by Never, M.
“Stevie!” he roars during the last go ‘round, his body strung tighter than a fiddle from the orgasm denial. I know he’s reached his breaking point, which is exactly where I want him. I don’t hold back when he pulls my hair excruciatingly hard or pumps his cock into my mouth past the point of painful. I just take it until he spontaneously combusts, flooding my mouth with an outcry of come. The spurts seem to go on for hours as I swallow what feels like a rushing river of semen.
When the last bit finally spills, Baz goes limp against my tongue. I slip his cock from between my lips as he pants raggedly, like he just dominated an Ironman competition. I glance up at him as my own chest heaves, and the look I find is startling. That removed gaze is present, but accompanying it is one of shock and wonder.
Baz doesn’t release my hair, he just holds me still as his lids flutter lazily. And just before he closes his eyes for good, he whispers, “You are my quiet.” Then he’s gone. Transfixed in a deep, impenetrable slumber.
I just redefined the term blow your fucking brains out.
YOU ARE MY quiet.
Those were the last words Baz uttered before he fell asleep three days ago. I have wrapped them around me like a thick, warm, luxurious blanket and used them to comfort me while he recovers from—I’m not exactly sure what to call it—his mental bender? I don’t even know if he’s getting better. I just know I’ve been feeding him his meds every day at the exact same time like the note said with high hopes it will help. He barely registers the movement. He’s dead weight when I try to lift him. Lost in a deep, Sleeping Beauty-like sleep. And my kisses definitely don’t break the spell.
I’ve used my alone time to get familiar with the house. Now that I’m not on my death bed, I’ve explored. Not that there’s been much to discover. It’s just a nice, big house in the middle of frickin’ nowhere. Baz seems to like the middle of nowhere. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, which the little demon is grateful for, and plenty of firewood next to the hearth, which I am grateful for. There’s no TV, radio, or car, and I can’t find Baz’s phone, so I’ve just been staring off into space, watching the dancing flames of the fire the last few days, waiting for him to wake up. Seclusion sucks.
I did manage to find some underwear. They’re Baz’s boxer briefs, but at least they cover my ass from the draft. I have to fold them over then roll them down just so they stay on my waist.
It’s getting close to sunset, and the clock is telling me it’s almost time to visit Baz, but the sound of heavy footsteps above me and the screech of the shower pipes tell me he’s finally up.
I shouldn’t be so nervous at this revelation, but I am. Who is the person in that shower? I have no idea, and that’s an ominous thing. I want the rational Baz back. I want someone I can talk to. Get through to. Recalling the way he shot at me in Colorado, I wonder if he was ever reasonable at all.
The shower runs for close to an hour. I just sit in the living room alone, listening, wrapped up in a blanket on the bearskin rug, leaning against the couch. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want . . . want . . . I don’t know exactly what I want. I just know I don’t want to fight.
Baz pads all over the second floor. What he’s doing, I couldn’t tell you. It’s a long while before I hear him make his way down the stairs.
My heart beats in tandem with his every step. Who will I encounter? Will he be enraged? Or reasonable? Pissed or appreciative?
When he rounds the corner into the living room, my jaw drops. It’s the only part of me that moves. His worried eyes find mine, and he cautiously saunters toward me. This Baz is completely new.
Gone is the unkempt, scraggly beard and messy hair. In its place is a cleanly shaven face and tight, neat man bun.
I’ve never seen this Baz before. Never seen every single facial feature the way I see it now. Unobstructed. Unhindered. Bare for all to witness. Words fucking fail me as his stride slows. As he comes to stand a mere foot away. I catch a whiff of that earthy scent, and I’m knocked in the face with titillating memories. Memories of us, before circumstance tainted us. My stomach flips, and I place my hand over it. I swear the baby knows. He knows his daddy is present.
“Hey.” Baz clears his throat uncomfortably as he stands there shirtless, his grey sweatpants hanging temptingly off his hips. I’m sure he isn’t trying to be sexy, but fuck me, he so is.
