Suck
Page 4
“Good morning angel.”
Reece leans against the counter with a coffee mug in one hand, watching me with considerable amusement. He’s panty-wetting gorgeous, if I was wearing any, with the wicked grin lighting up his handsome face. He looks like a model posing for a photo shoot, and every single woman I know would buy whatever it is he’s selling no matter how much it costs. I avert my eyes to keep from staring at his broad chest or the six pack resting so sleek and defined above his gray sweat pants.
“Good morning.” I tug against my improvised dress. “I hope it’s okay I’m borrowing your shirt. I promise to return it. I’ll wash–”
“Where are you going?”
I grin too. Casual and carefree. Saving my meltdown for later. When I’m home alone. Although I’m not sure right at this exact moment where home actually is. “Walk of shame. Isn’t that what you do after a one-night stand?”
Something shifts in his stance and his expression. A hardness that makes me shiver. The satin fabric rustles from my shaking arms, and I resist the urge to step back when all I want to do is step closer. Yet in another instance the irritation is gone and he smirks. “Because you know so much how one night stands work?”
He’s teasing. But my cheeks flame hot anyway. Yes, I’m a stupid, inexperienced virgin who let booze and humiliation and desire cloud her judgment. But I boss up and accept my mistakes. Move on without regret or request anything more from him. “Thanks for everything. Really. You were great when I needed a friend and I–”
“What are you going to do with that?”
Ignoring my awkward attempt to convey gratitude, he nods toward the gown draped over my arm.
“Burn it.”
Damn. I shouldn’t have blurted out something so childish and immature. Yet, all he does is nod. Seeming to wholeheartedly approve of my idea.
“My thoughts exactly.”
The clink of his cup against the granite counter top sounds as harsh as my breath when he holds out his hand. Uncertain what he wants—what to do—so I just stare. He just frowns. Mad at me but I’m not sure why.
“This way.”
Meek and mute I follow him across the tile and through the white French doors he holds open for me. A silver metal can of gasoline and small red box of matches sit on the ledge of the fire pit built into his incredible stone lanai. Proof that he planned this, whether I made the suggestion or not.
“Throw it in there.”
Stupid to hesitate. I hate the dress. I hate Antonio. I hate myself. But having Reece witness more of my shame paralyzes me.
I would have to guess he’s an impatient man. Busy and important and used to people instantly responding to his demands. With me, he simply waits. Giving me time to process this and him and us. If there even is an us. I shake my head. Definitely not an us.
Not a me and Antonio either. I suddenly need to be free of the symbol, the memories, the guilt, and toss the gown into the circle. Floating down into the ashes left behind from previous blazes that probably didn’t start from a half-crazy, completely doomed wedding.
Just like last night, I don’t know what to do with my hands or my mouth so I cross my arms and keep my lips clamped shut. He seems to know exactly what to do though as I’m guessing he’s always very decisive. Especially when he never asks for my opinion or approval when he douses the tulle with a heavy pour of fuel and tosses the match onto the damp fabric.
Only about two seconds pass before an inferno blazes hot enough to lick my skin but the time and the image feels surreal. Almost as much as the fact that I slept with the most stunning man I’ve ever seen, and he stares back at me like he’s hungry for me again. Which is idiotic and unrealistic. My lack of sleep and slight hangover play tricks with my brain and my heart for how unlikely his desire for me must be. “I guess I should go then.”
I point to the door like an idiot but my feet stay glued to the slate. Hoping he’ll think I’m not a complete moron. Hoping he’ll stop me. Hoping he’ll ask me to stay a little longer...maybe for breakfast.
“Or you could stay the week.”
Okay, that’s way more than breakfast. “The week?”
Yes, I squeak like a teenage girl. Shock always steals my voice, and I blush under his gaze. My embarrassment makes him grin again. Even more magnificent than last night. “You have a beautiful smile.”
Now he’s the one who seems surprised and slowly nods.
“I guess I rarely find reason to, but somehow you make me want to do it more.”
Wow. How do I even respond to that? “Okay.”
Smooth Macy. Real smooth. “I mean, I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
He steps closer. Slow yet determined, and my body actually jolts with unfamiliar yet exhilarating excitement when he slides his thick arm around my waist. Just like how he spooned with me all night and my heart kicks up the beat.
“Let’s talk about your honeymoon while we cook.”
Now I’m confused. “No wedding usually means no honeymoon, and I definitely don’t want to go alone.”
“You’re not going anywhere alone. I have a business trip planned, and I’d like you to accompany me.”
Holy shit. He wants to go away with me. That’s wrong though, right? I shake my head. Forcing myself to say what I think I should rather than what I want. “That’s so generous but I can’t.”
“It’s not generous at all.”
Okay, now I really am puzzled.
“We’ll have fun together. Especially with more nights like last night.”
My cheeks may explode with embarrassment from the reminder but my nipples harden just the same from his insinuation. From his enormous hand caressing my back. His sweet cinnamon breath flitting across my skin.
“You don’t have any place else you need to be, do you?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. We both know what I would be doing right now if I hadn’t been dumped and he wasn’t my knight in shining armor.
