Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  I think about that damn asshole when you’re thrilled to lay on your side.

  Fucking sad that being able to change positions in bed makes you this happy. I made sure my smile matched yours. I feigned excitement because I didn’t want to ruin yours. My sweet rosy girl found delight amidst the bullshit. I refuse to fuck it up with my anger regardless of how much it pisses me off this is the best I can give you right now.

  I think about you when I hear the nurse gasp.

  I guess I was still half groggy from the pain medication and directed Abigail to the wrong place for my leggings. Your drawer rather than mine.

  I thought she would find my pajamas.

  Instead, she found my ring.

  She held up the platinum band sparkling with brilliant white diamonds and iridescent blue pearls, and I gasped too.

  Her from the beauty.

  Me from the shock.

  I thought it was gone forever. That he tossed it into the destruction and devastation when he kidnapped me, and I’d never see it again. When all along you’ve have it tucked safely away only a few feet from me.

  I’m tired of crying so much. I never used to be so frail and weepy. But I’m not myself anymore, and I couldn’t hold back the tears when I realized the embarrassing truth. You’ve had my engagement ring all this time and didn’t give it back to me. Didn’t want me to wear it. I don’t know if I can take it if you’ve changed your mind. If you don’t want to marry me anymore.

  Abigail tried to console me. Assuring me I’m just exhausted and overwrought from my recovery. That you’re totally and completely in love with me. So apparently obvious, everyone else can see it too. But her attempts to conceal the truth were awkward, and it was so dumb for me to be upset about discovering how you really feel. I guess I knew all along. I just didn’t want to accept reality. That you feel guilt for me but not love. Not anymore.

  She suggested I keep it with me. Maybe that would be comforting. I should tell her no. I should tell her to put it back where she found it. I should act like we never discovered your secret. But I’m not that good at hiding my emotions. I’m not that good at pretending you didn’t just shatter my heart.

  I think about that asshole bastard when I see my ring on a thin chain around your neck instead of on your dainty finger. Where it fucking belongs.

  I’ve been trying to be patient. Considerate. Understanding. But fuck all of that. If you’re wearing my ring, you’re wearing my fucking ring. So I acted like the asshole I am and ordered Abigail out. Keeping vigil over you myself while you slept. I fucking hated watching your body jerk and twitch. So damn fitful and restless. Furious from your puffy eyes. Raging from your swollen and red cheeks. You’ve been crying, and I’m going to find out why. Find out why the fuck you’re upset and destroy whoever or whatever made you unhappy.

  I think about you when I realize you’re back to yourself.

  You’ve stopped treating me like I’m fragile and broken, and I’m so glad. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us.

  When I woke up and you brushed my hair back from my cheek you were gentle. So very gentle yet somehow I could still feel the possessiveness in your touch. Of the urgency you conveyed to connect with me. Of the demand in your tone to know why the fuck that ring wasn’t on my finger where it belonged. Of the fire burning between us when I told you what I thought.

  Of the relief flowing through me to know now what you really think.

  I think about our wedding when your fingers brush over the engagement ring you should be wearing on your finger.

  Fuck, I need to buy you better jewelry than the cheap stuff you have from before you met me. That crap necklace snapped like a string when I ripped it from your delicate throat. I know I was too damn rough but when you told me the fucked up shit you believed about me and you and us, I was gone. All kinds of crazy, somebody’s going to die, fucking gone.

  I don’t think your gorgeous eyes have been any bigger then when I slid next to you on the mattress and got up in your perfect face. Reminding you that regardless of what we’ve said or done, any mistakes I’ve made, any doubts you’ve felt, you are mine. You’ll always be mine. You’ll never be anyone else’s but mine.

  Simple agreement with a breathless yes and your ring was back where it belongs and will forever stay.

  I think about whomever you’re threatening when I hear your steely voice on the other side of the door.

  Promising to cut off his balls and shove them into his eye sockets because he can’t fucking see what’s right in front of him anyway. A shudder ran through me because as much as I want to believe your words are just words, deep down I know they’re not.

