by Stacia Stone
She raises eyebrows that are so blonde they’re nearly white. “Mara didn’t tell you? She’s supposed to be coming to my uncle’s lodge in Aspen for winter break. My family goes every Christmas, it’s like a tradition or whatever. My Uncle Ernie used to be a championship skier. He qualified for the Olympics in like 1998, or 1994 maybe. But then he broke his leg or his hip and couldn’t compete. Now he has a school that teaches the basics to kids.”
Trying to follow a conversation with this chick might be the most exhausting thing that I’ve ever done. I’m more than a little relieved when Mara appears in the still open doorway.
“Lynn?” she says, surprise in her voice.
The girl lets out an ear-piercing shriek that sounds exactly like some kind of threat-deterrent alarm. She launches herself at Mara. A huge grin spreads across Mara’s face. I feel another pang at taking her away from here. Maybe she’d be safe in Aspen?
Or maybe those bikers would find her in Aspen, then take out Lynn and Lynn’s whole family.
“I thought you left already.”
“I just couldn’t go back without making sure you were doing okay.” Lynn’s full cheeks are flushed pink with pleasure. “I was so worried about you. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m so sorry, Lynn. There’s been a lot going on.”
“It’s cool, you’re back now.” Lynn wraps her arm around Mara’s waist and I realize her head only comes up to Mara’s shoulder. “Are you ready for Aspen?”
“Oh, shit.” Mara’s face is guilty. “I didn’t even think about calling to tell you. I can’t go to Aspen right now.”
“What? Why not?”
“I have to deal with some court stuff and Papa’s estate.” Mara hesitates before taking a deep breath in. “He kind of left me everything.”
“Oh my God. Are you serious.” Lynn’s expression is shocked. “What about your mom?”
Mara spares me a glance but quickly turns back to Lynn. “That’s one of the things that I have to deal with.”
“Wow, man. That’s so heavy. Wasn’t he kind of rich?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“That’s like so sad and bittersweet, you know. You get handed all this money. But you can’t even enjoy it when it only came your way because somebody you love died. I’m so sorry, honey.”
They hug and I watch Mara’s face. Sadness is etched in every feature, but her eyes are dry. Is this chick even capable of producing tears?
“Wait, what’s this?” Lynn has a hold of Mara’s left hand and she’s staring down at the ring on Mara’s finger.
Mara snatches her hand away. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s definitely something on your ring finger. Did someone give that to you?”
“No. Uh…it’s just something left over from Papa’s estate. I don’t want it to get lost and this is the only finger it’ll fit on until I get it resized.”
The suspicious look on Lynn’s face makes me think she’s more astute than Mara is giving her credit for. Lynn glances at me, her gaze moving over the pressed suit and gelled hair. “How do you two know each other, again?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I was a friend of her granddad. I just offered to drive her back to school for the exam.”
I can practically see the wheels turning in Lynn’s head. But she doesn’t press any harder. Despite her talkative nature, the girl is obviously someone who knows when to stop asking questions. It actually makes me like her a little.
“Have fun in Aspen and drive safe,” Mara says, obviously intent on changing the subject. “We have to head back, but I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Let me know if things change, okay. You can always meet us in Aspen.”
Mara casts me a significant look as she inches back toward the door. Clearly, sticking around to get the rest of her stuff is less important than getting out of there quickly. She obviously doesn’t want Lynn to know any more than is absolutely necessary.
I can’t say I blame her, but you got to be careful with secrets. In my experience, they have a way of coming back at the perfect moment to bite you firmly on the ass.
Chapter Ten
Mara
My wedding day begins with a thunderstorm and freezing rain. Which is really annoying, but somehow perfectly appropriate to the occasion.
I don’t know if you can even call it a wedding day, when there isn’t actually a wedding. Two people standing unhappily in front of the justice of the peace in a tiny room at the courthouse — that also doubles as a notary’s office — is pretty much the opposite of a ceremony.
It’s not like I’m one of those girls who spends hours on Pinterest putting together idea boards and fantasizing about their perfect day. I’ve never wanted a crazy spectacle like something off of that show Bridezillas. But I always assumed my wedding would be something simple and beautiful.
Even my low expectations didn’t sink quite this far down.
Leo stands beside me, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to another. He might be the only one in the room less eager for this than I am.
We haven’t talked much since coming back from Ithaca. He disappeared that night to go to “work” and staggered back in just before dawn, his eyes bloodshot and anger written in the lines of his body.
I didn’t bother asking him what he was doing. Not just because I’m positive he wouldn’t tell me anyway, but mostly because I really don’t want to know.
Mafia women know how it goes. You get to spend the money and live in the big house in a nice neighborhood. But in return for all that, you don’t get to ask any questions. Mobsters don’t bring their work home. But that means the wife gets to be surprised when the walls inevitably come crashing down around them.
All I can do is hope that whatever shit Leo’s involved with stays the hell away from me. But when have I ever been that lucky?
The ring on my finger feels heavy. It’s like an iron shackle instead of a white-gold band with one small stone. From the grim expression on Leo’s face, we’re on the same page in that respect.
