Kneel Down

by Chelle Bliss

  “Were?” I came up behind her.

  Gin turned, brushing past me as she abandoned her search for something to wear. “I didn’t stutter. Were. As in, once was. As in, we ain’t now. As in, go home and stop asking me questions that aren’t your damn business. We aren’t friends. We aren’t…any damn thing anymore.”

  The words registered. I heard them well enough.

  Maybe even comprehension was a thing that clicked and fired in my brain. That didn’t mean it made much sense to me. That damn well didn’t mean I liked it one bit.

  Gin’s eyes burned bright and glistened as I came at her. Then widened when I grabbed her, tugging her against me. My arm around her waist and my fingers stretched over her ass as I held her off the floor. “That is where you’re fucking wrong.”

  She tried to argue. She at least released a loud sound of protest, but it got stifled by my tongue invading her mouth and the high shrieks of her moans as I pushed my hand between us, carrying her to the bed with my hand on her pussy, teasing, finding her already soaked and getting wetter.

  Gin shuddered against my hand. I pushed her to the mattress, moving my hand away long enough to slide it into her panties, slipping two fingers inside her, groaning when she tightened around me. I hovered over her, wanting to taste her everywhere, but so hungry to be inside her, to remind her what was hers, what I had taken from her, what she’d always have of me.

  “This,” I said, taking my hand away from her, bringing it to my mouth, “doesn’t feel like we aren’t any damn thing, Gingerbread.” Her breathing quickened when I sucked the two fingers, still warm from her pussy, into my mouth.

  “Dale…” she breathed, pulling me close like she’d forgotten her anger. Forgotten everything but what her body told her she needed.

  “You want me, baby?”

  Her nod was hesitant, like she damn well didn’t want to admit she wanted anything from me at all. But she kept at my neck, pulling me closer.

  I held her wrist to stop her. “I want you. I want all of you too.” I took her mouth because it belonged to me and gave her my tongue. Her taste and mine mingling until she moved against me, until she threaded the fingers on both of our hands together and directed them to her clit. I could smell her everywhere. Felt the heat from her body, from her sweet, soft pussy against my leg. Felt the breaking sob of the passionate cries she made and could not take another second of not being inside her.

  “Please,” she said, sounding ready to burst. “Please, baby…”

  Gin kicked off her panties when I got them to her ankles and helped me tug down my jeans and shorts. We tangled together, hands and fingers and needy touches that felt greedy and desperate until I found her. My cock sank into that wet, tight heat, and we both breathed loud gasps of relief when I was inside her.

  “You tell me I’m not nothing,” I demanded, holding her open with my hand on the back of her knee. Gin arched up, coming up on her elbows as I moved deeper, gripping the pillow over her head, pushing myself deeper inside her. “Tell me. I need you to say it.”

  “Please…” She stretched, neck twisting to the side when I sucked her nipple into my mouth, wetting the fabric of her bra because I was desperate. I needed to hear her claim me.

  “Tell me…”

  “You’re…oh God…” I redoubled, using both hands now to stretch my Gingerbread farther apart. A whip of pleasure and my own orgasm shot through me when she came, wetness covering both of us. “Oh, baby, you’re everything…fucking everything.”

  Later, Gin curled against me, her back pressed to my chest, her hair tangled between my fingers as we listened to the noise of the city through the open balcony door. The darkness and gust of cold air reminded me of something I couldn’t place. That same nagging glitch of unconfirmed memory that would unwind from my head over the past year. Something about the night I was shot uncurling in my mind but never letting me get a good look at it.

  Right then, I didn’t much care what it was. Right then, I was as happy as I could be. As happy as I could get without explaining anything to Gin. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I didn’t want to disturb anything. She was pressed against me, and we were good.

  Of course, it wouldn’t last.

  The ring came in three quick successions. I reached across to the foot of the mattress, ready to grab my cell out of my jeans pocket and power it off. It had caused too much shit already, and I didn’t want the small peace we had to end.

