Fantasy in Lingerie

by Penelope Sky

  She pulled away from my lips and looked at me, still angry but not as much as before. “What happened? Why are you home so late? Did something go wrong?”

  I got hard watching the concern spread across her face. She couldn’t downplay her worry in the moment, not when she was so relieved I was back. If this were a different situation, she would have hidden her true feelings as much as possible. But right now, she simply couldn’t do it.

  “Stop smiling like that. This isn’t funny.”

  “I’m laughing.”

  “But you’re grinning like there’s something humorous about this situation.” Her green eyes flashed with ferocity. “You went to kill someone, and when you didn’t come back…I thought you might never come back.”

  “And wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  She shut her mouth, the shame creeping across her face. If I died, her family would be safe. But she couldn’t stop herself from wanting me to be alive, from wanting me to be safe. Her emotions were ripping apart in two very different directions. She still struggled to make sense of them.

  Just as I did. I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it on the ground. It was soaked in too much blood, so now it was ruined.

  When her eyes saw the blood on my arm and the t-shirt wrapped around the wound, she covered her mouth with both hands. “Jesus…”

  “I need your help again. You know what to do.”

  “We need to take you to a hospital.”

  “No.” I opened the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. It was packed with everything I needed, because this wasn’t my first time getting shot. I sat on the couch and opened the kit. I pulled the t-shirt off before I poured vodka over the wound.

  It burned like a bitch.

  “Bones…” Vanessa sat beside me, pain in her eyes. “We should get you to a doctor.”

  “I said no.”

  “I have no medical training. You’ve lost so much blood—”

  “I’ve lost more before.” I handed her the tweezers. “You should be a pro at this by now.”

  She gave up the argument when she knew I wouldn’t be changing my mind. She grabbed my elbow and then dug the metal into my wound. She found the small bullet after a few seconds then carefully removed it.

  It hurt more than the vodka, but I didn’t show a hint of my discomfort.

  She set the bullet on the table, covered in blood. “What happened?” She poured more alcohol over the wound then grabbed the needle and thread.

  “I took out a few of his men, and it was going like I thought it would. But he had backup I didn’t know about. I was outnumbered, and I didn’t have enough rounds to compete. So I tossed a grenade and ran for it. I got shot before I made it to the alleyway.”

  She concentrated on threading my wound closed, but she couldn’t mask her terror. “So you didn’t kill him?”

  I hated admitting the truth out loud. I hated admitting I failed. “No.”

  “I’m sorry…” She kept threading, getting half the wound closed in a few minutes. “What now?”

  “I’ll have to keep a low profile for a while before I try again.”

  Her hands stopped working. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I stared straight ahead, ignoring her pissed look. “You know I have to kill him.”

  “Well, obviously, you can’t. You’re just going to get yourself killed.” She raised her voice, yelling at me as she held the needle and thread. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’ve never met a man more stubborn—”

  I kissed her because it was the only way I could shut her up.

  It worked—like always.

  I pulled away and gave her an authoritative look with my eyes. “I know I am. And you’re probably right, it will get me killed. But it’s my decision. Now stitch me up, and let’s move on.”

  She stared at me like she might say something, but then she thought the better of it and finished the job. “The times when my parents are the angriest at me is when I put myself in dangerous situations. I snuck out one night when I was sixteen and went driving with some friends. When my father found out…” She shook her head. “I can’t remember the last time I’d seen him that angry. There were no boys involved and we weren’t drinking and driving, but he was furious that I was out alone with a bunch of girls in the middle of the night in Florence.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it’s every parents’ worst nightmare for their child to put themselves in danger. She did the best she could to protect you and raise you, to give you a better life than she had. And you’re doing a piss-poor job of showing your gratitude.”

  Vanessa focused on her artwork during the day, doing her best to ignore me while the sun was up. She was pissed at me for a lot of reasons, but her biggest reason of all at the moment was because I’d been shot.

  She could barely look at me.

  But when the sun was gone and the lights were out, she was as needy and affectionate as she’d always been. She fucked me harder than I fucked her, needing all of me to reach her climax. She clawed at me, whispered promises to me while I was deep inside her. Our connection was borderline spiritual, and we moved together like we were of one mind.

  We were of one mind.

  But once the sun was up, she acted like she hated me again.

  That was fine. I hated her too.

  I walked into the art room and saw the collection of paintings she’d made in the past few weeks. The one she painted of herself was still my favorite, a piece of artwork I would never sell, no matter the price. It was so moody, dark, and sexy. It captured the way I felt about her perfectly. It was complicated, emotional, and sad. It illustrated my view of her, the exact way I stared at Vanessa every single day.

  She had other paintings that she’d completed, all leaning against the wall. They all contained images of Milan and Tuscany, all beautiful in their unique ways. Before long, she would have plenty of artwork to fill an entire gallery.