The justice who’s marrying us rambles on about the beauty of marriage and forging a life together. I’d told the guy on the phone that we wanted something short, to the point and not-so-sweet. But he apparently failed to understand my meaning.
All we need is the bits that are required by law. Everything else is a waste of time.
“Can you hurry this shit along?” Leo snaps the question. It’s as if he’s reading my mind.
The justice stutters a little bit and quails under Leo’s glare. But he does up the pace. One of the receptionists sits in a folding chair behind us. She’s there to serve as a witness when we finally get to signing the paperwork. When I glance back, she has one leg slung over the other and a black pump taps in the air as she files her nails.
Like I said, nobody is enjoying this.
“Leo Baglio, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The justice grumbles a little at that. But he lets it go and turns to me. “Mara Matarazzo, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I glare at Leo. Does he always have to be such a caveman? “I do.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Knowing Leo, I’m expecting him to grab me in some wet, hard and totally inappropriate kiss. Instead, he presses his lips chastely against mine for the briefest moment before pulling away.
Maybe he doesn’t like an audience.
“We done here?”
The justice lays papers out on the desk. “You just need to sign these forms here, Mr. Baglio. I do all of the filing with the court, so after that you’ll be free to go.”
Leo quickly scrawls his signature and I follow suit. Before Leo drags me out of there, I slip the justice a nice tip to make up for my new husband’s bad attitude.
It must be nice to just do whatever you want all of the time wit
hout having to worry about the consequences.
Telling Leo that I wanted to wait for sex until after we got married was a huge mistake. I thought the extra time to come to terms with it all would make things a little bit easier.
I couldn’t be more wrong.
The anticipation just has my anxiety at a terrifying peak. Fear of the unknown and dread of all the things that I imagine he’ll do to me have coalesced into a painful knot at the pit of my stomach. It would have made more sense to just get the worst over with two weeks ago. At least then I wouldn’t be sitting here, scared out of my mind.
I watch as Leo slams through the apartment. He’s full of restless energy like a caged animal. I want to make myself as small as possible in the hope that he forgets I’m here. But I also have a desperate urge to force him to direct all of that energy directly at me.
A girl as smart as me shouldn’t want something this dangerous.
Finally, my nerves have become too jangled to bear it. Leo disappears into the bedroom and I scurry toward the kitchen. I reach for the row of liquor bottles on the shelf above the bar and pull down the first one that my fingers touch. I just need a little something to calm myself down before I lose my mind completely.
I swallow a scream as an arm wraps solidly around my waist. The bottle is pulled from my limp fingers.
His voice rumbles against my back. “You drink too much.”
“Don’t you think that’s a case of the pot calling the kettle an alcoholic?” I try to pull away but he holds me hard against him.
Leo surprises me by laughing at that. “You married me this morning, remember? You’re my responsibility now — pretty sure that includes your liver.”
“I don’t remember that being in the vows.”
He turns me around and pushes my stiff body back against the counter. When I look up into his eyes, the anger that seethed in the dark depths all day has morphed into something else.
His lips press against mine in a kiss that’s deep and searching. His arms around me keep me trapped against him, not that I’m trying to get away. I know I’ve spent a good amount of time imagining creative ways of murdering him in his sleep. But the minute he touches me, it lights a fire under my skin that feels like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.
“Are you nervous?” He asks against my lips.
“Yes,” I say on an exhale. There’s no reason to lie when he can probably see the answer written all over my face.
“Good.” The look in his eyes is inky and brooding. “You don’t get to numb yourself anymore, at least not to this. I want you to feel everything.”
The words should terrify me, but instead, a thrill of desire shoots down my spine.
His hand slides up my body to twist in my hair, pulling hard enough on the strands that my head automatically tips to the side. He presses a kiss against the frantic pulse in my throat.
“Do you want me to tell you what I’m going to do to you, or do you want it to be a surprise?”
There’s no good answer to that question because both options seem equally terrifying. “I’m not sure.”
The hand in my hair moves down my temple and then pinches my cheek hard enough that I yelp. “For such a smart chick, you have a terrible memory. What are you forgetting?”
I swallow hard, his first lesson still fresh in my memory. “I’m not sure…sir.”
Apparently, this is still the game he wants to play.
He rewards me with a soft kiss. It’s in direct contrast to the hard grip of his hands on my arms as he presses me back against the counter.
“Did you cry when you found out your granddad was dead?”
The question is enough to surprise me out of the growing haze of desire. It’s hard to think back to that moment. I remember an overwhelming feeling of despair and a sadness so complete that it felt like I’d never be happy again.
But I didn’t cry.
I just shake my head in answer.
The smile that flits across his face is so small that I almost miss it. “I thought so, but I wanted to be sure.”
Why does it matter to him if I cried? I want to ask, but I don’t think that I want to know the answer.
He kisses me again. This time his lips are ruthless against mine. His teeth press hard against the fragile skin. I’ve been kissed by other guys before, but nothing like him. It’s like he wants to crawl inside of me or eat me alive.
