by S. A. Wolfe
“Most kids don’t grow up with mobsters. His life is a bit tougher, I’d say.”
“For the most part, I grew up without parents, and my brother and I were dirt poor. It screwed me up along with whatever problems I was born with. It was a bad mix and it made Carson’s life hell. He had to feed us, keep us sheltered, keep us together, and deal with my violent behavior. I made a lot of mistakes as an adult, Emma. I’m responsible for them, just like Robert is responsible for what he’s done. Having a bad childhood or a fucked up family doesn’t give you a free pass as an adult.”
“I know that.” She pushes farther away from me and huffs out an exasperated breath.
“So why does it look like you’re coddling this guy?” I prop myself up on one arm as she folds her arms and looks up at the ceiling with teary eyes.
“I don’t coddle Robert. You don’t understand. He was very important to me, and I hate to see him being framed like this. He deserves better from his father.”
The fury builds in my chest and moves up to my face like gasoline being ignited with a single dropped match.
“Do you hear yourself? Your ex-boyfriend admitted to participating in a crime and you think he’s being treated unfairly?” My face is directly above hers.
“I think, if he committed a crime, he has to pay the price, but that subjects him to death—a hit by his own father. I don’t know what price he has to pay, but it shouldn’t be death.” She looks unbearably sad as she closes her eyes and her long, dark lashes plaster themselves with tears against her cheeks.
“You don’t know that he’s going to be a target. I think he’s exaggerating his circumstances to get you on his side. Did he ask you to leave with him?” I can barely maintain a civil tone. I want to scream some sense into her.
When I met her, I knew she had street smarts and a tough, wise-ass mouth. What happened to that strong girl?
She doesn’t respond, which pretty much answers my question.
“Emma,” I demand, “did he give you a sob story and tell you he needs you?”
“Yes,” she hisses, “but not in the way you’re implying. He was trying to explain what was going on and why he wanted to see me. We have a history together—we’ve seen a lot of the same stuff. There’s an understanding between us that other people don’t get.”
“Like me? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Sean is right; Robert is scared. He’s in a bad place and he thought seeing me would help.”
“Did it?” I am too loud. I plant my left arm on the other side of her, trapping her.
“Maybe it helped him, but it sure freaked me out. I never expected to see him like this. It… it’s hard for me to see him falling apart and in danger. I broke up with him because I saw a change in him over that last year. It all had to do with the business, and I didn’t want to have my future infected with his father’s seedy organization. Robert and I both thought he could separate himself from it and we’d get to move on and have our own life. We were falling apart. He was acting weird, and I couldn’t take it anymore. The bad stuff is just following him and me.”
“You still love him, don’t you?”
“No, not like that. I care about him, though. And I never thought it would ever come to this. There are things he’s not telling me, and it’s frightening to think that what he’s hiding may be worse than what he’s already told me.”
“You’re sure that this isn’t that you’re not thinking clearly because you’re still in love with him?” I hate asking the question. I want her to sound more positive about her long, stowed-away emotions for this guy. That they have disintegrated to the point of being dead. I want any feelings she has for him now to be insignificant compared to what she may feel for me.
The urge to run my fingers through her long hair and take her body with every part of me brings out my more brutal side.
“You seem to have conveniently forgotten that this dreamy fuckhead of yours is also part of an organization that has threatened and shaken down your father for years. Why you’d ever get involved with him in the first place escapes me, and I have to question why you’re here with me. Maybe I should ask myself why we’re… together.”
I sound like an ass. I figure it’s my last chance to make her come to her senses or at least acknowledge that she can’t keep seeing this guy or letting herself get emotionally strung out over him.
“Are we together?” she asks defensively. “Haven’t we concocted a convenient arrangement to sleep together and pretend to play house? And another thing, my father was also given protection. He’s gotten something out of it. It’s not ideal, but it’s what we have.”
“First of all, we’re not playing house, otherwise you’d be doing your share of work around here, princess.” I am in her face, but she looks so angry and pretty I just want to kiss her and erase this argument. “Personally, I don’t think your circumstances are very convenient for me—you letting an ex-boyfriend hang on. You think that works for me? And stop trying to rationalize this whole screwed up place you come from. It’s not working for me.” I now have her slender body and limbs pinned to the bed, and her lips are an inch from mine.
“I sound like I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” she responds, her breath heating my face.
“You’re worth it. It’s already been established that I like you a lot.” I soften my tone. I am not the most patient guy; I want her to cave in to her feelings and desire for me. I refuse to let her eyes leave mine.
“I like you, too.”
Emma glances down at my mouth, which is all it takes for me to swoop in and take her bottom lip before parting her mouth with my tongue. My mind retreats to that pleasant place where I get lost in her touch. She tastes and smells like sugar as I take her mouth more aggressively. As my hand slides under her shirt, pushing her bra up so I can run my thumb across a hard nipple, she moans and strokes my back with both of her hands and slides them under the waist of my jeans. She then inches under my briefs, running her nails against my skin before she squeezes my ass. My cock responds in kind and swells eagerly against her.
“Take your shirt off,” she demands.