“Hey,” I echo back from my seat on the floor. The fire crackling loudly behind me.
The silence between us stretches for miles. I would speak, but I don’t want to say the wrong thing, so I wait for Baz.
His unease is evitable. “Stevie, I . . .” He trails off, digging his fingers into the strands of his neatly pulled back hair. A piece falls in front of his face, and when he looks at me, really looks at me, I see Baz. I see the eyes that caught my sprinting spirit. The eyes that bridled a wild stallion’s untamable heart. I see warmth and affection and humanity.
I see Baz.
“Don’t,” I cut in, my emotions firing on all cylinders.
“Stevie, I need to explain.”
“No, we need to talk.”
“How much do you hate me?” he spontaneously asks. The look on his face is desolate. Desperate. He thinks I hate him? Well, maybe I should. He did try to kill me, twice. But I don’t. Not in the least bit.
“I don’t hate you, Baz. Not at all.”
His expression morphs into confusion. “I tried to kill you. I handcuffed you to a bed. I . . .” He swallows hard.
“Insisted on pleasuring me?” I help him reword our little encounter in the kitchen. “You think none of those things ever happened to me before? Or worse?”
His expression drops. Dejection turning into sadness. “That’s not me.”
“Maybe not all of you, but it’s a part of you. I don’t mind your dark side. We both have one. You’re pretty sick with a butterfly knife. Sort of turned me on.” I curl my lips up into a vampish smile.
“I have a past. It’s no secret.” His hard tone is resentful.
“No, it’s not a secret, not anymore. But I need more insight into that past. Into who you are,” I press. “Baz. We both have to come clean. This isn’t just about us anymore.” That last statement seems to jog his memory.
“Oh, shit, Stevie. Did I hurt you? Did I hurt . . .” His voice trails off again.
“Our baby?” I help out with the phrasing. Put the situation into perspective. “Do you remember anything from the last three weeks?”
Baz crouches to the floor so we are eyelevel and fractionally inches closer.
“Bits and pieces. When I go off my meds for an extended period of time, I can have blackouts.” He isn’t looking at me while he speaks. Well, not at my face. He’s transfixed on my lower body and the blanket that’s cocooning me.
“Was I mean?” He lifts his hand and cautiously peels back a piece of the blanket. I let him as we continue to talk.
“You were an asshole.” I’m blunt, and he cringes. “At first.” I help him remove the heavy layers from my abdomen. “Then you were sort of sweet in your own crazy way.”
His green gaze jumps from my body to my eyes as if asking permission to touch me. I nod, lifting the ratty white T-shirt to expose my belly. “Bringing me ginger ale and crackers ‘cause I couldn’t eat anything else. Making me soup, too.” He places a warm palm right above the rolled portion of his underwear, and when our skin collides, shock and awe sweep over his face. And love, too, I think. I think he instantly falls in love with the little person growing inside me, the exact same way I did. It’s as electric as a lightning bolt.
He drops down and plants a lingering kiss below my navel, and I have to stop the tears from falling. If I could have wished for a reaction from Baz, this would be it. Pure joy. I place a hand on his head as he presses his ear against my stomach.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if I can hear anything?” He looks up at me with one eye.
“What do you expect to hear?”
> “His heartbeat?”
“Doubtful.” I laugh. “Maybe some grumbles. He’s always hungry.”
Baz sit’s up. “How do you know it’s a boy?” I wonder if he realizes we’ve already had this conversation?
I shrug. “Just a feeling.”
His squints his eyes. “I’m not convinced.”
“I’m not trying to convince you. It’s just what I think. There’s a demon growing inside me. I can only fathom a boy would cause so much trouble.”
“Women are trouble,” he tosses in.
“Yes, we are.” I don’t deny it. “I don’t like calling it ‘it.’ I picked a gender.”
“Fair enough. But we’re going to find out what it is, right?”
“You tell me. Am I going to be allowed out of my prison?”