  I noticed one painting had been turned the opposite way. It leaned against the wall, the paint hidden from view. I walked toward it, curious to see what Vanessa was hiding.

  “No.” Her voice steadied me, full of authority and foreign power.

  I stopped and turned my head toward her.

  She sat on the stool, her black hair pulled back and a drop of blue paint on her nose. She was working on a golden field of sunflowers. She held the brush between her fingertips, a mixture of yellow and white paint on the tip. “That’s private.”

  “Nothing is private here, not when I own everything.” I reached for it again.

  “Off-limits.” She set the brush on the easel and hopped off the stool, her short legs only touching the ground once she was on her feet. “I mean it.” She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away.

  Like she had enough strength to make me do anything. I let her pull me, only because this painting seemed particularly important to her. “Tell me why, and I’ll think about it.”

  “It’s private,” she repeated.

  “You have to give me a better reason than that.”

  “It’s just…” Her eyes moved down. “I’m just not ready. I don’t even know why I painted it.”

  “You’re only making me more interested.”

  “Just leave it alone, alright?” Her eyes flicked back to mine, green and beautiful. “I’ve pulled two bullets out of your arm and stitched you up twice. The least you could do is leave this alone.”

  “You put one of the bullets there, in case you forgot.”

  “And don’t expect me to apologize for it because I never will.”

  There was my baby. I tried to hide my smile. “I want to see it eventually.”

  “Fine.”

  “Then why can’t I see it now?”

  “I just don’t want you to.” She wore the white smock to cover her clothes, but even the shapeless fabric couldn’t diminish her unquestionable beauty. “It’s personal, and I’m not ready to ex
plain myself or try to understand what I painted. Just drop it.”

  “You really aren’t helping…”

  “Let it go, Bones.” She returned to the easel and grabbed her brushes and set them in the water glass. Her painting was only halfway completed, but she didn’t seem motivated to finish it that evening.

  I glanced at the painting again, more intrigued than ever before. I could just tell her she didn’t have any rights and do whatever I wanted, but her artwork was important to her. It was like seeing a piece of her soul. If she didn’t want me to have it, I couldn’t force it. Just like when it came to fucking—she had to decide.

  “How’s your arm?” She peeled off her smock. The sun was going down, so she was becoming less hostile. As the night deepened, she couldn’t restrain her affection. Her kisses started, and then she would move into my lap and take it a step further until we were in bed together, rocking the headboard all night long.

  “Don’t even notice it.” That wasn’t true. It was sore, and it ached when I put weight on it. I held myself on top of her every night but ignored the pain because my cock was in heaven inside that wet slit. I concentrated on her kiss and her awesome tits, not the pain in my arm. I usually swallowed a handful of pills before bed then I was good.

  “Good. It seems to be healing nicely…” She finished putting away her supplies then glanced at herself in the mirror. She wiped away the dot of blue paint then headed to the door. “I’m getting cabin fever. I’ve been working on my art all week and haven’t stepped outside once.”

  I usually made dinner for us every night because she didn’t know how to cook and never cared to learn. But maybe she needed a change of scenery. “How about we go to dinner tonight?” We’d only been to breakfast once, and that didn’t go over well.

  “Like, you and me?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes. Man and woman.”

  “In public?”

  “Yes.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Conway and Carter are in the city a lot.”

  “So?”

  “Imagine if they saw me with you.”

  “You think I care?” I hoped I ran into them. It would be a nice coincidence.

  “I know they don’t know who you are, but I don’t want them to see me with a man. They’ll ask me a million questions—”

  “Conway knows who I am.”

  She stilled by the doorway. “He does?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. He sat right beside me at the Underground. And even though I was trying out a disguise, one of the Skull Kings called me by my name. There was no way Conway would just ignore that piece of information—and I know he heard it.”

  “If my family knew who you were, they would have killed you by now.”

  That was my assumption too, but an attack never came. “They don’t know what my motives are. So instead of provoking me, they’re choosing to remain ambivalent and hope we can coexist peacefully.”

  “Shows how little they know…”

  “Couldn’t agree more. You should always take out your enemy before they can take you out.”

  “Or you should take advantage of the fact that my family are peaceful people who have no ill will toward you. You should just let the dust remain settled and move on with your life. You provoked Joe Pedretti and almost died, and fucking with my family will certainly kill you.”

  “You underestimate me, baby.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your stubbornness will get you killed. I guess if I wait long enough, it’ll happen on its own.”

  “Judging by your reaction to my gunshot wound, you wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

  She shot me a glare before she stormed off. “I’ll pass on dinner, but I’m going out anyway.”

  I followed her into the hallway. “You aren’t going out without me.”

  “Watch me.” She went into the bedroom and opened her closet. She grabbed a backless black dress with black heels.

  She wasn’t going out dressed like that—not without me.

