Double Down

by Torre, Alessandra

  * * *

  “So... you’re staying here.” Meredith peered up at Dario as if he was an unknown specimen, one she planned to slice off a piece of and stick it under her microscope. I interrupted her inspection with a hug, the third one I’d given her since walking into the house.

  “Yep.” Dario drawled out the word, looking too big in the living room. I gave Meredith a look of warning and headed for the bedroom.

  “What?” She widened her eyes in innocence. “It’s just a little odd. Like that dork from Papa John’s sticking a Djorno in the oven.” She followed us down the hall without shame. “I mean, don’t you own, like, five hotels?”

  “Something like that,” Dario responded.

  “Exactly. And isn’t each hotel full of... I don’t know....” She looked up at the ceiling as if searching for a constellation. “Rooms? Beds? Places to put that ginormous head of yours?”

  “Yo, yo, yoooooo.” Jackie wandered down the hall in SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms and stopped short when she saw Dario. “Oh. Hel-lo.”

  Dario cocked his head at me. “I’m rethinking the hotel.”

  “You should.” Jackie turned to Meredith with a frown. “Do you have any Azo? I’ve got a bitch of a UTI that’s burning a hole through my catheter.”

  “Check the cabinet by the microwave,” Meredith said.

  “So... we’re just going to go to bed.” I pushed open my door and ushered Dario inside before he knew all four of our menstrual cycles.

  “I missed you, B.” Jackie sidled inside before I got the door closed and wrapped her UTI-infested arms around me. I grudgingly accepted the hug, then motioned her toward the door. She winked at Dario and strolled toward the door with the speed of a drunk caterpillar.

  “And… you’re staying here.” Meredith repeated the statement for the fifth or sixth time since he stepped in the front door.

  I intervened. “YES. He owns lots of hotel rooms. He’s staying here in this loony, infection riddled, house. He’s Papa John with an annoying cast of roommates. Now GO AWAY.”

  I pushed her as gently as I could manage and swung the door shut, the action blocked by her foot. I pushed the door harder, and her eyes narrowed. Her toes must be pure steel. Funny that I never noticed that before, at all our movie nights and pedicure parties.

  “Be careful, B.” She said the words so softly I almost missed them.

  I met her eyes and fought the urge to give her another hug. Be careful? I didn’t even know how to go about doing that. “This week, you and me. Lunch?”

  She smiled. “Sushi at Transit?”

  I nudged her foot with the door, and she reluctantly moved it. “It’s a date.”

  “Oh, Bell?”

  Something in her voice caused me to stop. I raised my eyebrows, and she grinned at me.

  “You might wanna check the fridge before you head to bed.”

  I watched her go, then turned to see Dario, in the middle of my room, one of my pillows in hand. My stomach growled, a reminder that I hadn’t eaten since before our flight.

  He caught my expression. “What?”

  “Don’t get comfortable yet.” I reached for his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. If my instincts were right, he wouldn’t want to miss this.

  Fifteen

  “Fuck me.”

  “I can’t take anymore.”

  “Just suck it off.”

  Meredith stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and crossed her arms. “Are you guys fucking or eating?”

  Dario turned toward her, a fork in hand, pierced into a wedge of lasagna. “Have you tasted this?” He held it out to her. “It’s insane. Better than Bartellos.”

  She smirked. “Uh… yeah? It’s Momma Hartley’s. Best lasagna on the planet.” She stole his fork and stuck the bite in her mouth. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do to keep Jackie and Lydia away from this. It’s been the freaking Hunger Games, trying to hold them at bay.”

  I blew her a kiss and tried, unsuccessfully, to take one final bite. I lifted the fork, paused in front of my mouth, then set it back down. “I can’t. Dario?”

  He waved me off, leaning back in the chair to stretch. I heard the wood creak, and Meredith and I both eyed the Target special with skepticism.

  I stood, reaching for the paper plates and tossing them in the trash. I grabbed the Saran Wrap and Meredith stopped me.

  “You guys go to bed. I’ll wrap up what’s left.”

  “Thanks. I love you.”

  She smiled and pulled me in for another hug. “I love you too.”

