“Were you going to say something else?” I ask, a smug smirk on my face.
“What? Who? How?” she asks, pawing at my shoulder to turn me around as if I hadn’t seen him.
“Hey.” Rocco steps up to us and holds out his hand to Jasmin.
She clumsily takes his hand and he shakes it. “Nice to meet you,” Jasmin stammers out. I want to tell her his eyes are up in his head and not down on his pecs, but I just let her embarrass herself. It’s not often I get a chance to be the cool, collected girl in our duo.
Rocco drops his heavy canvas bag to the floor with a metallic clatter and bends down to put on his shoes. I see Jasmin’s eyes darting to take a look at his backside before she turns to me and pulls me in by the arms. “Where did you find this guy?” she demands. “And does he have a brother?”
I laugh softly, and let my eyes linger on his butt. We both sigh softly as he stands up, looking at the both of us suspiciously. He’s right to be suspicious. Jasmin’s always asking me about the details of my love life, and is more than happy to share hers. It’s just that I’ve never had any good stories to tell. Until now. It’s going to be fun to be the one with the juicy stories to share over wine for a change.
“That’s a story for another time, Jasmin,” I say. “As to your other question, he does.”
She grins, and I laugh softly as I kiss her goodbye on the cheeks. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
I walk up to the couch and kiss Ethan on the top of his head from behind the couch. He tilts his head back and smiles up at me. “Love you, Mommy,” he says.
Then he turns around and sits up on the couch on his knees. He leans over to look past me. “Bye, Uncle Rocco,” he says, waving.
A torrent of uncertain feelings floods my stomach at his words. I love that he’s making a connection with Rocco. It’s been so long since he’s had a male role model he could look up to. But calling him Uncle? And really getting attached to him?
When it comes down to it, he’s still a criminal. Sooner or later he’s going to end up in jail. I can’t imagine how brokenhearted Ethan would be if I let Rocco become a regular part of our life, only to have him torn away like that. It’d just make things so much more painful.
“Bye kiddo,” Rocco calls out to him as he picks up the heavy bag and gestures to me to get going.
I wrap my arm around Ethan’s head and pull him in for a big kiss on the cheek. He struggles against me and pulls his head out of my arm and waves again at Rocco before dropping back down onto the couch. I’m probably overthinking it. I need to let him have this while we’re here. What’s important is that he’s protected from Harry. He can get over heartbreak if it comes to that. It’s a lot better than the alternative.
I look back at Ethan one last time, give Jasmin a quick hug and follow Rocco out of the door.
It’s a bit of a drive to get out of the city, but the traffic isn’t too bad. It helps to have good company. Rocco’s in a talkative mood, and we’ve been chatting endlessly about who makes the best food.
“Look,” he says, gesturing toward me with his free hand. “I get that there’s all kinds of food, and those people think that their food measures up. But when it all comes down to it, nothing measures up to Napolitano food.”
I let those words hang in the air for a moment without retort.
“It’s been scientifically proven,” he says, nodding to emphasize his point.
“You can’t be serious.” I laugh. “By whom?”
“You know,” he says. “The iron chefs and shit. Food scientists. The Chef Oscars.”
“The Chef Oscars?” I laugh again.
“Look, you get my point,” he says. “If a guy puts his eyes on a real fine woman, you know, one of them girls you really wanna impress on a first date, do you take her to a Moroccan place and feed her some shit you can’t pronounce? It'd probably upset her stomach. And who the fuck knows what they got to drink? Or do you take her to an Italian joint? Where she can get the best food in the world and a bottle of the best red wine you can drink? Maybe a little grappa with dessert?”
“What about French food?” I ask, leaning over to his side, my elbow resting on the center console.
He reaches over and brushes my hair back behind my ear. “Take a girl like you to a place where they serve snails on a plate and call that fine dining?” he asks. “Never.”
I lean my head into his hand, letting him cup the side of my face. I love the feel of his rough and callused fingers on my skin.
“So you think I’m one of them ‘real fine women’?” I ask, looking into his eyes.
He takes his eyes off the road for a second to meet mine before turning his attention back to the drive. He moves his hand to the back of my head, putting his fingers through my hair, rubbing my tense muscles. “You are the finest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, sweetheart,” he says.
“You’re just saying that.” I smile, turning my head so I can kiss the inside of his forearm. “But you can keep saying it.”
He turns back to me briefly, so I can see the serious look on his face. “I don’t say shit if I don’t feel it. Besides, have you seen your tits? I could die between them and die a happy man.”
I should be offended by that, but I just can’t. He has a way about him that lets him get away with saying stuff like that. I lean my head back against his hand, feeling his strong fingers kneading my neck and shoulders. This is what it should be like with your husband. It's exactly the way it never was with Harry. He never called me beautiful once. The best I ever got out of him was that I was ‘fuckable’. He called me pretty once on our wedding day. That was about it.