  She changed her outfit, pulling on the skintight dress and heels.

  I changed into slacks and a dark blue collared shirt, one of the nicest things I owned. I had a few suits, but I hardly ever wore them.

  She fixed her hair and freshened her makeup. “I’m going out alone, Bones. I need to get some fresh air—away from you.”

  “Either we go together, or you don’t go at all.” I pulled on my dress shoes and tied the shoelaces before I rose to my feet.

  She eyed me up and down, checking me out but doing her best to hide it.

  “What’s it going to be, baby?”

  She walked out of the bedroom, her luscious ass shaking. “Fine. But let’s go somewhere low-key.”

  “I know just the place.”

  I took her to one of the most expensive restaurants in Milan, a place with a three-month waiting list. I’d never been there without the restaurant being packed, crowded with people who’d traveled all the way across Europe just to try their exquisite delicacies.

  I didn’t have a reservation, but that didn’t matter.

  No one said no to me.

  We sat at a table in the corner, a low-burning candle in the center. Drinking wine was more appropriate for a place like this, but I refused to drink anything but scotch. She would have wine, something from her family’s winery, no doubt.

  And she did.

  The waiter returned with the drinks then took our order before he disappeared.

  “So much for low-key,” she said as she looked around.

  “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

  “Why?”

  My eyes moved down her body as I drank my scotch. “Because you look like that.”

  “So if I dressed like a hag, we would have gone to McDonald’s?”

  The corner of my mouth rose in a smile, loving her smartass attitude. “Would you rather go to McDonald’s?”

  “If no one recognizes me there, then yes.”

  I glanced around the restaurant. “No one knows you are. So you can calm down.”

  “My father knows a lot of people in the wine business. If they see me here with some guy, they might pass it along to my father. And if they say your name is Bones…then I’m in deep shit.”

  “That would work out well for me.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Not everyone knows me by name, more by reputation. So even if that did happen, I doubt they know who I am.”

  She released the breath she was holding, like that made her feel a little better.

  “But you shouldn’t be so ashamed of me. I’m the best-looking guy in here.” I grinned, knowing that arrogant comment would only make her anger rise.

  “We both know you are. But that’s not the problem.”

  My smile disappeared, surprised by the words that flew out of her mouth. She said it with such conviction, like she wasn’t thinking before she spoke. I knew she was attracted to me. I didn’t need to listen to her say that to know it was true. Her wet pussy told me everything I needed to know. But listening to her say it so effortlessly made my cock start to harden in my slacks.

  She took a long drink from her wine, like she regretted what she’d just said.

  I watched her from across the table, transfixed by her beauty. She wasn’t just the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, but the most beautiful woman ever to have walked in there. Now she sat across from me—because she was mine. Her halter top revealed the deep plunge of her cleavage, the gorgeous olive skin that begged for my tongue. Her hair was pulled back elegantly, revealing the nice contours of her face. She had rounded shoulders, toned from using her arms so much in her work. I couldn’t see her legs under the table, but I knew they looked absolutely stunning tonight.

  And she was all mine.

  I drank from my glass, my lips savoring the liquor. I imagined pouring it directly onto
her pussy and drinking it all away. I imagined my wet lips sucking her nipples until they were raw. She said she needed to get out because she felt trapped in my apartment.

  But I felt trapped when I couldn’t fuck her whenever I wanted.

  She held her glass as she looked around at the other tables, staring at the couples and families as they enjoyed their dinner. She chose a glass of red wine, a dry blend to complement the steak she ordered. Her eyes turned back to me, and she set her glass down. “What?”

  I didn’t blink.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “You know why.” My eyes were doors to my thoughts, and my thoughts weren’t difficult to decipher, especially when they were so plainly written on my face. I wasn’t a complicated man, and my thoughts were simple. There were only a handful of things I thought about, and there were even fewer things I thought about when it came to Vanessa. Everything was reduced to sex and violence.

  She drank from her glass and brushed off my comment subtly, pretending it didn’t affect her as deeply as it really did. But we both knew she loved to be the object of my obsession. If I went home with a different woman, it would kill her. The jealousy would eat her alive, and she’d lash out at me, fists flying. If my wound became lethal, she’d beat me too. We despised each other, but we were both being forced to face the hard truth.

  We couldn’t live without each other.

  Dinner was served, and we ate in silence, not exchanging conversation the way most people did. Vanessa and I could say nothing at all, and we’d be at the same level of comfort. An exchange of eye contact was more than enough.

  She needed to get out of the apartment, but it resulted in the same situation. We didn’t care about anything around us but each other. We didn’t speak to anyone or even make eye contact with the waiter. She stared at my body like she couldn’t wait to dig her nails into my muscles, and I did the same.

  She said she was worried about my gunshot wound, but I think it turned her on.

  Bullets killed lesser men. But all they did was slow me down.