The Woman in the Trunk

by Jessica Gadziala

  Then his mouth was on me, tongue tracing up my cleft before circling around my clit.

  My hands slapped down on the back of his head, holding him against me as his tongue started to do little flicks against my clit and two fingers plunged inside me, thrusting lazily.

  My hips rocked shamelessly against him as his lips closed suddenly around my clit, sucking hard, sending an unexpected orgasm through my system, leaving me crying out, body shaking, hands holding onto him for dear life as my leg muscles weakened with the intensity of the waves that crashed through me.

  Lorenzo kept working me through it, stopping only as the last tremor moved through me, as everything became too sensitive for anything else. As if sensing this, he moved away, kissing and nipping down my thigh, then back up, over my belly, working his way upward.

  He barely had a chance to get to full height again before my hands were grabbing at the tuck of his towel, pulling, then tossing it away as my other hand pressed into his chest, pushing him up against the window, urging him to sit on the low sill to make up for our height difference as I lowered down to my knees.

  My hand grabbed him at the base as my lips closed around his head, sucking him deep, feeling his cock press past the point of comfort, making me choke around him for a second before I relaxed, adjusted.

  He didn't let me go for long, grabbing a fist-full of my hair, yanking slowly backward, little sparks of pain racing across my scalp as he slid out of my mouth.

  His eyes were small slits of desire as he pulled me upward, making short work of removing my shirt, my bottoms. Reaching down, he snagged me behind the knees, yanking me off my feet as he got to his, carrying me back into the bedroom, tossing me onto the bed as he went into his nightstand, grabbing a condom, slipping it on, then looking over at me as he stood off the side of the bed.

  The hunger in his eyes made a fire blaze through my core, spreading outward until my entire body was heated.

  Lorenzo reached downward, grabbing my ankles, pulling me across the bed, hiking up my knees, then coming over me, his body pressing me into the mattress as his lips crushed against mine.

  His teeth sank into my lower lip as he thrust inside me.

  There was nothing slow or soft or sweet about Lorenzo. He fucked like he lived. Hard, fast, demanding.

  He moved backward, going up on his knees, grabbing my legs, pressing them together, pushing them against my chest, making me feel him even deeper, a little pinch that shouldn't have felt good, but somehow did.

  His hand moved out, grabbing my hand, slipping it between my thighs, using his thumb on top of mine over my clit, helping drive me upward harder, faster, until my chest started to feel tight, until my muscles started to seize up.

  His free hand moved upward, grabbing my neck, putting pressure on the side.

  "Come," he demanded as my head started to get a little light, as he fucked me harder, as he pressed his thumb roughly against my clit.

  And just like that, I did, a deep pulsation that started in my core then exploded outward, stealing my breath, stealing my voice, my back arching, my hand slapping down onto Lorenzo's arm, holding on as he fucked me through it, dragged it out, until the final wave crashed. He slammed deep, body jolting, voice hissing out my name as he came.

  I felt in pieces afterward, completely out of control of my body that was suddenly racked with aftershocks—a phenomenon I had started to believe was some lie men told each other to stroke their egos.

  Nope.

  They existed.

  Apparently, you just needed a man like Lorenzo Costa to bring them out of you.

  He sat back on his heels for a long moment, head angled back, eyes closed, trying to even out his breathing.

  Around the time my aftershocks subsided, he seemed to get control over himself as well, slipping out of me, hopping off the bed, walking back to the bathroom, half-closing the door.

  Just as function came back to my body, sense came back to my head, making me knife up in the bed, my heart flying upward, the reality settling in on me.

  I'd just slept with him.

  What the hell kind of Stockholm bullshit was that?

  My stomach twisted in knots as I climbed off the bed.

  I didn't stop to think about it, just rushed bare-ass naked across the room, into the hall, across it and into my own, closing and locking the door, dropping down on the edge of the bed, hands covering my face.

  "Oh my God," I whispered as my thoughts swirled, all of them slamming into each other, falling down in mid-stride.

  It wasn't long before I heard Lorenzo's voice calling my name, a curious sound that got more confused as he called again, making his way into the hallway. I heard him move out into the main area before he came back, stopping outside my door.

  He tried the door, finding it locked in his hand.

  "Giana," he called, voice low.

  Biting into my bottom lip, I refused to answer, knowing I wasn't in any condition for rational thinking—let alone an actual conversation—right then. "Get back out here," he demanded, but his voice was softer than usual, coaxing.

  There was no reason to go out there, though.

  That happened.

  But it changed nothing.

  He was still a man with my life in his hands.

  And I was a prisoner.

  Talking about it wouldn't change the facts.

  Better to put the distance between us now.

  Because we could never freaking do that again.

  As if we realized this at the same exact time, his hand slid the external lock.

  It was over.

  It wasn't going to happen again.

  Chapter Nine

  Lorenzo

  I barely saw her for the next few days.

  I tried to tell myself it was for the best.

  Fucking her had been a bad move. It complicated shit. And I liked my sex—and life—decidedly uncomplicated.

