by Gabi Moore
“I’m not interested in any ‘offer’, sorry. I barely knew the guy, and that was a long, long time ago. I’ve moved on now. Things are looking good for me…”
“Aw, isn’t that nice?” he laughed.
I glared at him.
“And how did you get to where you are now, anyway, huh?” he asked, gesturing to me with his beer glass.
“I worked hard, I busted my--”
“Uncle Vito helped you,” he said, cutting me off.
“Bullshit.”
“You took his help quickly enough once before, that’s what he says anyway.”
“That’s ridiculous, I was a kid…”
“You were eleven. Sounds old enough to me.”
I stood up, face hot.
“I had no choice. I had to do what I could to survive.” I wanted to hit him. I hadn’t hit a man in more than a decade, but I could sure make an exception for this asshole. He was chuckling now under his breath, shaking his head.
“And what about all those little girls, huh? What about their survival? They were just kids too, you know,” he said mysteriously, and stared blankly ahead of him again.
I felt dizzy. I sat down again.
The diner around me had emptied out. I felt like the blood in my veins had turned thin and was emptying out, too. I suddenly felt unsure of my ability to stand upright.
“Those …those are not just rumors?” I stuttered. Once I had spoken I realized how badly I didn’t really want him to answer. Again, he threw back his head and broke out into mocking laughter that made his immense gut wobble.
“Hey, pal, don’t give me that look. I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying, you’re being stupid if you think you’re innocent somehow. You know what my grandma always says? She says to be human is to be guilty. Smart woman. We all got blood on our hands, pal. Every one of us. Including you.”
“What are you getting at?”
His beer glass was drained, and he watched with boredom as the wet foam slid back down the empty sides again.
“I’m not getting at anything buddy. I’m just saying don’t play like you’re some good little citizen now or something.” He stood up, threw some coins onto the counter, burped quietly, then cast a weary gaze back out onto the street. “Uncle Vito will be in touch. My advice? Don’t be such a rude fucker when you talk to him.”
“I’m not talking to anyone,” I said.
He gave me a joking salute and smiled wryly at me.
“Oh, and by the way, happy birthday,” he said, and turned to leave.
“How do y—“, but he was already halfway out the exit. The bell on the door tinkled as it swung open and shut, and in an instant I was alone in the diner. I checked my watch. It had taken me more than two decades to run away from my past. And now, in the course of five minutes, it had all caught up with me.
Chapter 2 - Sophia
And what a happy birthday it was. The fact that we both shared the same birthday was only one of the things that made me think that my life with Leo was …fated somehow.
Leo was the only other person I had ever met with completely heterochromic eyes. And while I was blue in the left, brown in the right, he was brown in the left, blue in the right. We were similarly quiet, soulful people. We both loved cats. We shared the same favorite things and had the same pet peeves. We had only known each other for a year or so. But when that year was so cram-packed full of signs and omens, did it matter?
The stars were aligning for me. We were both turning thirty, my massage school was finally picking up steam and his business was finally taking shape. Once I lined up one part of myself with the corresponding part of Leo, it was like all the other pieces could more easily fall into place. I had spent the first six months of our relationship looking over my shoulder, wondering what freakish cosmic error had gifted me such a perfect guy, and the other six months in dumb awe at how lucky I was to get that gift.
It was really all coming together for me.
Finally.
I had a cute condo, a job I adored, two precious kitties and a smoking hot boyfriend who doted on me. And I was going to show him tonight just how thankful I was to have in my life…
The timer pinged and I sprung to action, taking the baked salmon out from the oven with gloved hands and delicately balancing the pan on the stove top.
He’d walk in, I’d waltz over in my new silk dress and hand him a glass of champagne. Then, he’d come inside, kiss me deeply with his gorgeous, pillowy lips, and I’d whisk him over to the sitting room where the starter canapes would already be laid out. I’d wish him a happy birthday; give him his gift (a cute pair of platinum cufflinks with our shared birthstone – peridot) and then he’d probably give me mine (a signed vintage copy of The Glass Forest – I had peaked so I already knew what it was) and then we’d kiss some more.
