by Mj Fields
“You don’t even want to be a lawyer, Melyssa,” he snaps back.
I am incredulous. I let go of my knees, dropping my feet to the floor.
“Yes I do,” I sputter. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be working my ass—”
He holds up his hand. “Let me make one thing clear: lying to me is a waste of time.”
“Go to hell,” I tell him.
“It would be a nice vacation at this point, but unfortunately, I’m here now. So are you. Even though my plan was based on some assumptions I made of you the very first day I met you. Assumptions which, I’m not so sure about now.”
“What? What do you...you mean, at the steak house?”
“Yes, at the steak house. I met a young, intelligent woman who seemed focused, driven and very much trying to gain my attention.”
I feel my face get redder than ever, and I want to tell him he was wrong, but...he wasn’t.
“Then at the club, you watched me.” His eyes burn into me, lighting me up inside. “I saw you, and you weren’t repelled. You saw me for what I am and you still came back, revealing your voyeuristic tendencies by watching me fuck. I knew then that you were perfect, that this arrangement would be perfect.”
“I’m not a voyeur.”
He laughs. “And I’m not a Dom.”
“I’m not!” I arch my back, meeting his eyes defiantly.
“We’ll have that discussion at a later time,” he says, not rising to my challenge. “But for right now, I need you to understand that there are seven properties in Italy, which are currently being sold. All of my clubs. I can’t go back there now. So I am stuck here, in the U.S., where I am now hiding from the police. The money from my clubs will soon be deposited in an account; those funds would clear your debts, times a thousand. Our agreement will take care of your college debt and pay for law school. If all goes well and you are careful with your spending, you could even open your own practice. But, like I said, I know that’s not really what you want to do with your life.”
Doubt niggles at the back of my brain, but it only makes me more set on arguing.
“Don’t pretend to know me, Sabato. If you did, you would know that I haven’t received as much as a parking ticket in my entire life. So whatever shady, tax-evasion, mafia thing you’re trying to involve me in—”
“And this is where the screaming is going to come in,” he continues, as he opens the file. “My wife—”
He’s not wrong. “You’re WHAT? You’re married?! Well, screw that!” I stand up. “Just so you know, you don’t have attorney-client privilege here, buddy. I’m not a lawyer yet, and even if I was...well, I sure as hell wouldn’t work for you! So I don’t want to hear another word. I want nothing to do with this. No involvement, no way, no thank you.”
“Melyssa, you’re already involved. Now, sit down, or so help me I will make sure you can’t sit for a week.”
At that moment, I pause. Not for long, but it’s enough to make me truly hate myself. God, even his empty threats to spank me somehow manage to make me stroke out with desire.
“Screw you,” I say under my breath, already heading toward the door.
He springs up like the jungle cat he is, filling the doorway before I can reach it.
“There is no escaping this. What’s done is done, you just need to accept it.” He looks me up and down and stalls at my boobs. I hold my breath, hoping he won’t see that yes, my nipples are hard. Because yes, oh yes, I am still turned on by this rotten, evil man. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
His hands go to his belt, and he starts unbuckling. I am shamefully turned on, but also scared. It’s a heady and confusing mix.
“Let’s get something out of the way,” he says. “Maybe then, you’ll be able to focus and we can move forward.”
I try to step around him, but he is quicker. His hands capture my hips and he lifts me. I grab his biceps, afraid I may fall. He takes three steps and deposits me on the bed. He kicks his pants off and my eyes widen. Apparently, he doesn’t ever wear underwear. He pulls his shirt over his head next, then grabs my wrists and pulls me up, into a seated position. He pulls my shirt up, but I fight him by holding my hands over my chest, thinking that he won’t be able to remove it that way. He seems annoyed, but then he reaches down behind me and in one swift move, the shirt is over my head.
My mouth opens in protest, but nothing comes out. I want to say no, but I also want to see what he’ll do next. Also, I’m a liar. I don’t really want to say no.
Head spinning, desire pooling, I have to admit to myself that Sabato is still so, so beautiful and I am still so, so, stupid. Nothing has changed between us, except the scenery. Circumstances don’t seem to matter, not to the Elsa. So I decide to… let it go.
Sabato takes my pants next, pulling them off in one swift move.
He isn’t gentle when he grabs my hands and pushes me down on the bed. He pins my wrists in one hand as he grabs a condom out of his pocket, then rips it open with his teeth and rolls it onto his massive, fully-erect cock with one hand. He grabs my leg behind the knee and pulls it up, pinning it against his hip. As he lines himself up, I try to close my legs.
“No more games, Melyssa.” Sabato’s thick, gruff voice fucks all my senses at once. “You said you wanted my cock, not some tool. Now, I’m giving it to you. Yes or no?”
I am floating in a cloud of desire. My whole body is telling me no, except for the parts that want him, so bad...okay, every part of me… I nod once and he shoves himself roughly inside me.
I feel a sob creeping out and stifle it as the tearing pain sears through my body, feeling like I imagine a dull knife would. A knife I begged for, but still.
“Fuck Melyssa, when is the last,” he pulls out and then rams into me again, “when was the last time someone fucked your tight little twat?”
