Sabato: The Cross

by Mj Fields

  “Put me down, you...you ass!” He plops me down on the bed and grabs my ankles. When I try to retreat, he flips me back over and surrounds me with his body, caging me in.

  “You want me to be monogamous? Fine, then you’re going to have to stop being a little fucking tease. In case you haven’t noticed, I like to fuck, Melyssa. A lot.”

  His mouth lingers over mine, breath to breath, reality fighting desire, realization fighting fantasy. Suddenly, the part of me that acts as my voice of reason stops giving a flying fuck. Actually, a flying fuck is starting to sound pretty damn good. I wrap my legs around his hips and using strength I didn’t know I possessed, I flip him onto his back.

  “I’m not a tease,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

  But I am. I so am.

  “I’m not a man who enjoys bottom,” he says and flips me just as quickly.

  “Then I guess we have some things to work out,” I say, as his lips come closer to mine. “Don’t.”

  “Why?” he whispers as he edges closer.

  “You know why.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Because you crave what I can give you.” His lips are on my neck, followed by his tongue.

  “No.”

  “Add this to my list of demands, while you’re at it: No more saying ‘no’ to me. As far as you are concerned, that fucking word does not exist. If I am going to do this, you’ll have to give in, because women don’t tell me no, Melyssa. They whimper, yes. Scream, always. They beg for my touch.”

  Subconsciously, I roll my head to the side, giving him more room to play.

  “How many have there been?” I gasp out.

  “More than you want to know about.” He pushes himself off of me. “And how many for you?”

  “What?” I try to clear the desire from my head.

  “How many men have you been with?”

  “Twenty,” I say, too quickly, without thinking it through.

  He laughs out loud and I raise my eyebrows.

  “Were they all hung like a toddler?” He seems very amused.

  “Back to the table.”

  “Why, Melyssa?”

  “You know why,” I huff and push off the bed.

  He walks out behind me, adjusting himself as he shakes his head, “There is no reason we need to do this out here. You’re much easier to negotiate with in bed. Much more agreeable.”

  “Well, this is my life and my future and yours as well. I think business discussions should take place in appropriate places.”

  “My business is pleasure. My boardroom is the bed. And the sex couch and the cross and the whipping post....”

  His voice is still down in thick, sexy mode. I silently scold Elsa, for swooning.

  “Could you grab the folder? I want to go over it all in detail.” I begin clearing the plates. Mine is still full, but his is empty. Deep down, I am happy I cooked him a meal.

  Stupid girl.

  When I walk out with the file, she is at the sink, cleaning the dishes.

  So, it seems that she wants to be my partner in this. She needs to be, she says, because apparently she doesn’t trust me to make the decisions. This isn’t something I am used to, but I will compromise if I must.

  And it is clear now that I must.

  She understands the fact that I don’t do enchantment and love. At least, I think she does. That’s a good start.

  “Shall we begin?”

  “Sure.” Melyssa dries her hands on a paper towel and comes over to sit across from me. She reaches for the file.

  “You wanted to know why you, if I remember. When I met you, I figured you were going to be perfect for this. Your attraction toward me was evident.” I look up, and she is blushing. “Don’t be embarrassed, Melyssa, it happens.”

  “Well to be fair, you seem to be erect all the time,” she says petulantly, “so I guess it goes both ways, now doesn’t it?”

  “You’re an attractive woman¸ Melyssa. So of course, I want to pleasure you.” Actually, that’s not completely true. At the moment, I just want to fuck her, because she has given me a serious case of blue balls. I clear my throat. “However, I also chose you because of your knowledge of the law, which I think will prove—.”

  “Assumed knowledge,” she corrects. “Remember? I’m only just beginning law school. Well, I was. Who knows, now?” The thought seems to upset her. I feel bad that it upsets her, but I also believe she is not being honest with herself about what she wants.

  “It’s more than I have. Hell, I am not even from this country.”

  “Right,” she says, as she looks down.

  “Moving forward,” I pull out the dozens of photos, “There are actual pictures of us from the dinner at my club. I made sure there were many times where we appear to be ‘noticing’ one another. You seem to be looking at me often and there is clearly an attraction there.”

  She pulls the pile over and looks through them again. “Huh. You seem to ‘appear’ the same way.”

  I hate that she sees it. I am drawn to Melyssa, just as strongly as she is to me, but in a different way. I’ve always had women want pleasure from me, ever since I was seventeen. Pursuing physical attraction has always been easy, almost an instinct, for me. It’s not a challenge. I’ve never truly had a challenge.

  “Intrigued.”

  “Right.”

  “These are from the security cameras at the club.” I pull another set of pictures out of the envelope. She has yet to see them.

  Melyssa moves through the first few, where her car is there in the back parking lot, all date stamped. When she gasps, I look up.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Um, yes,” she shuffles the photos in a pile and shoves them back in the envelope. “Why do you have these? Cameras in the um, the room?”

  “For proof.”

  “Of what? That you’re tying women up and banging them?”

  I nod. “That it’s not illegal activity, and it’s always consensual.”

