by Bonnie Dee
And Micah, how did he feel walking into Sunday dinner with a bunch of strangers beside a woman he wasn’t even dating? If he was nervous, he didn’t show it as we walked together but not holding hands up the driveway to the house.
*
Micah
As I entered the Torrio house and was attacked by two large, shaggy dogs and bombarded by an onslaught of family members, I tried to remember why I’d agreed to come along. Maybe partly because I’d been too dozy from drugs when Gina asked, but also I’d been kind of flattered she wanted me to go with her. Like I said, I wasn’t the type of guy who got invited to family events.
“You must be Micah. I’m glad you could come.” An older version of Gina packing a few more pounds and a lot of gray in her hair grabbed hold of me and hugged hard. I was so shocked, I hugged her back.
Behind her loomed three big Italian-looking guys who could have been extras in some mob movie. The stoop-shouldered middle-aged one must be Mr. Torrio, and the others were Mike and Frank.
Julie Torrio let me go, and the others filed forward to shake my hand—firm, aggressive handshakes that tested my strength.
“Good to meet you,” I said. “Gina’s told me about all of you.”
“I’m Mike.” The older of the dark-eyed, dark-haired sons reminded me a little of Jonah with his arrogant manner. He stared me down as he continued to grip my hand. “She didn’t say much about you.”
“We’ve only gone out a few times, but Gina was kind enough to invite me for a home-cooked meal. I don’t have much family in Chicago, so it’ll be a real treat.” I flashed a smile and pulled my hand away from his punishing clench.
Julie Torrio waved a dishcloth. “Don’t mind them. Shoo, all of you. Back to your football. Give the man a chance to breathe,” she ordered.
The men obeyed, trooping into the living room from which the roar of a stadium crowd floated.
I rubbed between the black dog’s ears. “What’s your name, buddy?”
He looked up at me and exhaled foul-smelling breath.
“That’s Cartman. Come on.” Gina led the way to the kitchen, where she put the dessert she’d brought into the fridge, and I gave Mrs. Torrio the bottles of wine and bourbon. The room smelled like heaven, roasted meat, and plenty of garlic. Two younger women stopped working on whatever dishes they were preparing, and Gina’s mom introduced them as Marybeth and Selena—the wife and girlfriend of her oldest and youngest sons.
Marybeth looked pissed off. She gave me a nod and went right back to slicing something with sharp thwacks on the cutting board. The new girlfriend looked a little dazed like I felt and offered a quiet “Hi.”
“I’ll help you in a minute, Mom.” Gina herded me into the living room along with the bourbon and some glasses. “They’ll like you if you talk football and drink with them,” she whispered on the way.
“Okay.” That was something I could easily do.
The living room was small and unchanged since some time in the ’80s, but the big armchairs were well broken in and comfortable. I passed around drinks and chatted about the Bears’ season, and after a while, the Torrios stopped giving me sideways glares.
“What do you do for a living?” Mr. Torrio, king-like in his La-Z-Boy, asked.
“I own a bar. The Raptor’s Roost.” I answered a few more business questions and apparently satisfied them I was a stand-up guy. It was weird. I’d never had to win some chick’s family over before. It surprised me how much I wanted them to like me.
Pretty soon, the women summoned us to dinner, and we filed in to take our places in mismatched chairs around a big table. We sat shoulder to shoulder. Any more additions to this family and they’d have to set up a card table for the overflow.
Everyone talked at once, loud and opinionated and determined to get their point across. And they laughed and teased a lot and pushed each other’s buttons. It was like being part of one of those TV families I’d always wished I could belong to when I was a kid.
“So you’re from down south?” Mrs. Torrio asked me just as I stuffed a huge forkful of baked ziti in my mouth.
I chewed and swallowed before I could finally answer. “Yes, ma’am. Sawville, Kentucky.”
“What does your family do there and what brought you to Chicago?”