“Only if you’re a good girl.” There’s a devious look on Baz’s face.
“Then we have a problem. ‘Cause I am very, very bad,” I whisper seductively, touching a fingertip to his lower lip.
Something in my statement jolts Baz out of our flirtatious banter. I know what it is. The albatross that has stained our relationship from the beginning.
Who is he? Who am I? What are our underlying motives? How deadly are we? Together, and apart.
“Why were you trying to kill Regina?”
Baz frowns. “We weren’t going to kill her. We just wanted to talk.”
“Talk?” I curl my lip. “That looked like more than just wanting to talk. She was being dragged into a car against her will. It looked like, at the very least, an abduction.”
“Well, she was being very uncooperative. All Gianni wanted to do was talk, and all she wanted to do is attack him.”
“Gianni? Gianni Velona? Do you work for him?” I try to fit the puzzle pieces together one by one.
Something strange flickers in Baz’s eyes. “Sort of.”
“Sort of? Either you do or you don’t.”
“There’s a grey area.”
“Explain.” I sit up straighter, preparing myself for a conversation of epic proportions.
Baz exhales a long, hot breath and finally confesses. “Gianni is my uncle.”
“Uncle? From his wife’s side?” As far as I know, there are only three Velona siblings, and only Gianni has children. One child to be exact, a daughter named Gianna.
“Wife? No, my aunt doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Baz, you’re confusing me. Are you referring to uncle like a godfather or something?”
He shakes his head. “He’s a blood relative.”
“Is there another Velona I don’t know about?”
“I guess that depends on how well you know the family. There’s Gianni, Benny, and Regina.”
Oh, I know the family pretty damn well, but before I divulge any of that information, I want to see what path this very weird discussion is going to take me.
“Benny Velona is my father,” he divulges, curling his lips in blatant disdain.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” I think I just suffered a brain aneurysm. I stare vacantly at him, all the blood draining from my face. “’Cause it sounded like you said you’re Benny’s son.”
“You heard correctly.” His reply is flat.
“Benny Velona doesn’t have a son. I would know. Of all people, I would know.” My blood pressure rises.
“He didn’t exactly brag about me. We were estranged.” Anger slowly builds under his words. “How did you know him? Did you work for him?”
“You could say that.” I visually pick Baz apart, feature by tiny feature. He looks nothing like Benny. Nothing. Not one trait do they share. He doesn’t have Benny’s textured black hair, or oval-shaped face, or crooked nose, or puffy cheeks, or thin lips. Nada. None of it. Although, as I scrutinize him, I realize that’s not entirely true. They do share one similarity. Those damn eyes. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. They’re exactly the same. Two green spotlights that can track and interrogate you worse than the feds.
“Want to elaborate on exactly how you knew him?” Baz presses, hostility laced in the question.
My saliva trickles down my throat like razorblades at just the mere mention of Benny’s name. Loss engulfs me. A part of me that’s missing, the part I’ve been trying to forget, gets yanked to the forefront. I’ve tried over the last few months to suppress the bereavement that has plagued me since the moment I found out Benny died. My brief affair with Baz was the only time the loneliness was chased away. The only time I felt worthy of something. Of someone. Felt a sliver of true happiness. Until I lost him, too.
“Benny and Regina sort of took me in,” I explain vaguely. “And raised me,” I tack on.
Baz returns my dumbfounded expression when I reveal this information.
“Benny Velona raised you?” He laughs bitterly. “You mean he was actually interested in someone other than himself?” He sweeps his harrowing gaze over me. “You’re not so hard on the eyes, and you’re not a freaking reject, so I guess I can understand why he’d rather raise someone else’s kid over his own.” His pain and resentment ooze from every opening in his body.
