by Freya Barker
“Not sure,” he finally mumbles, not getting any help from his father on this.
“Well, here’s the deal; we can’t do this at the shelter, for obvious reasons, so we’re gonna have to meet in one of our homes. I come here, I might score a good meal, but you may not feel you have real privacy. Come to my house and the food’s not gonna be half as good, but I’ll make sure I’m stocked, and you’ll be able to come and go without anyone being the wiser. Up to you.” I shrug and busy myself with the last piece of chicken on my plate, making like all of this is not a big deal, when really—it is.
Dino and Gina appear to be playing along, as I hear sounds of cutlery scraping over china, but not a word is spoken.
“I’ll come to you. I can always eat at home first,” he finally says, a little humor in his tone.
I look up, point my fork in his direction and say, “Best be careful not to dis my cooking, buddy, or I’m gonna rescind that offer of food.” If I’m not mistaken, the corner of his mouth twitches just a touch.
“Thank you for dinner.” I turn to Dino as he steps outside the front door to see me off.
“Thank you for coming,” he says, appearing to shuffle his feet a little. It’s kind of endearing to see such a hulk of a man be somewhat bashful. “I think it went well.”
“It did,” I confirm before continuing cautiously, “I couldn’t help but notice that Gina seemed sad when I first arrived.” The deep sigh that escapes Dino tells me he hasn’t forgotten either.
“She’s just having a hard time at school. Kids talking.” He shrugs his shoulders slightly. “She knows more than I thought.”
I can tell this upsets him. Teenagers can be cruel, something I learned a long time ago. I put my hand on his arm.
“At that age, they always know more than we are comfortable with,” I soothe. “Better to be straight with them. They may seem too young, but they’re also resilient. It’s better they learn certain things from people they care about, than from peers who are only looking for a reaction. Information is armor in situations like that.”
He doesn’t say anything, just grunts his acknowledgement. I get the feeling if he didn’t obviously love his kids so much, he wouldn’t be this accepting of advice. The silence is getting a little uncomfortable. With his head dipped low and his eyes focused on my hand, still touching him, I feel a strong connection to him and immediately pull my hand away to break the spell. Why this man? Why, after years of peaceful detachment, is he the one to get my heart racing and my emotions swirling?
As I turn to walk to my car, his hand shoots out and grabs me by the shoulder, swinging me back to face him. Before I can react, his mouth is on mine, his looming presence making me feel safely enveloped and small. My body immediately responds to the soft pressure of his lips against mine, and I don’t even bother holding back the moan bubbling up. I respond to the need he brings out in me by sliding my hands around and up his back, feeling a shudder ripple through him. The heady feeling of power makes me bolder; to know I’m able to affect him as he does me, the perfect aphrodisiac. The night disappears around me as he forces the tight control out of me with the devious play of his mouth.
“Sorry...”
The muttered words, and the slam of the front door, are like a bucket of ice-cold water as we instantly jump apart. Dino’s eyes are focused on the door, before slowly turning my way. Heat still lingers in his gaze, but added to that is a deep sadness, perhaps even regret as he looks at me. A clear, and somewhat painful, reminder why this was not a good idea to begin with.
“I have to...” He tilts his head to the door and I hold up my hand, not needing to hear any more.
“Go to her,” I nudge quietly, before turning and walking to my car, back straight and head held high.
It takes me the drive home to talk some sense into myself. Every time he gets close to me, I’m reminded why I’ve done everything to avoid him in the past. He’s dangerous. He brings up feelings in me that could break me. I’ve had decades to enforce the protective box I cram all those emotions in, but he seems to have no problem cracking the seal with just a touch. Thing is, every time that box opens, it’s a little harder to lock up again, and there is stuff at the bottom, I don’t ever want to experience again.
By the time I shut my own door behind me, I’ve got a firm hold on my feelings and have my focus back where it belongs. But as I walk through my dark, quiet house, dropping jacket and purse on the couch on my way to the kitchen, I waver. Compared to the warm, lively, and loving atmosphere of Dino’s place, the lonely silence that greets me feels hollow.
