by Sam Mariano
“Ooh, yes,” she murmurs, approvingly, as I unfasten the button of her jeans and slowly ease down the zipper.
“Have you been touching this pussy without me?” I ask, recalling her words earlier tonight.
“I have,” she tells me, fondling her breasts as she looks up at me. “Was I not supposed to? Is this pussy property of Vince Morelli now?”
I drag the jeans off and toss them, easing down her body. Today she has on a red lace thong. Fuck, I need to see her ass in this thong.
“Damn right it is,” I tell her, running a hand up her thigh, then guiding her over onto her stomach.
She follows direction easily and rolls over, bracing her forearms on the bed and pushing her perfect ass up in the air, wiggling it at me. “See anything you like?”
Jesus Christ. I can’t drag my eyes away from the perfection of her ass, each globe smooth and plump. I could look at her for days and not get bored. She eases back into the position, spreading her legs a little wider so I get a peek at the barely covered pussy I have yet to claim. The course fabric is completely see through. I slide my finger up under the edge of the scant lace, pushing my finger between her folds. She’s already slick, so my finger moves inside easily. Carly sighs with pleasure, dropping her face against the bed. I’m torn between wanting to explore and wanting to get her off. I wish we had all night, but I don’t want to stay over. I wish I could take her to my place so we could be as noisy as we want, but I’m still too wary of overnight guests.
“I see something I want to taste,” I tell her.
“You’ve already tasted it,” she teases.
“I need more,” I tell her, pulling my finger out of her and easing the panties down her thighs. “Once isn’t enough.”
Just as I’m about to roll her over on the bed and bury my face between her legs, there’s a timid knock at the door.
Carly’s head hits the bed and she sighs. “What?”
“I’m so sorry. Can I get the wifi password? These walls are really thin. Like, really thin. And I want to watch something on my iPad and put my ear buds in, that way… you know, I won’t hear everything and feel like a creep.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, covering my face with my hands.
“Hang on,” Carly says, rolling off the bed and grabbing a white robe. Peeking back at me over her shoulder, she says, “I’ll be right back.”
I nod and relax back against her pillows, but I accept that I am not getting laid tonight. I’ve had sex enough times with an audience; I’d like for my days of supervised sex to be over and done with. I need to find out how long Laurel is in town for. I’m glad Carly has her sister here and everything, but Jesus Christ.
Something buzzes to my left. I look over and see Carly left her cell phone on the night stand, plugged in to charge while she sleeps tonight. My old Mia instincts kick in and I want to check it. It’s past 11; who is texting her this late?
I tell myself not to touch the phone. Carly isn’t Mia. She just told me today how faithful she’s going to be. There’s no reason for me to distrust her.
But it’s just right there.
I sit forward, looking over at the screen as it goes dark. I wouldn’t even have to open it. Just light up the screen and I’ll see who the text is from. That’s barely an invasion of her privacy. I could spot that, just walking by the damn phone.
Yeah, I could see it innocently. Phones vibrate and light up a second time if you don’t check them quickly enough; maybe I’ll just stand and stretch, hang out there for a minute. Not my fault if I see it then.
Of course, she may not be gone two more minutes.
Fuck it. I’m already up, and her phone’s just right here. I check the doorway to make sure she hasn’t come back yet and light up the phone.
My heart drops when I see “Boss Man” as the contact name. The message is short, so I can read the whole thing without opening the message. “I don’t know. I’m going to bed. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
Fuck it. Now I’m opening the goddamn message. I yank her phone right off the charger and slide open the message. Disappointment burns through me when I open the fucking message and it’s the only one. She deleted the message chain after she sent whatever the question was.
“What the hell are you doing?”
My gaze snaps to Carly, standing in the doorway, staring at me. Anger surges through my veins, finding the cracks my old life made and filling them with rage. “Who the fuck are you talking to, Carly?”
“What are you talking about?” She scowls, walking over to retrieve the phone.
I hold it up out of her reach. “Who the fuck is boss man?”
“Seriously? My boss. Is that not clear?”
“You got fired,” I remind her.
She sighs, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “From the restaurant. Not from my internship. You knew I came here for an internship. It’s literally why I’m not in Chicago right now, Vince. We’ve talked about it.”
“Barely. You’ve mentioned it, we haven’t talked about it. I don’t even know what the internship is. I damn sure don’t know why he would be texting you at nearly midnight. That doesn’t seem like appropriate intern-boss communication to me.”
Carly nods, annoyed with me. “Okay.” Holding her hand out expectantly, she says, “Can I have my phone back?”
“No. I’m going to call and find out who it is.”
“Be my guest,” she says, her tone even, with just a tinge of annoyance. “You can explain to his wife why I’m calling him in the middle of the fucking night.”