I’ll take a compliment from Rocco even if I don’t believe it. At least it’s a lie that gives comfort, instead of a truth that hurts.
He slows the car and pulls the car off onto a dirt road. I can feel the packed dirt and gravel under the tires as the SUV bounces on the trail. I still can’t believe I let Rocco convince me to go on this mystery date. Of course he didn’t call it that. He said he had something for me that would let me protect myself and Ethan if the worse came to worst. But he didn’t want to show it to me back home. I just pretended to myself it was his way of getting me out of the house so he could try to get into my pants somewhere we wouldn’t risk waking up Ethan. If you’d asked me a few days ago if I’d have been game for that then, I’d have said no.
I sigh softly as he drops his hand from my neck to shift the SUV into off-road mode. I watch the way the muscles on his arms ripple as he works the gearshift. The way his thick thighs compress as he works the pedals. The way his shirt clings tightly to his broad chest. I really can’t lie to myself anymore. I want him to fuck me so badly. I’m practically at the point where I’d beg for it. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.
“So do I get to know where you’re taking me yet?” I ask.
&n
bsp; “Almost there.” He flashes a grin at me.
So he’s not going to tell me. That’s how it’s going to be then. I lay my head back against the headrest, eye-fucking his amazing body through half-lidded eyes until he finally pulls off the dirt path into a small clearing and kills the engine, leaving his headlights on.
“We’re here,” he says as he presses the button to unlock the doors.
I carefully step out of the car, using my phone’s flashlight so I can make my way around to the back of the car where Rocco is taking the bag out of the trunk.
He unzips the bag, and I gasp as I see what’s inside. It’s two pistols, along with several boxes of ammo. Smaller than the ones I’d gone shopping for.
“I know you were trying to buy a gun before you took me up on my offer,” he says as he takes the smaller semi-automatic out of the bag, pulls the slide back, peeking inside its chamber before letting it slide shut and extending it to me handle first. “Your ex pulled some strings and had your application rejected. So I got you something you could use.”
I slowly reach out and gingerly take the gun’s grip into my hand.
“Not like that,” he says, pulling the gun out of my fingers. “If you treat a gun like that, you might as well hand it to the fucker you want to shoot with it.”
He holds the gun out to me again, and this time I take the grip firmly in my hand and pull the gun from his grasp.
“That’s more like it.” He smiles as he lets the barrel go. “Come on. Let’s get shooting.” He grabs a black garbage bag that rattles with the sound of cans and glasses clinking against each other.
We go around to the front of the car where the headlights are shining on an old wooden fence that seems to have nearly given away to rot. I help Rocco arrange a shooting gallery of cans and bottles along the fence and then walk back with him to the front of the car.
He demonstrates how to load the gun and make sure the safety is off. This is all stuff I’d looked up videos for and read up on when I was going to buy myself a gun, so I feel like I know it already. But I let him guide me through it, just to make sure I don’t mess up. This is a live gun after all.
“You got that all?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think so.” I smile, holding the gun in both hands, barrel lowered to the ground. “Good.” He grins. “Let’s start shooting.”
“How’d you find this place anyhow?” I ask as I take aim and squeeze off my first round. I sigh as I take a look at the targets. Completely missed. Didn’t even budge a can. “Been coming here for a while now.” He shrugs. “Near fifteen years.”
I take aim again and squeeze off another round, missing again.
“It’s a funny story actually,” he says, laughing to himself.
He pushes himself off the hood of his car where he was leaning, walks over next to me, and nudges my elbows up a tad. Then he takes my hands wrapped around the gun and pushes them back, forcing my elbows to bend more.
“Try again,” he says.
I squeeze off another round. I sigh louder this time, having missed three in a row. Guess third time’s not the charm.
“Don’t get discouraged,” he says, grinning. “These targets are pretty small. I didn’t expect you to hit any just yet. That’s why I brought extra boxes of bullets.”
He steps behind me and taps on the inside of my thigh till I spread my legs.
“There,” he says. “That’ll give you more stability. Straighten out your shoulders, too. Hold your body steady, and keep your elbows loose. Use them to absorb the recoil, while keeping your body in place.”
I nod as I train my eyes down the sight line on the barrel. I have to admit I’ve fantasized about scenarios like this before, where a hot guy is teaching me how to shoot. Well, not quite. I hadn’t fantasized about that. It was tennis. Where my trainer would step in behind me, holding my arms from behind, my back pressed up against his chest. His crotch a mere inch from my ass. I imagined that’s how this would go. But he’s treating this more like real training. I’m a bit disappointed.
“What you waiting for, sweetheart?” he asks, and I respond by squeezing the trigger.
“Yeah!” I shout as a bullet tears through the bottom of a can of beer and knocks it off the rotten fence.
“Very nice,” he says. “It’s all about keeping your core stable.”