“Whatever you say.” The t-shirt gets tossed.
“And don’t ever call me princess again,” she adds, splaying her hands down my chest and running her fingers down my stomach. “God, Dylan, you are…” Her breath hitches and her eyes roam over my chest and arms with desire.
Having her look at me with appreciation and lust makes me feel like both a self-conscious sad sack that needs to convince a woman he is the one for her and a selfish, greedy bastard who wants more of her in every way.
She begins stripping off her own clothes while I remove my jeans and briefs. I didn’t plan on using her somber, depressing encounter with her ex as a way to get her into bed, however I am not going to pass up this opportunity, especially when she’s taking the initiative.
I chuckle when she reaches into her nightstand and pulls out a condom.
“I took a stash from your room. Thought they might come in handy here,” she says as she tears the package and rolls the condom on my hard cock.
I am too mesmerized with her actions, her hands and how she looks naked beneath me, to say anything. As I admire her creamy skin and perfect tits with rosy pink centers, she literally slams me with a kiss and pushes her hands against my chest so that I fall over on my back. She quickly straddles me, holding my cock firmly in one hand while she braces herself against the headboard with her other hand. When she pushes up on her knees and begins rubbing herself with my cock, that image alone is enough to make me come.
I grit my teeth and try to hold everything in, but then she arches her back and pushes her perky tits out and I have to fondle them. I am rough, squeezing her soft flesh at the same time that I try to push myself into her. She manages to keep me from thrusting into her by moving up higher on her knees and keeping a firm grasp on my cock so it only grazes her wetness.
She is teasing me.
“Ah, fuck, prince—babe.”
“Oh, you almost made a fatal mistake. One more princess and I would have stopped and you’d go poof.” She smiles.
I hold her hips and use more force to pull her onto my hard, aching dick.
“I need you now,” I grunt out.
“I know.” Her voice is husky as she rubs the tip of my cock against herself, moaning. “And you’re making me so wet.”
I am ready for this cock tease to end. I consider tossing her on her back and plunging into her, yet she beats me to it by impaling herself on me in one move.
“Thank God,” I groan.
She throws her head back and uses both hands on the headboard to thrust against me in a long, slow rhythm. I grip her hips, afraid I will come too soon then I move my hands back to her nipples and fondle them until she moans and grinds harder against me.
“That feels so amazing,” she says, opening her eyes.
She looks down at me, her hair cascading wildly around her. She looks like a sexy feline creature, aroused beyond recognition. I am so fucking turned on; I need her to come this minute.
I rub my thumb against her clit. She is so wet I need to slip two fingers between our grinding bodies. I use my other hand to tease her nipples. She grips the headboard tighter and begins slamming into me faster, grinding and thrusting. She is losing control and, as she constricts against my cock, I know I am pretty much done, too.
“Come,” I hiss. “Come.”
“Hey, stud, saying it doesn’t make it happen faster,” she says breathlessly.
“Please,” I grit. “Don’t think guys have the ability to hold out longer when their dicks give the orders. There’s a hierarchy here. Dick, dick, dick, Dylan.”
She laughs and then her eyes glaze over as she climaxes. Her face flushes while she continues to gyrate with the orgasm rolling through her. She lets out a long, deep moan as her arms begin to lose their hold on the bed frame. I grab her waist and thrust up violently, and in a matter of seconds, my release is just as explosive. She is going boneless in her euphoric state, so I have to hold her up and finish driving myself into her.
I shout out as I empty every last bit of myself and then let Emma’s body fold onto me. We are both breathing hard. My brain is attempting to refocus and come back to reality, but it is impossible with this beautiful creature clinging to me. I deposit her gently on her side so I can get rid of the condom. When I return to the bed, she is stretched out with one thigh crossed over the other as if she is posed like an acrobat. Her eyes are closed and she looks content.
“The answer is yes,” I say, sliding in next to her and wrapping an arm around her waist.
She opens her eyes and turns her head towards me. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, we’re together. Whatever it is you think you owe Robert, you’re not with him. I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re together.”
She runs the back of her hand gently up my cheek and then her fingers playfully trace the scars on my head. I am not sure I’ve said the right thing to her. She is quiet and contemplative as she studies the deformed gorges of flesh on my scalp.
“Look at me,” I demand.
Emma’s gaze wanders down to meet mine.
“Are you done with that guy?” I don’t even want to say his name out loud.
“Dylan, I have no intention of being involved with him romantically, if that’s what you mean.”
“Seeing him, feeling sorry for him, agonizing over his situation—all of that does make you involved with him romantically because you are reminiscing with him, leading him to believe that you’re there for him.”
“Then you and I have a very different definition of a romantic relationship.”
“Maybe it’s not intimate… because then I’d have to kill him,” I say and she chuckles. “But everything else you are giving him—your attention… and hope… that’s romance, baby. And you can’t be with me and have that with him, too.”
She looks startled. “Is this an ultimatum? Because if it is, I can move out now and go live with Imogene and Lauren.”
“No.”
“Dylan,” she starts angrily. “No, this isn’t an ultimatum? What?”