I close my eyes, turning my head away. I can’t look at him. I can’t face him. Tears start pooling and I try to bury my face in the pillow that my head is no longer on, as he continues driving in so deep that it takes my breath away.
This isn’t the man who took me to the cross. This is not what I expected. But it is what I asked for.
When a sob finally escapes my throat, I hear a quick intake of breath and he pulls out immediately.
“Cosa ho fatto, Melyssa?”
He pulls his weight from me and says it again, “Cosa ho fatto? Answer me, damn it!”
I roll to my side, pulling my knees up to my chest. I grab the blanket from behind me and bring it around myself to cover my naked body.
The bed sinks beside me under his weight.
“Tell me what made you cry. Tell me now!”
I shake my head, no. He rolls me onto my back, cups my head in his hands and stares into my eyes. I can’t take it, so I close mine.
“Now, it is you who is not being fair, Melyssa. Answer my question. Or is this another thing that I have misread about you?”
I swallow down my tears, feeling suddenly angry. “Leave me alone.”
“No. That’s not how this works. This is not part of the plan. This—”
“Leave. Me. Alone.”
I feel his hands begin to shake against my face and for the first time, I am truly afraid of him. Then I feel his breath against my face.
“You said you wanted me. You said....” He stops. “At my club, you were angry. You were angry, because I didn’t fuck you with my cock.” He is trying to let himself off the hook, even though he has no reason to be on the damn thing. This was on me, all me. Me and my stupid, foolish inability to control my desires.
I lose my train of thought when he whispers, as if to himself, “Kissing, that’s the other.”
I feel his lips gently caress my face and I choke back another sob. Now they are against my lips. His breaths are short and jagged.
Pain.
I feel his pain.
“Melyssa, lascia che ti bacio,” his tongue teases my lips, but I turn my head away.
“Let. Me. Ki
ss. You.”
“No.” I open my eyes and look into his, which are still confused. “I’m not feeling well. I need to be alone.”
“That’s not what you need,” he says, as his hand wraps around my waist.
“Don’t pretend to know me.” I snap.
His face darkens. “Fine. I will give you a few moments, but then you and I will be discussing this, this, charade you’ve been putting on.”
He gets up and walks into the bathroom. I use the opportunity to turn and cry softly into my pillow.
*.*.*
When I open my eyes again, it’s dark. It’s dark and I feel cold. It’s dark and cold, and my chest feels tight.
I push myself up off the bed and I see a pile of clothes folded neatly on the chair next to the bed. I look down to the end of the bed and see Sabato, sitting in the chair. His eyes are closed and his head is bobbing. I wonder how long he’s been sleeping like that. I quietly reach across the bed, trying not to wake him and pluck the first t-shirt I see off the top of the pile. I scoot to the side of the bed, searching for my panties and pants, the ones he took off of me only a few hours ago. At least, I think it was a few hours ago. I don’t have a watch, or a phone, or—
“Melyssa.”
I jump when I hear his voice and the blanket falls away. He looks me up and down, until I grab the t-shirt and pull it over my head. I blink back at him nervously, but he is emotionless as he stares at me.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, sure. Where are my pants?” I say in a rush, looking around.
“In a bag out there,” he points his finger towards the doorway. “But you need to have a seat. This discussion needs to happen.”
“I would like my clothes first.”
“And I would like a fucking do over. I don’t like to leave a woman, or myself, unsatisfied.”
I quickly cover my mouth, to stop myself from gasping—or starting to cry again.
“Not acceptable. Do you understand?”
I am beyond angry that this little blonde thing has played me.
The intelligent, educated, sensual being I met at dinner has tricked me. The voyeuristic sexual deviant who gleefully watched me fuck, then came back for some hands-on experience has fucked me, mentally and physically—but not in the way I like. My head did not need to be any more fucked up than it was before.
If she doesn’t accept my terms, I swear to God, I will...I don’t even know. That’s how upset she makes me. I have run out of ideas.
I stand up and drop the folder on the bed in front of her.
“The first time I met you, I decided you were the perfect candidate for this. It would have been mutually beneficial I thought. I was sure of it. But now, you have forced me to rethink everything.”
I open the file and push it toward her. There are photographs, dozens of photographs, depicting the two of us in a relationship.
She looks down at them, clearly confused, but then shakes her head and looks away.
“After that, what just happened—I don’t want to see your wife, Sabato. I don’t want to see that. I feel trashy enough right now, that I allowed it to happen.”
“Could you explain to me what coming to my fucking club was to you?”
I try to act calm, because I have to, but what I really want to do is tell her to get back to that girl—the one I knew would make this work. I want to scream at her and shake her, but I can’t. I’m desperate now. I have no other choice. I need her.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Sabato. I just want to know when you’ll let me go. When will you go back to your wife...or Valentina. Whoever.”
That’s when it dawns on me. “Look at the pictures, Melyssa. Does the woman in them resemble anyone you know?”
She shakes her head, then looks again, then slowly nods. “Me. They look like me.”