  “I don’t want these used in proving our relationship,” she says. “I don’t want anyone to see them. They’re....”

  “Beautiful.”

  “No,” she shakes her head. “I do not want anyone to see those.”

  I sigh. “All right, I will keep that in mind.”

  “Sabato....”

  “Melyssa.” She looks at me, eyes full of concern and anxiety. “I’m not going to promise. If it comes to that, I will use whatever I think is ne—”

  “No! No. No. No.” She stands, moving away from the table.

  “Melyssa, sit. The likelihood of us needing to use them is...slight”

  “I don’t want anyone to see them.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Sit please.”

  She is pacing back and forth now and mumbling to herself.

  “Melyssa. I promise, it will be fine. Sit.” After a few more paces, she sits down and pulls the chair closer. “This is our apartment in the city. It’s close to your school. It is the place you and I go when we aren’t at your place. It’s a place we planned to live together, after we got married. Do you like it?”

  “Of course I like it,” she snaps irritably. “It’s beautiful.”

  I watched her look through the pictures of ‘our place,’ her loving attention to detail contradicting her tone. She actually traces one photo with her finger.

  “And this is the car you and I bought together,” I continue, pulling out another photo. “It’s in your name, Melyssa.”

  She shakes her head and tries not to smile.

  “It’s all right to be happy,” I tell her. “You see? This will be fine. You will be fine.” She looks up at me, closes her eyes, and nods. “There, see, there is very little left to worry about.”

  Her eyes open and she looks confused. I wish I had not said that last part.

  I clear my throat. “You’ll be safe there. Regardless of what happens to me.”

  “What do you mean?” N
ow she is confused and growing afraid.

  “My father....”

  “Is dead.” Her voice quivers.

  “Right. But, that doesn’t mean the threat is gone completely.”

  “Oh,” she says, as the truth dawns across her face. “Oh! You’re saying...you think there may be...retaliation?”

  I haven’t allowed myself to give it much thought, until recently, because until now I never cared what happened to me—as long as Salvatore was gone.

  “I can’t be sure.”

  “Is that why you killed him? Was he threatening you?”

  I nod, even though that’s not at all why. I can’t open that part of me. Not to her, or to anyone. I can’t, and I won’t.

  “He came after me. He knew I was working with Dominic to bring him and Benito down.”

  “So...it was self-defense.”

  “Melyssa, I wanted him dead. I wanted him dead more than anything I have ever wanted anything.”

  “But...it was self-defense.”

  “It was provoked,” I tell her, getting angry now. “Why does it matter why? I killed him. I fucking killed him.”

  “Okay, okay I get that. I understand.”

  Something is breaking inside of me now, fucking breaking wide open. I feel. I feel and I don’t like it.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers and reaches for my shoulder. “I understand.”

  “How?” I move away from her. ”How the fuck can you understand?”

  “I just...do.”

  Somehow, I believe that she does. I round the table and take her face in my hands. I’m not sure what I’m going to do next. It doesn’t matter. Or maybe it does. Maybe it matters more than anything.

  “Then you’re in,” I tell her. “No bullshit, no teasing, no empty promises, you’re in.”

  I realize I am holding her face a little too tight. My hands are shaking.

  “Yes,” she whimpers.

  I am seconds from fucking her on the table and she is seconds from allowing it. I see it in her eyes, that excitement mixed with fear. I let go. I sit back in my chair and I hear her sigh.

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “We’ll need to know all kinds of things like that, for the interview.”

  “I like black and white.”

  She nods. “I like green. Favorite music?”

  “Everything.”

  “I like country.”

  “Except country.” I make a face.

  She smiles. “Well, marriage is about compromise. So, I guess one of us will have to give in.”

  “I don’t give in,” I warn her.

  “And I don’t give up.” There is heat in her eyes, but I’m not sure what it means.

  “So...color and music. That’s it?”

  “Oh no, how about, your birthday?”

  “May 27th.”

  She frowns and then nods. “Wow. Coincidence. May 26th for me, so...we should be able to keep those days straight. Do you...have any siblings?”

  “No.”

  “Any other family?”

  “No.”

  I look up and she is frowning again, biting her lip. “And, um, your mother died....”

  “When I was seven.”

  “Who raised you?”

  The question is curious. I would have expected her to ask where I was raised, not by whom. I stare at her for a moment and she is looking at me with a deep kind of sadness, one I recognize.

  “What do you already know about me, Melyssa?”

  “I know that when you were seven, you and your mother....” Her voice breaks and she blinks hard.

  “Do you have something in your eye?”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “Then, what?”

  “I don’t want to cry,” she says. “I know it upsets you.”

  “Why would you cry?”

  “Because, I feel your pain.”

  “Your parents are still alive,” I remind her. “They are divorced, but still live near one another. Your mother is remarried and your father isn’t. You have two half siblings and you seem close to them. Their mother died when they were young. But yours didn’t. I don’t see how you can ‘feel my pain.’”

  “She was my mom’s best friend. She and my father, they used to fight a lot about the time Mom spent with her dead friend’s husband, but by the time my dad noticed, it was too late. They loved each other.”

