by KT Morrison
“Nia,” Athena called her, reminding her of the urgency. This could ruin Donna’s wedding.
“I know,” she said to Athena, “I’ll be there in a fuckin second.” She turned to Geoff, said, “It's okay, baby. I’m just going to get rid of him.” But she didn't know what was going to happen. Didn't know what drunk and angry Rocco might do. His baby was deaf, he was in a prolonged fight with his wife, he was at the end of a brutal work season that had taxed his body, his mind—he’d cheated on his wife, had learned that his lover let her husband watch without his knowledge. How would a man bear all that burden? Rocco was strong, he had unlimited physical capacity, he had resolve, he was mentally sharp, but this wasn't work. These problems weren't things you could turn a wrench on or work overtime til it was done. They were intangibles. Unsolvable. How did a man who solved his problems with his huge impossibly strong hands deal with problems in his heart and soul?
“I’ll be okay, Geoff...I’ll be right back...”
She turned from his table and Athena was waiting for her, holding a hand out to take hers and lead her to Rocco. “You have to get rid of him,” Athena hissed. Nia knew the stakes. It was already too much of a spectacle. Too much attention away from the wedding. She felt the eyes on her, the judgment. Felt their verdicts already. Nia had fucked her boss and now he was here to cause a scene. It was obvious. It was what she would think of another woman if it weren't happening to her.
“I know,” she said, “I will. I can handle him.”
Bridesmaids and some of Donna’s friends, girls she knew, had gathered at the double doors that led to a vestibule where they had come in as the bridal party. She didn't know how Rocco had ended up at these doors but at least it was more secluded. She could lead him from there to somewhere private.
Lisa held the door handle and she warned Nia, “He's been drinking. He’s scary.”
“It’s okay, Lisa,” she said and she took the handle. Lisa moved her hand away.
“You want me to get Geoff?” she asked her.
“I got it, Lisa. He’s fine.”
She bit her lip, and turned the handle, went into the dark room.
Rocco was there, facing away.
He was in jeans and a black T-shirt, filling up the staid and formal vestibule with his massive down-and-dirty masculine presence. He turned, elation passing his face as he saw her. “Nia...”
“Rocco, not here. No way, not fuckin here.”
“Listen to me...”
“Rocco, you can't be here.”
“Fuckin listen to me,” he said, his voice grave and low, cutting through it all and shaking her.
The vestibule was dim, steel bannisters lined stairs to the right that headed up to another walkway that led to a different wing in the hotel. The room was circular, marble floor, two doors led out. One to the kitchen and staff area, the other to a small suite for the bridal party.
“Go in there,” she said, pointing angrily to the door to the suite. She turned and opened the door a crack and Lisa was there.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It's fine. I’ll just be a minute, okay? He’s okay...”
She let the door close and watched Rocco open the door to the suite and go in, look around. She followed him, closed the door behind her. The suite was dim as well, just a lone table lamp lit in yellow next to a leather couch. There were chairs and tables in there, along the walls, empty glasses of wine they’d left in here while they were waiting at different times of the day. Rocco turned to face her, his back to a broad circular table with an enormous bouquet of pastel flowers exploding behind him.
“Rocco,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
He rubbed his own forehead, his breaths low and loud. “Nia, I fuckin...” he shook his head.
“You came all this fuckin way, ruin the wedding...”
“I fuckin...I’m sorry.”
She didn’t answer him. Her body relaxed, some tension slipping away and her back eased. Her release rose then to an anger. “What?”
He lowered his head, his hands clasped in front of him. “Those things I said to you...”
“What about them?”
“You’re not a whore. That’s not why I hired you.”
“That’s nice,” she said and crossed her arms. He stepped to her suddenly and she withdrew. “What are you—”
He grabbed her. His big hands clutched her arms and he pulled her to him. “I hate I said those things...I can’t believe I wanted to hurt you...”
“You did. You really fuckin hurt me, Rocco.”
“Nia, I need you.”
“You’re a fuckin asshole, Rocco.”