  That said, I would admit that it felt strange having her in my place, but a ghost. I unlocked the door first thing in the mornings, but she didn't come out until after I left. She must have had amazing hearing, always hearing the swish of the elevator as it came up, because I never caught her in the common area.

  A part of me wanted to charge in, demand to hash shit out. But I had just enough self-preservation to keep me from doing it. Which was just as well. The woman deserved a little privacy if she wanted it. Her life had been turned upside down and shaken. She should be allowed to hold onto whatever she could to feel steady.

  So I let her have things her way, though I installed some solid locks on the window to the fire escape as well as my closet just in case.

  It was better this way.

  After the next meeting with her father, I hoped she would be able to go back to her life, likely cleaning up her father's messes, but free.

  And I would be back to my business. Which, I had to admit, was suffering since she arrived, since I started making excuses to be home, since I'd had to chase her around the tri-state area.

  It would be good to get back to what was important.

  Some day, this family would be mine. Keeping it from turning into a complete shitshow before then was important.

  Now if I could just get that fucking woman out of my mind, that would be great.

  I found myself wondering what she was doing in the apartment when I was out. When I was in, I wondered if she had enough food and drinks in her room since she refused to come out to eat dinner with me. And at night? Alone in my bed? Yeah, let's just say she took the dominant place in my mind then, leaving me hard and frustrated, a strong part of me wanting to charge across the hall and get another round.

  It took more self-control than I knew I was capable of not to, to go to sleep unsatisfied.

  But it was almost over.

  The deadline was here.

  "Yeah?" I asked, answering my phone on the second to last ring, not wanting to deal with my father, but knowing I had no excuse not to pick up.
<
br />   "Bring the girl here at six."

  "What?" I asked, confused. There hadn't been any talk about bringing Giana with me to the meeting with her father. And, quite frankly, it was not good that my father ordered she be there. He wanted to make a spectacle of her, to chain her to a chair, to gag her. He wanted a reaction out of Leon. My father had always thrived on the fear he could instill. But it was one thing if the fear was that of the person who had fucked him over in some way. It was a complete other to make Gigi pay for the sins of her father.

  "What part of that was hard to understand?" my father asked, tone cold.

  "Why would the daughter need to be there?"

  "Leverage. If he tries to dick us around, we have her there."

  We'd have her there.

  My stomach twisted as his words settled in and his meaning became clear.

  If Leon tried to stall, if he didn't have what he needed to, my father would order harm to Giana in front of her father.

  And if anyone tried to step in—myself included—he would put a bullet in us.

  I had no delusions about my father, about his feelings toward me. I was his underboss because I was the hardest worker, the biggest earner, because I had a body count that surpassed anyone but Brio.

  I was the best option.

  It had nothing to do with fatherly love.

  My father wasn't capable of it.

  He would take me out if he thought I was making him look bad. He'd drive a spike through me if he knew how I'd been running things behind his back for years.

  This was not good.

  And my fucking hands were tied.

  "Six, Lorenzo."

  And with that, silence.

  As my heart pounded and my thoughts raced, while I tried to think of a single way to get us out of this situation.

  I'd given her my word that I would take care of her. My father slicing off one of her fingers in my presence wasn't exactly me keeping it.

  "Fuck," I hissed, grabbing my glass, throwing it at the wall, feeling a small amount of satisfaction as it shattered to the ground.

  "What is going on?" Gigi asked, shocking me. It had been days since I'd heard her voice.

  Or seen her face, I reminded myself as I turned so quickly that the room spun for a second.

  There she was. In a white tee and a pair of short shorts. No bra, judging by her nipples peeking out through the fabric.

  I didn't need my cock to stiffen right then, but there was no denying it did.

  I sighed as I raked a hand through my hair before turning to grab two new glasses, uncapping the whiskey, pouring us each a double, then holding one out.

  "Trust me, babe, you're going to want it."

  Hesitantly, she moved forward, reaching out for the glass, careful not to brush my fingers with hers as she took it.

  "My father hasn't paid," she said, not sounding surprised, but the hollowness in her voice was a knife to the gut.

  "The meeting is at seven," I told her. "At my father's house."

  "Oh."

  "You need to be ready by six."

  "Okay."

  "Giana," I called when she turned, to go find something more appropriate to wear.

  "What?"

  "It's not good that my father wants you to be there tonight," I told her, trying to ease her into it.

  I should have known better. Giana wasn't stupid. She knew more about the mafia than she let on. She knew how shit worked.

  "He plans to use me against my father if he doesn't pay," she said. To her credit, she didn't tear up. But I saw her fear. It was in the tightness in her jaw, the way she jutted chin up to hide the tremble of her lower lip.

  "That's my thinking," I agreed.

  "In what way?" she asked, swallowing hard, and I didn't want to think of all the awful things that were likely running through her mind right then.

  "I imagine roughing you up."

  "That's it? Just slap me around?"she asked, rolling her eyes. "Come on."

