by Amarie Avant
“Babe, we’re going to dinner tonight at my dad’s, shouldn’t you be second-guessing what to wear?” He asks, placing the keys onto one of his mother’s oddly shaped statues.
“Evan, if I don’t bake, my heart ceases…” I murmur dramatically, this is as emotional as I get, and go figure it’s about carbohydrates.
“Damn, let me see if I can rectify that,” Evan says, bending down before me. Addicted to him, I turn my head toward his generous kisses. His callused fingertips graze against my jawline, his thumb massaging softly at my pulse.
“We shall see exactly what makes your heart stop,” his whisper is devilishly delicious in my ear. Evan plants kisses against the pulse of my neck.
“Yuck, you’re so sweaty,” I halfheartedly pretend to protest, but his lips bruise against mine and then our tongues collide.
His mouth molds against mine and a moan erupts from deep within my belly. Through the thin material of his shorts, Evan’s rock-hard dick pierces my leg. “Oh, I’m sweaty, dirty, eh? So besides stopping your heart, I’m gonna have to make you beg for it?”
“You wish,” I roll my eyes away from him.
Evan stands up tall. He fists the collar of his T-shirt and it tears down the middle.
“Hmmm, you’re for show, Evan, always the entertainer,” I give a wisecrack. My lips curve in a smile, reminiscing as to how badly he got me back when we first met for dissing him so badly about being just “entertainment”.
“Keep talking, I’m mentally tallying just how many swats to the ass you’ll get,” he issues a low, testosterone filled command.
The walls of my pussy contract and spasm with want. “Don’t hate me because sweets have my heart,” I shoot back.
He pushes down his shorts and briefs, cock saluting me instantaneously. I grab a pillow, hold it to my chest, and allow my eyes to lazily rove around the room while he massages the beast, but my peripheral is locked down. Saliva floods my mouth.
He stands at the foot of the bed, caressing each ripple in his thick cock from crown to balls. There’s a bit of sweet gloss at the tip begging me to taste it. Eyebrow cocked, face so fucking arrogant Evan asks, “You want this dick?”
“Nope,” I’m hypnotized by the thickness of his dick, and find myself licking my lips.
“Reese, those gorgeous, pink lips of yours belong right here,” his voice is but a groan, satiny, soft and rough at the same time.
I hold the goose-down pillow tighter, mentally telling myself not to smile, not to salivate, not to give in.
“That mouth of yours is so fucking wet, just as wet as between those thighs.”
My body arises onto my knees before I can even protest. Evan’s sturdy legs plant wide.
“Off the bed.”
I sigh, doing exactly as told.
“Kneel.”
To my knees I cave. The soft murmur of his voice beckons me, the hard steel of his cock right before my eyes. But Evan won’t stop stroking himself, ever so softly. A trickle of honey flows from my pussy.
“Now you can taste,” he nods.
I lick my lips in anticipation, my mouth pooling with water at the instant my lips part, and kiss the head of his shaft. I take him in, inch by inch. Evan’s fingers twine around the thick tresses at the base of my head, he gets a good hold of it.
“You want me to come down your throat,” the words are somewhere between a request, a command, and a question.
But the answer is yes, yes, yes, I moan in agreement.
“I should gloss your lips with my come, beautiful,” his tone is a luscious taunt.
My tonsils rumble ever so softly against the head of his cock as I whimper, wanting and needing his semen.
“I should come all over your face, Reese,” he says, pulling and tugging harder at my head. I suck vigorously, again moaning my agreement.
Evan pulls my head further back, and I’m no longer tasting him. His white cock is shining and blanketed in my saliva. I glance up, pleading and questioning.
“Get in bed, Reese.”
My eyes narrow ever so slightly, head tilted just slightly. “I wanted to taste—”
“Get into the bed,” each word is ushered out as a command, not forceful but those golden eyes of his glimmer. As I arise, Evan says, “Cooperate beautiful, so I can subtract a bit of that thrashing you’ve been begging for.”
I hide a smile as I turn away from him and climb into the bed.