“I know I am. You made me better. I can’t be without you. I need you.”
“You just want to stick your cock in me.”
“Fuckin don’t,” he said, and he shook her. “I want that. I want more.”
“More?”
He kissed her. Lifted her, her heels coming off the ground and just the tips of her toes dragging in the Persian rug. She succumbed. She let him take what he wanted. She needed him too. This week without him had driven a stake in her heart. She was sick without him. Her friend, her hardcore lover. He'd become a huge presence in her life. She spent so much time with him. They had fun, he scared her, he inspired her, he brought her to ecstasy. The things he’d said had broken her. Ruined her. Part of her had hoped, a tiny flickering thing, that he didn’t mean it. She could be as mad as she liked right now at him, that felt good, but it also felt good to submit to him, to hear he was sorry, to hear he didn't mean those things. It swelled her, filled her with relief and happiness. If what he said was true, he needed her, he was sorry, he didn’t mean it...
So, she let him kiss her. Let him draw from her what he needed. She felt it in his lips. Emotion, passion. This wasn't sex, this wasn't lust. He had something for her. She meant something to him. She was powerful.
There was a strength in his kiss. It was at once dominant and tender. It delivered passion but it wanted something, it desired for more. She gave it to him. Relaxed her mouth against his, let her lips part, felt his thick tongue. She’d never seen him as a man when she thought of him sexually. Just masculine. Powerful. But not complete. He was everything she wanted in a fantasy lover but she’d never allowed herself to think of him as whole. She was frightened to.
Rocco said, “I want you. I want you to be mine.”
“I’m married Rocco. You're married.”
“No. I'm leaving her. We’re through.”
She gasped and a tremble shuddered through her. It was her. She’d done it. Ruined his marriage. She felt it now. She’d given him everything he ever wanted in a fantasy lover and it had torn his life. Ripped his union apart from the woman he’d married, from his family.
He kissed her again and she went limp in his arms. She submitted to his strength. Submitted to submit. Submitting because she wanted to feel his deepest passion. She wouldn't leave Geoff. But she wanted to know what it felt like to be made love to by this man. He was powerful, he was dirty, she'd seen his darkness but what would it feel like to be made love to by him, what would a man like Rocco feel like when he cared? What was it like to really taste his desire, to feel it in his touch, to be rocked by his power as he drove himself between your legs with emotion?
Her hands rested on him. Felt his warmth through his shirt, felt his strength, felt the incredible man he was. He was everything. She'd denied it but he was all she ever wanted in a man. She liked him. They laughed. He wrenched awe from her. His drive, his power, were enormous unquenchable things. He was disgustingly masculine, he was arrogant, he would crush another man who ever thought he could have her. He wouldn't share her. He would kill a man for touching her, she knew it. Knew it in every little thing he did in his life. He was possessive, angry, dominant. If she submitted, let him make her his, she would be protected. Her breaths heaved at the thought, her heart pounded with his passion. She sucked his lips, felt him take her tongue. His breaths scored lu
stily through his nose. Her nails scratched his arms, scratched his back, and her wet mouth twisted against his wet mouth.
“Do you feel me?” he growled.
“I feel you, Rocco,” she sighed, looking in his eyes. He kissed her again. His hands smoothed her waist, grabbed her ass. She moaned. She wanted him. She wanted him to take her the way he wanted. She didn't want to drive him mad. Didn't want to provoke his monster. She wanted him to show her, show her how he wanted her. Not to fuck her face, fuck her holes, but to hold her, caress her, dance with her.
“Take me,” she gasped.
His hand slipped between the silky folds of the slit in her dress. Hard and coarse against her oiled thighs, it swept up between until it touched her panties and made her cry out.
“Make love to me, Rocco,” she said.
He eased her panties down with one hand, no tearing, no yanking, just his strong fingers peeling them down her flesh. When his fingers touched her sensitive sex she cried out, bit her lip. The door was unlocked. People were waiting.