“You’re not a reject, Baz.” I know, two seconds ago he slapped me with a backhanded insult, but I can take it. It’s nothing I can’t brush off. Plus, seeing Benny’s lifelong neglect stamped all over Baz is devastating. Benny wasn’t the greatest person on Earth. I know this. I’ve always known this. He may have found me when my spirit was broken, but my mind worked just fine. I never romanticized him. I may have loved him. I may have been loyal to him, but I knew what he was capable of. What he liked and what he didn’t. Defects get trashed. Those were Benny’s words. He liked beautiful things. He like well-oiled machines and surrounding himself with nothing but the best. Regardless, if it was man, woman, or child. I’m positive Benny saw Baz’s emotional issues as a weakness. Saw him as a reject. And ultimately cast Baz aside.
“Of course, I am, Stevie,” he verbally attacks me. “You saw what I was like. Experienced firsthand what I’m capable of. How fucked up I am.” He bangs his palm against his head.
“Baz—”
“I tried to be just like him, ya know. Tried to be everything he wanted me to be. I idolized him, but it was never good enough. I was never enough. His retard offspring, I heard him tell my mother once. I’m not normal, I know that. But I tried, Stevie, I tried so damn hard to get him to love me. And he just wouldn’t—”
“Baz, stop.” I grab his face, silencing his tirade. “I’m glad you’re nothing like him. I like the way you are.”
“Fucking crazy?” It isn’t a snarky remark. He’s dead serious. His issues are blatant, and he isn’t hiding behind them, but he is letting them affect him.
“Crazy doesn’t scare me. I’m still here, aren’t I? You destroyed me three nights ago. Holding that gun to your head, begging me to end it. A man as good as you doesn’t deserve a death like that. A man as good as you deserves to be loved and cherished and protected.”
“I tried to kill you, twice,” he solemnly reminds me.
I smile. “Tried being the operative word. I’m not that easy to kill.” I kiss the tip of his perfect nose.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” he confesses.
“Didn’t want to tell me what?”
“How bad it really was. When you asked me about it. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to see me differently.” He drops his eyes.
“I don’t see you differently. I see the same man who played pool with me with no expectations, and chased me out to my car for no good reason, and told me I was beautiful and genuinely meant it. It was the first time I ever really believed it or liked hearing it.” A little embarrassed smile breaks through his lips like sunshine. “You also gave me something I’ve always wanted. Secretly wished for.” I place his hand on my stomach.
“You said you were on birth control.” It isn’t an accusatory comment. He’s just stating a fact.
“I was. But there was a mix-up
at my gynecologist’s office, and I didn’t get the message that I was overdue for my shot in time. Whoops,” I feign upset.
“Yeah, whoops. That’s what we’ll call him until we can figure out a name.”
“I like Baz.”
Baz scrunches his nose. “I think we can do better. Besides, we aren’t even sure if it’s a boy.”
“You sound very committed to this baby already.” I test the waters, wanting to see where his head is at.
“Committed isn’t a strong enough word. Ironclad, exact and binding, concrete, solid, substantial commitment is more like it. Signed in blood.”
I try to hide how ecstatic that response makes me feel. I never knew my real parents, and I pledged this child would know at least one of his—or hers. Knowing both? A secret eyelash wish come true.
“What about his mother? Are you committed to her, too?” I push the envelope, starving to know exactly what he wants. How much of us—me and the baby—he actually wants.
That warmth I’ve become so fond of radiates off Baz. He cups my cheek. It’s a possessive yet tender touch.
“I fell stupidly and selfishly in love with you the moment I saw you,” he professes. “I would have stalked you to the ends of the Earth, and not a damn thing has changed in the three months ’we were apart. You were the only thing that occupied my mind. Your memory drove me insane. And now that I have you back, I’m not letting you—either of you—out of my sight ever again. Does that answer your question and put to rest all your fears?”
“Who says I’m scared?” I challenge.
“We all have fears, Stevie. Even if we’re experts at hiding them. I’m sure the thought of being a single mother rattled your chains at some point.”
“Maybe for like a millisecond. I was more concerned about this baby not knowing it’s father. It’s okay if you don’t love me, but somewhere deep down I always hoped you’d love him.”