Giovanni
“When I turned seventeen, I left. That’s all,” she says, completely avoiding my question. “I was old enough to take care of myself and I did. I came to Las Vegas and I met Mrs. Adams who owned Wrinkles in Time and worked for her until she died. She left me the shop and I’m continuing her work. And her kids wish they could evict me and make real money on the building, but they weren’t able to contest the will. That’s about it in a nutshell.”
“And you donate about fifty percent of your profits to the homeless shelter a few blocks away. That’s the reason you have the low rent agreement Mrs. Adams’ greedy kids aren’t thrilled about.”
“How did you know?”
“I heard the woman at the shop the other day and was curious, so I looked into it.”
“Looked into it? Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“You’re not so forthcoming, Sienna.”
She looks around again, then cocks her head to the side. “You don’t have any photographs of family either, by the way,” she says.
I remember when she found the one in my book.
“Not in here,” she continues. “Not anywhere in the entire penthouse. In fact, this place, as nice as it is, anyone can move in. Apart from that tartan I saw the first night, there’s nothing personal in it at all.”
“My mother died when I was six. My father remarried and it didn’t work out for me to stay.” It comes out strange. Awkward.
“What do you mean?”
“I was a threat to her. To her son. My father is a wealthy man. Or he was,” I pause. “Greed makes devils out of people.”
“Was? Is he…”
I shake my head. “He’s alive and well. The fortune is what’s suffered. I haven’t spoken with my father in thirteen years.”
“Giovanni, you… he’s your father. And he’s alive and you know him-”
“He made his choice. So did I.”
She studies me. “How did you get here? The casino and everything?” she asks, understanding I won’t be answering more questions about my father.
“I had cousins in Utah, but I only stayed with them a few weeks before leaving. Most people aren’t good, Sienna. Most people are sick bastards.”
Her eyes grow wide and fill up and I think how she knows this so well already. Better than me.
“How old were you?” she asks.
“Sixteen.”
“You were so young.”
“Older than you were when Williams took you in.”
She doesn’t comment.
“I eventually made my way to Vegas. Figured it’d be easier to find work here. I worked for Murray Lanigan who owned the casino and the building. He left everything to me when he died, and I grew the business into what it is today.”
“Did you go to school?”
“Not a proper school, no, but I learned plenty.”
“Do you miss home?”
That question catches me off guard. “This is my home now.” I have to force the words.
And she sees right through me. “Is it?”
I stand. “I have something for you,” I say, remembering.
She follows me into the bedroom where I take the box out of my jacket pocket. I hand it to her.
“Here.”
She looks down at it, then at me. She doesn’t touch it. “What is it?”
“Your bracelet. I had the clasp fixed.”
She reaches out to take the box, opens it, shifts her gaze back to me as she lifts it out. “Sometimes you do things that are so not in character with who you are.”
“You don’t know me, Sienna. But then again, how can you get to know me or anyone else when you’re so busy guarding your secrets?”
She doesn’t answer me but lets me take the bracelet and put it on her wrist.
“It feels heavier,” she says.
“I had a better chain put on it,” I tell her. That’s all I tell her.
I look down at her. She’s so much smaller than me especially barefoot. I like this difference in size and for as possessive as I feel of her, I also feel protective. I’ve never felt this way for any other human being apart from Murray Lanigan.
But he was an old man. A senile old man.
Sienna, she’s a woman.
She looks up at me, expectant.
“I shouldn’t have left you there, Sienna. Not after what I did,” I say.
A flush creeps up her neck and colors her cheeks. “I don’t want to think about that anymore.”
“Alright.”
“I’m hungry.”
I smile, hunger is good. “I’ll call down for some food, but first…” I walk her into the bathroom and turn the taps in the tub, plugging the drain once the temperature is set. “Take off your clothes. Throw that dress away. I don’t ever want to see it again.”
She reaches down to lift it over her head, and I look at her, her breasts too full for her almost too-thin body. She hands me the dress and I wait for the panties and together, I put them into the trash can.
I walk around her, see the healing bruises on her ass. When I press on a spot, she pulls away.
I help her into the tub. “What do you want to eat?” I ask her.
“A steak. Like the first night. And potatoes.”
“I’m glad you got your appetite back. I’ll give the kitchen a call.”
It takes me a few minutes to call down and tell them to leave the food in the dining room. I then return to the bathroom and bring the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash to the tub and to wash her.
I shampoo her hair twice, smooth the conditioner into it and rub her down with body wash, liking the feel of her skin slippery with soap. Liking playing with her nipples, feeling them harden.
After she’s clean, I empty the tub and refill it, stripping off my own clothes. She watches me as I climb in across from her, some of the water splashing over the wall of the tub when I do.
“Come here,” I tell her, pointing to my lap.
She searches my eyes.
“I need to feel you, Sienna. I need to be inside you.”
She gets on her knees, more water splashing over the sides of the tub as she makes her way to me. I lift her a little and, as she grips my shoulders, I slide her onto my cock and she feels like home. And I’ve been away too long.
Neither of us closes our eyes when I kiss her, tasting her softly. I want soft now. I want to feel her and hear her and watch her face while I kiss her, while I suck her nipples, not using my teeth, not yet.
“I missed this,” I say.
“You didn’t fuck anyone else while you were gone?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I tell her, holding her to me while I rise to stand.
The bathroom floor is wet now, but the housekeeper will clean it tomorrow. She wraps her legs around me and I carry her into the bedroom, laying her on the bed so her legs are hanging off.
I kiss her face, her cheek and her chin, her throat, her chest and her breasts. I pull out to slide my tongue down her middle and push her legs wide. Kneeling there, I look at her as she lies open and wet, her pussy pink and glistening.
I push her knees back, lick the length of her, circle her clit, dip into her pussy, then tongue her asshole. Listening to her gasp as I do.
Rising up, I grip her ankles, spread her wide and push my cock into her cunt.
She’s so wet as she bends her knees and reaches for me, lifting her face to mine, kissing my mouth, tongue on tongue and she’s so wet, she’s dripping as she opens and stretches to take the thickest part of me.
When I kiss her again her breathing is ragged and her hands fist in my hair. Her nails dig into my scalp as I take more, more, more, moving slowly, feeling every tight inch. Feeling her walls squeeze around my cock, her heat burning me up.
When I rub two fingers over her clit, she begins to moan. I claim more of her and move deeper, my thrusts are harder and soon she’s whimpering and moaning and coming. I can feel her throb around my cock as I watch her face, her eyes, as she comes.
I watch her take me as I fuck her hard and deep. I’m hurting a little but that hurt sends her over the edge again as she calls out my name and digs her nails into my back. She’s breaking skin, tearing my back as I bury myself inside her.
My cock throbs and I fill her up and it’s different than before. Different than any other time.
All I can think is that I want my smell on her always. My seed inside her.
I want to keep her filled up with me and clinging to me and crying out my name again and again and again. Because this woman, this broken thing, I’m never going to get enough of her.