  “How did your father feel about that?”

  “Angry, of course.”

  I am asking questions about people’s feelings, people I barely know and have no idea why. But she is answering them openly, easily. I am intrigued.

  “Do you get along with them?”

  “My half-siblings? I do, yeah. I grew up with them. Every other weekend, you know. Typical divorced family situation.”

  “Why did your father never remarry?”

  She smiles and it’s a little sad. “Mom says it’s for two reasons: one, he’s too preoccupied with his indulgences. Hunting, fishing—you know, a sportsman.”

  “I do know. I spoke to him.”

  “You what?” She is shocked.

  “I assumed it would be the right thing to do. To ask his permission to marry his daughter. Is that not how things are done in America?”

  “No way.” Her eyes are huge.

  “You stayed at your father’s house, when you went home. He was away on a hunting trip. Apparently he didn’t have good cell service, so the fact that he told me ‘No fucking way’ could easily be dismissed as ‘I didn’t fucking hear him.’”

  This part doesn’t seem to have occurred to Melyssa before. “Oh my god, my parents.”

  “Your mother and her family are away on a vacation.” I watch her carefully; to gauge the amount of annoyance I cause her in knowing that.

  “Right.” Instead of annoyance, there is a tinge of hurt in her voice and it bothers me.

  I take a deep breath. “The Valentina indiscretion can be easily explained by saying that you took off because I asked your father’s permission and you were concerned with his reaction. Because of that, I thought you had broken off our engagement. See? Easy.”

  “Our engagement? I thought it was a marriage license.”

  “Well, I can make sure it’s properly dated if I have to. But there is a place we can go, if you want to get married for real. A judge who owes a favor. We can have photos taken, more believable ones. You may feel less concerned about it being fraudulent?”

  “I really wish you would just tell me the truth and stop the charades.”

  “Which way do you prefer?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, I want you invested in this. Whatever it takes.”

  “And it will be less suspicious and Valentina won’t hate me? Well, she might anyway, but....” She looks down at her lap.

  “She has no reason to hate you, Melyssa.”

  “She likes you.”

  “She likes to get fucked. She is no more attached to me then I am to her.” I notice then that I have my hand resting on the back of her chair and am rubbing her silky blonde hair between my fingers, so I stop. “Okay. Tomorrow we will take a drive back north. We will make this legal. Then we will stay at a nicer hotel, in your name. If the police show up—”

  “No, I don’t want you to get arrested,” she says, quickly. “We stay here. We stay right here and find a way to make sure you’re not in any kind of—”

  “Hey,” I interrupt, because she is panicking. “I need you to stop talking right now. I need a break.”

  “Okay.” She bites her lip. “Um, do you want to go for a walk or something?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then I need to take a walk.” She tries to push her chair out, but I put my foot behind it to stop her escape.

  “Why?”

  “I need to clear my head.” She looks away.

  “Of what?” When she doesn’t answer, I stand and hold out my hand to
her. “Come. Let me take care of clearing your head.” She starts to open her mouth to protest and I pull her up, rather forcefully. “It’s part of our agreement. Remember? You aren’t allowed to say no. All you can do is tell me how you want it.”

  I watch her eyes dilate, then she nods. I smile. She wants me.

  I grip her hand tightly and pull her back into the bedroom.

  “How experienced are you? You say you’ve been with twenty men, but I don’t think that’s true at all.”

  “I’ve dated twenty men, in four years,” she says in that tone she uses when she’s pretending to be strong.

  “That’s nice, Melyssa. But it doesn’t answer the question.” I swiftly move behind her. One hand is on her stomach, holding her back against me and the other is toying with fucking buttons. “Add jeans to our list of items to negotiate.”

  I finally get them undone and shove them down.

  “Mmkay,” she whimpers, as my hand slides into her panties. Plain, cotton, blue.

  “These things, too. I like the lacy little shorts you wore at the club, but none of these. I want thongs, or lace. Understand me?” I rip those cotton bitches off and grab her roughly between the legs. I use the palm of my hand to rub against her as I push my finger inside, just enough to heighten her anticipation. “This landing strip is nice Melyssa, but I’m not an airplane. I’m a man. Do you understand?”

  “I think, ah!” I shove two fingers inside of her harshly.

  “No thinking, Melyssa, just feel.”

  “Mmkay,” she says again.

  “I want you naked down there, exposed to me. Add that to the list.”

  “Yes,” she cries out, as I slowly start moving my fingers in and out of her.

  “That’s a good girl.” I use my other hand to grab the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head. “Bras need to match the thong and lacy little covering. You know why?” I ask, as I release her shirt so it’s resting behind her neck.

  “No!” She cries out as I cup her little tit and squeeze.

  “What did I tell you about that word?”

  “But I was just answering—ah!” I pinch her and she stops trying to argue.

  “When the underwear matches, it means you thought of pleasing me. It means you wanted me, from the moment you woke in the morning, until I finally come between your legs and feel the hot, wet, desire you’ve been carrying around for me all day. Add that to your list, Melyssa.”