“Um, we farmed.” I didn’t lie. Jonah’s weed crop was our main source of income back home. “But I butted heads with my older brother too much and decided to try something else. Had a friend in Chicago, so I came up here.”
“I hear ya,” Frank said. “I’d never work with any of my brothers. I spent part of one summer in Mike’s garage, and that was about all I could take.”
“You’re pretty young to own your own bar. How’d you manage that?” Eagle-eyed Mike seemed the most resistant to my charm and continued to pry.
“I, uh, had some seed money from the family business and parlayed that into a sizeable down payment.” No need to mention that a racetrack was involved. “I was lucky the bar had loyal clientele, and I tried not to change things too much. But it’ll be a few years before the Roost is mine outright.”
Gina pulled scrutiny from me by addressing Selena. “Mom said you’re a preschool teacher. How’s that?”
The large-eyed girl nodded and spoke quietly. “It’s great. I love the little ones. Originally, I thought I’d teach at the high school level. I’m glad I switched to pre-K.”
“Selena’s thinking of starting a private preschool of her own someday,” Frank boasted. “What was the name of that model you want to use?”
The soft-spoken woman ducked her head, obviously uncomfortable being the center of attention. She wouldn’t last long in this family if she didn’t get bolder, I thought. “Oh, that’s just a dream. I don’t know if I could ever pull it together.” She shot him a look that begged him to drop the subject, and Frank took the hint.
The conversation moved on, and I continued to shovel down food until my stomach hurt. I couldn’t resist second helpings of everything and then just one more slice of the baked ham. Honestly, the food was no better than what I could get at a restaurant, but the homey atmosphere was what made it taste so good.
I glanced around the table at the faces of people who knew each other so well they were like one unit—except for the other outsider, Selena. Even though Mike and Marybeth took swipes at each other, there was a sense of belonging there. They’d known each other most of their lives. This was what spending time with a family should feel like.
What would it be like not to be an observer but to be absorbed into the group, to join in holiday meals and summer picnics, birthday celebrations, or even wakes? As the Torrios gossiped about aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends—an entire history of connections—I longed for that sense of community.
Gina bumped my foot with hers underneath the table and leaned close. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah. This is great,” I whispered back.
“We don’t have to stay long after dinner,” she murmured.
I didn’t tell her I’d be happy to stick around all evening.
I think Gina’s mom fell in love with me a little bit when I started helping clear the table and offered to wash dishes.
“This one’s a keeper,” she said to Gina loud enough to be sure I heard.
“Mom. Stop it! I told you he’s just a friend.”
I wiped down the table as Selena cleared plates. When all the Torrios were out of earshot for a brief moment, I asked Selena in a low voice, “So whaddya think?”
“They’re really nice. A lot more informal than my family.” She stacked a couple of plates and paused. “They’re really loud, though, aren’t they?”
I grinned, and then we stopped talking as Mrs. Torrio blew through the room, gathering up flatware and Mike and Frank collected the extra folding chairs to store them.
Frank frowned at me and my sponge and joked, “You’re making us look bad, man. Stop doing woman’s work, or they’re going to catch on and make all of us
start helping.”
“Neanderthal,” Gina mocked him as she joined us.
Looking at her standing there in her hip-hugging skirt and fuzzy sweater, a sudden and powerful wave of steaming-hot lust poured through me. I wanted to take her right there on the family dining table, or maybe sneak upstairs to her childhood bedroom and screw in the midst of stuffed animals and boy band posters. The primal need to possess her seared like a burning brand. My cock went rock hard in an instant, and I had to hide my crotch behind the back of a chair.
“’Scuse me,” I muttered and slipped away to use the bathroom. Even in there, all I could think of was what it would be like to have Gina bent over the sink, hands braced against its sides while I plowed her from behind, both of us holding back our grunts and moans. Urgent, gut-quaking, rushed, and desperate sex. Was there some sort of aphrodisiac in the ziti making me crazy with desire?
I cooled down with water splashed on my face and waited for my erection to recede before returning to the living room where everyone had gathered.