Instead of the glass of wine I was going to treat myself with, I change direction and head down the hall to my bathroom, turning on the tap to run myself a bath instead.
Relaxed, a little more anyway, I pull on my comfy men’s PJ pants and oversized T-shirt and head to the kitchen for that glass of wine. The plan is to veg out in front of my rarely used TV, to try and clear any lingering, unwanted thoughts from my head so I can sleep later.
I’m still flicking through channels, attempting to find anything that’s not depressing the shit out of me, when I hear a knock on the door. It’s conditioning that has me slide open the wardrobe closet, where I have my gun sitting on the shelf for easy access. My front door has no glass. Nothing to allow anyone from outside to peek in, but it does have a peephole. I press my eye against it to find a familiar large shadow on the other side. With one hand, I flick on the outdoor light while I take off the deadbolt with my other.
“Couldn’t leave it at that,” Dino’s voice rumbles as I pull open the door. He steps through when I move wordlessly to the side. His hands are tucked in his pockets and his head is low, but his eyes are burning into mine. Just like that, every good intention I’ve built up over the past hour and a half, since I left his house, dissipates like morning fog. In a last attempt to maintain the distance that would be so much safer for me, I turn and walk straight through to the kitchen, pulling a second glass down from the cupboard. The light shuffle of stocking feet alerts me to the fact he’s left his boots by the front door before following me.
“Wine?” I ask him, already pouring a healthy glassful. I catch him observing me as I hand over the glass and slip by him into the living room, my own glass waiting on the side table next to the couch, where I cuddle back in my corner. I feel the couch dip beside me as I grab the remote to turn the TV off. After taking a quick sip of my own wine for reinforcement, I put my glass down and twist my body to face him. His eyes are still on me.
“How is she?” I can tell my question surprises him from the way his eyebrow lifts ever so slightly.
“She’s okay,” he finally answers. “A little confused and upset with me.”
“With you?”
He chuckles a little at my question. “Accused me of lying. I may have told her before you arrived you were just a friend. She was fishing.”
“I am just a friend,” I blurt out, a little panicked at the direction this is going, but Dino won’t have it.
“Keep telling yourself that, Biscuit,” he says, using that stupid nickname he came up with, and then he leans in. “We both know you were never just a friend.”
“Look,” I respond, as I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them in an attempt to protect myself. “I thought we’d talked about this. Your kids, they’ve already got enough turmoil in their lives. And I’m honestly not looking for anything.” I hate that my voice sounds almost pleading. Dino just chuckles as he shakes his head.
“Believe me,” he says, “I know the state of my kids’ lives. Mine, too. And trust me when I say the last thing I’m looking for is to get involved.” Ouch, even though he’s just confirming what I’ve just pointed out, having them come back at me stings. “But,” he continues, “the truth is, we’re already involved. We were, long before the shit hit the proverbial fan in my house, and you know it. It’s the reason we steered clear; because both of us knew even then.” He looks at me for a long time befo
re taking a swig from his wine and putting his glass on the coffee table. I press myself into the corner of the couch when he twists and leans into me, his fists braced on the seat between us. “I dare you to lie about that.” It’s a threat—and a challenge.
The temptation is big to deny, deny, deny—but a part of me wonders why, and more importantly, who, I would be denying.
“I won’t lie,” I promise. “I know it’s the reason the air got thick every time we were in a room together, but that doesn’t change anything. Your kids—they need stability now.” He scoots over so he’s butted up against my shins, ignoring the distance I’ve tried to create by leaning his chin on my knees, his face only inches from my own.
“What my kids need is a father who is focused, and not going out of his mind with want for a formidable, strong-willed, slightly intimidating, big-hearted, and beautiful woman.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dino
I’d warned her I wasn’t just going to let this go.
There’s a pattern developing that I’m determined to break through. I get close to her physically and her body responds, the instincts to get closer too strong to resist. As soon as the moment is gone, she creates distance and wrangles herself back behind that hard shell again. A constant push and pull there is only one solution for. I’m not normally one to rush in, but I am rushing now. Feet first and fingers crossed.
