Touch (The Pagano Family Book 2)

by Susan Fanetti

  12

  Manny stood outside the door to Suite 2 at the Seagazer Inn and psyched herself up to meet a new client. She ran the details through her head: John Bonham, thirty-two, stiffness in his leg. She really hoped he didn’t need chat during his massage. It was a rough day today, and she wasn’t sure she could sustain her end of an actual conversation.

  With a deep breath for strength, she plastered a smile on her face and knocked on the door. Hearing a muffled Come, she opened it, saying, “Hi, Mr. Bonham. I’m Emma.”

  And found Luca sitting on the table, the sheet draped over his legs, apparently otherwise naked.

  He was grinning. “Hey, little bit.”

  Manny didn’t do well with surprises, as a rule. Her head wanted to see surprises as tricks, and she got suspicious and anxious right away. Since her day had started off hard already, seeing Luca waiting for her instead of the new client she expected made her brain do a vapor lock. She stood there, with the door open, staring.

  “Manny?”

  She turned and checked the number affixed to the door: ‘2.’ That was where she was supposed to be. She turned back to Luca, trying to force understanding. Finally, she remembered enough to realize it was very bad form to keep the door open in a massage suite of a spa, with a naked man sitting on the table. She closed the door and leaned on it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came in for a massage from my girl.”

  “You’re not John Bonham.” As she said the name out loud, it sounded familiar. Did she know a John Bonham?

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that. Sorry, bit.” He laughed. “I was trying to be romantic. It’s not a specialty.”

  As things sorted in her head, Manny calmed down and could see the cute in what he’d done. And having him here for ninety minutes, in the close quiet of a massage suite, might be a balm for the depression that was taking her over today. “Not for me, either. Wait. John Bonham. Like the Zeppelin guy? The drummer?”

  Luca grinned. “Yep.”

  “That’s so lame. And kinda creepy. He’s dead, right? Died in his own puke or something like that.”

  “Yeah, but he was a wicked awesome drummer.”

  Finally, she could smile a real smile. “You are such a dork.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m a dork with a very…stiff…leg.” He pulled the sheet away and exposed his huge erection. “Anything we can do about that?”

  She took a step toward him, but then a thought occurred to her, and she stopped. “Wait. You’re paying for this massage appointment, right? Like, paying to fuck me? That’s…no. That’s weird. Just no.”

  A look went across his face. She saw it, and knew it was a look that should tell her something, but she had no clue what. It made her suspicious, though. “What?”

  He smiled, but his eyes were still weird. They’d shifted away from her, just for a second. It drove her crazy not to know. “Nothing. Think of it this way. I’m just renting us a small, uncomfortable room for a while. You can give me a real massage, too, if it makes you feel better.” His smile widened. “And I won’t tip you.”

  She stayed where she was, her arms crossed, suspicious and uncomfortable.

  “Come on, bit. I’ve been thinking about you riding me on this table since the day you first gave me a massage. We’re wasting precious time here.”

  It still felt weird, but she’d gone to bed the night before feeling restless and out of sorts and had woken after a particularly unsettled night with depression wrapped around her shoulders like a leaden shawl. Luca’s presence made her feel better.

  She couldn’t enjoy his touch, but since she’d first let him hold her, she was finding some kind of stilted peace in his enjoyment of it. The way he went completely still when he held her—it felt like restraint, yes, and her skin crawled and tensed, yes, and she could only take it for a few seconds, but she felt the calm in him. Maybe someday, his calm would move to her. In the meantime, she’d discovered that she liked making him feel good. She liked it for herself as well as for him. That was new, feeling good for making somebody else feel good.

  But when he’d left last night, she’d had trouble. She didn’t know why. They’d had a good night. Since she’d found him at the gym a week and a half ago, since that first hug, they’d been good. No drama. Her parents liked him, and he liked them. They were having sex without condoms, and that was awesome. He’d forgiven her for that first time. She was working on learning to deal with his touch.

  He always left at the end of the night, and there was no way she could sleep in the same bed with him, but she’d felt all kinds of wrong after he went last night. And then this morning, she’d barely been able to get out of bed.

  Now he was here, and she felt lighter. So she locked the door and took her clothes off. He made a naughty-sounding chuckle and lay back on the table, his cock tall and proud.

  “Do you want a massage at all?”

  “I want your tight, pink pussy massaging my cock. That’s what I want.”

  She laughed. “For ninety minutes?”

  “Well, eighty, now, because of all your yakking.” He patted his thighs. “Get up here.” Then he laced his hands behind his head.

  First she sucked him for a minute or two working her stud over him until his hips were squirming on the table. Then she climbed up, straddled him, and sank down on him. He groaned, long and low, and bent his head back as she settled on his hips.

