by Amarie Avant
Then I start toward the upstairs bathroom. She must not have wanted to be bothered by the hustle and bustle.
My heart slams in my fucking chest. I stop a few feet away from the closed bathroom door. There are at least twenty lavatories on this level. But this bathroom is the first one off the stairs. And this just so happens to be the very bathroom I cried like a baby in when I overheard my father get the call about mom losing her battle to cancer. He’d been standing in his office, house phone clutched to his ear.
“This can’t be. My wife, she’s… she can’t be… The procedure had to have worked. The best doctors in America, in Spain, in… She’s dead.” Knuckles white, and for a big man, his knees damn near caved in as he sought the desk chair behind him.
I’d dashed up the stairs, to this very first bathroom. Over twenty years later, I haven’t gone into it since.
Taking a deep breath, my knuckles wrap softly on the door.
“Yes?” Her voice has a tone of questioning.
“Reese. Open up.”
“Evan? No. Go away.”
“Let me in, Reese's Pieces.”
“Hey, that's my nickname. You don't get to call me that.”
My knuckles continue to tap against the door. “C’mon, Reese. You're upset.”
“So?”
This next comment will get a rise out of her, probably not the emotion I’m looking for, but I say, “Reese, let big brother make you feel better...”
The door opens. Only when we’re fucking am I allowed to mention our current relationship.
My eyes connect with hers, and stay there. Shit, I’d never been so undone than the moment I learned of my mother’s death. And now, desiring the woman before me has me almost in the same state of unraveling. She doesn’t notice, either, because her eyes narrow. She ushers me in and shuts the door, swiftly yet quietly. As soon as the door closes, Reese’s wrath returns.
“Feel better? Evan, you want to make me feel better? Our family is supposed to be bonding. But why do I have the distinct notion your version of making your stepsister feel better is by boning her in the fucking bathroom! You’re such a disgusting prick!”
And all I wanted to do was get her to open the door. Nope, I jump the fuck into my emotions too. There’ll be no asking why she lied about her age when her dad died, or what the hell she’s keeping from me. None of that matters, because deep down, I’ve gotta heart and it’s so far gone over her.
“Yes, I want to fuck you, Reese. My eyes have never seen a sight quite like you, you’re fucking extraordinary. The thought of Grayson or any other man but me touching you has damn near killed me. And I can’t go out like that! Do you know how close I am to setting aside logic and protocol,” my voice takes on a deadly tone. “All because you’ve made me go through a feeling I never experienced before. I l—”
“You’re jealous? Sheesh, Evan, how can you be jealous?” Reese presses her palms into my chest just as frustrated as I am. “Why am I such a weakling? I shouldn't have even opened the door."
She sucks in a gulp of air, trying to keep her eyes on everything but me. "We can’t be together, Evan. Don't you understand?”
“Says the woman who’s always on the run. But I know the harder I fall for you, the quicker you run which must account for something. Reese, you’ve got me wide open, baby. Every time I’m near you, I want to lick every inch of your body until you orgasm so hard that you can’t think to run, hell, you can’t think of your own goddamn name, Reese. I’m in love with you.”
My fucking heart sinks when Reese shakes her head in silence.
Fresh tears brim at her eyes. As they begin to cascade down her cheeks, I reach over to wipe them away. But Reese turns her head. Now she’s leaning on the marble counter, the very counter I sat beneath, bawling about the end of a childhood-era. I’d prayed to God; why He’d taken away such a powerful love. No answer was to be had.
A similar sinking feeling reaches out for me. I stand before Reese, “You love me too. Saying the words doesn’t mean shit unless you feel it, and trust me, those gorgeous eyes of yours show it all!” Since she won’t look at me any longer, just keeps her gaze tracked to the ground, I grab her wrist. I gage her heartbeat allowing my thumb to continually graze an infinity sign over that soft patch of flesh again. This helps Reese’s heartbeat decrease. This helps her stop the urge to run.