Not even her very defensive position, with her legs pulled up to her chest, is going to deter me. Mostly I hate being the size of a closet, but I’m grateful for it now, because it makes it almost effortless to pull her on my lap.
“Hey! Quit manhandling me,” she snaps, slapping at my hands. “I’m not a bag of potatoes you can toss around.” I smile at the resurrection of her sharp tongue. I’ve missed her attitude. It’s all been tiptoeing on eggshells, by everyone.
“Trust me—I’m well aware you’re not a bag of potatoes. What you are, though, is a handful.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize I may have unintentionally put my foot in something. Pam’s reaction confirms it. The half-hearted slaps become well-aimed punches, highlighted with some colorful epitaphs.
Only one thing to do; I manage to grab her by the wrists, hold them behind her back and cut off the flow of cursing by making sure her mouth is otherwise occupied. Her body instantly freezes, and I think she’s settling—until she bites my bottom lip. Fucking hard.
“Jesus, woman!” I lick the offended flesh and immediately taste blood. This time when she struggles to get off me, I let her. She takes one look at me with her dark brown, shocked eyes, and runs out of the room. I get enough of an eyeful of her ample tits, bouncing under the oversized shirt she has on, to have an immediate resurgence behind my zipper. Letting out a deep sigh at my own stupidity, I lean my elbows on my knees, resting my head in my hands.
“Sit up,” I hear the deep melodic sound of Pam’s voice hovering over me. I do as she says. One of her hands cups my chin, lifting my face, while the other presses something cold against my lip. She tries to avoid looking at me, but my insistent staring seems to wear her down, and she finally lifts her eyes to mine.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths soundlessly.
“That’s my line,” I grumble. Her hand pulls away from my face as she sits down heavily on the coffee table, holding the tea towel with ice cubes in her lap. “Look,” I start and her eyes come up to meet mine. “First of all, I was referring to your personality, not your body, when I said you were a handful.” She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. “Believe I already mentioned you’re a tad intimidating,” I admit with a shrug. “Secondly, I didn’t mean to freak you out by holding you down.” At that, she lowers her head in an attempt to hide the flush of color on her face.
“You didn’t freak me out,” she protests softly.
“I call bullshit,” is my swift reply. “I don’t know what your story is, but I know you have one. I can see it.”
She suddenly gets up from the table and walks out of the room again. This time I follow and find her leaning over the sink in the kitchen where she’s tossed the cold compress. She doesn’t move, her head stays hanging down, but I can tell by the way her shoulders tighten up that she’s aware I’m behind her.
“This is why this can’t happen,” she whispers when I put a hand in the middle of her back. “You see too much.”
I rub her back in long slow strokes, all the way along her spine, keeping my silence. One thing I’ve always been good at is listening, and Pam needs to be heard. It doesn’t take long before she feels the need to fill the silence I’m actually quite comfortable with.
“My life...it’s not what it seems. I get so tired sometimes of keeping everything together.” Her voice is low and I have to strain to hear every word. “I can’t...if I don’t hold on to what I can control, I’ll lose it.”
There it is. Her vulnerability exposed. It doesn’t matter what her story is, it’s clear to me whatever she’s carrying with her is the cause for her sometimes fierce self-protection and tight control.
“Not gonna push you for full exposure, Pam. I hope there comes a time when you can share, but I won’t force it. I can promise you that.”
She straightens up and turns to face me, my hand that was on her back, settling on the curve of her hip.
“This is dangerous,” she worries, but I can see her resolve slipping.
“Remember I asked you who takes care of you? Let me,” I offer, watching her face intently. “I’m sure there are a million reasons why we shouldn’t do this, but the only thing I care about is the one reason why we should...” I bring my other hand up to cup her face and I’m encouraged when she tilts her head to rest in my palm, “...we already see each other clearly.”