  He felt amazing without a condom. That strange, cool wet of the lube had always felt kind of alien to her. And it smelled funny. But just his own, hot heat, inside her? Fantastic. She regretted the way she’d ruined their first time like this.

  “Give me your hands.”

  He looked down his chest at her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She held out her hands, and he brought his from behind his head and let her take them. With a steadying breath, she set them on her thighs and held them there. His fingers curled to hold her flesh.

  “Fuck, bit. Thank you.”

  She nodded and began to move. They had a lot of time, so she went slowly, lifting up on her knees and then sitting back down, swiveling her hips, leaning forward to kiss his chest, run her tongue through the light dusting of dark hair over his skin, tease his nipples with her stud, lave the ridges of muscles that tightened every time she sank down and writhed.

  “God. That’s it. Take me in. Get deep. I want to be deep in you.” His voice rumbled like a growl. “You feel so fucking good.”

  His hands were clenched around her thighs, but it was okay, because her hands were on his, and the touch was steady and firm. The spiders couldn’t get far. Besides, she was getting close, and he was getting close, and there were more important things to think about. She focused on the feelings inside her instead of those on her and worked her body to bring the good feelings to the fore.

  They came almost together, him right after her, and when her body could loosen again, she folded over and lay on his chest. He kept his hands still, and she kept hold of them. She could feel his heartbeat against her ear.

  When she had her breath back, she lifted her head and asked, “Did that meet your expectations?”

  “Exceeded. You are a hot little number.”

  Pleased, she kissed his belly, on his tattoo there. Then without any real intention, she kissed over the whole tattoo, then moved to his left arm and kissed the barbed wire, running her tongue over each barb, then his right arm, kissing, nuzzling, licking the intricately detailed angel there. “I like your tattoos. They’re wicked hot.”

  He grinned. “Well, thanks.”

  “Why an angel? She’s beautiful, but that one surprises me.”

  “That’s my mother’s face. She died twelve years ago.”

  “Oh. I feel weird that I was just licking your mother’s face. I’m sorry.” She felt like she should have known that his mother was dead. That was some
thing she probably should have asked about.

  “It’s okay, bit. It felt good. And if she had an opinion about it, she’d be more upset with the fucking we just did than you licking her picture, I think.”

  “Okay. We’re having a really strange conversation now.” She dropped her hands from his, and he let her go right away, returning his hands to link behind his head. He knew the spiders would come if she wasn’t holding him when he held her.

  “Yeah, we are. I’ll change the subject and turn it around. I’m curious about your stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Your piercings and ink. With your thing with touch, I’m surprised you have any. And your tat is big. That took some time.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. I don’t have much trouble with touch when I’m getting pierced or inked. It’s like…”—she paused, searching for the right way to explain it—“It’s like it’s okay because it hurts. My brain understands painful touch better. It doesn’t freak me out as much.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she thought she read his thoughts.

  “No—I don’t like sex to hurt. I tried that once, and it went way wrong. That’s not it. It’s just…I can be calm when it hurts and I know why it’s hurting, because I can understand it better. I don’t know if I’m explaining it. Gentle touch is a lot scarier to me.” She could feel a little anxiety rising because she wasn’t explaining herself, but she met Luca’s eyes and found calm there.

  “It’s okay, little bit. I think I get it. It makes me sad for you.”

  She shrugged. “We should get moving. Your appointment’s about over, Mr. Bonham.”

  They got cleaned up and dressed, and then Manny opened the door, prepared to lead him out to the front. Heather, her fellow massage therapist and possible new friend, or at least someone she could stand to be around, was in the hallway, leading her client, a toned, soccer-mom type, to the front, too.

  Suddenly, Luca’s hand was around Manny’s arm, hard, and he yanked her back into Suite 2 and closed the door. She nearly shrieked with shock and fear.

  Her skin crawling under his hand, she jerked herself free and rubbed at the place he’d grabbed. “What the fuck, Luca!”

  He looked…scared. But that couldn’t be right. She was reading him wrong.

  “I’m sorry, bit. We need to talk before we go out there.”

  “Why? I don’t understand. Luca, you’re freaking me out.” He really was, too. Manny did a little better reading Luca than most people, and she felt like she was getting better at that all the time, but now there was all sorts of stuff going on with his face, and it was all making her think something really bad was suddenly happening. Her bag with her meds was in the staff lounge. Jesus—she was at work. She couldn’t rage out at work.

  “I’m gonna be straight with you, bit. I need you to believe me and try to be chill. Okay?”

  “Jesus fuck, Luca! WHAT?”

  He took a breath and blew it out. “Remember that first massage you gave me?”

  “Yeah, of course.” She focused on her breathing.

  “Remember that I made the appointment with Heather. Before you and I knew each other.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “It was this kind of appointment.”

  “What? Ninety minute deep tissue?” None of this made sense. Why was this such a big deal?