Gina saw me and came over. “You feeling okay?” she asked loudly and telegraphed with her eyes that she wanted me to say no.
I pressed a hand to my stomach. “Maybe I ate too much. It was all so good.”
“We can take off.”
“No poker first?” Frank asked. “You can’t leave so soon.”
A clamor of voices begged us to stay, but Gina claimed she needed to get back anyway to take care of some personal stuff before her next shift with Mrs. Heidelberg.
“At least take some leftovers.” Mrs. Torrio popped up from the couch.
Twenty minutes later, we were out the door with bags of little Tupperware containers and hugs or handshakes all around.
“They’re overwhelming, right?” Gina asked after we got into her car.
“No. They’re great.” You don’t know how lucky you are. I leaned over and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer before she could put the key in the ignition. “You’re great,” I added. “Baby, you’re so sweet, you could put Hershey’s out of business.”
She rolled her eyes but leaned in to my kiss. Her lips tasted like the lemon bars her mom forced us to eat before we could leave—sweet yet tangy. Delicious. I craved Gina like a diabetic craves sugar. Had to have her sweetness as soon as possible.
“Drive fast,” I ordered after we pulled apart.
She grinned and my stomach backflipped like an Olympic gymnast. “Okay.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gina
I drummed my fingers nervously on the steering wheel as we finally neared Micah’s bar—and his apartment above. This was happening at last, and I was more than ready for it. Seemed like we’d done the sex tango for weeks now, moving forward, stepping backward, never quite coming together. Now we were reaching the finale in which he’d bend me back over his arm till my head touched the floor and we’d strike a dramatic pose.
Micah directed me to the secret parking spot he used around back of the building beside that burnt-out garage where he used to host the cage matches. The building was crime-taped off and labeled condemned, reminding me of the night of the fire.
After we got out, he took my hand and pulled me to him. A long slow kiss distracted me for a moment, but when he stopped, the memories of that awful night flooded in again.
“Is your partner going to tear this place down?” I asked.
Micah shrugged. “I guess, as soon as his insurance signs off.”
“He’s getting insurance money for what happened here? He’s lucky nobody died!”
“But nobody did.” Micah tugged on my hand, leading me out of the garage toward the back of The Raptor’s Roost, which fronted on the opposite street.
“They could have. And you guys got off with only a fine.”
“Technically, it was Dale’s fine. He owns the place.”
“But you’re his partner. You were as much a part of jamming the garage full of people as him.” My temper flared. Even as every cell of mine craved every cell of his, my mind cautioned me that a careless, selfish guy like Micah was another wrong dating choice. I really needed to break my bad-boy addiction.
“I paid the fine.” His hand stroked down my back to rest right above the curve of my ass, and I wiggled under its weight. He guided me up the fire escape to his place, unlocked the door, and turned me to face him when we got inside.
“Look, I don’t know if I apologized before, but I’m really sorry for what happened to you and Leah and J.D. And all those people. I had no idea there was an issue with the electrical system.”
Which was what building inspections were for. “Did you simply change location? Are you and Croft still hosting those fights?” I asked.
Micah paused a breath too long for me to completely believe him when he shook his head and said, “No. I’m not involved in that anymore.”
He grasped my upper arms, peered into my eyes, and repeated, “I’m really sorry.”
I didn’t want to be mad at him. I didn’t want to think about what sorts of criminal or borderline criminal activities he might be involved with. I just wanted to melt into his arms and kisses and let the flow carry me right into his bed.
I rocked up onto my toes and pressed my lips to his. Sweet little pecks and nibbles quickly swelled into a firestorm of kisses that made my body quake.
I hardly noticed when we stumbled our way into Micah’s room. He paused long enough to throw back the covers on the bed and whip off his shirt, transfixing me with the sight of muscled arms and torso. How could a guy who spent most of his time behind a bar have such an amazing build?
Before we went at each other again, I took off my sweater, which was making me itch and sweat. The air felt good against my bare skin. My chest rose and fell fast as Micah’s gaze swept over my body and the bra cups that just barely kept my boobs in check.
