by A. Zavarelli
I could do all those things, but she still won’t be Natalia. She won’t smell like her or taste like her, and I’m convinced she wouldn’t feel the same wrapped around my body.
My breath hisses between my teeth when the woman touches my dick, stroking it without warning. It should come as no surprise. This is what I came here for. This is what I always get. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, it feels all wrong somehow.
“Stop,” I command.
Her hand freezes and then falls away as I open my eyes and stare up at her through the mask.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I force my voice to retain control. “It’s not you. I’ve just … changed my mind.”
She looks visibly distraught by my confession, so I try my best to reassure her.
“I’ll leave payment and a tip for you at the front.”
She dips her head and leaves, slipping out quietly and shutting the door behind her. I curse to myself and stare down at my offending cock, swollen and needy with a new mind of its own. Apparently, not any hand will do.
“Fuck you,” I growl, gripping it in my palm and tugging viciously. “You can’t have her.”
I feel manic, jerking myself off to disjointed images of Natalia. Images I’ve studied at night in my office from the privacy of my computer. Shots I’ve replayed over and over. Her delicate hands. Her fucking smile. The way she walks. The way she sleeps. It isn’t enough to watch these things from a distance anymore, and that’s a goddamned problem. Right now, I don’t care. In my head, I’m fucking her every filthy way I’ve ever witnessed. I’m spreading her legs apart and ripping her blouse open and sucking on her tits through the lace material of her bra. I’m unraveling her hair and biting her neck and making her sit on my face until she soaks me in her pleasure. Only then do I get to feel her, only then do I sink my cock deep into her body and fuck her until I explode.
The imagery is too much. My muscles are tightening, spasming, as air hisses through my teeth. With enough force to shake the table, I blow my load, shooting it across my abdomen. It’s a violent release. More violent than any I’ve had before. I can only credit it to the madness infecting my mind, and as I stand up and clean myself, I worry this is just the beginning.
It’s only going to get worse from here.
9
Natalia
After a rough two days with Nino, he finally starts to show improvement. By the third day, he’s happily eating and drinking on his own. My nerves are frayed, and I’m exhausted, but I’m so relieved to see him doing well enough to return to school. Alessio, on the other hand, seems to have alternate plans. I haven’t spoken to him since our last encounter, hoping to continue avoiding him, but I know he’s been to visit Nino while I’ve slept in the chair beside his bed. I pretended to be asleep while Manuel and the doctor gave him updates on Nino’s progress. However, it would appear my luck has run out. This morning, I found a handwritten note from him taped to my door. It’s a far cry from his usual way of doing things, like bursting in and scaring me half to death when I’m asleep.
The note directed me to keep Nino home for the rest of the week, in addition to a request for me to meet with Alessio in the first-floor office at nine p.m. this evening. At the bottom, there was an addendum to go over Nino’s list of after-school activities. To my shock, he’s given me carte blanche to eliminate the things Nino does not enjoy, except for his Italian studies, which are a requirement. I suspect that’s because of his heritage, and perhaps it even has something to do with whatever criminal network Alessio is involved in, but I don’t know for sure.
What I do know is that I’m nervous about seeing him today. To my horror, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what he said the other day. He had a need to tend to. Those words were specific, and I suspect intentional, as if he wanted to punish me somehow by saying them. I don’t know why he thinks I should care what he does or with whom, but it bothers me that he seems to be aware that it does affect me. For three days, I’ve imagined what she must look like, what he must do with her. It’s nagged at me. It’s eaten at me. It’s ridiculous.
I can’t have these feelings toward him, ever. Entrapping myself with unnecessary emotions will only make the endgame harder than it has to be. No matter how I might be tempted to let my guard down, the results will be the same. This can only end one of two ways. Either he will die, or I will.
The only way to resolve this issue is to put it out of my mind and get back to my routine. Since I’ve been too nervous about leaving Nino’s side while he was ill, I’ve scarcely eaten myself, and I haven’t had time to do my morning workout. During my time here, I’ve made good use of Alessio’s home gym. Right now, I am craving that movement. I need something to expend this frustration and make me feel human again.
Once Nino is safely tucked into bed, and I’m certain he’s asleep, I change into my gym clothes and head downstairs. It’s not often that I wander the house this time of the night, but I find it’s always quiet when I do. I’ve learned that Angelina doesn’t reside on the premises, but Manuel does. However, he’s usually in his room by seven. As for Alessio, he keeps to himself on the third floor of his private lair. That means I have the space to myself, much to my relief.
In the gym, I push myself through a series of endurance and strength-based exercises I’ve practiced for years. I’m shaking with exhaustion by the time I finish, and I find it frustrating that just a few days away from my routine has left me feeling weaker. I need to maintain my strength. This is the one area I cannot allow myself to become complacent.
Irritated, I wipe myself with a towel and splash some cold water on my face at the sink. A cold shower would do better, but I find myself glancing at the adjoining glass wall that leads to the pool area. I’ve sat by that pool many times already, nervously watching Nino as the instructor gives him his lessons. I don’t like the water. I’ve tried to avoid it at any cost. But there’s a part of me that knows the water outside might be my only escape when the time comes. I didn’t come this far to let one of my fears get the best of me.