  Dario bumped into the table when he stood, and the view of him in our cramped kitchen was comical. I stifled a smile and headed for the bedroom, feeling him close behind me, the gentle run of his fingers along the small of my back. We stopped at my bedroom door, and I looked back at him, his large frame blocking out the hall light, a smile stretching across his face as he dropped his head and kissed me.

  “Come on.” I pushed open the door and pulled him inside. “Let’s go to bed.”

  * * *

  He was too long for the mattress. I pulled my pajama top on and stared at his feet, which hung off the end.

  He caught my look and groaned, rolling onto his side, the bed frame squeaking loudly in response.

  “Don’t look at me like that. If it were up to me, we’d be in a Ritz Carlton.”

  It was true. We’d actually had a reservation, one made somewhere above Vegas, for a presidential suite with a jacuzzi tub. But when we’d touched down, and I’d stepped off the plane and inhaled the familiar dry air of the desert … I’d only wanted to go home. I’d wanted to see Meredith. I’d wanted my pajamas and my face wash and my bed with the marigold sheets and fuzzy pillows. My queen bed that was currently dying under the additional weight of him.

  I buttoned the front of my pajamas and reconsidered the Ritz Carlton reservation.

  As soon as we’d gotten in the car, I’d broached the idea of taking me home. He’d made a number of excellent points that included words like room service, morning massages, and personal butler. I’d held firm to my desire to sleep in my own bed, using my own words like middle of the freaking swamp and I have the vagina so I make the rules. He finally conceded, but only under the agreement that he stayed with me. It was easy to agree to. I didn’t want to leave his side, and my fear hadn’t dissolved entirely. Sure, Robert Hawk was dead. But did that completely remove the threat?

  It seemed too good to be true—the sudden ability to continue our relationship without any repercussions.

  I pulled back the cover and snorted at the limited space between him and the edge of the bed.

  “You’re going to push me off.”

  “I would never push you off.” He delivered the promise with the solemn oath of a choir boy hiding a stolen toy behind his back. “Fuck you off the bed? Maybe.” He grinned.

  I crawled onto the mattress, sliding under the covers and against his hard, warm body. “I ate enough lasagna to bust the stomach of a pig. So did you. No one is fucking anyone off any bed tonight. Plus…” I yawned, for the twentieth time that night. “I can barely keep my eyes open as it is.”

  He rolled me over until my back was to his chest, us both on our sides, and cupped me against his body. “Fine. We won’t break the bed tonight. But soon. Tomorrow.”

  I smiled. “I’ll put it on the calendar.”

  He gently nibbled on my shoulder, the scruff of his beard tickling me, and I squirmed. “Stop. Go to bed. I mean it.”

  “Fine.” He kissed the spot, and I felt the pillow settle as he laid his head down. “You need a longer bed.” He stage-whispered the words, and I ignored them, a smile playing across my lips. “I’ll buy you one tomorrow. With more pillows. And night lights. I need a night light.”

  At that ridiculous statement, I pulled at the closest pillow and swung it around, the cotton connecting with his shoulder with a loud slap.

  He growled, stealing it from me, and threw his leg over mine,
trapping me in his embrace. “Stop talking and let me sleep. It’s hard enough without a night light.”

  My torso shook with an attempt to contain my laughter. “I don’t like you.” My words cracked in their attempt at severity.

  “No, you don’t.” He nuzzled my neck and planted a kiss on my shoulder. “You love me.”

  I said nothing, but it was true. He squeezed me gently, a warm cocoon of strong muscles, steady heartbeats, and soft kisses. God, I’d missed his arms. His touch. The way he held me. I felt safe.

  “How did you like Louisiana?”

  I turned at the question, shifting so I could see his face. “You mean, other than being apart from you?”

  “Yeah. Other than that.”

  “I don’t know…” I shrugged, trying to think of something nice to say about the place he grew up in. “I stayed at Laurent’s house all the time. Except for the one time we went to church.”

  He groaned. “Oh god. The big white barn?”

  I laughed. “You know it?”

  “Are you kidding?” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his gaze moving over my smile. “Every Sunday while my mother was alive. Those two-hour sermons were my own personal hell.”

