by Juli Valenti
His mouth was warm as he breathed along my center and I shivered; the anticipation was killing me. The moment his tongue caressed me I was lost. My hands fell to his shoulders, his head, everything and anything I could reach. I was trying to keep myself from exploding into pieces, holding on to myself to avoid the inevitable. When his fingers joined the mix, entering me, stretching and exploring me, I lost the battle entirely. My body ripped apart, all the stress of the evening lifting from me, pleasure skyrocketing me up and around as the world spun. A sound burst from my lips, half scream and half cave woman grunt, primal.
I floated back to Earth, my hearing slowly returning and picking up R&B music still filling the room. My limbs were like Jell-o and I started when I felt fabric grazing first my foot then my ankle, my skin hypersensitive. I glanced down to find Dane sliding my panties and shorts up my legs, re-dressing me. But he didn’t get off, the voice in my head panicked, still foggy and distant in my post-orgasmic bliss.
“What?” I asked, unable to form more words than that.
“What, what?” he answered my question with his own – that’s still annoying – as he snatched my tank from the floor.
“But you … you haven’t … didn’t…” I stammered as he motioned for me to raise my arms. I did and he slipped it over my head, gently pulling the fabric down my body.
“Tonight was about you.”
“Why?” I was dumbfounded, completely confused. He and I had been intimate a few times – okay, a lot of times – since meeting and this had never happened. Both of us always got happy endings. A one-sided fiesta wasn’t what I ever hoped for.
“Because I said so,” he told me authoritatively before lifting me off the couch and taking me into the bedroom. According to the bedside clock it was only nine-thirty, entirely too early to sleep.
“But—” I protested as Dane waved me off.
“No ‘buts,’” he said from over his shoulder as he disappeared from the room. I listened, now alert, as his steps sounded down the stairs.
I sat like a lump on a log, confused but sated, for what seemed like forever. It felt wrong for him not to be rewarded – yes, I said rewarded – for giving me pleasure. It’d been fantastic, blissful. He’d made all my worry, the stress of meeting his father, frustration over arranged business marriages, everything, just disappear. Now there I sat, worried about what it could all mean. Self-doubt is a jealous bitch, I tell you.
After twenty freaking days of waiting, and by twenty days I mean five minutes, Dane reentered the room, his hands full. He was carrying a fancy real-silver tray, one that Elle and I reserved for ‘special occasions’ – what those were, I’m not sure … I’m basically saying it was never used – full of various things to snack on. Fresh strawberries, chocolate, two flutes of champagne, a bowl of what I assumed was either yogurt or whipped cream, and two movies. I watched as he placed it on the dresser, turning to put a movie in the DVD player that I’d kept in my room for days when I wanted to watch something in bed. It was rare that I ever used it, but I liked to have it just in case. My eyes trailed his back, catching slight glimpses of his tattoo as he moved.
“What does your tattoo say?”I blurted. Sure, I’d traced it many times, but every time I thought about asking what it meant I got distracted. Usually by him, but still.
“Più di mio padre, tutti di mia madre,” he said, enthralling me with the way his tongue caressed the foreign words. It sounded beautiful, but to be inked into his skin permanently, I knew it had to have a deeper meaning than just pretty syllables. As predicted, he continued, “It roughly translate to ‘more than my father, all of my mother.’ Of course, if you were to throw it in Google translate it would be butchered, like most translations, but that’s what it means.”
“Huh,” was all I could say as he flashed me a smile and fiddled with the buttons on the player before bringing me my glass of bubbly. Taking a sip, I was a bit confused on what constituted the need to have the expensive drink – it was good champagne, not something you’d drink unless a special occasion … usually.
“What are we watching?” I asked, the curiosity finally getting the better of me. He’d, inconveniently for me, hidden the cases of the two options as he’d chosen, and placed them out of sight once the disc was in.
“The Godfather,” he announced proudly, a smirk pulling his lip up. I spit the drink all over myself, shock coloring my face and my eyes wide before I laughed. Was he serious?