“Damn, girl, is it hot in here or is it just you making steam with that rockin’ body?”
I laughed and launched myself back into his arms, running my hands through the stiffly gelled hair to bring the curls back, and peppering kisses over his face, neck, and chest. I reached for his fly and rushed to unzip it and get my hand inside.
“Damn, boy, if sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged,” I murmured against his nipple.
Micah laughed, then gasped as I took a little bite of that nipple and gripped his cock and squeezed.
I massaged him only a few times before he whisked me off my feet and tossed me across his bed. Within seconds, we were both bare and twisted together like a braided pretzel. Slow and sensual was off the menu. We’d both waited too long for this and came together with the fury of a hurricane hitting land, all mouths and hands, sucking and slurping, elbows hitting shins and body parts sliding together.
I gripped Micah’s shoulders as he pulled me onto his lap. We ground and pushed against each other, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, and inhaled him. Mine, if only for right now. His slow, deep thrusts hit a spot inside me that nearly hurt in its intensity. I whimpered and clung tighter as I moved my hips up and down, riding him. Every glide filled me completely and brought me a little closer to the edge.
Micah lowered his mouth to my breast and latched on, a sweet painful tug that made my pussy clench hard. Along with the physical ache, emotion twisted in my gut. To my surprise, I’d grown to like this goofy, playful guy, which I never would’ve guessed was possible after our first date. The idea that this might be a one-off as far as Micah was concerned bothered me, even if I’d known it walking through the door. I liked him too damn much and wanted to keep spending time with him.
But I couldn’t control the future, only the present moment. For right now, I’d enjoy this sweet ride. Apparently tired of the slow thrusting, Micah abruptly flipped me on my back and propped himself over me. Mm, I loved his heavy weight pinning me to the mattress as I pushed up to meet his dominating thrusts.
More and deeper, harder and faster, we pushed toward the
end of the race. I yelled as I came and by the time the last quake rolled through me, I was sweating and panting as if I’d run all the way from Gary. There wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t feel well-used, pliant, and weak.
Micah collapsed on top of me, letting me bear his full weight for a moment before rolling off. I drew a deep breath and loudly exhaled. The room smelled like sex and the cologne Micah wore—a spicy masculine scent that wasn’t overpowering but infused the room. I could get used to that scent. I could come to crave it. Which reminded me yet again Micah wasn’t a long-term kind of lover. I’d have to guard against thoughts like that and accept this for what it had been—amazingly hot, passionate screwing.
Micah lay on his back, one arm above his head, displaying some really nice muscle definition, the other tossed casually over my body. He patted my hip. “That was a long time coming. Since that first night we went out, I’ve been wondering how you’d be in bed.”
“And?” Damned if I’d admit I’d thought the same thing.
“Even better than I imagined. Sweetheart, if sex were a class, you wouldn’t just be getting As. You’d be tutoring the other students.”
I squinted my eyes and shot him a sideways look. “That sort of makes me a madam or something, doesn’t it?”
“Hm, maybe not my best comparison.” He grinned and flopped over on his side to face me. His hair was a wild tangle of escaped curls mixed with locks trying to remain slicked in place.
I combed my fingers through it, trying to set it straight, then gave up and tousled it all over his head with a rub of my palm. “You’re too cute.”
“No. You’re too cute.” He continued to look at me with that cobalt gaze and soft smile. “I like ya too much, darlin’.”
Ooh, what he did to me whenever his Kentucky drawl grew stronger. The residual shivers in my pussy pulsed again, ready for a second coming.
“I like you too. That’s what scares me,” I murmured.
His brows shot up, and his eyes opened wide. “Why? Two people like each other, that’s a good thing, right?”
“Not if one of them has a reputation as a player and the other has a thing for bad boys with pretty smiles and smooth talk. I’ve walked this road before, my friend.” I kept my tone light, but inside I wasn’t kidding.