  I winced. “I think that’s blasphemous.”

  “Trust me.” He leaned over and gently nipped at my nose. “God himself was bored in that barn.”

  I smiled at the image of a young Dario, in a button-up shirt and khaki pants, sitting beside his mother in the pew. My grin faded. “I wish I could have met your mother.”

  “Yeah.” He settled onto his side. “I wish you could have too. She would have loved you.”

  He’d lost so much in his life. Both parents. His life in Louisiana. And now Gwen. He gathered me to his chest, his touch tender, and all I wanted, was to give him everything back. Erase all the pain. Heal his future. Our future. Which was a giant fuzzy blur of a concept at this time.

  I loved him. And that unknown future of us terrified me.

  Something jutted against my hip. Something hard. It pushed against me, then retreated.

  I felt the drag of it down the back of my thigh and giggled against the pillow when it moved in between my legs. “Stop.”

  The mattress shifted, and I opened one eye to see a hand braced on the bed next to my head. It was a good hand. Strong, long fingers. Short clipped nails. Muscular. Tan. The cords of his wrists flexed and I felt the unexpected burst of hot air against my ear.

  “Good morning.”

  God, his voice in the morning. Thick. Gruff. If you put that good morning on a pancake, women would be orgasming their way through IHOP. His lips softly closed on my earlobe and tugged, the sensation traveling all the way through my body and down to my toes. Now, I was awake.

  He lowered his body, that forearm flexing, and I felt that hard, insistent cock push in between my legs, my pajama pants creating a madding barrier that needed to be removed, immediately. I reached down, squirming to find the room to move, and worked the drawstring pants over my hips.

  He didn’t help. He lifted his hips off me, held up his weight with his hands, and did nothing.

  I huffed in exasperation. “Can’t you help me here?”

  He chuckled, leaning down to place a kiss in between my shoulder blades. “And ruin this view? Nah.”

  I’m not sure what kind of view existed, me flopping around on my stomach like a beached whale, but I got the pants to mid-thigh and stopped, collapsing on the bed, my hands sliding back to their place under the pillow. “There. Ravage me.”

  “Shhhh. You’re ruining it.”

  His right hand moved. I felt the brush of fingers against my bare ass, then the firm, confident slide of those digits in between my thighs. “Part your legs a little.”

  I parted, my knees digging into the covers, and almost lifted off the bed when he pushed his finger inside.

  “God, you’re so responsive.” He withdrew, spread my cheeks slightly, and lined up his cock. Paused.

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  “It’s okay. Just give it to—“

  I lost the words the moment he thrust inside, a thick intrusion that felt so different. Skin to skin. Thick and throbbing, bare and perfect. He pushed fully in, dragged slowly out, and I flexed my inner muscles, clenching him.

  He let out a string of filthy curses, the words hissing through clenched teeth. “God, you feel…”

  He sat back on his knees, his hands spreading my ass cheeks, and I looked over my shoulder, watching him. His focus was on our meeting, the view of his thick cock sliding in. “I wish you could see how perfect you look, stretched around my dick. So pink. So wet. So fucking delicious.”

  He tilted his head and met my eyes. Slowed his movement and then quickened his strokes. I closed my eyes and let out a low groan. Felt the bite of his fingers into my ass. Heard the grunt of his effort. My nipples stood on end, the rut of him see-sawing them across the mattress, the combination of slick bare flesh and sounds building a crescendo that hummed along my skin.

  Sunlight. There was the cool air of exposure as he turned me over, pulling off my pants and lowering his body between my legs. He thrust back inside and I wrapped my legs around his muscular waist, my hands exploring the landscape of his chest, his shoulders, his arms. His mouth found mine, his kiss claiming me, swallowing my gasp as he drove fully in. God, had anyone ever filled me so much? Had anyone ever gotten so deep? He broke from my kiss and held his weight with one hand, his other thumbing open the front buttons of my pajama top. He spread open the sides, baring my breasts, his hand reverently moving over the curves.

  “So beautiful, Bell.”

