Scar
I dream of Rita that night. When I wake, I’m still in her bed. We smell like sex. I kiss her neck, cup her naked breasts. She wiggles her hips against me until I’m hard again. She’s sleepy and beautiful as I kiss her. We fuck like that, half awake. I make sure to grind against her with my piercing, driving her wild. It gives me satisfaction, making her come like this, more joy than I ever thought possible. When she gets off twice, she pushes me back, panting and sweating, and she finishes me with her mouth. Slow and sensual, eyes locked on mine. Swallows every drop.
While she showers, I make breakfast. Pancakes and coffee. She accepts a plate when she comes out, drying her hair. “That was unexpected,” she says.
“What, the morning sex?”
“No, the pancakes.” She stares at the plate. “I genuinely didn’t think you knew how to work the stove.”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t always rich, remember? I lived on pancakes for years. They gave me a scholarship at Blackwoods, but not a stipend. Most days it was either trek to the cafeteria, which was nice but on the other side of campus, or stay in with pancakes. I opted for pancakes a lot.” We eat together in the kitchen, standing up. She looks gorgeous in a pair of black shorts and a white tank top that shows off her hard, pink nipples.
I remember biting those nipples. Biting them hard enough to bruise. I step forward, hands grazing her stomach. She sucks in a surprised breath as I lift up her top.
“Hey, what are you-”
I hold her down and look at her tits. Beautiful fucking tits. With little bite marks above them. “Just making sure you’re properly mine.” I kiss the tiny spots, licking them gently.
She turns, covering herself. Face pink with excitement. “Prick. Ask next time instead of manhandling me.”
I pat her ass hard before dressing for work. I’m whistling on the way to the office, feeling good for the first time in a while.
Yes, I fucked up. Yes, I gave in to my base desires. I’ve been so goddamn horny, so insanely pent-up. Yes, I shouldn’t have done it.
If I could go back in time, I’d do it all again.
What we did last night, that’s going to have consequences. I don’t know how yet, but I can’t imagine sleeping together is going to make anything easier. We have the move coming, we have a million decisions to make, and she needs a clear head. Not one filled with dreams of fucking.
I’m the same way. But now I have the Rita-bug. I’m sick with her, infected with her. I can’t get her mouth wrapped around the tip of my cock out of my fucking skull.
My phone rings as I sit behind my deck. It’s early, barely past seven, and Carmine’s name is on my screen.
“Morning, bro,” I say, leaning back. “You have a wet dream about me last night?”
“Like always. You sound chipper.” He does not. His voice is throaty and annoyed. “You get laid last night or something?”
“No comment.”
He laughs sharply. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking your fake wife now too?”
“What can I do for you this morning? Are you in need of legal services, or are you just prying into my personal life?”
He sighs. I can see him already, rubbing his face in frustration. “We need to talk about Gregory Callahan.”
I sit very still, slowly straightening my spine. “What happened?”
“Nothing bad. Not yet at least.” He lets out an annoyed grunt. “I got word that Gregory’s been asking questions about my family. Nothing too nefarious. Just looking into our dealings. But mostly focusing on my friendship with you.”
I close my eyes. “I can see how that might make you unhappy.”
“That’s one way of putting it. Another way is fucking furious that the Callahans are anywhere near me.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Look, things are good with them. Orin offered me the job, so long as I move to Boston.”
There’s a pause. “That’s good,” he says, sounding suspicious. “But if that’s the case, why’s Gregory digging into you?”
“Due diligence, maybe.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “He also thinks there’s something strange about my relationship with Rita.”
“Oh, god damn it,” Carmine growls. “I knew that shit was going to blow back on me.”
“It’s not all about you, if you recall,” I say through my teeth. I shouldn’t get pissed at Carmine, but I find myself more worried for Rita than I am for him. Carmine’s a mafia Don-he can handle himself.
“When my business is affected, you better believe it’s all about me.”
“Stop it,” I say through my teeth. “Gregory doesn’t know anything for sure. He’s poking around, fishing for something. All we have to do is keep on going like nothing’s wrong.”
“And then what?”
“Then I move to Boston and become one of the most powerful lawyers in the fucking country.”
That’s the goal: work for the Callahans, amass more connections, more strength.
That’s been my goal for a long time.
So why does it feel hollow? Where’s the excitement I thought I’d feel?
All I have now is worry.
He’s quiet. I can hear him breathing, getting himself under control. Finally, he says, “Moving to Boston, huh?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Have you told Ford yet?”
“Not yet. I figured he won’t be happy.”
“I’m not happy either,” Carmine admits. “But Boston’s not so far from Philly.” Which is Carmine’s second home and the traditional power base of his Famiglia.
“I know it won’t be the same. I’ve liked having you and Ford local for the last few years.”
“I’ve liked it too. But hell, nothing lasts forever. And it’s not like Ford doesn’t have the means to travel. Fucker’s got a private jet.”
“I forget about the jet sometimes. He’s stingy as hell with that thing.”
“Tell me about it.” Carmine chuckles softly. “All right, look. Make sure the Callahans stick to themselves. I’ll keep my head down and my mouth shut. But you need to tell Ford about the move soon.”
“I will. I’m going to.”
“And, bro? Be careful with the girl. Wrap it before you tap it, as the youth says.”
“I’m careful. She’s on birth control.”
“Yeah, all right. I knew you were sleeping with her, you bastard. Fucking hell. Brice says hi.”
“Hello, Brice.”
“Talk later.” He hangs up.
I sit alone in my office. Some of the euphoria of the night before ebbs and wears off. I want Rita, want her bad-but Gregory’s starting to be a real problem, and I don’t know what she’s going to do about this move.
Too many moving pieces. Too many balls in the air.
Too many chances to fuck this up.