“Now,” he says, climbing in with me, “on your knees, hands on the headboard.”
After doing as told, Evan rubs my lower back, applying a tad bit of pressure. My hips arch, the walls of my pussy are brushed by the air as I tip my hips a bit.
“We don’t have much time,” he says.
I glance over my left shoulder, “We don’t have to go to dinner…”
SMACK. The pain radiating through my body intensifies every nerve ending. I’m prepared for another hit, but Evan’s heavy hand lands softly on my buttock. He rubs away the pain.
“Now, because you are one of the most important parts of my life, Reese, I attempt to make it a habit of remembering what you like, what you don’t like, etcetera.”
I lick my lips; my curvaceous ass is ready for more. Yet his hand rests on my cheek, his thumb finding its way to the entrance of my asshole. Not entering but rooted and ready.
“You once said not to skimp on time while I’m fucking you, right?”
Fuck, I realize my punishment is caused by my big-ass mouth. I’d told him we could give each of our parents twenty minutes’ tops when we were preparing to deal with them. And, oh, just our luck. “Yes, but—”
“But I aim to please. Tony said your mom cooked, and they’re expecting us at six p.m. sharp. So I’m heading to the shower. There is ample room, and you are always free to join me. Just keep in mind, I am going to fuck you until your throat is raw tonight once we return and not a moment sooner.”
“I’d like that… right at this very moment…” I smile over at him, a man of his word.
He backs away, giving a cocky two-finger salute. His chiseled, smug face contorts into a full-blown grin as he turns around and leaves me posted at the headboard.
Falling into a seated position, I rejoined, “I fucking hate you, Evan.”
“And I love you too, Reese.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he owes me a pinky finger—his favorite pinky finger, but he won that back during one of our nightly strolls at an art gallery. We’d made a bet on who was closer in gaging exactly what some monstrosity of a canvas was.
I hightail it out of the bed, deciding that even if he doesn’t fuck me in the shower, I’ll be satisfied either way. The unsettling feeling which reminds me that my life is far from perfect begins to creep in. My railroad of a so-called-life hasn’t been derailed in a while… Lolita had left an ominous voicemail about tonight, and I’m unable to help but wonder.
Dear God, don’t let anymore tragedy strike anytime soon.
27
Evan
“I hope I made enough bombolonases,” Reese says from the passenger seat, tapping a hand against the Tupperware container, which is filled of the Italian dessert donuts.
“Babe, I’m sure you made more than enough, and they’ll be great,” I try to appease her. Yet, she’s sitting on pins and needles at the thought of having dinner with our parents tonight. We took a steaming hot shower, and I damn near had to kick myself in the mouth for pulling that whack-ass alpha move. Yeah, Reese talks shit, but I quickly would have shut her up just as good as not giving her the dick.
Reese didn’t have a stressed bone in her body until we hopped on the freeway over an hour ago.
“Oh shit,” she sighs deeply.
I glance over, “What? What’s wrong?”
“I bought the perfect blend of coffee. We should turn around, Evan.”
“Nah, not gonna happen. We just weathered rush hour, Reese. I’m pretty sure my dads got good enough coffee to pair with the bom
bolonases.”
Seconds later, she speaks again, “Does my mom know about us?”
Finally, the reason for her fidgeting and discomfort. We haven’t visited them since the quote-unquote wedding. They’d come to see Reese and Jamie a few times, but Captain Raynor was on everyone’s asses about the abandoned paperwork, at that time.
I reach over to take her hand. “Wouldn’t be too bad if Lolita did.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Evan.” She tries to move her hand from mine, but my fingers have a firm grip.
“That was not my intentions. Reese, we’re not two hot and horny-ass kids sneaking into each other’s bedrooms.” I glance toward her, grin devilish, “Though, I might be willing to…”
“I’m not spending the night at your dad’s place,” she argues.
Home… Just listening to Reese utter those words brings us even closer. Since the death of Riker, my stepsister has blossomed before my eyes. The hesitance weighing her shoulders seems to have evaporated.
