Amelia
Thank God we don’t have to share a bed. It makes this honeymoon just a little easier. I wasn’t looking forward to this at all, and Frankie was so on edge when we arrived that it was giving me anxiety. Now, though, he’s relaxing, and I must admit it brings back fond memories for me.
The easy banter that existed between us was something I always appreciated. He doesn’t speak down to me like I’m a stupid woman, and we’ve always had interesting conversations. That was never our problem.
I won’t lie, I partially attribute the easiness of this trip to the numerous glasses of wine and
cocktails I’ve been enjoying, and I note he hasn’t been shy about the beers and whiskeys either.
On the third day, I leave the room and pass a man wearing a suit in the hallway. I give him a
small smile and notice he has a tattoo of a cross and prayer hands on his neck. He doesn’t smile back at me, and I shiver as I walk away from him. He’s kind of creepy.
I take the elevator downstairs, and I go to the dining hall. I dish up a generous helping of eggs and bacon with some toast and sausages and then find a table. Frankie has probably noticed my absence already and will be down in no time, I’m sure.
As I eat, I stare absently ahead at a man seated by himself, reading a newspaper. He doesn’t
touch his food at all. He turns the page, and a tattoo on his hand catches my eye. Another cross and prayer hands. It must be popular around here or wherever they are from. Maybe they’re together! Oh, perhaps they are brothers. Why do I even give a shit? I chuckle to myself and blush when the man glances at me. I turn my gaze down to my breakfast and eat quickly. I wonder what the plans are for today.
Once I’m finished, I decide to see if there are any activities today and as I walk out through
the front door, I bump into a burly man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, though he looks awkward in them, as though he’s not used to dressing that way. He grunts at me to watch where I’m going, and I glare at him as he walks off. On the back of his calf is a cross with prayer hands.
That’s so weird. It must be a conference or something happening at the hotel.
The weather outside doesn’t look promising, and I nearly scream when I hear Frankie’s voice behind me, “Looks like rain.”
I turn to face him. “No beach today, I guess.” I shrug.
“A day in, reading perhaps?” he offers, and I nod. “Sounds great.”
“We can get room service for dinner and watch some movies if you want?” he offers.
“Sure, if I can pick the movies.” I smile.
He nods. “Of course, you can.”
These first three days have been easygoing, and I’m actually enjoying myself.
We spend the day sitting in the living area, and so far, we haven’t killed each other. We checked with the hotel, and the weather seems to be an unexpected storm passing through. It should be sunny again by tomorrow, so we spend the day unwinding and reading.
I order us food and wait until the room service arrives, and I let the waiter wheel the cart into
the living area where there’s a small table to eat at. He lays the food out and is about to leave when I pipe up, “Hold on.”
I take Frankie’s wallet from the side table and pull out a fifty. “You forgot your tip.”
Do I feel bad about just taking money from Frankie’s wallet? Not at all, the guy needed a tip, and I don’t have any cash on me.
I put the wallet back as Frankie walked out of his room, dressed in a pair of slacks and a golf
shirt.
“A bit formal for dinner in our room,” I comment. I’m in my pajamas, and Frankie eyes me
out. “A bit casual for dinner in general.”
“This is proper home attire,” I say, trying to sound posh.
Frankie raises an eyebrow and runs a hand through his hair. I smile, “Your hair is perfect, don’t worry.”
He smiles and sits down. “What did you order for us?”
“We can’t be Italians unless we try the actual Italian dishes.” I lift the metal cover off his plate. “Spaghetti with a creamy sauce.”
Frankie looks at me skeptically. “Do we know if the chef is an Italian Nonna with years of family recipes passed down?”
“I doubt it.” I beam at him. “So it isn’t going to taste like Nonna’s cooking.”
Frankie sighs. “I resign myself to that fact. Right, first dinner and some wine, and then a movie. Do you know what you want to watch?”
“There are some options picked out on the table.” I sit in my place. “You can browse and pick
the least offensive chick flick you’ll watch.”
“Do any of them have action?”
