Regretfully Yours

by Sunniva Dee

  I snort. “Hell yeah, however long you want.”

  “Shy in public?”

  “Fuck, no. I came straight here from a small orgy,” I exaggerate. If there’s something I know, it’s how to play up my good sides.

  “Okay.” He rubs his chin, which is meticulously shaved. Even so, it’s got a grey dusting of back-to-back shadow from one ear to the other, covering the entire area around his mouth up to his nostrils. “Drop your pants.”

  I take a second to catch what he’s implying. Which is exactly what he says.

  “You want to see my cock?” I ask.

  “Sure. And the rest of it.”

  I unbutton my pants and start on the zipper. “The rest of it? Balls, ass?”

  “Right.”

  I grin; it’s not often I get to show off for a guy. I’ve had plenty of girls awestruck, but I’m about to be examined by an expert. Should be interesting.

  I do what he asks. Drop my pants to my ankles, shimmying my boxers down for effect. Come to think of it, I should’ve worn briefs. Chicks think they’re sexier. Although he’s not a chick.

  “Wow. Impressive.” He nods, studying my dick from the other side of the table. I grab my Bloody Mary and suck down some more. Angle the celery stick to my mouth and crunch down while he stares at me. “Turn around.”

  I do. Fucking flex my ass at him too while I suppress a snort.

  “You realize you’d have to get rid of some hair, right?”

  “Sure, yeah. Just around my cock and the balls, right? Or ass too?” I ask.

  “Ass too. Turn again.”

  I do.

  “You’re not what I’d call furry, but for the cameras, we want it smooth.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  “All right, then.” He leans back in his chair, the wicker creaking as he does, eyes rising to my face again. “Now, get it up.”

  “What? As in… get horny on command without a girl around?”

  “That a problem?”

  I shrug. “Nah, just making sure. Keegan. Can I call you that?”

  “Absolutely.” He rocks a little in his chair and lifts his glass. His gaze sinks again until it’s level with my dick. I’m not an exhibitionist. I have no qualms with people watching me, though.

  “All right, Keegan, watch and learn,” I say, smirking. I look out the window, over the bay. The sky has the stormy blue of rain about to seep in, but it’s not what I see. I see my girl. My beautiful girl. My Silvina, the way her heart throbbed under fine ribs and olive skin when my hands warmed her and made a trail down to her secret place.

  The years don’t matter. My Ina-mia memory is photographic, and the intensity of being with her will never leave me. When I’m an old, senile man, I’ll still remember how she was.

  “Twelve seconds. It’s fine.” Keegan says it like it’s not exactly what he hoped for.

  “I have a hangover,” I say.

  “Right. So more than fine. I do expect my people to stay on the good side of alcohol and drugs, though.”

  “For sure, man.”

  “Can you come on demand?”

  I frown at that. “I’d be a fucking teenager if I did.”

  That makes him laugh out loud. “No, not without touching yourself. I want to know how well you control yourself.”

  “Ah.” I think back to Silvina and me. Our first times together, with me having to pull back and close my eyes, shutting out everything beautiful about her to not come on our first touch. I consider the way I’ve held off for her for hours, keeping her at the brink of ecstasy all night. Then, driving her through euphoria after euphoria until she begged for mercy and begged me to come too. “I have plenty control. My guess is your guys don’t have a problem coming quickly, yes? It’s rather the opposite?”

  He bites his lip like I’ve caught him. That’s ridiculous. He’s the owner of a billion-dollar company. “Well, I’d like to know both. I want my director to be able to point at you and say, ‘she’s about to come. I want you to come with her.’ I also want him to say, ‘Hold back. You’re going to have sex with the rest of the girls before you come.’”

  “No problem. You want me to come right now?” I take a hold of my junk and point it at him, ready to go for it.

  “No, that’s okay. Leave your info with Carrie, and I’ll have her call you when I have a girl for you. I’d like you to audition before the end of the week.”

  I wink. “I’d like that too.”