“You don’t want to finish what we started at my pops? Great, I’ll pull over,” I shift the wheel a bit.
Reese slaps at my arm, and we both laugh. “I’ll screw you when we get back home, thank you very much.”
Again silence ensues. Up until this moment, it has been peaceful, just being in each other’s presence, but her thoughts are crashing into each other over there, so I ask, “How’s Jamie?”
She gives a snarky chuckle. “Very well. After the International found out he stayed at the county hospital overnight, he came to town indefinitely and has a personal fleet of servants catering to Jamie’s every need.”
“The International?” I mouth.
“Oh, his real name is Chu.” Her cheeks flush a golden-apricot color. “We have this nasty, hard to break habit…”
“Of lumping men into descriptive categories. Like Suit and International and…” I pause since Reese hides her shame beneath her hand. I reach over and pull her hand down. Then continue with, “You used to refer to me as Suit and The Italian.”
“Not The Italian. Just The Suit, sheesh, Evan, great way to put me on the friggen spot. I’m sorry.”
I smile. “You’re not sorry, you’re mine.”
When we arrive, I unlock the door. A maid is descending the steps with fresh folded towels in her hand. “Hello, Evan, Miss Dunham. Your parents are in the living room.”
As we walk through the sitting area, Reese seems to deflate. Her mother indicated that she had something of the utmost importance to tell us. Reese doesn’t want me to touch her, I respect that as we enter the room.
She nods to her mom and my dad, behavior suggesting she pursues lots of space.
“Oh, my son, he’s famous these days.” Tony pats my back, and it’s all big, hard hugs for us.
“You are quite the hero,” Lolita says, her bright, twinkling eyes roaming over me and then Reese and back again. Reading people comes easy, yet I am unable to determine if Reese’s mom has perceived our connection. “The two of you, please sit. Sit. We have to talk.”
Tony is the strong pillar as he drapes an arm around her shoulder. There’s an exchange of words from him to her, the very action I desire to do with Reese, but she won’t consent. She is the war that I can’t win…
I step toward the windows, and look out over the rolling, vibrant-green golf course. Hands stuffed in my slacks because I can’t watch Tony comfort his wife, and not love Reese outwardly.
A quick glance over my shoulder and the entire scene is engrained in my mind. The loving couple intertwine arms on an antique settee, hands entwined. Reese is across from them. Instead of the matching settee, she’s chosen a chair, which leaves no room for me to comfort her. As she watches the love radiate off of our parents as the quietly speak, her eyes close for a fraction of a second, she desires it too. But she has denied us.
“I think I’ll start with why things went wrong with you and Grayson,” Lolita’s feminine voice is soothing, but she doesn’t get a compliant reaction from Reese.
“Why?” her daughter simply says.
I turn around for a second, just to seem engaged. And shit, I really fucking am. Yeah, I need to know why the two never worked out. Reese had told their story one night. She was wrapped in my arms, while offering a romantic scene in a movie that had been her life.
She’d said before there was me, there was Grayson. She hadn’t verbalized the words ‘love,’ but it rung out in her voice as she spoke. My jaw clenches, the green grass fuzzes before my eyes in anger as I reminisce on her words. Reese had said, there were no interests in the male species before Grayson. She’d been focused on becoming a baker. And there was only Grayson because his assistant was sick one day, forcing him to buy his own breakfast. The douchebag called it serendipity. Then he proceeded to purchase every baked good in Flour just to escort her to lunch. Then at the fancy, well-to-do lunch, he made fun of himself in front of his peers while loudly requesting her hand for dinner. People applauded them, believing the amusement was her engagement. Over my fucking dead body.
As I glance back again, Lolita smiles at me. “Reese and Grayson used to finish each other’s sentences,” she gives this tidbit in order for me to imagine their love too.
“Oh,” I respond, since she’s so kind as to pull me into the conversation.
“Well, we went from bouncing off ideas to each other,” Reese chimes in, “to him writing a few sentences devoid of emotion in email format. Mom, that’s ancient history.”