“You might as well spend the time with me.”
Forced to quit my job and drop out of school, I prepared myself to revolve my life around Antonio and his demands. Although I’m well aware he never planned to make the same sacrifices for me. No one ever doubted that I would be the good little mafia wife who does what her husband wants—keep her mouth shut and her legs open. And, just like always I was going to go along with what was expected rather than what I wanted.
Bitterness I hate curdles in my stomach, and I focus on Reece’s bare feet as he guides me inside. He walks with the same assurance he imbues in his voice and demeanor. Powerful and demanding, yet he doesn’t feel as suffocating as my previous fiancé. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Or, maybe it’s true.
“I have a meeting to take care of in Caracas and thought we could enjoy a few days at my home in the Cayman Islands afterward.”
I guess I look doubtful regarding the location, when it’s really the entire idea of the trip itself that terrifies me, and he shakes his head as he leads me to the first stool tucked under an enormous island where he has peppers, tomatoes, and mushrooms corralled on a cutting board next to a package wrapped in thick white butcher paper.
“Or, anyplace you want angel.”
No longer any doubt. My pulse races with joy from the realization. He changes for me, not the other way around. Not asking me to be different or not myself. The feeling is foreign and amazing. “No, it’s fine. They’re both fine.”
And, I just agreed to go on vacation with him. What the hell am I doing?
Making him happy I guess, judging from the pleasure softening his face. Making me happy too. So happy I reach over and grab the paring knife and start chopping onions while he opens up a refrigerator bigger than my apartment bathroom and takes out a carton of orange juice.
He strikes me as a man who rarely cooks for himself, so I assume the extravagant brunch is for me. Stupid emotion wells in my throat. Even on my birthday my own mom gave me cold cereal for breakfast and she suppo
sedly loves me. This man—this perplexing mix of danger and generous masculinity—slides the glass over to me with a wink. Before I can even respond with my thanks, he flips open the lid to a carton of eggs and expertly cracks the shells against the side of a red ribbed bowl.
“Why were so anxious for me to fuck you last night?”
Okay, I thought yesterday I was humiliated. This morning is the epitome of embarrassment. I take a long sip of my drink I didn’t realize I needed so much, welcoming the obviously gourmet liquid flooding through my parched mouth.
“I mean, I wanted—I want you—just as much. But for your first time I thought you might be nervous or need more time and attention to get you wet before I stuffed you full of my cock.”
Strange how his filthy words couldn’t be more sweet. He’s trying hard to be kind despite how straight forward he is. Which surprisingly, I really appreciate and respect after a lifetime of dancing around the truth.
“I mean for someone nicknamed The Mouse, you seemed to know exactly what you wanted. And believe me angel, you trying to take charge of my dick was hot as fuck.”
Still dirty and yet in a weird way one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.
“So tell me, Macy, why did you want me to hurry up and fuck you?”
Lies and excuses bubble into my mouth. Yet I can’t bring myself to utter them. Not with him. Not after he’s been so forthright and honest and patient. He waits while I hesitate, chopping with a diligence the vegetables don’t need, but decide for the first time in a long time to go with candor that matches his. “I didn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind.”
“Oh doll, that was never going to happen.”
Despite my raging blush, I chance a glance at him and his smile is as erotic as it is genuine, making me flush all over again from his certainty.
“Or was it that you didn’t want to change yours?”
Finally I can find my voice because I refuse to let him think anything but the truth. “No, I wanted you too.”
Well, I sound kind of confident. My words fade at the end. Regardless of how strong I want to be, I’m still shy. Still an introvert. Still cautious. Especially with this man who intrigues me as much as he overwhelms me.
“There’s more to it than that though.”
Although I want to be like him. Conviction fills his tone. Not a question. He knows but wants me to admit what I’m holding back. I stall, watching as he scoops up the tiny pieces I diced from the wooden tray and sprinkles them across the yellow and white liquid pooled in his pan. Hypnotized by the preciseness of the hands that were so perfect last night too. I take another long sip from my tumbler and keep my gaze on the rim as I answer. “I was worried we’d run out of time if Antonio came here looking for me. If I had to go back to him, I didn’t want him to be my first. I didn’t want to give him something that special.”
The spatula slams down on the speckled surface, and I can’t stop myself from jumping at the fury rolling off of him as he stalks around the cook top to me. Despite the rage my words seem to flame in him, his touch is measured. Direct and forceful yet not frightening. He spins me around on my stool and puts a fist on each side of the black and silver granite and I can’t move. A delicious thrill heats through me at the realization I don’t want to move. I don’t want to be anywhere except trapped by him. “You wanted to give me something that special.”
Again, not a question. For either of us. I nod, too strangled to speak with him so close. With the hunger in his eyes and the heat radiating off his body. Engulfed by the devil and I like it more than I thought possible.
“Thank you angel.”
Warm sweet breath blows strands of my damp hair as he dips down invading my space in a way that makes my pulse stop all together. Especially when his fingers curl around my arms in the same place his marks remain and he lifts my butt off the cushion.
“And for the record, you will never go back to Antonio. You’re mine now, remember?”