My words whisper over the warm, golden skin at her shoulder, “Look, I’ll make it easy on you, Reese. There’s shit you haven’t told me about your family,” her heart rate rises, but I continue to rub it into submission. “That’s okay. We’ll get to that over time. See, because, I’m not letting you get away from me. I swear to you, once you’re ready to give me your heart, I will be devoted to loving you. I have the feeling, in another life, before you allowed insecurities to rule, I would’ve had your heart already. I'm sure that the big ringer for you, what is scaring you to the bone, is knowing full well that after I steal your heart it will never be returned. I’m a patient man, Reese. We’ll get to that.” Reese’s chin is held high as my hand clamps along her throat. My mouth lowers. She wants me to kiss her. That I will grant, but I must promise first, “For now, if I can’t have your heart, I’m content with fucking you every night. Hard. Rough. Just the way you like it until you’re ready to be owned.”
Reese’s gaze sweeps over mine. That last bit of information lets her know that she indeed has no choice in the matter. She will be mine, hard and rough or … loved.
That primal yearning has returned. Her canine tooth pierces over the side of her pink, fleshy bottom lip. “Don’t do that,” I order, gently squeezing her neck. “Don’t keep over thinking shit, Reese. We have an agreement. And I will fulfill my end of the bargain, we both will.”
My tongue traces over exactly where she bit her lip, then glides across her entire bottom lip before I taste the inside of her mouth. She purrs and gyrates against me, making my cock press against the inside of my pants. A smile waxes its way across Reese’s lips.
I take a seat on the chaise lounge next to the vanity. “Kneel.”
Sparkling gaze on me, Reese sinks down to her knees.
“Now, Reese, you had my cock ready to explode not two hours ago. Make me explode.” I unbuckle my pants and my dick springs forth.
Before her lips graze against my dick, her warm breath has me even harder. As she begins to give me head, my fingers rove through her wavy hair. She doesn't go slowly like usual, delighting and giving the head of my cock attention before tasting it inch by inch. No, Reese’s throat devours my cock; her tonsils knead against the tip of my penis while her tongue slides over my shaft. I fist a thick strand of tresses with one hand, and allow my head to fall back as Reese continues to deep throat while twirling her tongue around my dick.
“Damn, your mouth was created for sucking my cock,” I murmur.
She moans in response, and allows the back of her throat to grip the head of my erection. Her tonsils tighten around the tip. The feeling is second only to that snug, wet pussy of hers. Reese proceeds to do what I can only describe as attempting to swallow my cock down her throat, and her tongue damn near caresses the base of my shaft at the same time. This sheer action is like the key unlocking the Hoover Dam. The climax starts with my toes clenching under and a warm spray of come shoots out of my shaft and down her throat.
Reese’s tonsils begin to tickle the crown of my cock, as she gulps down every bit of me.
Demure, sexy eyes look up, and then Reese smiles. Her mouth is saturated with my semen. She finishes toying with it and downs it all. Reese’s tongue dips out and takes one last savoring trail over me.
My eyes close and I lean back against the chaise, as Reese stands. From my position, I feel her adjusting her dress. Once satisfied, she lets out a hearty chuckle. “Evan, get your ass up. We are still at a party, you know?”
Unable to mask the smile on my face, I open one eye and wink and then shut it again.
“Get up,” she grumbles.
>
“For all intents and purposes, doll, I am right where I wanna be.” I grab her hand and pull her to me. Reese straddles me. “I’ve got you. I’m at my home away from home.”
“Yeah,” she smirks. “We just did a very bad thing in your dad’s house.”
“Allow me to tweak that. You just did a very bad thing…” I defend myself from her swat. “Give me a minute, I’ll reciprocate.”
“Hmmm, Evan, I didn’t get to explode earlier,” she says in a titillating whimper. Then more assertive, Reese adds, “Not here, though. But damn right you are gonna return the favor.”
“Oh, you’re the boss now, eh?” I ask as she peeks out of the just ajar door.
"Feel free to call me the ‘shot caller’," Reese grins, stepping into the hallway. “The coast is clear.”
I arise and follow. “Shot caller my ass, Reese. Later tonight, you'll be planked against the headboard. As a matter of fact, around midnight. Ass up.”
We shuffle downstairs glued to each other, as I mention just how hard I'm going to smack that ass.