Those chocolate-brown orbs choose not to cast my direction. And Lolita says, “I scared the crap out of him,” so all eyes are on her now anyway. “I had to see if he honestly loved you. Reese, you’re my baby girl, you’re all I have.”
“Oh sheesh, Mom,” Reese shifts in her seat. Her body language is geared toward the door, further away from me.
At Tony’s nudge, Lolita continues, “I told him just who Milo was. And no, I don’t mean crooked cop. I do believe that mentioning your father was one of Giovanni Giugliano’s children weighed more than love.”
Tony rubs a hand over her shoulder, I sink down onto the brocade chair positioned perfectly for reading while sitting near the window. Milo Gianni Benincassa… Giovanni motherfucking Giugliano. Milo Gianni Giugliano.
A fistful of air evaporates from my lungs, seated wide-legged I take a deep breath. There were rumors. Of course the LAPD had Milo’s body for a short time, but no DNA for Giugliano. And the subsequent days following Milo’s demise, there were more deaths. Deaths of natural causes, deaths pointing the fingers to ‘wives’ who had to be angry, deaths of the four officers who orchestrated the entire event. While that occurred, Milo’s corpse disappeared from the county coroner. Dead bodies have walked away before, but the ‘miracle’ probability is slim.
“So my fiancé ran for his life.” Reese chuckles, “Only to bid farewell via an email probably written in haste while in his corporate office with a skyscraper view of downtown. This is bullshit, Ma.”
Giovanni Giugliano. The name has made grown men piss their pants. The incredulous look on Reese’s face reads that she knows exactly who the man is. She doesn’t keep up on current events, and tells me that she has always hated watching the news and how it has ruined her name. The Giugliano family is the head of a syndicate that governed the entire East Coast territory. Giovanni Giugliano doesn’t get past those who rather not watch the news or those who are too naive to want to know of such atrocities. The nightmares people gossip about don’t even do him justice. But the Giuglianos are legendary.
“It’s true, honey.” Lolita continues, sniffling back tears. “Your father had once been a very bright young man. Loyal to a fault and that's saying much about the version we knew who ping-ponged the police department’s operation to his own father.”
I bite my bottom lip, rubbing the stubble on my chin. Again, Lolita includes me into the conversation, with the nod of her head.
“He'd graduated top of his class. Moved up into the LAPD and was just a
bout to shift over to the FBI, per Giovanni’s orders. Somewhere during that time, Milo went batshit crazy. A power trip took ahold of him so bad, he just had to be king. Those honey eyes which captivated me to no end went cold with greed.”
She spares no expense to Reese’s feelings. Lolita tells Reese how during funeral proceedings she found out that Milo had a family. Another wife and set of kids. Full-blooded Italians who he lived with when they missed him the most.
Then Lolita adds, “Giovanni will be back once you bare your first son.”
Reese cuts in, “Wow, this sounds like a B-list movie, Ma. You’re saying, my child will be blood, and Giovanni will demand to know him. I suppose if I birth all daughters I’m scot-free?”
Reese rises abruptly and starts out of the room.
I take a stand. Lolita does too.
“I’ll talk to her.” I order, crossing the room.
No fucking way. My jaw is set. She’ll have sons. My sons and daughters.
28
Reese
November
I sit up against the pillows and look at Evan. His entire body dominates my queen-sized bed. We haven’t slept here in so long. The winter solstice is coming up shortly, and I’m preparing for Nook’s grand opening. I had initially chosen the spot around the corner from Evan’s home to resurrect Flour. At the moment, the front of Flour is closed, and I continue with the dessert catering business in the kitchen. Besides, the location for Nook is on a bustling artsy street, so breakfast food and drinks will be all the rave.
For now, I set aside the frenzy of starting over to watch him.
Every gold-plated muscle and tendon which becomes my safe anchor is at peace. And every crazy thing my mom has told me, Evan has been by my side. The day I stormed out of Tony’s place after Lolita declared that I was a decedent of the Giugliano family, Evan’s response was rich with confidence. Seasons have passed away, and I can still hear Evan’s declaration that I have no need to worry. He'll always be there.