My eyes widen. “You texted him in the middle of the fucking night.”
“No, I texted him before we went to the movie tonight,” she responds. “He’s disorganized and takes forever to respond to things. He probably doesn’t even realize what time it is and that he shouldn’t be texting me; he’s an academic, his mind is pretty much always in three different places. By all means, if you want to humiliate me in front of someone whose respect I would like to have, go ahead and call the 60-year-old man I work for and demand to know why he’s texting me. That would be fucking fantastic. I’m sure he’ll take me very seriously after that.”
That last comment gets at me. My paranoid mind, the lessons taught to me by enduring Mateo makes me crazy with rage over this bullshit. I don’t even think Mia ever had Mateo’s number when we were together, but I still always felt like she was talking to him. If not Mateo, then she was probably talking to Mark. If not Mark, she could stroll down the fucking street and meet some asshole who would throw his body over a puddle so she didn’t have to step in it—maybe she’d be texting him.
That’s not fair. Mia never cheated on me with Mark or anyone else who was attracted to her, only Mateo.
Only the fucking boss.
I look down at the phone, my fingers curled around the screen in a death grip. I’ll never be able to see the word “boss” and not think of him.
Even if it’s a crazy, paranoid thing to think, I can’t help the doubt that fills my mind. I can’t help looking at this message which could very well be from some wrinkly old dude who means no harm, and thinking, what if it’s Mateo?
The text isn’t informative, but my mind goes to the full sentences. Mateo texts in full sentences. He’s even bad at texting back promptly, so even if she really did text him earlier, it could just as easily be that motherfucker as some scattered academic. Those are also the kind of specific, brief lies you would tell to make someone sound real—give life to an illusion. Mateo’s done that before in a tight spot.
I can’t fucking trust anything right now. I look at this phone and see Mateo. I look at Carly and see a lie.
But I can’t call her bluff, because if she’s innocent, I don’t want to embarrass her in front of her boss, either.
I’m in a tight fucking spot and I don’t know what to do. I’m so uncomfortable I want to crawl out of my skin, so I toss the phone on her bed and cross the room.
&
nbsp; Carly backs up against the wall as I advance on her. She keeps her gaze on me, but doesn’t speak. I don’t stop until I’m literally on top of her, our bodies brushing. My hand drifts to her jawline, sliding down until it settles around her neck. Then I close my fingers, squeezing until she gasps and grabs at my fingers. “Vince…”
“Tell me something, Carly. The bad man you were involved with before me, the one you said you got tangled up with…. What was his name? And before you answer, know that I’m going to look him up and verify that he not only exists, but has a tie to you. I’ll pay someone to look into it professionally, if I have to.”
“Please don’t do that,” she says, her throat convulsing beneath my fingers as she swallows. “I have a restraining order. He can’t know where I am or he’ll…”
“Kill you?” I guess. I would have the dumb fucking luck to find a second girl who can drive men out of their fucking minds. “So will I, if you’re fucking lying to me. If Mateo sent you, you better tell me right now.”
Tears well up in her big, blue eyes. She looks so disappointed that it physically hurts me. My grip automatically loosens on her neck, though I don’t move my hand completely.
Finally, she whispers, “Gavin. Gavin Halstead is his name. He travels between Chicago and New York. You’ll find addresses for him at both places. Now, please get your hands off me and get out of my apartment.”
I hold her gaze, hating the feeling in my gut. Hating the gleam of tears in her eyes. She doesn’t let them fall, but they’re welling up because of me. I hate it, and yet I can’t convince myself I’m wrong. I can’t convince myself she’s not tied to Mateo somehow. I can’t convince myself he’s not “Boss Man.”
I can’t convince myself I’m safe with her. There’s still so much I don’t know.
I drop my hand. I stare at her for a minute.
Then I do as she requested and get the fuck out of her apartment.
Chapter Fourteen
Vince
Carly looks like sin personified in a tight black dress. The V is cut clear down to her belly button. Her magnificent breasts beg for attention as she backs herself up against the wall, smiling that sultry smile, her long blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders. I reach for her, wanting to touch her, but I can’t. An invisible wall stops me. I push against it, but it’s like a thick barrier or glass. I can see through it, I can watch everything happening, but I can’t reach it myself. They can’t hear me when I try to call out.
A firm hand pushes the strap over Carly’s shoulder, but it’s not mine. A dark head bends to lavish her breast with attention, to take her nipple in his mouth and tease it until she’s moaning, eyes closed with pleasure, but it’s not mine. Carly’s fingers move through his hair the same way they moved through mine… but it’s not me.
He straightens. Grabs her arms and pins them against the wall. His gaze rakes over her body, half covered, half bared for him. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
Carly’s breathless. More breathless than she’s ever been for me, and he doesn’t even have her naked. He’s barely touched her. She still seems to be so tormented with desire, she can hardly manage, “You, Mateo. I want you.”