“Do it,” she urged. “Fast.”
He pressed her against the table and she lay back on it, her head nestled in the flowers of the bouquet, his arm holding her up. His lips never left her. His hands worked his zipper and she ached to feel him again. The sound of the teeth being unclenched doubled her heart, flushed her with excitement.
He spit in his hand, and they looked deep into each other’s eyes as his fist stroked his cock. She heard the wet sounds of his spit and his foreskin, felt on the verge of insanity with desire. Her hands quaked, clutched his shoulders, nails dug in. She felt him then. Felt his hot tip, felt his size, felt the soft mushed shape of the end of her monstrous lover’s manhood. Felt it peel back as he entered her, his wet glans sliding and spreading her sex. He breached her painfully but she craved it. Wanted that torment, wanted his injury, his proof of masculinity. He was careful, thrusting in brief contracted movements, lifting her off the table, each one spreading their wet down his shaft and letting it rend her.
“Mmph,” she cried into his kiss, her face twisted in pain and passion. He stayed shallow. His arms went around her and she never felt more safe in her life. They made love. His hips pressed and she bucked, their mouths explored. She kissed his neck, he kissed hers, she sucked on the skin of his collar and felt his kisses on hers. Her hips roiled with him, her tummy rolling, riding his rapture.
His passion was real, she’d never felt him like this. His hips moiled and his thrusts felt careful despite his size. He wasn't punishing, he was enjoying. The realization made her gasp. He wasn’t performing, he wasn't dominating, he was taking pleasure from her. Sharing. Not out to impress, not out to destroy right now—he was one with her, lost in the feel of her insides, lost in the touch under his fingers. She touched him back. Explored him with tenderness. Her hands roamed his muscle, smoothed it. She didn't hurt him, claw him, destroy him, or try to rip him. She endured his painful wide feel, bucked with his thrusts, twisted and swivelled with him, her legs climbed him. She felt her own passion rising and swelling in her. Her breaths powered through her. She leaned back from him, sat hunched on the table, her hands folded over the edge now, her legs draped over his hips, her dress hiked clumsily up, her lover thrusting through the slit in her bridesmaid dress. She huffed and huffed, her breaths rocked her, her lover rocked her. His hands pressed flat now on the table on either side of her rump. She watched between her spread legs, saw his massive cock sliding in and out of her, wet from her. He lowered his head to hers, foreheads pressed, eyes locked on each other. She stared into his black eyes, saw the bright white spot in there, quivering wet with excitement. She couldn't blink, couldn't look way. Their breaths got quicker and quicker. She was going to come. He was going to come. It wasn't dirty, it wasn't forced or painful, it was emotion. Her lips parted and she gasped, she stared deep into him and he never wavered, his hips powered his piston deep into her and they never looked away.
“Oh, Rocco, oh...”
“Nia,” he grunted. His voice was like iron dragged over granite. “Nia, I love you so much.”
It broke her. Broke her in two.
GEOFF
They were in there a long time. He didn’t know what to make of it.
He stood with Lisa who he didn’t know very well and Athena who he didn’t know at all. At least the commotion had cleared. Rocco’s disturbance had largely been forgotten now. Festivities resumed. The DJ prepared for the couple’s first dance.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Lisa asked him.
They were on the reception side of the double doors. Lisa had said Nia and Rocco had gone into the suite on the far side of the vestibule together. He hoped she was okay but he also knew his wife could handle herself.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “There was trouble at work this week...I’m sure they’ll get it sorted out.”
“Should you go in?”
“Should I? I don't know. Maybe,” he said, wondering what he should do here. Another man, a man like these girls’ husbands would go in and extricate their wife. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do it on a regular day—he trusted his wife to gauge whether she needed his help or not—but he would be wary today knowing Rocco knew now he’d spied on him while he fucked his wife. He anticipated Rocco’s anger.
“I think you should get her out of there, Geoff.” Some of the other girls agreed.
He felt emasculated, felt their urgency, their expectancy. They expected him to do what a man would do and him not doing it was making them uncomfortable. Mad even.