“Good, then they’ve served their purpose,” I tell her, relieved that she’s finally starting to catch on. “My wife will act as my wife in public, she will stand by me when the legal shit storm begins and she will be very wealthy when it ends. But it’s a commitment that may take more than a few months.”
“Okay, sure. I get that. But why are you telling any of this to me? Why do you have me in—”
She stops and looks at me. I nod down to the photos. She looks again, longer this time.
I watch her eyes widen and see understanding grow as she flips through them, faster and faster. There are pictures at her apartment, pictures at her school, and pictures of walks we supposedly took together. And there were pictures of her at my club.
“Oh, my God. You’re crazy,” she whispers.
“No,” I say. “I’m prepared. Trust me, Melyssa, this can work and be beneficial to both of us.”
“No, it can’t! Have you ever heard of a thing called marriage fraud? This is a joke. What, we just so happened to get married while you’re on the run, trying to beat a murder rap?” She looks back down at the pictures. “Why would you do this? How would you...? Who would do this!?”
Her breathing is quick now and her face is turning red.
I sigh, knowing that the final detail is going to send her running, or screaming, or maybe even both. I brace myself, ready to capture and restrain her if necessary.
I pull a paper from the bottom of the pile and hand it to her.
“This is a state-issued license,” I tell her. “It is completely legitimate.”
“You are out of your mind.”
Shaking her head, Melyssa starts laughing. Hysterically laughing. Laughing so hard, she stops breathing completely and tears roll down her face.
I am not fond of tears. They make me uncomfortable and upset. Ever since Luciana.
“Stop.” I say, as calmly as I can. When she doesn’t stop, I say it louder. “Stop crying, now!”
“Screw you, buddy,” she laughs, staggering up off of the bed, holding her stomach, still laughing and crying.
I follow her into the entry, where she fishes her pants out of the bag and pulls them on, then walks over and shoves her feet into her shoes. Next, she moves to the door.
I dart in front of her, stopping her exit. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She gasps a few times before answering. “Out. Away. I need air.”
“It’s dark outside and we are in the woods.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Move.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I don’t care. I need a break,” she says and tries to push past me.
Very few people in my life have been stupid enough to put their hands on me, other than my father. I grit my teeth and stand my ground, trying to keep my temper in check.
“Would you move?” she growls, trying to squeeze behind me.
“I don’t understand your need to leave this very moment.”
“I need to clear my head. I need to breathe. I need to...get away from you.”
“Melyssa,” I feel suddenly desperate. “This really isn’t a lot to ask, considering what you’ve—”
“I’m telling you, I need out.”
“You really have no idea who you’re dealing with.” In my frustration, I threaten her. Immediately afterward, I realize my mistake.
“And you really have no idea who you’re dealing with either,” she whispers angrily, into my face.
She faces me defiantly, hands on her hips.
“Please, be reasonable. Let’s just discuss the details, Melyssa.”
“Let’s not, and say we did.”
“That makes very little sense, you know.” I mimic her stance.
She is looking into my eyes, yet now I have no idea what to expect from her. I can only brace myself for whatever comes next.
Her eyes soften and she looks away first. This gives me confidence that she may be ready to talk. She also looks fucking exhausted.
“Look. I don’t know what you want me to say,” I begin.
She explodes. “How about, ‘I’m a huge dick for
getting you involved in this’ and follow that up by moving out of the way? I really need to get some air.”
“Will you run?”
Her eyebrows turn down and she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
Well, at least she is being sincere. “But I’m sure someone like you, who believes this will work, who has enough pull that you’ve got documentation and a certificate of marriage, that,” she pauses and her lip begins to quiver. “You know what? Just let me go. If I run, I’m sure you’ll find me, no problem.”
“I will give you ten minutes.” I step away from the door and she bolts out.
While she is gone, I busy myself by putting everything in order. As Melyssa mentioned, there will more than likely be a lot of disbelief surrounding our story. We will need our story to be believable.
I look at my watch and then out the window where Melyssa is pacing back and forth, wearing a path in the grass. I am pleased she hasn’t gone far, but not that she is still sputtering angrily to herself.
She looks back toward the cabin and I move away from the window. After several moments I look out again. She is sitting on a picnic table. I give her fifteen more minutes before walking out to meet her.
“Are you ready to come in and discuss this further? The faster we get on the same page, the sooner I can take you back.”
She wipes her eyes. As she turns, I can see the trails left on her cheeks by more tears. I try to remain calm.
“You need to let me process this. You need to, at the very least, give me the illusion that you actually give a damn. That you actually acknowledge this is a lot for me to handle.”
“I don’t understand why you are viewing this as such a suffering.”
“AND,” she raises her voice to just below a scream, “I am still trying to sort you out in my head. Unlike you, I don’t just jump to conclusions, five seconds after meeting someone—I don’t just up and decide, ‘Hey, this guy would make a fucking perfect fake husband! Let’s do this!’”
I let out a laugh, but immediately regret it when she jumps up and shoves me with both hands. She isn’t that strong, but I sway slightly on my injured leg. Then she raises her finger and pokes it into my chest.
“I don’t like you and sometimes I think I hate you, but at least I try to understand why you are the way you are.”