  I arched under his touch, my nipples aching for stimulation, each rough brush of his finger causing a twinge between my legs. He pinched one, and I moaned. He slid his hand up further, wrapping it around my neck, and I dug my heels into him, fucking him from the bottom. His eyes darkened, holding mine tightly, gauging my reactions. I reached my hand up and placed it over his, squeezing.

  “Dirty girl.”

  Everything quickened. His thrusts. My breath. The pleasure climbing upward toward my orgasm.

  I panted through the hold he had on my neck. “Tighter.”

  He tightened his grip and every sensation sharpened. The pound of his cock. The scrap of my nails against his chest. The bite of his teeth on my shoulder. Pushing so deep into me. So thick. So fast. I gulped for air, my eyes closing, everything darkening.

  “I’m about—“

  The orgasm split me into pieces, a searing jolt of pleasure that took me apart in a blinding burst of sensation. I seized around him, my eyes snapping open, everything spinning, exploding, dissolving. He released my neck, his mouth covering mine, and he stole a kiss at the moment before he cursed, coming inside of me, his orgasm loud and long, beautiful to watch, beautiful to experience, and all mine.

  Sixteen

  Jackie and Lydia stared at Dario as if they’d never seen a man before. A big, sexy, Italian man—one sitting at the table and eyeing a microwaved Eggo as if it were foreign matter.

  “These are … blueberries?” He tilted the Eggo to one side and peered at it.

  “They’re chocolate chips.” Lydia intoned.

  I closed the fridge door and reached over, pulling it off his fork with my hand and holding it out to him. “No one eats them on a fork. What are you, Mr. Fancy Pants? I saw where you’re from. Laurent used a clothesline for God’s sake.”

  He grinned at me and stood, pulling the waffle from my hand and giving me a kiss. He tore off a chunk of the Eggo and chewed. “There. Happy?”

  He grimaced and made a big production of swallowing. “Yummy.”

  I rolled my eyes and plucked the rest of it from his fingers. “God, you’re a snob.” I stuffed it into my mouth and sat down, working my Nikes on.

  “So, I heard the cops tracked you down?” Jackie propped her chin on her fist, her eyes darting between the two of us. I looked to Lydia for help and caught her gazi
ng at Dario as if she wanted to spread him across her toast and eat him.

  “Yeah.” I shoved on the second shoe with a little more force than necessary, and my pinkie toe howled in protest. “It wasn’t bad. Just long. Lots of personal questions.” That was a bit of an understatement. They all but asked me what positions we screw in. Thank God for Dario’s attorney. She jumped in with objections, kept me from saying too much, and ended the interview before I blew a gasket.

  I got it. They wanted to find Gwen’s killer. They needed to know that I was innocent. Still, the suite’s door history told them all they needed, in terms of my involvement.

  An old master key was used at 9:19pm.

  Gwen’s key code was used at 11:02pm.

  Someone exited the room at 11:06pm.

  My key code was used at 11:15pm.

  Dario’s code was used a few minutes after that.

  Simple freaking breadcrumbs, all backed up by garage and elevator footage. They knew that Dario and I were innocent. What they didn’t seem to know was anything about the killer. He had apparently taken the stairwell. Stayed in the blind spots of cameras. Used a master key that had been dormant for four years.

  “That one guy was pretty cute. The black cop with the sexy lips?” Jackie stared at me as if I had any earthly idea who she was talking about.

  “Not cop,” Lydia corrected. “Detective.”

  “Oooh.” Jackie nodded. “Right. Even hotter. Was he there? Did he question you?”

  “Uh, no.” I looked up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

  “Where are my favorite bitches?”

  I dropped my head back and groaned at Rick’s voice. Whyyyyy? Why had I wanted to return to normalcy? I could be in a fluffy white Ritz Carlton robe right now, getting my soles massaged as I sipped a mimosa and dozed off poolside in a lounge chair.

  Lance’s voice chimed into the madness. “Please tell me that’s Bell’s new Bentley in the driveway.”

  “It’s not!” I called out, then got caught in the kitchen’s doorway, hugged by Rick, then Lance, then both of them. I fussed and grouched my way through the hugs, but held each one a moment longer than necessary, and kissed them each on the cheek. “Thanks for bringing the lasagna here.”