“Long as you pull my hair.” She grins as we make it to the second landing.
But I’m not done fondling her yet. “C’mon, what kinda guy would I be to smack your ass without yanking your hair–”
“What the fuck is going on?” Grayson shouts from the foyer, looking up at us.
“Nothing,” Reese says, fully alert, smile immediately faded.
His hard, green eyes zip back and forth from the two of us, perceiving stepsiblings in a new light. “Well I'm a gambling man, love, and I'd bet my newest box of Cuban cigars that you're–”
“Oh for the love of God, why am I sparing your feelings? Screw you, Grayson!” Reese stops before him. She matches his look of disgust with her own fury. “Worry about yourself, not me. I had no intentions of fucking you tonight anyway.”
“Geesh, at least this turn of events has shed light on your true colors. Reese, you're such a fucking whore…”
“What the fuck did you just call her?” I'm down the last few steps and in front of him in a flash. My fist goes straight for that bobbing Adam's apple. The sound Grayson gurgles while doubling over is like he’s been forced to breathe through a tube.
I glance out of the French doors, leading toward the veranda. The event is such a blast, that I have all the time in the world to teach Grayson how to be respectful.
My fingers dig into the back of his neck, and I hold tight. Leaning into him, my tone is gravely low, “I've had to hear your mouth all fucking night long.”
“O-okay… okay…” he holds his hands up, palms out in protest. Hunched over, Grayson attempts to sidestep my vise grip at his neck.
“Keep talking,” I warn him as Reese pleads for me to stop. “I’ll show you what that whiny voice was really made for. I’ll shove my Glock so far down your motherfucking throat, I won’t even blink as I pull the trigger, you little self-centered piece of shit. Capiche?”
He can barely breathe. The three of us do a dance of sorts. Grayson is choking while Reese is apologizing, but she’s not entirely sorry. Me? I’m watching The Stiff gag, with a sliver of a smile on my face. A server doesn't even stop to take a glance while walking out of the French doors with a tray in hand.
In a fit of wheezing, Grayson threatens, “I’m going to call the cops.”
“Oh, yeah?” I laugh. Half of my brain just keeps registering the fact that Grayson and Reese once had feelings for each other. Grayson continuously referred to Reese as ‘love,’ and his mannerisms were just too comfortable as he said it. The other half of my psyche is pissed that he considered disrespecting Reese, let alone in my presence.
Rubbing a hand over the side of his neck, Grayson wags a finger, “Yes, you’re going straight to jail, pal.”
There’s a smug look on his face as he catches his breath and massages at his throat. I gather his attention, dead eyes locked onto his. Then friendly as ever, my knuckles tap softly against his chin. “I am the fucking law, bitch!”
Chapter 22
Reese
“You lookin’ at my wife?” Spittle flew from Milo’s mouth as his knees sunk into the man’s fleshy gut. The guy still had the Little Bambino’s napkin tucked in his shirt, but the tomato sauce on his mouth began to blend with his own blood. Half the white linen from the table the big, fat Italian guy sat at was on the floor with him, along with an abundance of spilled spaghetti and meatballs.
My stomach had been growling when we stepped inside of Little Bambino’s a few minutes ago. The café was old school even when I was a kid, red-and-white checkered linen table-tops. Dusty memorabilia, mock ancient stone walls, and the token flag. The place was on West Jefferson in Los Angeles, and Milo always swore it rivaled his favorite restaurants in New York, Napoli even. Guess that’s why I liked it so much, since dad allowed us to visit all over the world except for these two places…
Anyway, the moment we stepped inside, dad had bragged about me to everyone who looked our way. He was always a puffed up man, short but with a stocky-build. His muscular chest was elevated as he told all the patrons that his first-grader had just won the spelling bee at school.
The patrons had happily agreed; they’d said I looked sweet as a button. I wore a princess dress, bubble skirt, puffy linebacker shoulder pads, and a third-world fortune on my head in the form of a glitzy tiara. My dad’s eyes were only for me as he bragged. Now, that light, airy happiness which drew people to Milo had been suffocated to death. Like a kid blowing out a candle atop a cupcake, it took a nanosecond for him to transform from pure goodness to evil.