“No, I don’t want you to leave, but I’m not going to share you.”
“You’re not. Robert is… I may never see him again. After what he told me today, I think it was his final goodbye.”
“And what if it wasn’t?”
I saw how Robert looked at her. That appearance of hope that Emma could still belong to him. It made me twinge with anger that there is a part of her that belongs to him, those memories of when she was in love with him. If I could obliterate those memories, I probably would; yet I don’t know if I would have ever met her if it hadn’t been for the man and the life she was trying to leave behind.
Eighteen
Emma
My phone call with my father is short and useless. He sounds agitated and anxious to end our conversation. He also does a damn fine job of sidestepping my questions about Vincent Marchetto and whatever rumors are circulating through his underworld network. It sounds like Hades and his minions. I wish it were that simple. A little Greek mythology, I can handle; an evasive father who has a history with the mob, I can’t.
He says my mother is well and having a nice time in Florida with my grandma, and he can’t say any more about Robert or his father because it is in my best interest to be an ignorant boob. Of course, he didn’t put it like that, however that’s what it comes down to when any man tells me he is keeping information from me for my own good.
Fuck. Them. All.
While Dylan throws together our breakfast, I’m thankful he doesn’t bring up Robert. He wolfs down his food with his meds, telling me to stop pushing my food around on my plate. He wants to work out and decides that he is not going to leave me alone in the house while he goes on his usual run, so I have to watch him exercise in the house, shirtless and sweaty, doing push-ups. I am thrilled.
The air is electrified as I knit some rainbow concoction and subtly watch him from behind my knitting needles while Dylan hauls his bench set and weights up from the basement and organizes them in the sparse living room.
“Great, now this place is going to smell like a gym,” I say, but I really don’t mind.
There’s not much else to do out here since our cable went out days ago unless, of course, we want to have non-stop sex. This naturally crosses my mind every ten minutes or so, and with the way Dylan periodically looks at me in-between his bench sets or on his strolls to the kitchen for water, I would say he is thinking the same thing. Besides, since moving to town, I had to give up my gym workouts and haven’t committed to an exercise program of any kind unless you count sex as a legitimate workout, and I do. I have to work off all those home-cooked meals Dylan provides.
It’s just us in this house with the scent of Dylan’s sweat and the atmosphere’s charged with the excitement of our new relationship, wherever that stands. If I weren’t worried about Robert’s safety, this arrangement with Dylan would be perfect. He glances at me, too, as if he is aware of my thoughts, and most likely, it leaves him with some uncertainty about me.
I left Robert because I finally received a wake-up call about the reality of our situation. If we were together, we would never be free of his father, and the sweet idea I conjured up of an idyllic marriage and family would never happen the way I had imagined. Robert is not the same boy I fell in love with, and I’m not the same girl.
It has occurred to me that I am also entering into unknown territory with Dylan. It’s easy to get caught up in the early stages of flirting and sexual desire; it’s another to live together and pretend it is casual, and including Dylan’s issues into the scenario makes it that much more precarious.
I am falling for him, and even though we don’t say it, our bond is growing. I hope I am not leading him on. I think about
that every time I have a moment to recall Robert or have a flashback down memory lane, remembering when Robert was my knight. Girls don’t need knights in shining armor, but it sure is nice when they show up, and I have had two in my life now. I hope Dylan is the real long-term deal, though.
“Oh, this is wonderful,” Lauren says over the phone when I call to tell her that Carson has offered me the job. “And you’ll be working with Dylan. Good thing he’s mellowed out.”
“He couldn’t have been that bad,” I reply.
“He’s not busting heads anymore.” She laughs, but there is no humor in her tone. “I told you, he and Carson had it rough, but there was a time when Dylan made everything worse. He’d get in fights over little things and would do reckless things.”
“Like what?”
“He was easily provoked and would spin into these rampages. He was a straight-A student, but there was perpetual fighting, getting kicked out of school, college suspensions, and illegal motorcycle races. God, Dylan was all over the place, and I never saw him with the same woman twice.” She laughs again uncomfortably as if it is for my benefit.
“But you said he’s done with treatment and he’s better.” I am trying to picture Carson’s younger brother, who I haven’t met yet. Carson is so mature and professional; it’s hard to believe his brother would be the complete opposite.
“He is getting better,” Lauren explains. “It’s kind of new for all of us to see Dylan this way. I grew up with the guy. His mother’s illness and death was devastating for him because he was just a kid. And then his dad shot himself when Dylan was a teenager. Between puberty and the family illness, Dylan really needed a parent then. His parents’ deaths absolutely destroyed him.
“His father’s side had a history of mental illness, so it wasn’t exactly surprising that Dylan was diagnosed as bipolar, but he wasn’t getting the right assistance. Carson was a teenager, so it’s not like he knew how to help his brother. We saw a lot of Dylan’s explosive behaviors when he was manic and out of control, and then he’d crash into a deep depression—sometimes vocal and angry, sometimes quiet and closed off. The crazy cycles went on for years, but we never got used to it. He could be kind and lovable one day and then moody and pissed off the next.”