  Amused, he just shakes his head. “I might regret this.”

  “Meh.” I give him a thumbs-up. “We’ll do business together just fine.”

  We shake hands, and he returns to his office while I fill out forms and leave my way short resume with his receptionist. As I pick up my jacket and wrangle inside it to leave, he emerges again, pace slow but deliberate toward me.

  “Not sure what took me so long, but your last name, Gioele. You share it with the owner of Lucid Entertainment.” He lets his eyes rove over me the way he did when I just entered. “Family?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Isaias di Nascimbeni’s in his late twenties. You’re about twenty. Twenty-one.” He purses his lips. “Brother?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fuck. Well. How come you’re not working for him?”

  “Because my brother’s holier-than-thou.”

  7. THE BENCH

  GIOELE

  I’m fourteen, and I have Silvina with me. We’re in the little sawmill that belongs to the Nascimbeni family in the mountains of Lake Como. It hasn’t been in running order for decades, not since our great uncle stopped working and settled into retirement. I don’t want to think about him, and how he was Oscar’s father.

  We’ve escaped our little cousins and our parents like we’ve done a lot lately. This summer has been beautiful. Sun all around, no rain, no clouds. We’ve stayed up after bedtime, unbeknownst to our parents. It’s what happens when you grow up in the same family.

  “I’ll be quiet,” I whisper, because she’s nervous. We haven’t done this in years, and it’s different, because I want to see her in a much bigger way than I used to. She sends butterflies to my stomach.

  “They can’t even see the building from here.” Despite her words, her eyes are giant with worry and excitement.

  “It’s okay. We’ll just play,” I say, stroking her face. “We’ve done this before. It’s not any different.” I want to kiss her, but I smile instead. “I’ll be gentle.”

  We wade through the sawdust covering the area around the flat belt drive, where tree trunks still lie in wait of long-gone workers. It’s like they dropped everything and left one evening with the intention of returning the next day.

  On a half-floor above the main room, I see our great uncle’s old office.

  “After you,” I say and show her toward a ladder with a steel banister. I let her climb in front of me, caging her in for safety. Once we’re at the top, we turn together and look out over the room.

  “From up here, the sawdust looks like corn flour, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She giggles nervously. Silvina’s face is warm, pink streaks of embarrassment running down her throat. I’d like to touch her there, but I won’t yet. The bench at the side of the office desk is where I want her. I saw it yesterday and couldn’t get it out of my mind. It’s why we’re here now.

  Bound in thin, faux suede upholstery, the bench is narrow and about two-thirds the length of her body. It wasn’t made for people to get comfortable on. My great uncle’s workers probably sat on it, hat in hand, waiting for their salaries.

  Silvina’s smile is small and shy, as I take her hand and bring her with me. “Don’t worry. I’ll lock the door.”

  She bobs her head, so I steer her by the hips and seat her on the bench. Then, I stalk to the door and lock it. Silvina can smile with he
r eyes only. It’s the prettiest thing you ever saw.

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  She bites her lip.

  “Can I be the doctor?”

  The color from her throat tinges her cheeks too. “Yeah.”

  I suck in a breath, my heart hammering only for her. “Okay.”

  I straighten. Put on my best professional expression, clamp my hands together, and say, “Hello. I’m Doctor Fitzgerald. Nice to meet you, Miss…?”

  “Debra Smith,” she says in a low voice, and it makes us both snicker.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Smith. I hear you’re experiencing some abdominal pain?”

  “Yeah. Yes, that’s true.” She swallows, and I have to rip my eyes off her tanned neck.

  “Please.” I make a swirling motion with my hand for her to lie down on the bench. She obeys but doesn’t look comfortable, so I grab a piece of firewood from a corner.

  “Let’s see. This will be better for you, Miss.” It’s the cleaved half of a log. When I accommodate it with the rounded side up, it can work as a pillow. I wring my t-shirt off and drape it over the wood.

  She rocks her head a little on top of it, looking more at ease.

  “See?”