“Are you serious?!” I asked, unbelieving. The irony and the hilarity of it was so extreme that it was almost too much.
“Yep.”
“And the champagne?”
“Well, I figured surviving your first run in with a mob boss should mean something,” he told me as he moved to sit next to me, fluffing pillows behind his back and pulling the tray between us on the bed. His mouth moved as the beginning started, quoting as Amerigo Bonasera claimed his belief and love of America. Okay, apparently he’d seen this movie many times – I’d seen it maybe once, but I was surprised that either I, or Elle, owned it.
Soon, we were both laughing as Dane did impressions, mimicking Don Corleone and turning him into his father. My side hurt and my eyes watered; it was painful but cathartic at the same time. Leave it to this man to turn something potentially deadly into something I could laugh about. I would’ve never thought it would be possible, but, with Dane, a lot of things were possible.
We sat like that for hours, well into the night when we should have been sleeping – he had to work in the morning. When I’d said something about it, he’d merely shrugged, smiled cockily, and informed me he was the boss – he could come in when he pleased. We ate the fruit and foods, not caring about crumbs on the bed, and sipped expensive champagne for no other reason than we were alive. Dane had to run downstairs at some point to grab the bottle, and we took turns passing it between us instead of using the glasses.
For the second movie? The Godfather Part II of course.
Dane left me around nine or so, I think. My memory of him climbing out of bed, showering, and kissing me on the forehead was rather fuzzy, dreamlike. When I woke for real, it was after eleven and I stretched, still relaxed and only slightly stressed about our run in with the Don last night. Despite everything his father had said, Dane told me not to worry, to forget about it, and I was going to do my best to do just that.
Deciding to go through the pile of colored envelopes piling up on my counter, I made a bowl of yogurt and raspberries. Situating myself on the couch, the bowl perched on my knee, I opened them and made piles of ‘interested’ and ‘no way in hell.’ You couldn’t pay me to go to some of them, the events over the top and bordering on pompous, like the one that proudly stated ‘The Socialite Gala’ in bold lettering. I should’ve known when it came in a pink envelope.
One of the many caught my eyes. The writing was gold on an emerald-green envelope, and much different from the others. It was a script I recognized: Dane’s. Hmm, that’s interesting. He hadn’t mentioned an event, or an invitation, and I put my now empty bowl on the coffee table before smelling it. It smelled like Dane, his cologne, and I smiled, thinking how he would’ve written this just for me. It was a gamble though – he’d seen the stack, sitting where it had for days on the counter, untouched. He hadn’t even placed it on the top, instead slipping it somewhere in the middle. I lifted the flap and pulled the expensive card stock out and read it.
Miss Ryen F. Macek
Mr. Brian D. Ranucci proudly requests your presence
for the grand unveiling of Murdock Designs, Birmingham
to be held the Thirtieth of April, Twenty-Fourteen,
nine o’clock at 640 20th Street North, Birmingham.
Red Carpet, Black tie and Dress required.
RSVP Preferred.
Okay, so perhaps not quite a huge gamble – of course he knew I’d read them before I left to go back to real life. But why hadn’t he said anything about it? The grand unveiling of the new branch of his comp
any was a big freaking deal, at least it would be to me, and I was puzzled why he hadn’t mentioned it. Of course, there was no doubt that I’d go – of course I would – but I pulled my cell phone out anyway and texted him.
*Me: This is me, RSVPing for an event that someone forgot to tell me about but conveniently left an invitation. Odd behavior, indeed*
I waited for about eight minutes, not that I was counting before my phone buzzed in reply.