Then, we’d have our baked salmon and honey-glazed baby carrots, and after that, dessert would be ready, and then we’d snuggle on the couch and I’d tell him about the new therapist who had signed up to work at the center, and then …well, I wanted that next part to be spontaneous.
The thing about Leo is that he’s not at all what he seems. He looks like a Calvin Klein model, like a classic High School football jock, all chiseled face and smoldering eyes and pecs that strain shirts and get girls in the vicinity to lose their train of thought mid-sentence.
He was, to put it simply, hot. And yet …deep down he was a different creature all together.
Leo had a mind like a sword. He was a sharp thinker, a quick joker and had a personality that felt like a coiled spring – always straining a little with energy, always waiting to burst.
He was a good man. He was kind. He treated people well. He was emotionally available. He loved children. It was almost too good to be true.
I paced around the living room.
He was a little late this evening, which was weird. I felt a few thin prickles of sweat under my arms. I cursed and hurried to the bathroom, added a triple layer of antiperspirant and checked my reflection for the millionth time that evening.
We’d have sex, of course. Of course we would. It was his birthday. It was my birthday. That’s what a young, healthy, happy young couple like us does on their birthdays.
We hadn’t, though. Not for a while. In fact, it had been more than two weeks already. It’s not that I was bored. Not at all. I mean, getting a little older in life, and given the fact that we had known each other for as long as we had, and the fact that both of us were really focusing on our careers …actually, a few times a month was perfectly normal.
I went into the bedroom.
Scented candles, freshly laundered sheets, flower petals, massage oil. Perfect. I smiled and closed the door again. I was satisfied. If all of this didn’t make me the perfect girlfriend, I don’t know what would.
I had never admitted to Leo – had never told anyone before, actually – about how important it was for me to ‘fix’ my issues with sex. That’s why those scented candles meant a lot. The rose petals meant a lot.
For a long time, sex was something unhealthy for me. A kind of drug, in fact. Just something dirty I was compelled to do, and shame-filled, because I was desperate and needed my fix. My therapist had called it ‘risk-taking behavior’. My foster mother had called it my ‘death wish’. I had simply called it ‘hunger’. I had always indulged like someone starving at a banquet. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy myself. But at the end of the day, it never satisfied me. Not really.
But today, on my thirtieth birthday, things were different for me. I had wrestled my demons, built a life I was proud of and learnt to marry sex and love together, like it’s supposed to be. I had convinced a gorgeous, well put together man to love me and now I would never go hungry again.
I went to the kitchen to check on the salmon. It was getting cold.
“Baby…?”
I heard the front door unlock, then spun around when I realized Leo was home, then bound into the living room to line
up the champagne glasses and then into the hall to throw my arms around his neck and greet him with a big, sloppy kiss.
“Happy birthday!” I yelled, and he smiled warmly, unwinding his scarf and kicking off his shoes.
“Come inside, come inside!” I said and pulled him into the living room, handed him a glass of champagne and toasting him with a grin.
“To us!” I said, and he laughed and took a nervous sip.
“Wow …you didn’t have to get us champagne.”
“That’s not all I got,” I said, and quickly revealed his gift with a flourish. He took it, unwrapped it, and looked at it with a smile that was polite, but not overwhelmed with joy or anything. Fine, it was a bit of a practical gift; I’d give him that.
“You know, for your meetings and stuff. When you meet up with investors and things like that.”
He set them to one side.
“Just kiss me” he said, and soon my head was cradled in his strong hands. I giggled and he kissed my smiling mouth.
“You taste like beer,” I said.
“No, that’s talking, baby, I want you to be kissing…” He pulled me in for another kiss. I giggled and kissed him. His lips were sweet and soft and silky and delicious.