“Define action? Like adventure and guns or great in the sack? Cause they all have only the one
kind.” I grin at him evilly.
He chuckles. “I’ll look later. Buon appetito!” “Grazie,” I say, uncovering my food.
We eat in silence for a moment until Frankie stands and pours us a generous glass of wine
each. I take a long sip. “At least the wine is good.”
“It’s not just me then,” he says, pulling a face. “Did you order dessert, at least?”
“Ice cream and chocolate sauce,” I push the rest of my food away, “which sounds much more appetizing.”
“I know we shouldn’t drink on an almost empty stomach, but we’re not novices. We’ll survive,” Frankie says, reaching for a bowl of ice cream and standing up. “Let’s watch while we eat.” We both flop onto the sofa, and Frankie looks at the list I’ve prepared. He flips the TV on and
selects one of the more romantic movies. “This should be right up your alley.”
We settle back and soon abandon our ice cream for more wine. I notice how freely it flows,
but both Frankie and I are seasoned drinkers.
I lean against him, getting comfortable, and turn my head to look up at him to find him inches from my face, looking into my eyes with those piercing gray-blue Sorvino eyes. I’m not drunk enough to do this, and it would be a mistake, but I can’t help but lean up and kiss him.
He kisses me back, and we start to kiss hungrily. We turn to face each other, our kisses getting more heated until he pulls away from me. Forever the controlled one.
I just want closure from him. Is that too much to ask for? Instead of asking him to explain
himself, I get up and straddle his lap, looking down at him. I lean down and start to kiss him again. I feel his hands cup my ass and squeeze. He always did like my ass.
His hands move from my ass, up and inside my shirt, cupping my bare breasts. I moan into his mouth, grinding my hips down onto his hardening cock. He flips me over and starts to undress me, and my mind drives me wild. It isn’t long before he carries me to his bed, his perfectly made bed, and drops me onto the sheet, clawing at my pajamas to get them off.
I paw at his pants, undoing his belt and dropping his slacks to the ground. He’s hard and ready for me. His fingers dip between my legs, and I groan as he plays with me, he always had a way with his hands.
He picks me up and tosses me up the bed so I’m higher and he’s lower. I know what he’s
going to do, and I have no complaints.
Frankie
I kneel between her legs. I’ve been in this position before and am fortunate to have already
experienced what she likes. I kiss the inside of her thigh softly, looking up at her, then kissing again, teasing her as I look up again.
“Frankie,” she purrs, “Please…”
I grin and kiss my way up slowly until my mouth covers her already wet, shaved pussy. I know just how to lick when to suck, and what kind of nipping she likes to make her writhe under my grasp. All too soon, I’m straining too much and no longer want to wait.
She seems to read my mind as she takes a handful of my hair to pull me back up to kiss her. I mount her and slide my hard cock into her, burying myself deep inside her. The warmth is incredible, and she contracts her muscles around my dick.
I ravage her, moving in and out quickly, trying not to hurt her. She just moans and cries out my name. She doesn’t seem to mind the pace at all.
I feel her hand between us, teasing her clitoris as I move. She’s close. She only does that
when she’s close, so I thrust as hard as possible, chasing my own release.
I lie with her in my arms, letting her doze with her head against my chest.
I feel as though this is a fresh start to our marriage. This night has brought us together and shown me that we are on the same page on what we want from the marriage. It certainly won’t be a typical marriage. We’ve discussed that at length. But the passionate sex makes me believe it can be even more.
I stroke her back softly. She has always had this way of winning me over. Maybe I can do
something nice for her in the morning, something she’ll like.
I wake when she stirs, climbing off the bed to get dressed. I turn to watch her, the sun is just
rising, and the room is filled with soft gray light.
“Where are you going?” I ask sleepily.
“Back to my room,” she says; her tone is short, and I frown.
“Everything okay?” I ask, sitting up.
She turns to me and smiles. “Last night was amazing, but… Frankie, we’ve been clear about what we expect from this marriage. It’s working the way we’re doing it. We shouldn’t change anything.”