“I’ll go...yeah, I’ll go get her...”
The lever turned as he rested his hand on it and he whisked it back. Worried who was coming through. They all waited, the doors parted and Nia was there.
“Shit, Nia,” he sighed.
She startled, seeing everyone’s faces looming so close. Her hand covered her mouth and in the instant before it was there he realized her lipstick was a different colour.
“Jesus,” she hissed.
Lisa said, “Is he gone?”
“Yeah,” she said, “he’s gone, everything’s fine. We had a blowout at work...he just wanted to clear the air. You know, Geoff, right?” she said, looking for support.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I told them. So, everything is okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. But it wasn't. He could tell it wasn't. Something was going on.
The music swelled suddenly. The guests had gathered at the dance floor. John Legend’s All of Me blossomed from the speakers and the ladies swooned. Donna was there on the polished dance floor, looking beautiful in her long white Empire Waist. She and Anthony performed their well-practiced dance, him cradling her in his arms. Donna’s smile was wide and white and, just like at the ceremony, Geoff teared up. The way they looked in each other’s eyes twisted at his heart. He took Nia’s hand and they made their way as close as they could to the edge of the dance floor and watched Nia’s friend start her new romantic life. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed his back.
He watched his wife watch her friend, let his head drift far back enough so he could watch her without her seeing she was being watched. Her eyes glistened wetly, a ridge of tear on her lid threatened to tumble and slip down her cheek. He laughed and squeezed her hand. His Nia was not sentimental. It was funny to see her as affected as he was. She brushed the tear away and wouldn't look at him.
Her eye makeup had been reapplied as well. More traditional Nia Greek Goddess heavy black. His hands went cold, a tingle in his tips. Strength left his legs.
“Nia,” he whispered, but she pretended not to hear. The tear rolled down her cheek.
The song ended and they applauded Donna, Nia took a napkin off the table she was standing next to and dabbed her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her. She sniffed. Another song started and she took his hand and led him to the dance floor and they mingled with other inspired couples with the same desire to be together like the young couple
they’d just watched.
He danced with her, his rubbery legs awkward and clumsy, a dread washing up his back. “Nia, talk to me,” he said.
“I’m fine, baby,” she said but he heard an unfamiliar tightness in her throat.
“What did he want, Nia?” He squeezed her slim body, enjoyed her feel, enjoyed the extra strength he took from her.
“To say sorry,” she whispered.
“Really?”
“We can get the cottage, Geoff.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s going to be okay. I have my job back.”
“You have your...but, Nia,” he said.
She hugged herself to him, didn't want him to pull back and have to look into each other's eyes. The makeup, her fear, her tear...
His hand dropped from her waist and went between her legs, he hooked a finger into the apex of the dress’ slit, slipped his hand up underneath. He could feel her shake against him, could feel her sobbing. His hand went higher and she didn't struggle, didn’t squirm. Her skin was soft and smooth, his skin, his wife’s skin—he went higher and found her panties, went down the front. She shook against him.
Her sex was used, her lips engorged, swollen, unfurled and loose. She was hot, she was wet. She was dripping. His cries came too. His eyes stung, he teared. Wetness smeared his hand and he pulled it from her and stepped back. He spread his fingers, saw the cambered jiggling threads of Rocco’s semen.
Couples danced around them, oblivious to this simple man’s enormous pain. Nia was horrified, she was devastated. Disgust rose up in him, splashed bile in his throat, burned him so bad his eyes watered. More tears flowed. He lurched for the table nearest the dance floor, grabbed a burgundy cloth napkin and wiped his hand frantically.
Nia was behind him then and she clung to his back, “I’m sorry, Geoff, I’m sorry,” she cried. He shrugged her away.
“Geoff, don’t...”
There was something wrong with her. She’d scared them all away. He got her because she was no good. She was no good.
“Nia,” he gasped, couldn't say any more. He held his heart, his hand clawing at his shirt under his tie.