  “Fuck. No. Well, yeah. But…fuck!” He raked his hands over his head.

  “Luca, you’re confusing me, and I’m gonna fucking lose it. Not at work. Don’t do this to me at work.”

  “Sugar, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Heather and I used to fuck in these rooms when I came in for a massage.”

  Oh. Well, she knew he’d fucked lots of girls. So it should be okay, right? Right? But it wasn’t okay. She didn’t know why, but it really was not okay. Manny tried to get control of her head, but it was becoming too late. “So this is a thing you do? It wasn’t some lame attempt to be romantic, like you said? You just like a happy ending?”

  “This was different, Manny. This was different. I see now it was stupid, but I did mean it to be romantic.”

  “God. She’s out there. Is she gonna think…know…oh, fuck you!”

  “Manny, breathe. Come on, hold it together. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was coming at her with his hands up in front of his chest, and through the black fog rising up in her awareness, she realized that she had backed up against the wall and was hitting it, and herself, making a perfect rhythm alternating between the wall and her head. “Stop it, sugar. You’re hurting yourself.”

  With her last, fraying thread of self-awareness, she forced herself to focus on where she was. Work. She needed this job. She had to pull herself together. She dropped to the floor and curled up. Crash position—if she was going to marshal what was left of her sanity and make it through the next few minutes, she had to pull in as tight as she could and close away from the world.

  All she needed was a few minutes. She didn’t have another appointment for an hour. She could regroup and be okay if she could get through the next few minutes.

  “Manny?”

  Curled onto her knees, she just growled at him, and he didn’t say more.

  When she could, she rose to her feet. Luca was still standing in the same place, his hands still out like he was trying to hold something back. Hurricane Manny, she supposed. Not sure at all whether the storm had abated, and terrified of what awaited her outside that door, she glared at Luca and said, “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

  Heather was walking down the hallway toward them when they came out of the room. They’d dallied long enough that her soccer mom had been sent on her way, apparently.

  At first, she smiled at Manny, a typical, friendly, nonspecific kind of smile, a hi-no-time-to-talk-got-some-old-fart-to-rub-down kind of smile. Then she recognized Luca and stopped.

  “Luca?”

  From behind Manny, Luca muttered, “Hey, Heather.”

  Heather did a thing with her eyebrows and popped her hip. She was a beautiful woman—long and willowy; blonde; wide, dark blue eyes, puffy lips. And really great tits. She managed to look like a model even wearing leggings and a spa t-shirt. Manny felt like a dwarf standing next to her—not a cute one, either. One from Lord of the Rings. “I didn’t know you knew Emma.”

  Before Luca could answer, Manny did. “Yeah. We’re fucking.”

  She couldn’t see Luca, and she couldn’t read Heather, but she thought she’d at least managed some surprise, since nobody said anything. Heather stood there for a second, then nodded and walked past without another word to either of them.

  When they were alone in the hallway, Luca said, “I’m sorry, bit.”

  “Yeah. You said. Seeing as you’re a regular, you know where the desk is. I need a minute.” She turned and went back to the staff lounge, leaving him to show himself out. She hadn’t even looked at him since they’d left Suite 2.

  oOo

  Luca called twice and texted Really sorry, and then, when she didn’t respond, he left her alone. Manny got through her day, went home, showered, dressed for the clubs, and drove all the way to Boston. Fierce Ferret had a Battle gig on this Thursday night. Damn, it was great publicity for the band, but Manny would be monumentally relieved when this eternal Battle of the Bands bullshit was over. It lasted just about the whole summer, it covered most of New England and New York, and she was sick of it.

  She hadn’t gotten to the point of actively hoping Ferret would get eliminated—it was pretty cool to see how far they’d already come and to wonder whether they’d go all the way. The winner got a recording contract with a New York label. But she was tired. She was fielding calls all day, it seemed like, getting the details worked out for gigs as they rose up the standings. She already had a full-time job, one that reliably paid actual money, and this band crap was getting in her way.

  Plus, she wasn’t getting along with anybody in the band right now, except Kevin. She was barely even talking to Dmitri, and she could
n’t stand his touch now, since the bathroom. She couldn’t even stand to touch him.

  That was a fucking crisis. He’d been the only person in her whole life who could touch her without her losing her mind. But he and Gigi were an item now, like an actual couple, and it was changing how he was with Manny. That was bad. It was so, so bad.

  Ferret won their round that night, though, and Manny’s time at the club had been fine. She’d caught some of the crowd’s enthusiasm and had danced a little, tuning out the rock and wave and bounce of moving bodies around her. When they were celebrating, Dmitri tried to hug her, like he always had before, but she stepped back, and he let her. He turned to Gigi instead and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around him, and they did the zombie face-chewing thing they did. Manny decided to go.