“Can you help me?” I ask, glancing at him as I bat my eyes, backing up a step toward him. “Maybe having you guide me would help me figure this out quicker?”
He barks out a laugh as he shakes his head. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says. “That ain’t my move.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, pouting my lips at him. It hurts a little to have my admittedly pathetic attempt to seduce him laughed away.
He steps up to me and lifts up my chin with his finger till I’m looking him in the eyes. “I don’t do it like in the movies,” he says. “I ain’t the type to try to turn something like this into a sad attempt to cop a feel on ya. Holding you from behind to guide your arms, maybe helping you steady your hips, letting you use my body to keep yourself stable.”
I laugh shyly. I guess I was pretty easy to read.
“Nah,” he says, putting a hand over my gun, flipping the safety on and pressing it down by my sides.
“I’m more direct,” he says, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me into his body. My hips press against his thighs as he looks down on me, our faces now just inches apart.
He leans in toward me till I feel his hot breath on my ears. “I don’t need no amateur moves to test your interest.”
He moves one hand from my hips to cup my ass and pull me in tighter against him. I can feel his cock hardening against my thigh.
“I’m the kind of man who knows when a woman wants me,” he says, planting his fiery lips on my ears and slowly kissing me down my neck. “And I take her when I want her, and make her beg me when she wants me.”
His hand moves down my thigh, lifting it against his side, pressing my crotch down against his hardening cock as my breasts push up against his chest. I look up at him as I bite my lip and press in toward his body, grinding my pussy down against his rapidly rising jeans.
“Tell me you want me,” he whispers into my ear as he presses another kiss against my neck.
I kiss the side of his face, and press myself harder against his cock. I don’t want to give in to his game. I’m not going to beg him for it. I’m going to make him take me.
He cups my ass in his other hand and pulls me up till I’m straddling him with both legs against his side, calves locked under his ass. I’ve got one hand wrapped around his waist, clinging onto the back of his belt as I grind my crotch against his, breathing shallowly against the side of his face, one hand still awkwardly holding a loaded gun.
He turns me around and rests my ass on the hood of his car as he shoves his crotch against mine. I wonder if he can feel the heat burning inside me through the layers of our clothes. I must be dripping through into my pants by now. I want him to tear off my clothes and take me right here. Any way he wants.
He puts his hand on the back of my neck and fists my hair in his fingers, pulling me back so he can crash his lips against mine. He kisses me hard, his tongue pushing its way past my lips. Tasting my lips, brushing against my teeth, dancing against my tongue. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull myself toward him, kissing him back, but then he yanks me away from him, and stares me in the eyes.
“Beg me for it,” he demands. “Tell me you want my cock.”
I gasp for breath, trying to grind myself against his cock, tempting him back, but he pulls away, leaving the space between my legs frustratingly empty.
“Beg me,” he says as he puts one hand on my knee, slowly pressing up my thigh, his thumb trailing on the inner seam of my jeans.
My pussy aches, desperate for his touch. I don’t even care what he gives me at this point, as long as he's willing to give me something. He can lick me, or fuck me with his fingers, or slam his cock
so deep inside me I scream. I just want his touch, but I don’t want to beg for it.
I reach for his pants, hooking my fingers inside his belt, trying to pull them off of me. But he pulls my hands off him, holding my wrists together in his fist as his other hand travels up my thigh till his thumb is pressed against the seam on my crotch.
I sit there, feeling the heat in my core pulsing through my body. I can feel myself clenching on the inside, wishing for his cock inside me. That burning ache is barely soothed by the gentle press of his thumb against my skin.
“You’re being mean,” I groan as I try to grind myself against his thumb, but he pulls back, denying me even that pleasure.
“I know,” he says. “I want you to beg. I want you to submit to me. I want to make you mine. Not just your body. I want all of you.”
I gasp as his thumb presses against me again, making me jolt my hips forward, but he pulls back from me once more. I want him bad enough now to beg. But I can’t promise him everything he wants. I want to be with him, too. But I know it can’t work. It can’t last. How could it? I have a son, and he’s a criminal. It can’t possibly work.
“Do you really want to be with me?” I ask, immediately cursing myself for asking the question. What am I doing? Am I really trying to get him to convince me this can work out?
He steps back in close to me between my legs, and kisses me on the lips. I lean into him as he pulls his lips from mine, unwilling to break our kiss.
“I want you to be mine,” he says. “I don’t care what it takes.”
He kisses me again, pressing his thumb harder against my crotch. I’m practically panting now, feeling my juices pooling in my panties. He must be feeling how wet I am by now.
“I’ve been obsessed with you since that day you walked into Franky’s,” he says, moving one hand up under my shirt till his fingers are grazing the bottom of my bra.
“At first I just wanted to fuck you,” he says, cupping my breast over my bra and squeezing it till I gasp. “But then I wanted more of you. I wanted you to be mine.”