*Dane: I see someone FINALLY went through her invites*
*Me: Nice way to avoid the question*
*Dane: Was there a question in there?*
*Me: Why didn’t you say anything?*
*Dane: I didn’t want you to feel obligated to go*
*Me: Of course I’m going to go, and I don’t feel obligated*
*Dane: Will you feel obligated to go as my date?*
*Me: Are you asking me out? How cute*
*Dane: Har har, funny girl. Answer the damned question*
I couldn’t help smiling at his demand. Was he really worried about whether or not I’d say yes to going with him? Surely he couldn’t think I’d actually say ‘no.’ Hell, the man and I had been practically inseparable since I’d gotten to New York. Change in geographics wasn’t going to suddenly change my mind about spending time with him.
*Dane: You’re killing me here*
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. It had only been three freaking minutes. Keep your boxers on, dude, I was washing my dish.
*Me: Of course I’ll go as your date – now get back to work so you can have this grand unveiling*
He didn’t text me back, which didn’t surprise me. I decided I wanted to go out and get some fresh air, so I changed and pocketed my ID and debit card, as well as my phone, and took off – letting my feet lead me where they would. I ended up in a little Internet café, ordered a caramel macchiato – still my favorite coffee drink – and sat down by a window. I hadn’t been on social media much, too busy having a real life, and decided to check it.
That turned out to be a pretty bad idea. My inbox was flooded with questions, clippings of pictures featuring Dane and me, and even some trolls – bitching about my being with such a hot, eligible man. That was just my Facebook. My Twitter and Instagrams were just as bad, if not worse, more bombarding with things I already knew, things that were new, and rumors. Good God, the rumors. Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time? There was the rumor that Dane had been spotted shopping for a ring – it hadn’t even been three freaking weeks, people, come on! There was a rumor that Dane had begun working for his father; there was even one that I was working for Gianpaolo, along with a photo of him leaving my building. Wow. I couldn’t help but laugh. I was so boring that people had to actually make stuff up about me. The best had to be that I was suffering from an eating disorder – where that troll had gotten the ammunition for that one, I have no idea. I was eating more, if that was possible, than ever before. I loved food and food in the Big City couldn’t be beat.
After I shut my apps down, my thoughts drifted back to the man who had my world all a buzz. I remembered his texts, how he almost sounded shy of all things, and of our time together last night. It’d felt good to laugh, but time with Dane always felt good … it just was. And add in his ‘tonight is for you’ bit and focusing on my pleasure? Did men still do that? Weren’t there strings – there were always strings, weren’t there?
I couldn’t help but think that maybe I’d found a real match for myself … and I chose well, if I do say so myself.
Somewhere between sweet milk and bitter espresso, I’d had a brilliant idea. Dane and I weren’t planning anything for the night – having talked about it last night. He had things to do today and into the evening, and he’d decided to take tomorrow off to spend with me. That was fine with me, but while I’d been sitting in the café I’d changed my mind. I wanted to do something for him, something nice and sweet that showed him I was thinking about him. That I wasn’t one of those girls who expected him to come to me, alone, not showing any initiative to return the gesture. Men needed pampering too.
Checking my watch, three-forty, I noted I had plenty of time to pull this off. Dane wasn’t going to be home until close to eight. I stepped out of the café and into the light, taking in the sky. It was getting cloudy and I hoped it wouldn’t rain … that would seriously drown my parade. I hailed a cab and headed for Fairway Market, picking up the items I needed before heading back to my apartment.
Once there, I fired up the stove and got to cooking. I made chicken enchiladas, just like my dad used to make. His were different in that the tortillas were lightly fried before rolled, preventing them from cracking. It was a drawn-out process, made better by Pandora belting the most bi-polar assortment of music ever and it wasn’t long before I put the pan in the oven for the baking.
As it cooked I changed, dressing in a pair of skinny jeans, a silver colored, one-shoulder top, and a matching pair of boots. I curled my long hair, leaving dark tendrils to frame my face, and applied only a light layer of mascara and eye liner. The beeping of the oven pulled me from my primping and I took a final glance at myself before deciding I would do.