“But the salmon is getting cold!” I said, pulling out of his grasp to dash off into the kitchen.
He followed me slowly to the oven and watched me with a quizzical expression, then came up behind me and laced his arms around my waist, nuzzling his warm breath into the crook of neck.
“The salmon can wait,” he purred.
I laughed and slapped him away.
“No, it can’t, it’s already icy cold. I’ve also made these special honey-glazed carrots, too, they have cognac in the sauce, isn’t that fancy?”
“Baby,” he laughed, “step away from the spoon. The salmon can wait.” He took both of my hands in his.
A lump gathered in my throat to see him do it. It wasn’t what I thought it was, I knew it, it was too soon to expect that, of course. I knew not to get too excited and all, but I did, I admit it did make me think of him, you know, proposing.
I smiled at him. He smiled back. God, did he know how to smile at a girl.
He leaned in for a kiss and then he reached one of his oversized hands to rest on the fold of my hip. Still holding the dripping spoon, I kissed back and then realized: he was hard. He pressed his hipbones into mine and groaned softly as he sucked my lower lip, then squeezed my waist.
I sighed. “Ah, so that’s what you want…”
He started to kiss up and down my neck, warm breath and cool, wet kisses, pinning me against the kitchen cupboards with his broad, strong frame.
“No, no, please, tell me about these carrots,” he laughed. “This beautiful woman standing right in front of me is just a distraction, you know, what I really want is a piece of those damn carrots…”
I slapped his arm. I tried to put the spoon on the counter without making any mess.
“I love you, Sophia,” he breathed, and collapsed warm onto me. He seldom said those words. Not like that anyway.
He dragged me off to the bedroom.
“The salmon…”
“Fuck the salmon.”
He turned on the bedroom light, looked momentarily surprised by the strewn rose petals, but instantly grabbed me and laid me roughly down on top of them.
His touch felt warm. Familiar. Safe. I let my head fall back a little and closed my eyes as his heavy hands pawed over me. To be honest, I wasn’t terribly in the mood. It was late, I was tired from work, and I just wanted us to have a nice time together. But it was his birthday. I pulled him down and planted a big kiss on his lips and soon he had wriggled out of his shirt, and then began to peel mine off, too.
“Ouch,” I said, and moved his leg to stop it from pinching at the skin of my knee.
“Oops, sorry. You OK?”
I smiled at him. We kissed again, this time more gently. We had a smooth, happy rhythm, an old routine that we both knew well by now. It worked for us.
He turned me over onto my back and in one smooth movement had gently pulled apart my legs. He got to work, doing just what he knew I liked. Slow, unrushed. Respectful. Communicative.
“A little harder,” I said. He went a little harder. I tried to close my eyes and sink deeper into the moment, and soon I found it: that delicious, hot sensation welling up juicy and wet inside me. I ground my hips and smiled to myself. Here we go. I buried my fingers in his thick, sandy hair and ground my now-swollen clit against his generous tongue. He moaned and lifted my hips up to him, working over my body with smooth, syrupy motions, slowly licking me into a frenzy. I could feel his thick cock brush against my naked leg. I squeezed my eyes shut and let myself get carried away.
“Baby I want you inside me,” I said at last, which is our usual cue for him to flip me over onto my belly, tilt up my ass cheeks and kneel over me so he can slide his cock in and down into me, pinning me into the bed and pouring his body weight down into me as I cradle the pillows.
He did exactly this. I could no longer see the toned V of his torso or the thick interlocking muscles of his biceps as they flow into the veins of his forearms and wrists, but I could now feel them.
Splaying my legs wide to let him in deeper, he plunged down and in, down and in, each time sinking to the hilt into me and lifting my body slightly off the bed with each upward thrust, grinding against some deep, sweet spot inside me that always, without fail, made me come hard and long.