  “Yes, Doctor.” She sends me a fleeting smile of the kind I want to taste. There’s a time for everything, and I don’t think it’s just yet. What if the rest of my plans went down the drain because I tried to kiss her?

  I hunch down next to her, making my expression serious. “Do you mind?” Tentative, I roll her top above her navel, and she helps me, rolling it higher. It rests right below the soft curves of her boobs by the time we’re done. My heart beats in my breath.

  Her belly is soft under my hands. I press gently against it, tapping a little like I’m a doctor. She closes her eyes, unable to keep her response away from them. Slowly, I let my hands slide over her stomach. My heart is beating much too fast.

  “I can’t feel anything out of the ordinary,” I say. “Seems I have to check a few other areas. We want to get to the bottom of this.” A quick look out the small window reveals no movement outside the sawmill. We’re alone, all alone, just Silvina and I.

  “Yes, Doctor.” Her voice is so quiet it makes me think of reverence. Maybe because that’s what I feel when I tip my fingers inside the lining of her shorts and start to pull downward. To be sure it’s what she wants, I stop at an inch. Then, I begin to examine the area there, kneading her lower stomach, before I pull a little more.

  She lifts her butt from the bench. Oh, god, she does. I hold my breath, because my heart is about to beat its way out through my mouth and she can’t hear how nervous I am. My hands are moist, so I dry them off on my shorts before I get back to work.

  “I think it might be connected to your thighs. Have you had any pain in your inner thighs lately?” I ask, clearing my throat when my voice breaks midway through.

  “Yes, like a stab, right here.” She points, cheeks flushed red. I want to sink my nose against her cheek. I know how she smells, but it must be crazy to smell her up close.

  “That makes sense. The best way to see the connection between your abdominal pain and the stabbing ache in your thigh is if we pull these off.” I rise from my hunched position and stand over her. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I know she sees how I’m dazed with her.

  She bobs out her agreement. I take a hold of her shorts again, and this time they come all the way down her legs. I had no idea how incredible it would feel to pull her shorts off.

  I’ve seen her underwear before. We’ve changed in the same room, but it’s different this time. She’s almost naked with me, and it’s for this—for me to see and touch her. We’re playing doctor and patient, the way we did as little kids, only now it’s for real. I see her with eyes I didn’t have back then.

  I can’t hold back anymore. My breath trembles when I inhale, my heartbeats drumming through it, and I don’t care. Blunt, blatant, and all-consuming my stare is homed in on small, white panties with butterflies. The lining at the top is unassuming, a slight pink color I’ll never be able to forget, and the ribbon below her belly button is so small you wouldn’t see it if you weren’t completely in love.

  “This one too?” I look up at her, my eyes glassy with everything I feel.

  She pulls her lips in between her teeth and closes her mouth over them. Then, she nods once.

  I scrunch my eyes shut. I have a raging hard-on, but my shorts are wide. I don’t think she can see it. She probably wouldn’t know what to look for anyway.

  I pull my hands back and rub them together like I’m cold; I need control before I can perform the holiest act, what I’ve wanted to do to her for a year now.

  The nails on her fingers are a glossy pink. Lighter than her skin, they help me reveal her bikini line as she pushes her panties downward. She still doesn’t look comfortable on the short bench, so I seize her legs and push her upward until her head is at the top end of the bench and her knees bend over the lower edge. Then, I help her drag her panties off.

  I stare. Swallow the sudden explosion of liquid in my mouth. She’s so beautiful. Silvina’s hands go to her mouth, but brave, she remains there, eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them. Her tanned stomach fades into the white secrecy of her hips until a small patch of silky black hair meets me.

  I sink down by her side. Stroke my palm flat over her stomach and pet her there. She whimpers a little, and on instinct I know she’s not in pain.

  “Do you know how pretty you are?” I sound hoarse. “Thank you.”

  She opens her mouth, wanting to object. Against my gratitude or my praise, I don’t know. My focus has gone to soft pink lips beneath her little triangle, and between them, between them is that little fleshy nub.