  I should be frightened of you. I should channel my fear to walk right out the door and never look back. But I can’t. Not because you won’t let me. Because I love you too much to let you go either.

  Proven when you pushed open the door. Filling the room with your all-consuming intensity before even stepping inside. Your broad chest expanding from a deep breath that ended with a smile. You’ve told me before I’m the only person who brings you peace amidst the constant chaos swirling around you twenty-four-seven. Amazing me that I somehow provide that solace for you. With you standing there drinking me in, your penetrating gaze sweeping from my messy bun to my silky tank top to my pink socks, I swore to myself I would try my damnedest, regardless of all we’ve been through, to always be the one who provides that tranquility for you.

  Resolute in your actions and your touch. For the first time since I’ve been home, I felt the crackle of heat sparking low in my belly. Flickering between my hips when you slowly spun my chair from facing my computer to breathing in you. Never breaking from staring into my eyes to kiss my ring, the back of my hand. Turning over my fingers to lavish my wrist, my forearm, my shoulder, before nuzzling my neck. Your huge palm cupping my cheek. Whispering your love for me against my flushed skin.

  My heart and mind and body in a three-way battle whether to ask for more or scream at you to stop. I didn’t know what I wanted. Except for you not to leave.

  Somehow you read my thoughts. Never moving past simple kisses and soothing caresses. In the past you would have kept going until I was naked. Until I was drenched. Until I was begging for you.

  But this afternoon, I know you wanted more. Yet you gave me less because you knew it was what I needed. All I can accept for now.

  Reminding me once again that despite your dominance over everyone and everything else, only I get to see this gentle side of you. Only I know how tender and kind you truly are.

  I think about what a lame ass bastard I am when I’m on my fucking knees.

  You do this to me, rosy girl. Literally bring me to my god damn fucking knees with just a crooked grin. I hadn’t seen you for over an hour, and I missed you. Which pisses me off to be so owned by you. But it is what it is. Neither of us can deny it.

  When I found you in your studio working contently on organizing your files, I couldn’t get to you fast enough. Too damn adorable to resist with your wild hair and bare shoulders. Too tempting with your engagement ring glistening on your dainty finger. I had to taste you.

  You let me. Allowed me to touch you and remind you how much I love you. Grinning like a damn fool when your slender arms wrapped around me after I kissed up your body. Hugging me back as tight as you could when I held you. Ignoring my rock hard dick jammed against the chair cushion. Loving me despite my flaws.

  I think about him when the floor vibrates under my feet.

  The heavy thudding rattled in my bones. An unexpected reminder of the day he left me to die. Bitter panic filled my chest, and I had to find you. More than I just didn’t want to be alone. I wanted you. So I ran through the hallway and down the steps. Slow and awkward with my healing back but as fast as I could. Attempting to calm myself as my slippers smacked against the polished ebony wood whispering the words Jane said I should remind myself of any time I’m afraid. The comforting refrain on repeat in my throbbing head and trem
bling lips.

  He’s dead.

  He can’t hurt me anymore.

  He doesn’t control my body or my mind.

  I’m free.

  Free to leave our bedroom. Free to run through this house. Free to go anyplace I need.

  Which was anyplace you were. The need for you so immediate and fierce my body ached.

  The pounding bass bombarded the foyer. Angry words lashing out from behind the walls. A furious beat I don’t think anyone could keep up with at a club.

  I knocked on the door but of course you couldn’t hear me. So I pushed down the knob. Only a few seconds passed for me to absorb your agony. The vulnerability you evoked with the empty bottle on your desktop. The exhaustion of your head falling backward against your chair. The suppression of reality with your eyes clenched shut. The punitive, almost violent pull of your fist up and down your cock. Stroking in opposition of the rapid rhythm. A slow tandem with the quick pulse, flicking across the head with your thumb.