I remember him saying it but I don’t remember believing it or him. “I thought you were just caught up in the moment. That you just...”
The intensity of his searing gaze steals the remainder of my belief that I now realize is wrong. He means what he says. He means everything he says if his reputation and the look pinning me in place is any indication. “Mine.”
Definitely no ambiguity from the single word proclamation. I swallow down my heart clawing up to my throat with emotion I shouldn’t allow myself to feel but can’t seem to stop myself. “Yes.”
He kisses my forehead in approval of my whispered assent before he sits me down and swiftly strides back to the stove just in time to flip the omelet before the edges burn. I’m not sure if I can eat. No room for food with the butterflies swirling in endless rotations.
I don’t know how he can be so calm while I’m turning into an insane pool of need just from the brief touch of his hands and lips in the most innocent of places. He seems unaffected, cheerful even as he pokes at the bacon, spitting and sizzling, with a bronze fork. Which is totally unnerving for a vicious mobster. He’s been full of surprises since I’ve met him, and his tenderness toward me has been the most shocking. Not that I’m complaining. I can’t stop staring either. The graceful movements of his massive hands as he plates our breakfast reminds me once again that what we hear and see isn’t always what we know.
“Come.”
Like a puppy desperate for attention almost as much as treats, I obey him. Grabbing my drink and scurrying to follow him back outside to the stone and black wrought iron table and taking the empty chair across from him. A scowl conveys his disapproval without any comment other than his gaze flicking to the seat next to him. Instead of standing up for myself, I meekly slide onto the tan cushion and earn another dazzling smile. Maybe being a little submissive is worth the reward.
“So what now?”
Small talk is definitely not his strong suit. “We eat?”
“Macy.”
One growl and if I was wearing panties they’d be soaked again. I don’t know what is wrong with me. But I can’t lie and say I don’t like it. Or him. “If I’m spending the week with you, I need to get my things. I can’t wear your clothes all the time.”
“There’s no ‘if’ angel. You are spending the week with me, and I like you in my clothes.” He shakes his head with a smirk curling his ample lips. “Scratch that. I like you naked.”
“Well, while I appreciate the compliment, I still need to be covered when we leave the house.”
Hell, am I flirting? I think I am. Look at me.
“No worries. Then we won’t leave the house.”
Look at him. I don’t think he’s flirting at all. He’s deadly serious so I concentrate on eating my perfectly crisp bacon and preventing myself from setting any more traps for him to ensnare me.
“I’m not good at this stuff, so forgive me if I fuck it up. But how are you feeling? Yesterday you were talking about saving your break down for today but you seem okay.” He licks his lips and I stupidly mimic him with my tongue darting out too. Oddly hungry for him rather than this delicious meal he made for us. “More than okay actually.”
This is where I should feel guilty, and moronically, I only feel guilty for not feeling anything but giddiness. “I thought getting stood up at the altar would be the defining moment in my life. You know like other people when they graduate or have a child. Everything marked in time either before or after that moment.”
“You sound like that’s not true anymore.”
I laugh a goofy laugh. More full of merriment than the shame I should experience. “No I think having sex with a stranger on my wedding night overrides my humiliation and creates the turning point for my future.”
My giggle must be contagious. His chuckle warms me more than the golden rays flooding the deck and I’m flying higher than any man has ever made me feel.
“Yeah a future with me.”
“Don’t push it Diavolo, I only a
greed to a week...”
Oh my god, I’m flirting again. I didn’t think I knew how but I must be impacting him from his hand leisurely but possessively running up my thigh. I watch his thick fingers inch closer and closer to the place he’ll discover how I feel about him with the moisture pooling between my legs.
“And I only agreed to take you someplace where you needed clothes, but I’m more than happy to keep you here and naked.”
Yep, he wins. He’s way better at this than me. My elation dampens a bit from the reminder of the women he’s honed his skills on, while the only guy I’ve talked to, because I wanted to, is him.
“Not so mousy now, are you?”
Pride sounds in his voice rather than disdain, and I shake my head, wanting to keep pleasing him. Fearful of ruining the moment from not being as clever as he is.
“Why did they call you that?”
I like that he uses past tense for the description. That he doesn’t see me as meek or timid or inadequate. That he doesn’t see what everyone else sees. “I always made sure I didn’t cause any trouble because my mom already had her hands full.”
“With your dad.”
He knows. No sense trying to hide my discomfort. “Yes. I mean he worked as an accountant for the maf...I mean you...” He doesn’t seem offended by my faux pas, so I keep going. “Anyway, that seemed dangerous enough and then with his gambling addiction and alcoholism, she didn’t need me making things worse.”
I take his silence as encouragement to proceed. “So I got good grades, never stayed out late or skipped school, earned money teaching classes at the Y, and made sure I got accepted to the best university for my degree. I was ready to graduate, move away, and start a different kind of life.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
A hint of remorse flints in his tone. From his perspective, I guess he sees more possibilities for me than compared to his own life, dictated by family obligations he couldn’t control or deviate from, while I felt just as trapped but at least had options. For a while anyway.
“Until that idiot.”
“Yes, until Antonio.”