  "Babe, I don't know. I wish I had an answer for you, some reality to prepare you for. I just know that my father is unstable when he feels he is being slighted. And he can be a real dick. I haven't personally seen him order anyone to hurt a woman, but do I think he is capable? Yes. There is very little I don't believe my father is capable of."

  "What have you seen him order done to men?" she asked, biting into her lower lip to stop the quivering.

  I'd never been a man who comforted people. That was not what I did. But there was an almost overwhelming urge to walk over there, to wrap her up, and assure her that there was no way I would let anything happen to her.

  But the reality was, I could no longer make that promise to her. Not if I wanted both of us to make it out of this shit alive.

  "Most commonly, the clichés stand. Broken kneecaps. Shattered hands. Severed fingers. Or," I started, swallowing back the bad taste in my mouth at this one, "tooth extractions."

  I was capable of a lot of wicked things. I could beat a man near to death without batting an eye. But there was something about pulling teeth that turned my stomach.

  "I've had a dentist do an extraction before my Novocaine kicked in," Gigi admitted, cringing a bit at the memory. "I could live through that again. I mean, people used to pull their own teeth out with pliers before dentistry came about. I wouldn't die from it."

  "No," I agreed, nodding. "You'd make it."

  "They used to saw off the limbs of soldiers in the civil war. That's where the term 'bite the bullet' comes from," she added, as if inserting that fact somehow made the reality easier to swallow.

  "I see what you're trying to do here, babe," I said, shaking my head. "But no amount of mental preparation is going to make it any less horrific if any of those things happens."

  To that, she nodded, her chin dipping to hide the sudden swimming in her eyes.

  "Can I ask something?" she started, taking a shaky breath.

  Yeah, babe."

  "Can you do it?" she asked, looking up, blinking back the tears.

  "What? Why? Why me?"

  "Because I know you wouldn't want to. And there is some comfort in that, I think. Kinda like we were both in that shitty position together. I don't think I could handle it if I knew it was some guy who was taking pleasure in my pain."

  That was a big ask.

  Everything in me said I couldn't do it.

  I didn't hurt women, as a rule.

  And the thought of hurting this one in particular made it feel like someone was pouring lava into my chest.

  "I will do everything I can to be the one to do it," I agreed, though. After all, she was the one calmly accepting her potential torture. Could I really deny her the choice of who would deliver the blows? It was a small favor given the situation. "And I think it would be something that would escalate. So if you can put on a show like I'm really hurting you when I am using half-power, we might be able to avoid something worse. If you think you can fake it well enough," I added, knowing my father wouldn't buy it if she was trying some scream queen audition.

  "I'm a woman, Lorenzo," she said, snorting. "I know I can fake it well enough."

  With that, she tossed back her whiskey, moving forward to place the empty glass on the counter in front of me.

  I knew what she was doing.

  Trying to create distance again.

  But this time, not from the future torture.

  From past pleasure.

  And I knew I should have let it go.

  Let her have what she needed in the moment. I was a huge part in how fucked up her life was right then. I owed her what little comfort I could give her.

  But as she made her way into the opening of the hallway, I found myself calling her name, watching as she turned, brow raised.

  "Yeah."

  "You didn't fake shit with me," I told her, taking a sip of my drink.

  To that, she lifted her chin higher, and turned back away, knowing there was no way to deny it.

  I tossed back the
rest of my drink, trying to mentally prepare myself for the evening. But there was no use. There was no way to prepare yourself to potentially cut a part off of someone you were beginning to give a shit about.

  Give a shit.

  That was all it was.

  She had been in my space, in my life, for a while now. I gave a shit if she was harmed.

  That was all it was.

  That was all it could be.

  "Whoa," I said a few hours later when I could hear a click in the hall.

  There she was.

  In a red dress and black heels.

  Why Emilio had someone pick up dress clothes for a woman being held against her will in the spare room of my apartment was beyond me.

  "I figured, if he wants a spectacle, might as well go hard," she said, that stubborn chin of hers jerking up, ready, defiant.

  She looked like a woman ready to take on the world.

  Or New York City's Capo dei Capi.

  Which was really the same thing.

  "You look good, babe," I told her, trying to remind my body that we decided not to touch her again.

  "If he wanted sniveling and simpering and begging, he chose to have the wrong woman kidnapped," she added, eyes hard.

  You had to appreciate her spirit.

  It was the sexiest thing about her.

  "Good," I said, nodding. "Keep that mindset. We might make it out of this thing tonight," I said, grabbing my keys. "Ready?"

  "Yep," she said, the word snapping out as her back straightened.

  "We're going to do everything we can to avoid anyth—" I started to assure her as we closed into the elevator.

  "Don't," she cut me off, shaking her head. "I think we both know you can't make any promises tonight. I'd rather not get hopeful about some scenario that isn't going to happen. It will undo all the prep-talking I did while getting ready," she said, staring straight ahead at her reflection in the mirror as the doors opened.

  She looked like what she was.

  A woman on a mission.

  Stone fucking cold.

  A part of me itched to slip my hands up her skirt, to warm her up.