  Gin was faster. Moved before I could.

  She answered.

  “What do you want?”

  The expression on her face told me all I needed to know about who was on the other end. It was enough. It was everything. Trudy had done a lot of damage, but I’d done more. I kept doing damage to this woman at every turn.

  “Is that right?” Gin said, her back to me, the sheets around her body as she faced the window.

  She was beautiful with the sunlight coming across her pale skin. Beautiful. Radiant and I wanted her. But I learned a long time ago that when your sins were as plentiful as mine, you didn’t always get what you wanted. You usually got what you deserved. I didn’t deserve her.

  “I’ll tell him,” she said, ending the call. She held my phone in her hand but didn’t turn, kept her attention on the skyline outside that window, her features blank as though there wasn’t much more that could shake her. Everything had.

  “Gin…” I tried, but I went quiet when glanced over her shoulder, looking my way, but not seeing me.

  “Do you love me?”

  I closed my eyes, needing a half a second. I inhaled to keep the smell of her in my senses. It would have to keep me. Might never smell it again.

  “Gingerbread…”

  I knew the second she gave up on me. The tightness in her body relaxed, and everything she held—her breath, probably her hope—it all got lost in whatever thoughts screwed her up and made her think it wasn’t in me to want forever with her.

  I might not be able to get the words out because of what Trudy had laid on me. I might be holding myself back because of the choices I had to make, but something big still burned bright inside me for this woman.

  I’d done so many things I wouldn’t ever be forgiven for. There were some sins too dark to ever see the light of forgiveness. For years, Gin had been the only bright spot in my life. I’d just been so damn petrified of dimming that light. Loving me would cost her because I couldn’t be what she wanted, especially now. Especially since there wasn’t just me to consider.

  “I’m tired, Dale. I’m tired of waiting on a man who can’t love me back.” She moved away from the window, slowly dressing, like there wasn’t a rush to get where she was going.

  I knew my best friend. She wasn’t waiting on anyone, least of all me. She was done. Checked out. It was time I let her go. It was the last thing in the world I wanted and the only thing fair enough for her.

  When she was dressed, Gin sat on the mattress and held my face between her fingers. “Whatever happens to you, I hope you get a happy ending.” I wanted to tell her the only way that would happen for me was with her. I wanted to stop her, make her stay. I wanted it to be me and Gin and no one else. But that wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right. She started to pull away from me, and I gripped the back of her neck, pouring everything I felt, everything I had in me for her into the kiss I gave her. It rattled me, made the ending of that kiss feel like a small death. Gin blinked, her lips swollen and damp before she looked over my face. “Trudy’s waiting for you downstairs,” she said before she left the bed and me alone in that room.

  14

  Gin

  Almost, maybes, and impossible hopes.

  That was all I had left.

  The almost moments of being with Dale, of loving him with everything I was, anything I would be, was exhausting. Especially when that almost led to never. Maybes were a tease not fit for anyone. Maybes were just no’s disguised in glitter that pretended to be gold.

  Impossible hope
s? That was my bread and butter, and I’d had enough for one lifetime.

  How could he touch me, take me the way he had, be that open, that raw with me, show me everything he was, and still keep so much from me? A better question would be, why the hell was I continuing to expect him not to?

  It didn’t matter, none of it. Trudy’s call this morning had been the nail in the coffin. She’d never change, and she’d never be out of his life. I could handle Dale having a child. Just not Dale having a child with that woman.

  “If you’re done fucking my husband, tell him I’m here to see him.”

  “Is that right?” I asked, my body still aching from where Dale had been just hours before. When he couldn’t tell me he loved me back—the only thing I needed to hear, the only thing that would make dealing with Trudy worth the trouble, that was when I’d had my fill.