Of course, I should have known she wouldn’t feel the same way as me. I’m a walking sucker. I
thought things could change, but it’s clear that she doesn’t feel the same way.
For one insane moment, I want to tell her how I feel, but I don’t want to be left with dust when
she runs away because I have feelings she doesn’t return.
So, I nod.
“Sure, whatever you think is best.” I get up. “Although I am having a run and a shower before breakfast.”
No emotion is needed when you treat it as a business relationship. That’s all that is. That’s all it needs to be. I won’t be mean, grumpy, or take my moods out on her. She didn’t ask me to have these feelings. She had an itch that I could scratch, and that was all last night was.
She stands awkwardly at my door. “Are we good?”
I reach for my sweats. “Sure, the weather should be good today. We should head down to the beach again.”
She nods. “Sure, I’ll see you there.”
All through the run, the shower, and even as I have breakfast with her, I slowly bottle up my
feelings for her. There is no room for them.
I bring an action book to the beach, sit on the lounger, and look for a server to order drinks
from. Amelia stares wistfully out at the ocean. The waiter comes over, and I turn to him. “A beer and a cosmopolitan,” I order.
“Sorry,” Amelia says suddenly, and I glance at her, “those plastic toys in the sand. Do they belong to kids, or can anyone play with them?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You want to play with the toys?”
“I want to build a sandcastle,” she laughs. And the sound is so beautiful.
I look at the waiter, who answers. “Yeah, there are no rules that only the children can play with them.”
“Thanks.” Amelia stands up and reaches a hand down to me. “Come on, let’s see if you can
build a sandcastle.”
I pull a face, and she shakes her head. “No, no, you have to try.”
I take her hand and stand. She almost immediately lets go of mine and leads me toward the plastic toys. Rather ungracefully, she plops down onto the sand and pulls some toward her, using a plastic shovel to fill it with sand.
I sit down next to her and watch her for a moment before she looks at me pointedly. “Come on
then.”
I shake my head and pull a bucket to me, filling it with sand.
The waiter comes and goes, bringing us drinks as we try and build a sandcastle. I notice he’s
not the same waiter that took the order, and I take note of the tattoo of prayer hands and a cross on his hand. I’m so focused on trying to build my sandcastle that I don’t pay attention to Amelia. I throw the last dump of sand in the middle and glance over at her, and my jaw drops.
She’s built a beautiful, albeit amateur, sandcastle, but it does look like a proper castle. When I
look at mine, it looks like a heap of sand, with other heaps of sand in the corners of it.
Amelia sees me looking at her and glances at my sandpile. She bursts out laughing and
tumbles backward into the sand. “That is terrible, Frankie.” I chuckle. “I tried,” I say.
Amelia shakes her head. “No, seriously, that is the worst sandcastle ever made.”
As she sits up, I push her over into the sand. “I’m going to read. You can keep playing with your sand.”
I get up and dust myself off. I walk back to my book. More people are on the beach now, but
one man particularly catches my attention. He’s wearing a suit, sitting just off the shore, but on his neck is the same tattoo as the waiter from earlier: a cross and prayer hands.
That is no coincidence.
Matching tattoos means there’s a gang, and the fact that two of them are in our vicinity lets me know it’s us they’re after. They won’t do anything while we’re in public, maybe not even when we’re in the room, but we lose that protection once we’re on the road heading home. A perfect situation to take us out.
I don’t know who they are or what they want, but I’m damn sure we’re in danger. I won’t let Amelia know. I don’t want her to stress just yet. First, I need to act natural and then reach out to my brother. We need to come up with a plan to get us home safely.
I rest back in the lounger, and although I hold my book up, I don’t read. I keep an eye on Amelia as she tries to fix my dump of a sandcastle. She might not love me the way I love her, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when she gets hurt because she’s linked to me.
I take out my phone and message my brother, describing the tattoo and asking him to find out what they want with Amelia and me.
The first waiter comes to take my next order, and I get a sparkling water. There can be nothing
clouding my judgment, especially not alcohol. This is a life-or-death situation, and I need to make sure we’re the ones that are left doing the living.