  I don’t even touch her. Impulsively, I just begin to kiss her, starting at her stomach and moving down until my nose buries in hair and trails downward.

  When my mouth is on her nub, she jolts upward, holding back a squeak, and I like that so much. She doesn’t push me away, just grabs my shoulders like she doesn’t know what to do with me. I don’t either. All I know is I want more of her, so I suck, suck, and the scent she emits drugs me.

  I don’t know how long I lap at her. There’s no more doctor, no patient, no fake abdominal pain or stabbing thigh ache. It’s just her under me, and the urge I have to get even closer. I want my weight over her, pushing her down beneath me. I want every part of us touching.

  Suddenly, she loses control of her limbs. Silvina is mine, how it should be, when she tenses and arches, her toes curling against the unfinished floor.

  “You’re amazing,” I whisper to her, voiceless with emotion. “I love you.”

  It’s the beginning of a long summer by Lake Como and the beginning of a slow end to what we were.

  Naps are never good when they remind you of what used to be. The loss of Silvina is hard this afternoon. I blink sleep from my eyes and grab a hold of my cell. She hasn’t called. Ina mia wants to live without me. She’s tried for almost two years, and I’m the one caving in and moving after her. It’s not working for either of us.

  Tomorrow, I have my Harmony Femme audition. Maybe that’s why I’m dreaming of her today, the best of them all, my first taste of a woman. I need to see her before the audition.

  This little apartment I have, at the low end of Barth street, is only slightly off from the bar district. I wanted it like this, low key, simple, mine and mine alone. Between Il Lince’s connections and my brother’s money, I could have lived anywhere. Now, I’m sitting here, feeling like I’m about to cheat in a way I never do when I’m bringing someone home for a quick fling. This is deliberate. It’s me selling my body to the industry. What would she think?

  8. DOUBLE-CHECK

  SILVINA

  It’s January. It’s cold in San Francisco, but my cousin rings the doorbell
in just a t-shirt. Gaze relentless and silver-streaked, he bargains with me without words.

  It used to be Gioele and me against an imaginary world, until the world became real and we were flung to different sides of it. I don’t feel normal with him around anymore. You gotta do what you gotta do. Life isn’t supposed to be easy, la nonna always said. Years into this thing, I couldn’t agree more.

  “Oh, god,” I say. “Gioele, what’re you doing? Did you walk here?”

  He shrugs. “Heater’s broken on my car.”

  “But why aren’t you wearing a jacket? Come in.”

  He sighs like I don’t always let him in when he comes. He’s so relieved, I wish I’d picked up one of his calls over the last days.

  There’s a simple wooden chair in the window nook of the living room. Of all places, that’s where he chooses to sit. It’s not like him—my Gioele splays himself out in all his glory on the couch or wherever he can get the most attention when he comes.

  “I dunno. Forgot, I guess.” He leans his head back while he cracks his neck. It’s what he does for show, to take any pity off him. But when he comes like this, eyes dark with pain, all I want is to forget everything I’m trying to do and kiss him until we don’t need to think anymore.

  Sometimes, it’s as simple as a few stray hairs at the tip of an eyebrow or the chapped corner of his lip that has me mesmerized. Sometimes, like now, I can’t help reaching out to touch the forgotten stubble right where his chin splits in a subtle cleft.

  He shuts his eyes, lashes fluttering with emotion. I’m only touching him with a fingertip, but my Gioele feels it with every fiber. I’ve been held by men after him. I’ve slept with men after him. But no one has felt me the way he does.

  “I dreamed about Lake Como,” he breathes. Pressing his hands against the seat of that chair, he gets to his feet again, head hanging. I stand too. I don’t back away when he takes a step closer.

  “About that day?”

  “Yeah. It was… a lot. You know?”

  “You dreamed all of it?”

  “Pretty much. Up until when we had to jump out the back window because Oscar came. He was faster than we’d ever seen him, wasn’t he?” He laughs, voice low.