I turn around and peek back out into the hall, checking to make sure it’s empty. I didn’t bring a suit, but I can swim in my bra and underwear. Stripping off my leggings and tee-shirt, I carefully fold them up and set them onto the wooden bench before I open the door to the pool area. The smell of chlorine hits me immediately, and strangely, it is of some comfort. It’s a reminder that this water isn’t endless. It’s not pulling me under, threatening to drown me in its murky depths. This water has a floor and four walls, and I will be safe here as long as I manage my expectations.
I walk to the edge of the stairs and dip my toe inside, swirling it around to test the temperature. It’s moderately warm and inviting. At least, that’s my mantra as I force myself to descend the stairs and lower my body into the blue abyss.
For a few moments, I just sit there, managing my breath and trying to adjust to the feeling. It’s not that I don’t know how to swim. I spent every summer at the lake with my father when I was growing up, but those recollections have all been tainted by the last memory I have of the water. Drowning. Clawing. Dying. I didn’t think I’d ever get out, and I haven’t wanted to return since. But, like anything else, I refuse to allow those fears to stand in the way of my goal.
Slowly, I position my head forward and push my legs out, slicing my arm through the air and back into the water. It’s not at all smooth, but I repeat the motion again and again until it is. I swim lap after lap until I’m breathless, clinging to the edge, and truly unable to continue. My fingers have turned to prunes, and my eyes burn from the water, but I can be proud of myself for doing what I set out to do.
One step at a time. That’s how I’ll get there.
I edge myself toward the stairs and drag my body up to the deck, pausing to wring out my hair. It’s only at this point I realize I don’t have a towel, and when I glance toward the linen closet, I’m startled by a sound.
There isn’t time to process what I’m seeing. It just happens. One minute, I’m standing there in my wet underwear, and the next, I’m witnessing Alessio emerge from the sauna, completely naked.
My breath gets caught in my throat as he pauses, turning to look at me. At least, I think he is. I can’t be certain because my eyes are blazing a path down his body, right over the huge cock hanging between his thighs.
Holy shit.
Holy freaking shit.
I have to stop looking. That’s what I’m telling myself, but I can’t. It’s just … there. I haven’t seen a naked man up close like this, well, ever really. The one time I was even with a man, he only unzipped his jeans. It was nothing like this. He was nothing like Alessio, who is somehow even more beautiful than I imagined. He’s strong, with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and muscular thighs. On some level, I knew from what I could see beneath his suits, these qualities existed. Now, they are undeniable. His strength is unmatched in any man I’ve seen before. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to believe my imagination was overcompensating. It wasn’t. He’s here, and he’s real, and I’m still staring at his dick.
Oh my god.
My eyes shoot up, pausing momentarily on his chest when I notice a few round scars there. They appear to be bullet wounds, or at least, that would be my guess. I make a mental note of it and keep my gaze moving, horrified to see he’s staring at me too. When I glance down, it’s only then I realize my white bra and panties are displaying … well, everything. I slap my hands over my body, humiliated and ashamed, but it only gets worse. He can see all the scars littering my arms and torso now, and he will know everything I’ve told him is a lie.
“Natalia.” His voice snaps my attention back to his face. “Stay. We need to talk.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I swallow the painful lump in my throat as I begin to tremble. I’m cursing myself for being so careless when he walks to the linen closet and removes two towels. He wraps one around his waist, but not before I can see the length of his growing erection.
I’m confused and uncertain as he strides toward me and tosses me the towel. I use it immediately, swaddling my body away from his hawk-like gaze.
“You were supposed to meet me,” he says.
Shit. I glance around for a clock, but I don’t see one. Alessio checks his watch and reads the time.
“Nine-thirty.”
I do my best to offer my apologies without a phone. My instinct is to sign to him, even though I know he doesn’t understand. His lips draw together, and he points to a pool chair facing the door.
“Sit there. We will have our meeting in a moment.”
I stare at him pleadingly, but if he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He disappears behind me, and I watch his reflection in the glass as he removes his towel and walks down the stairs into the cold plunge pool. My eyes widen as he submerges his entire body, staying there for what feels like minutes. I’ve felt the temperature of that small pool, and I know how icy it is. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that to themselves, but Alessio seems unfazed when he resurfaces and retrieves his towel.
A small part of me wonders if he needed a cold dip because he feels this strange pull between us too. I don’t see how it’s even possible, considering how I look with all my scars on display, but he must have felt some attraction. That’s the only logical explanation for his cock hardening the way it did.
Shit. I have to stop thinking about that. I try to put it from my mind as he reappears, gesturing for me to follow him.
“We’ll go into the sauna. Have a meeting as the Finns do.”
I hesitate, and he glances back at me. “I have a schedule, Natalia. You disrupted it this evening when you failed to meet me. If I remember correctly, you once lectured me about wasting one’s time.”