Something about the pressure of his cock inside me, something about how I was effectively pinned by him, held firm under his body, something about feeling the muscled flat of his abs against my upturned ass …it always did things to me.
But not today.
He slid in deep and pulled out slow again, in deep and then out slow, and I knew he was relishing the sight of me, relishing watching his dick melt into my body and emerge again, slick. I knew he liked that. I knew he liked grabbing a handful of ass and pulling back to reveal that sweet, naughty place where we connected. It felt good. Of course it felt good. But …not that good.
I felt myself staring at the unlit candle on the bedside table, and feeling …not bored, exactly. No, I wasn’t bored, that wasn’t how I was at all. But I wasn’t anything.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on the sweet words he was now breathing into my ear, as he folded forward and rested his heavy chest all along the length of my back. Ordinarily, I’d have come already. I’d have clenched down hard against his thrusting cock and waited helplessly as the waves of my orgasm pumped through my hips and shook me, and he’d wedge in deeper, growl with satisfaction, squirt inside and then collapse on me, sweat slicking our bodies together.
But not today.
I turned my head to the side and caught his eye. My long brown hair draped over my blue eye as I peered up at him. Mouth open, sideways smile on his face, he gazed down lovingly at me, and all at once, without losing eye contact, his face twisted and contorted.
“Fuck …baby, I’m…”
I thrust up my hips to meet him and quicken the pace.
“Come baby,” I mumbled into the pillow.
He gripped my ass cheeks hard and clenched his jaw, and I watched as his pecs and ab muscles rippled and tightened as he lost control. He ploughed deeper into me, roared out loud and rammed one, then two, and finally three hot spurts of cum into me, pulling out with a shudder on the last thrust and collapsing into relived giggles on my back.
“Fuck yes… I’ve been waiting all day to do that…” he cooed into my ear.
I twisted over and embraced him, and we held each other a little as his breath became regular and the red flush disappeared from his chest.
“But you…?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
“You didn’t…”
“Nah, it’s OK, I’m just tired,” I said, and tried to avoid his gaze. Sure, I was a little annoyed that he had blustered in, used to me to get
off and only now was considering what I wanted out of the deal. But that was silly. I had nothing to be unhappy about. Nothing at all.
“You don’t want…” he said and started to trace his fingers back to the inside of my thigh.
“Baby, no, I’m fine” I said and sat up quickly. I needed to clean up.
“Ok, well, do you wanna have some salmon and carrots?” he said and gave me a goofy, lopsided grin. I laughed, leaned forward and gave him a big, loud kiss on his forehead.
“Yeah, there’s dessert, too,” I said and we got up and scrambled for our clothes.
We went back into the kitchen and chatted and kissed and started to heat up the food again. For some reason, I no longer had much of an appetite, though.
Chapter 3 - Leo
“Leo! Oh my god, Leo, thank you so much!”
Groggy, I peeled my eyes open and rubbed them, trying to find the source of the sound. Sophia’s shrill voice came from somewhere else in the house. I sat up in bed, the morning light streaming onto the crumpled pillows beside me, and looked down the hall. The two cats, rolled up in the duvet with me, each blinked one eye at the noise and then went back to sleep.
“Sophia?”
It had been a strange night. Confused, I got up, went down the hall and saw her stooping at the front door, bending over to fuss with something on the floor.
She turned around, a giant bowl of extravagant flowers in her arms, and a huge smile plastered on her face.
“You got me flowers! Leo, they’re beautiful!”
She waddled up to me, leaned in close so that the lilies pressed a bit of yellow powder onto my bare chest, and gave me a chaste peck on the cheek.
But I hadn’t sent her any flowers.
I sat, staring at her for a while, eyebrows kinked.
“I’ll go and put these in some water” she said, and made her way to the kitchen.
Just as I started to wonder if they had delivered flowers to the wrong girl, my phone buzzed from inside the room. I went to get it.
Wish your girl a happy birthday from me