  I watched when I shouldn’t. I should have left. I should have given you the privacy you deserve. Not disappointed you again with the failure I am. It should be my fingers, my mouth, my pussy pleasuring you. But I couldn’t. I can’t. Not yet. Despite how much I want to. So I simply stared at you abusing yourself all alone. Not as if I could look away.

  Unable to stop staring at your magnificent erection. Your guttural moans. Your hard swallows.

  So captivated by your beautiful misery, I almost missed your gaze burning into me. Heavy and desperate as you stared at me and my eyes finally met yours. I couldn’t hear you over the music, but I read your full lips perfectly.

  “Do you want to watch?”

  I wanted to do so much more. But all I could do was nod.

  I think about my cock when you lick your lips.

  Your head mimicked my nod. A slow and understanding bob that we were going to watch together as I fucked myself. Almost exploding in my hand when you agreed. You seemed paralyzed. A magnificent statue. Your pink skin glowing. Washed in moonlight from the large windows gazing over the city. Yet I could see the pulse racing in your throat. Your gorgeous plump lips parting as you sucked in air that I wished was my dick gliding between them. The heady darkness of your expressive eyes as they locked with mine.

  My grip tightened along with my balls. Imagining it was your dainty hand wrapped around my cock. That your cute ass was sitting on my lap and your gorgeous tits were shoved against my chest. While I fingered your sweet pussy and sucked your greedy tongue with my mouth.

  Now all we could give each other was our hearts. Yeah, I sound like a fucking girl, but it’s the damn truth. The absolute fucking truth.

  I couldn’t control myself anymore with you there. So close, yet too far. All strawberries and sunshine and sweetness. I pulled harder. My mouth uttered words I couldn’t stop.

  Rosy girl.

  Harder. Lightening up my spine.

  Giselle.

  Harder. Inferno blazing in my thighs.

  Mine.

  Harder. Twitching in the veins bulging across my forearm.

  All fucking mine.

  Harder. Bucking of my hips to drive the head deeper into my palm.

  Always mine. Never anyone else’s but fucking mine.

  Fuck! This time you nodded hard and certain. A small quivering of your lips I could barely catch before I finally read the word I wanted to hear since I got you back.

  Yours.

  Neither of us breaking the spell between us as the hot, white streams gushed over my wrist and flooded down to my zipper. Pooling on my black pants while my body pulsed and strained. Taut with relief and gratitude. God damn, I love you rosy girl.

  I can’t stop thinking about last night.

  I think I want you to touch me. I think I want to touch you. But I don’t know how to tell you. I don’t know what I’ll do—what you’ll do—if I change my mind.

  I can’t get jack shit done today because I can’t stop thinking about the other night.

  How gorgeous you are. How amazing you smell. How tempting you are when I catch you watching me. How curious I am trying to figure out what the fuck you’re thinking when you study me.

  But I can’t be an asshole and ask you what you want. Because I’m not a good enough man to be able to hide my disappointment if what you want isn’t me.

  I think about you when Jane encourages me again to ask you.

  That she’s absolutely, positively sure you’ll say yes. I’m sure too. But even if you say yes, I’m not sure you’ll really mean it. I don’t want your obligation. I want your honesty.

  I think about my greedy, greedy cock when you stretch in those tiny shorts.

  I truly am a bastard. You asked me if it’s okay if you joined me this morning. The first time since you’ve been home you’ve wanted to run with me again. I could tell you were hesitant. Uncertain and nervous. Tying and re-tying the white laces of your hot pink and lavender running shoes. Warning me that you might not be able to keep up. That you’re not as fit as you used to be. That you haven’t… I fucking hate who you were thinking about—who we were both thinking about—when your voice faded away.

  I nodded. Encouraging you to try. Promising we could take it slow. We could walk. Hell, we could fucking crawl if we needed to. Just come with me. You seemed pleased with my enthusiasm. With my willingness to accept whatever you could give. My sweet rosy girl worrying about disappointing me while all I could think about was your legs wrapping around me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I think about that god damn motherfucker when I get the call you asked Garrett to take you out of the house.