When he pulls away, there isn’t a trace of tenderness in his expression. He turns with me still in his arms so he leans back against the counter and then lets me go.
“Take off your clothes.”
What? Light still shines through the bay windows along the far side of the apartment, but all I can see is the darkness in his eyes. It’s still the afternoon. I can’t take my clothes off in the middle of his kitchen in broad daylight.
But the look in his eyes is harsh and unforgiving. His expression says you do it or I’ll do it for you.
My unbuttoned sweater falls to the floor with a twitch of my shoulders. I pull the spaghetti-strapped tank over my head with shaking hands. Then I push the jeans down my legs and kick them away. I hesitate once I’m standing in front of him wearing only my bra and panties.
“Keep going.”
My eyes close as my hand moves to my back to undo the simple clasp of my bra. I let it fall down my arms to the floor. His shuttered gaze never leaves my body. A red flush of embarrassment starts on the skin of my chest and slowly climb to my face. With a momentary burst of courage, I push my panties down my hips and kick them away.
His eyes travel down my body in a slow appraisal. I’m not sure what I expect. A wolf whistle or lewd comment would be crude, but maybe something that shows his appreciation. Instead all he gives me is a blank mask.
I’m very aware of the fact that I’m totally naked, while he’s still completely clothed.
“Get on your knees and suck my cock.”
We’re doing this here? I assumed our wedding night would be less fairytale romance and more Penthouse forum., but this just makes me feel dirty. And used. Who has sex for the first time on the kitchen floor when there’s a perfectly good bed less than a hundred feet away?
Someone with no fucking self-respect.
But I don’t say that to him. In fact, I don’t say anything. All I do is slowly sink to my knees on the painfully hard wooden floor. I’m not sure what’s come over me. It’s like some spell he’s cast over my senses to kill all of the resistance.
Except, I’m kneeling on the floor with his still-clothed crotch only inches from my face. And I think I want this as much as he does. I have no idea how I got to this point.
“Now, Mara,” he commands.
I work on the belt at his waist with trembling fingers. His erection tents the rough fabric of his slacks. A tiny moan escapes my lips. What the hell is wrong with me? I should be indignant and angry at his rough treatment of me, not gagging for it like the neglected housewife out of a bad porno movie.
“Hurry up,” he growls.
His hands twist in my hair. They grip near the root so it causes sparks of pain when he pulls too hard.
Instead of telling him to go to hell, like I almost certainly should, my hands work at the fly of his pants. I unzip and then pull them down until he’s only in a pair of black silk boxers.
I lick my lips, the movement nervous and instinctive. He makes a low growl that sets every hair on my body standing on end. His hands tighten in my hair, enough to draw a gasp of pain from my lips. When I look up the line of his body, there isn’t an ounce of kindness in his face.
“The longer you keep me waiting, the worse it’s going to be for you.” His voice is low, guttural and full of unspoken threat.
I yank down his boxers and his erection springs free. It’s not the first one that I’ve seen. Okay, maybe it is this close up, but it seems longer and meaner than anyone I’ve laid eyes on before.
Tentatively, I kiss the tip. His response is to grip each side o
f my face and force my mouth over him. I feel him throb once against my lips before the entire length of him is pushing down my throat.
It’s hard not to gag as he fills my mouth fuller than I thought possible. My tongue plays along the underside, trying to maneuver past the size that’s almost too much to handle. I choke on him and gag when he pushes further down my throat. Stomach acid burns in the back of my throat and it takes an effort not to vomit.
He chuckles darkly. I realize he’s laughing at me. Fucker.
Lynn made us practice on bananas once because it was something she saw in a movie. I put every lesson I learned from that into practice.
I suck on him like my life depends on it — and maybe it does. It takes an effort to kill the reflex that tells me I’m choking to death, but somehow I master it. He’s so big that the corners of my mouth hurt from being pulled too wide. He slides down my throat and down until my lips touch the very base of him. My tongue still working at a furious pace.
When he seems close to the edge, I pull back. Teasing him, just like he did to me that night not so long ago. If he wants to play games, then we can play.
His breathing comes in harsh gasps and grunts. I know I’ve got him worked up and stab of satisfaction runs through me. Blowjobs are not part of my normal operating procedure. In fact, I’ve been known to politely invite guys to suck their own dicks, if it’s so important to them. But it’s different with him.
With Leo, I have something to prove.
I’m not the helpless coed that needs a hero to swoop in and save her. I’m the granddaughter of a mafia boss and I was raised by a drug addict. I can take care of myself. And I can take care of him.
Both of my hands go to work. I lick and stroke and caress him until he’s thrusting into my mouth with arrhythmic abandon. I know he’s close so I move faster, using my hands and mouth at a furious pace until he’s completely undone.
His fingers tighten painfully in my air and then he comes with a shuddering groan. I keep moving, though slower now, milking every last bit until he pushes me away.
I sprawl on the floor, looking up at Leo with smug satisfaction. It’s nice to see him in the vulnerable position for a change. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face at the thought.