I force a nod, but deep down, I’m wondering if this is it. Is he going to kill me in the sauna? Is he just drawing it out, giving me time to consider all the ways it might happen? I know he’s seen my scars. He never believed me from the beginning, and I’m certain he will challenge me now. I don’t know what to do because I didn’t plan for this contingency. Not so early. If he tries to kill me, I will fight him. I will do the only thing I can and try to kill him first.
He opens the door for me, and we step inside. It’s hot, almost unbearably so, but I can’t think about that right now. Alessio retrieves a bucket hanging from the wall and dumps some water onto the hot rocks, introducing steam to the environment. He takes a seat on the wooden bench, pointing to the area beside him. It’s the space between him and the glass windowpane.
“You can write your responses there.”
I release a quiet breath and nod, taking the seat next to him. The space is so large I don’t know why he’s sitting so close to me. It doesn’t make sense unless he plans to confront me. From here, I can smell the clean woodsy scent I recognize as his, and between that and the heat, it’s slightly intoxicating.
A few long moments pass where I wait for him to speak. I’m beginning to wonder if he even will when my gaze slips to his large hands. They are so big he could easily wrap them around my throat and snap my neck. It wouldn’t take much force from him, but would he?
Even knowing what I do, there’s still a delusional part of me that wants to believe he’s different. He wouldn’t hurt me. I know it’s stupid. Once he realizes my true intentions with him, he will certainly want to destroy me. He probably won’t even hesitate. He’ll just … kill me.
The silence is suffocating me, and I’m on the verge of a panic attack when he finally breaks it.
“I need something from you,” he says.
I swallow hard, repeatedly telling myself not to glance at his towel covered crotch.
“I could use your assistance.” He lowers his voice and clears his throat. “What I mean to say is I want you to make Nino … like me.”
My head whips toward him, and I stare at him in disbelief. He seems irritated by my response, but I can’t help it. This was not at all what I was expecting.
I turn toward the glass and slide my finger through the condensation, writing out a short message that disappears a moment later in the heat.
What do you mean?
“I thought it was clear. He is afraid of me. He doesn’t want to spend time with me. You seem to possess some magic formula, and I want you to use that to change his feelings about me.”
My eyes move over his face, and I can see a glimpse of his vulnerability for the first time since I met him. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before, but he has guarded it well. I had assumed he just didn’t care if Nino liked him. I had assumed a lot of things, actually, and now I am questioning all of them. Regardless, he has to know that what he’s asking for isn’t realistic.
“I’ll give you a bonus,” he adds as if this should be the motivating factor for me.
It’s not about the money, I write. What you’re asking . . . that’s not the way relationships work.
He grimaces at that word, and I can’t understand why. “You can fix it. I know you are capable. You have won him over.”
Yes, but it’s not for me to win him over on your behalf. It has to be you who does that.
He shakes his head like it’s impossible. “That won’t work.”
I get the sense that what he’s really saying is he doesn’t know how. He has tried and failed, and now he wants a magic fix. What he’s asking goes against every instinct I have, but that human part of me feels empathy for him on some level. He wants a bond with Nino, as any father figure would. But I’m not entirely sure that’s the best thing for Nino. What kind of influence will Alessio have on his life? Does he plan to raise him with the expectation that men can’t have or express their emotions? Will he raise him to be a killer too? The thought of it twists my stomach. Regardless, his plans don’t really matter, do they? I don’t even know why I’m taking them into consideration when I know he won’t be here to fulfill them.
I don’t kn
ow what his goals are with Nino, but I have to remember to look at this situation through the lens as he sees it. He is Nino’s guardian, and I am nothing more than a nanny. My opinions on his job or his affiliations outside of this house have nothing to do with me. I am here to provide a service, and right now, he is asking me to do just that. The added benefit is that as long as he’s talking to me about this, he isn’t focused on my scars, and I’m not thinking about him ending my life. Still, I can’t force Nino to adapt his emotions to suit Alessio. If he wants that, he has to earn it.
You need to spend more time with him, and it can’t just be on your terms. If you want him to like you, find something he enjoys, and do that activity with him. Teach him something. Talk to him without expectations. Allow him a chance to express himself without fear of disappointing you or saying the wrong thing.
I pause for a few moments to let the heat erase the message before I continue.
Praise him. Show him affection. You will find it’s not as difficult as you imagine. There is no magic formula. The most valuable thing you can give him is your time.
Alessio watches the words dissipate and then turns his gaze to me. “You say it is simple, but it’s not.”
Something in me softens at the sadness in his eyes. The irony of this situation is that he’s a man who exists in a perpetual fog of dissociation. Now, he is tasked with the job of teaching a child to self-regulate. From the outside looking in, he seems to be in control of everything, always. But I know this isn’t the case. When uncomfortable situations threaten him, he actively avoids them. He detaches from everyone around him, shutting himself off as a defense mechanism. I recognize these behaviors because I’ve used them myself. This is why survivors of trauma often find a bond with each other. Like attracts like. We are both dysfunctional in our own ways. I want to believe that’s the simplest explanation for me warming to this man. I don’t have to know his history to understand the pain he hides behind those stark eyes. I can feel it every time I look at him.