My father only stood at five foot seven, yet his quick hands had this unnatural power. Blood sprinkled on Milo’s sneering face, making him appear as the devil himself. Fingers in the shape of scissors he said, “I’d clip a motherfucker before I let ‘em eye-fuck my wife, capiche!”
The pound for pound against flesh made me heart skip a beat. The guy didn’t even standup for himself… or maybe he was unconscious, brain dead even.
My mom pulled me to her chest, my face hidden in her stomach. Her voice had gone raw from yelling at Milo to stop. Now Lolita encouraged, “Don't look, Reese.”
She'd gotten tired of trying to pull Milo off the customer. Lolita's chest heaved. Suppose I was lucky that her heart thumped a symphony in my ears and took away the sound of pounded meat as I clung to her.
The waiter who had gotten a broken nose for trying to stop dad, had just returned with the manager.
“We're gonna call the fucking cops if you don't stop!”
Just like that, Milo arose. Those seemed to be the magic words for him, the loyal customer. The guy everybody thought was so fucking cool. He’d given that very waiter a hundred-dollar tip on a few occasions. But threatening Milo was so far removed from being their source of safety, they didn’t know it yet.
The gold rings on his fingers were dripping with blood. I turned away from my mother’s embrace to see a cocky smile tip the side of his lips which usually were reserved for laughter or arrogant chatter about being Napolitano. Milo lifted up his shirt. Next to a Glock was Milo’s badge. It seemed like the air was sucked out of the entire café. Or perhaps it was the patrons gasping in a breath at the thought of having a guy like my father on the task force.
“I AM the fucking law, bitch!”
The horrible vision fades before me. We still ate at Little Bambino’s because that’s the place I chose for dinner if I won the spelling bee. My father had me choose the table. My tongue weighed a ton, but I’d learned not to be too fearful. My fear actually scared Milo, and made him sad. So I took a deep breath before I had pointed to a table. He went to the restroom to clean up. The manager and waiter did something with the big guy who’d just been eating alone, and truly minding his business.
Mom held me closely, and told me not to cry. When dad returned, the evil Gemini mask was replaced with the charismatic, handsome one. His only form of intimidation was placing his gun on the table as we ordered.
Other than that, it was as if, Milo forgot what he had done.
The image fades and Evan is staring at me. But I’m staring at Grayson. My own fright mirrors my exe’s.
There’s a wet blanket of worry and concern on Evan’s face. He reaches out to touch me. Thoughts of Milo make me curl away from him. Evan isn’t my dad; I don’t have to worry about his feelings. My dad’s eyes became glossy as hell a few times when he’d scared me so bad, and it made me cry harder. I had hurt his feelings by being afraid of him. But Evan, I look at in a new light. I. Do. Not. Know. Him.
The sound of heels clip-clopping on the shiny marble forces me to look away from the disappointment and confusion on Evans’ face.
“Tony spared no expense on the alcohol and you two were upstairs, fucking,” Isabella’s voice is full of entertainment as she comes up behind Evan. She's got a bottle of champagne in each hand. When she sees me, and I mean really perceives my discomfort, her face drenches with worry. Upon noticing Grayson starting for the double doors at the front of the house, she gasps.
“Oh, shit, I thought my ma was giving the bitch the twenty-one questions to size him up against Vinny. Had I known, I woulda kept 'em preoccupied. Brat, what happened?”
Evan begins to speak Italian. Whatever he's said has Isabella giving me a friendly grin and hug.
“What are you talking about?” I ask still in a daze as she smothers me in that large bosom of hers.
“I'm taking you home,” Evan scoops me up before I can flinch to his touch.
We end up at my place. The chair in my bedroom which was once the focal point of his erotic fantasy fleshed out has become his chair once more. I sit on the edge of bed. But neither of us is in the mood.
I'm gnawing on my lip when Evan asks, “What did I do?”
His eyes are so similar like my father’s. A warm gold, like the sun as it peeks over the horizon in the summertime. And yes, his eyes were like my father’s when they stormed a dark-brown full of anger. My gaze must be shining with bewilderment because his pleasing lips form a straight line. He won't ask again.