For a long moment she simply looks at me, searching for anything but the plain honesty she’ll find in my eyes. When she lifts her head from my hand, my initial thought is that I’ve lost the internal battle waging in her head, but then her arms come up and circle my neck. My heart starts pounding in my chest when she simultaneously pulls me down and lifts her mouth for a kiss. This is not me taking what I want, it’s her giving it to me. It’s fucking amazing.
Her beautiful lips brush lightly back and forth over mine, and I struggle not to take over, relishing the feel of her soft body pressing to mine. But when her tongue slides over the crease of my mouth suggestively, I’m done. My arm slips around her back, pulling her in tighter and my hand on her hip slides up her side. She groans softly in my mouth when my palm brushes the curve of her breast, and I take that as an invitation. Pam’s tits are sumptuous: large, soft, and currently unrestricted. When I lift the weight of one easily in my palm, I feel her fingers digging in my neck in response.
She likes my hands on her. Good. I fucking love my hands on her. With my mouth savoring hers and my thumb brushing the outline of her nipple, my other hand slips down the back of her pajama pants. Her warm skin feels like silk as I massage the soft flesh of her superb ass. Lavish and ample, my hand barely fits one cheek.
Fucking hell.
With my hands and mouth full of Pam, the rest of my body wants in on the action, and before you know it, I’m rutting my painfully hard cock into her belly.
“Please,” she mumbles against my lips.
“What do you need, love? Tell me what you need,” I ask, panting hard.
Instead of answering, she releases my neck and grabs the hem of her shirt. Yes. I help her pull it up and off, letting my eyes take in every inch of beautiful dark skin exposed. My mouth waters at the sight of her full swaying breasts, tipped with deep brown nipples.
“Magnificent.”
Pam
I throw my head back the moment his lips close over my skin. The strong tug of his mouth sends electric charge straight to my core, and I almost cry at the sensation. I never realized how much I missed the feel of a meaningful touch. My hands grab at his smooth head and press him even closer to my chest. I celebrate the feeling of getting wet, without the aid
of a lubricant, a feat my body hasn’t been able to perform in many years.
I knew it would be good. I’ve guiltily fantasized about it enough over the years. But the taste of him, the electric charge his touch leaves behind on my skin, adds a different dimension to the experience I couldn’t have conjured up in my dreams. I don’t even care that my back is wedged against the edge of my kitchen counter, or that the blinds on the window aren’t quite closed. I’m too busy feeling, too swept up in the sense of weightlessness, like I’m free-falling.
“Christ, you’re sweet,” Dino mumbles around my breast before letting the nipple pop from his mouth and latching on to its mate. A gentle but sensitive bite draws a hiss from me—the slight sting sending ripples over my skin. I barely notice his big hands both dipping down the back of my PJs, kneading my butt before slipping my pants down.
The overhead light glaring, the blinds half-open, and I’m in the middle of my kitchen—buck naked—a behemoth of a man kneeling at my feet. How the fuck did I get here?
“Stop thinking,” he orders. “Just feel.”
I feel every damn thing, as he lifts a leg over his shoulder, and I grab onto the counter behind me for balance. Every whisper of his warm breath over rarely exposed skin and every deft stroke of his fingers. I know what’s happening, and for a fleeting second, I panic over what I must look like down there. I keep it tidy with the rest of me almost by rote, but the days of waxing are far behind me. I don’t have a chance to dwell on it for long when a strong lash of Dino’s tongue has my eyes rolling in my head and any coherent thought evaporates. My arms are shaking with the effort of holding me up, because my remaining leg is threatening to give away under the onslaught of his mouth.
“Holy crap...” I blurt out when I feel the blunt tip of a finger breach my entrance and slowly slide deep. Much like the rest of the man, his fingers are of a size some men would be proud to make claim to. I’m already close, and when his mouth hums around my clit while his finger plays inside me, I feel all the energy coil inside my body and spin me into an orgasm that turns every muscle in my body to Jell-O. Including the ones in my leg, which finally gives out as it buckles underneath me.