  I wasn’t filming today. The crew worked hard, getting the renovation underway so that Ethan, the lead carpenter/pretty-boy secondary host, could film some how-to segments on project construction. I was supposed to be in a design meeting with Jess, but I skipped it, figuring she could handle the small team better than I could. I’d never done it before because it wasn’t in my wheelhouse. Kit was always the showrunner. I was just the runner.

  Doubt crowded into my head, and I tried to push every negative thought from consuming me. There was a system I used—some meditation, some affirmations that had helped me free myself from the shit my crappy foster families had tried to keep me in my entire childhood. Ms. Mixen had been the only decent one among them, and it was that sweet old hippie lady who had taught me to channel my energy, to focus when the shit of my life threatened to overwhelm me. Like it was now.

  “Woman up,” I told myself, turning to face Johnny’s desk to place my palms flat against the surface. I took in a breath, pulling in all the thoughts that I knew would settle me—you are strong, you are smart, you are talented. I exhaled out all the bullshit and negativity that felt like it had a vise grip on my chest—Dale and Trudy, Dale not saying he loves me, Dale being shot, Dale forgetting absolutely everything that happened between us, Dale touching me like I wanted and never telling me what he felt, Dale…Dale…Dale…

  “Fuck!”

  Dropping my head to the desk, I let loose all the stupid frustration. All the loss. All the ridiculous waiting. My weakness waiting for him, wanting him…and I just let myself cry. I didn’t know how long I sat there sobbing and feeling completely useless, but after a while, the tears lessened and the tension in my body uncoiled.

  “Bella?” I heard, jerking up, mortified when I spotted Johnny staring down at me. His features were tight, eyebrows pushed together, his purple jaw set and clenched as he watched me. “What happened? What the fuck did that motherfucker—”

  “No.” I stopped him, taking his hand when he knelt beside me. “Please…I’m just feeling…ah.” I wiped my face with Johnny’s handkerchief when he offered it to me. “My friend Madison would say I’m just in my feelings. And I guess I am.”

  Johnny considered me, pushing back the hair from my face that had stuck all over my forehead and cheeks as I sobbed like a crazy woman against his fancy wooden desk. For a dangerous mafia guy, this man was so affectionate and sweet.

  Bet baby sharks are too, I reminded myself. Until they bite.

  “I…I’m feeling sorry for myself and trying hard not to.” Another swipe to dry my face and I forced a smile over my mouth.

  Johnny didn’t buy it. His expression didn’t change, his features sticking in that frozen worry. “What did he do?”

  My chin wobbled, and I tried to stop it. I felt ridiculous for acting like such an idiot in front of my boss, but I couldn’t control my own body. The tears collected again, hung in my lashes, and when Johnny opened his arms, letting me fall against his chest, I didn’t try to keep myself together. Sometimes you just needed a good cry.

  “Come,” he finally said when my crying had quieted. “Let me take you away from here. We’ll start our date early.”

  I stiffened at the angles and ideas Johnny Carelli might be having. To him, I was sure I looked like a weak, vulnerable woman.

  But then he patted my back, pushing my chin up so I could look at him. “My hand to God, I have no angles today, bella.” He brushed a thumb over my cheek. “I’m just useless at seeing a woman cry. Come, let’s see what your friend Johnny can do to make it better.”

  15

  Gin

  Così Buono was a fine dining Italian restaurant owned by Sofia, a friend of Johnny’s cousin Antonia. He had no stake in the place, but he was friendly enough with Sofia to get a private table in a secluded section of the restaurant whenever he asked for one.

  “Sofia makes the best vongole. Freshest clams in the city.”

  “And wine?” I was in the mood, and the question made Johnny laugh.

  “Yes, bella. So much wine you could swim in it.” We walked through the door, Johnny nodding to the maître d’. “Michael,” Johnny greeted the man, shaking his hand.

  Michael smiled as he discreetly slipped the bill Johnny gave him into his jacket pocket.

  “Mr. Carelli, Thom will bring you and your guest to the back rooms.” He waved over a boy, tall but fit with a pale complexion who seemed completely unbothered by the way the maître d’ summoned him with a snap of his fingers.