I packed a small CorningWare with the enchiladas, the rest going in the fridge for leftovers, into the fabric bag along with a bottle of wine and a movie. I’d chosen Boondock Saints – something I knew was right up his alley. I called down to arrange a driver – I wasn’t going in a cab, had you seen what I was wearing? A bright-yellow taxi just wasn’t going to work with this. Seven minutes later they called back up, informing me that my car was ready. Wow, that was fast. I checked my watch: eight-sixteen. Perfect.
The drive to Brooklyn was pretty much what I was expecting, nothing really interesting, for me to see, not that I was really looking. I couldn’t explain why I was nervous … maybe because I was showing up without announcing myself, but that was part of the surprise. When the car pulled up to the curb, my driver asked if I’d like him to wait, but I waved him off. Dane could take me home in the morning, or later that night if he didn’t want me to stay with him.
I straightened my top, adjusted the canvas bag on one shoulder, my purse on the other, and knocked on Dane’s door. As I waited for the sound of footsteps, I entertained myself with the number four proudly polished on his door, marking his place. It didn’t surprise me that the bronze shone – he was an architect, little details were his forte. The door opened and pulled me from my internal reverie. Dane stood in a pair of loose basketball shorts with a muscle shirt, his brow pinched as he took me in.
“Ryen … what are you doing here?” he asked, not stepping aside for me to enter.
I stood awkwardly, the bag on my shoulder getting heavy. Not going to lie, I was taken aback – I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. This certainly wasn’t the welcoming I’d expected. Maybe he’d had a bad day and was looking forward to quiet time. Maybe he was in a hurry to leave and take care of things he needed to take care of. Maybe he was just truly puzzled as to why I was there - who knows.
“I wanted to surprise you. I brought provisions,” I told him, plastering a smile on my face. As he went to speak again, a voice sounded from behind him.
“Who is it, Brian?” asked a female’s voice before she peered around the corner, wearing only a towel, her dark hair wet as if she’d just gotten out of the shower.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Chapter Sixteen
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I told him, voicing my thoughts aloud as I stood there dumbstruck. I couldn’t believe it. Deja-fucking-vu. How the hell could this happen to me … again? Did I have a sign blinking in neon over my head instructing men to not only cheat on me, but to do it the exact same way, every freaking time?
I didn’t wait for Dane to stutter a reply, instead dropping the bag at his feet and turning, all but running out of the building. No. This couldn’t happen to me again, it just couldn’t. Out of all men, Da
ne? Was I really that blind? I never saw it coming – he never did the things Aaron did. He took calls in front of me, never once talked in circles – it was one of the things I liked about him. He was blunt, honest, always said what was on his mind … so how?
My feet took me down the sidewalks, no clue as to where I was going, just walking. Maybe if I kept moving, I would prevent my mind from replaying the scene over and over in my head. Of course, no dice there – my mind was a sick fuck. It liked to analyze the painful, pick at the scabs in my psyche and poke at them, just to see if they hurt as bad as I thought they did. This? This hurt. It hurt bad.
Sure, I’d only known the guy a couple weeks. We never discussed being exclusive. There had been no promises of a happily ever after, a ‘forever together’ vow or anything silly like that. No, there hadn’t been any of that. Will you go as my date? he’d asked. Why had he even bothered? Because he knew that Atlanta wasn’t that far from Birmingham? Because the press expected it? Because he thought I expected it?
My phone vibrated but I ignored it, instead moving it from my back pocket and dropping it to the bottom of my purse. He could save it – what, pray tell, could he possibly say to me that would make any difference at this point? Absolutely nothing.
It had sucked finding Aaron the way I had. It had scarred me, I won’t admit anything different. I’d mistrusted every single person, thing, animal that had something swinging between their legs because of him. But with Dane, it was a pain of a different kind. I’d found a guy I thought to be a real contender. Someone who could eventually be someone to me … someone who could be a part of a future one day. He’d made me laugh, I’d shared secrets with him. He’d gotten me to drop my guard down, to allow someone else in. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.