  For a quick errand you told him you needed to run and the dumb fucker said yes. Motherfucking yes. Breaking the only rule I have that doesn’t give you what you want. Everything else you request is yours.

  Except this.

  Except going anywhere without me.

  Permission never, ever granted for you to leave. I don’t give a damn if it makes me an asshole. I don’t give a damn if I have to kill that fucking bodyguard. I don’t give a damn about anything but keeping you safe.

  Shock flooded your eyes when I jerked your door open and hauled you out of the backseat. Realizing your error, you took in the rage on my face and the seven black SUVs surrounding yours. Creating a defensive perimeter only I could penetrate. Which I hope you never fucking forget so you don’t ever pull this bullshit again. I wanted to toss you over my shoulder and redden your ass for disobeying me. Despite my fury, I was in my right mind enough not to manhandle you too much. Instead, I slid my hand onto the gorgeous curve of your lower back and led you to my vehicle.

  Holding your hand for support, and because I fucking love you, as you climbed in. Still glancing at the stupid fucker who messed up and all my other men with their guns at the ready. Sometimes I wonder if you think I’m fucking kidding about what I will do to protect you. When you peeked at the closed partition between us and my driver, you realized the only person you needed protection from was me. Too damn late for that rosy girl.

  As much as I fucking hate it, I used Jane’s words instead of my own. Trying not to fuck this up. Asking you in a strained yet I hoped calm sounding voice to help me understand why you went to some junk ass dollar store. Please explain your reasoning for making the decision to defy my orders when you know everything you need I will always provide for you.

  For a long minute you stared at me. Studying my face, taking in every aspect of my expression before a slow smile lifted your cheeks and you giggled. An actual fucking laugh. ‘You sound like Jane,’ you said.

  ‘Fuck yes,’ I responded. ‘That’s what I’m supposed to do isn’t it? Use the damn techniques she taught us?’

  That made you laugh again. Your beautiful, sweet, glorious laugh, and you asked why I was pretending to be something I’m not. Saying words that aren’t mine.

  For you, rosy girl. Every damn thing I do is for you.

  The crimson circling your cheeks made my dick t
witch.

  Ask me, you whispered. Ask me like you really want to.

  So I did. I cupped your silky chin, holding your gaze, and inquired why the fuck didn’t you keep your gorgeous ass at home like I told you to, rosy girl?

  My cock came to life from the fire flaming in your eyes. Almost exploding from you scooting closer. Your luscious pink lips parted with heavy breaths, with your palms flat on my heaving chest. Leaning closer and closer until your mouth touched mine. Giving me the sweetest, shortest kiss we’ve ever shared.

  I ignored everything. The sweat rolling down my back as I fought my waning self-control. The horns honking outside from the traffic snarl my army of guards created. The engine turning over and Gerard driving us home. Disregarded everything except the love in your expression and your head on my shoulder as you curled into my side. I’m so fucked.

  I think about you when a long ago order was delivered today.

  The kind ladies from the boutique were undoubtedly confused by my lack of enthusiasm. I tried to pretend I was excited rather than terrified. But obviously something is wrong with a bride who doesn’t smile and squeal and sashay in front of the mirror imagining her special day.

  Instead, all I could do is shake and stare at the gown as it hung from the ceiling in our bedroom. Fighting against the panic swelling in my chest from remembering all the times I hung from the ceiling in his bedroom.

  A little over a month away. We never officially canceled. We never officially confirmed. The ceremony. The reception. The honeymoon. I don’t know if I can offer myself like this to you in front of a church full of people. I don’t know if I can accept the commitment you want to give me. I don’t know if I can consummate our marriage.

  I failed to keep my voice from cracking when I asked them to take it back. Please return the beautiful garment I once loved. Hoping you’d love it too. Wanting to be gorgeous enough I’d take your breath away. Maybe even see our daughter wear it someday.