  “The back rooms, Michael?” Johnny said, looking to the right. There was an empty room next to the entrance fitting only three tables. None of which were occupied. From the way Johnny gazed at the corner table situated next to the fireplace, I got the impression that’s where he wanted to be. “We’ll sit here, next to the fire.”

  “Ah.” The man’s eyes shifted toward the seating chart in front of him. He was calm, but something in his composure fractured when Johnny’s friendly smile lowered. “Would you not be more comfortable, have more privacy, in the back rooms? Please, I’ll show you myself.” He walked to the side, grabbing two menus, then froze, his back straightening when Johnny touched his shoulder.

  “The fireplace, Michael. I insist.” He didn’t wait for the man to lead us into the room, and I understood why. The shift in Johnny’s tone, the way he touched the maître d’s shoulder, so simple, so casual, held a silent threat you’d only notice if you’d spent any time with Johnny Carelli.

  He was always friendly, always generous, always pleasant.

  Until he wasn’t.

  “Is there a problem?” I adjusted the napkin in my lap after we sat and the server placed it there, then hurried away from our table.

  Johnny leaned on his elbow, fist covering his mouth as he watched the room. His gaze shifted around us to the empty tables immediately at our right, back through the glass door that offered a glimpse into the lobby and entrance. When I tilted my head, expecting an answer, Johnny flicked his fingers, as if to keep me quiet.

  “Shouldn’t we go…”

  “No, bella,” he said behind his curled hand, pulling out his phone. He didn’t look at the screen as he selected the name he’d chosen from the list and brought the cell to his ear. “Inside.” He hung up and placed the phone back in his pocket. Not once letting his attention leave the rooms that surrounded us.

  “Johnny,” I said, my stomach knotting as a thousand scenarios of danger and fear overtook the depression I’d felt just an hour before in Johnny’s office. Fear overtook sadness. Trumped it every time, and right then, I’d trade a weak, sobbing Gin Sullivan for the one sitting in the middle of some unknown threat with an actual mafia prince.

  When I curled my napkin in my hand, head turning to get a look over my shoulder, Johnny stopped me, reaching across the table to grab my fingers. “We’re fine,” he said with a soft expression, but still tense. “Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”

  “Why am I not convinced?”

  The question seemed to surprise him just enough for Johnny to shift his focus from whatever was happening outside that glass door to me. His smile was easy then, but it di
dn’t last long. “My bella, I’d never let anyone touch a hair on that beautiful red head.”

  Behind me, the noise of the lobby grew louder as the door opened. Johnny dropped my hand, and a brief, cautious smile moved back over his mouth as a woman approached the table.

  “Sofia.” He stood to reach down and kiss both her cheeks. “So good to see you.”

  The woman he kissed was tall, looked to be in her late thirties. She had a pleasant smile, and a cropped, blond pixie cut surrounded her angular face. She wore a chef’s jacket, pristine and starched, and had to lift up on her toes to receive his kiss. “Johnny. Ugh, still so freaking handsome.” She stepped back, squeezing his hand as she moved in front of him. “You’re so stubborn. Gave poor Michael a fit,” she told him, glancing down at me, her smile warm, friendly. “And who’s this?”

  “Michael was insistent. I wonder why,” he answered, navigating Sofia to his side as he waved at me. “This is Gin Sullivan. We’re working on a…project together. I’m expanding into television.”

  “Television?” She extended a hand to me and stepped right in front of Johnny as she did. It was a weird little dance they were doing, but obvious, even to me.

  And when I stood and took Sofia’s hand, one glance at Johnny’s face told me I wasn’t wrong in assuming something was happening that he didn’t like.

  “Well,” Sofia said, grabbing my hand in a friendly double grip. “It’s so nice to meet you, Gin. Please, enjoy your meal. Anything you like, it’s on me. I recommend the vongole…”