A slow, wicked grin claims his lips, then he leans in and claims hers. Her arms wind around his neck and she pulls him closer as his hand snakes between her legs. She moans against his mouth, then breaks away, her head falling back against the wall as he works his magic on her.
With his fingers still inside her, his hand anchored on her hip, Mateo turns his head to look at me behind the glass.
And the fucker winks.
---
The darkness of my bedroom is a temporary relief. I swallow down the dread, but the rage is still there. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. Just a fucking dream.
So why does it fucking hurt?
I lie here for a minute, trying to sort my shit out, but there’s too much of every emotion running through me and I need to get it out.
I grab my phone and check the time. Not quite 6am. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I drag my ass out of bed, pull on some clothes, and go out for a run. Maybe if I pound the pavement, I can work out some of this anger. I should head to the gym, take out some aggression on a speed bag. I can imagine Mateo’s smug fucking face and beat it until my knuckles bleed.
Rage curdles my gut and I run harder.
Flashes torment me with every stretch of road I cover—Carly’s face last night, looking up at me with teary eyes. She didn’t look at me like that before. She never looked so betrayed when I got pissed off at her, when I got a little rough with her. I’d never hurt her. She knows that, right? I say shit sometimes, but I just get carried away.
Fuck.
Dream Carly, with Mateo’s fucking hands all over her. I still feel like I’m stuck behind the glass, and the asshole isn’t even here.
What if she was with him before? She didn’t actually deny it. She gave me some asshole’s name. Haven’t looked into it yet. Honestly, I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I go digging into Carly’s past, and that alone should be enough to convince me to go home, throw my shit in a duffel, and clear the fuck out of Connecticut.
But why would he send her?
It would make sense of some weird coincidences, though. The shampoo she picked up when she went home to Chicago. Obviously Mateo would know what kind of shampoo Mia always used. Some of the shit Carly wears, I swear I’ve seen on Mia before. I don’t know designers or any of that shit, but it just looks like Mia. Mateo could easily have his personal shopper pick up a few outfits for Carly in Mia’s style and doll her up to catch my attention.
But why? And what was she to him? Could she have been his own personal Mia surrogate? She would’ve been 18 when Mia moved out to live with me. If Mateo wanted a Mia replacement to keep him company and remind him of her, Carly might work.
It’s hard for me to imagine him not falling for Carly though, and he never brought her around. With her sexy little smile, her perfect lips, her gentle persistence. No matter if you’re a stubborn pain in the ass; she can always find a new path to your heart. If he’d found Carly when Mia left, why not just keep Carly? Carly’s amazing.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
When did she say she was involved with that guy? Did she say? I don’t think so.
Does it have to matter?
If she did fuck Mateo long before she ever met me, does it have to matter?
I wish it didn’t, but it does. It sours my stomach. The dream comes back to me. I’ll never be able to get it out of my head.
I run. I run harder. I run some more.
When my legs are tired and I’m exhausted, I stop at the nearest store for a bottle of water. There’s a frozen chest of various ice creams up front, and my gaze lands on a single ice cream sandwich. It reminds me of Carly’s stupid scenario yesterday at the diner, her Billy Bob, or whatever the fuck his name was.
I grab an ice cream sandwich and toss it on the counter as I draw out my wallet. “That, too.”
By the time I get home, I’m beat. I put the ice cream sandwich in the freezer and head down the hall, tiredly checking each room, pushing doors open, making sure no one is waiting for me. I almost wish he was. I want this to be over.
No one’s here to kill me today, so I take a shower. I have to work tonight and I’m already exhausted. I should just go back to sleep. Chances are slip that Carly’s going to come beating on my door after last night.
Boss man.
I’ve been so lazy about looking into her. I may not have the resources I used to have, but I still know how to check out a basic fucking story and make sure it makes sense. I should’ve asked more questions about her internship. I should fact check the information she gives me. I should ask more questions, like how someone without a job can afford to buy me a bunch of Christmas shit when she’s paying her sister’s tuition.
I should look up Gavin Halstead and find out why
she thinks I’d judge her for getting involved with him.
There are a lot of things I should do, and I don’t want to do any of them. I just want to climb into bed with her and ignore the shaky ground we’re standing on. Let her wrap her arms around me, breathe in the coconut, and close my fucking eyes.
It’s all falling apart. All it took was one text message.
This is why I can’t fucking trust people. Everything is a lie. My whole fucking life has just been one lie after the other. I just want it to stop.
By the time my shower ends, I’m too tired to go next door and take Carly her ice cream sandwich. It won’t go the way I want it to, anyway.
I grab my phone and check the messages, but I haven’t heard from her since last night. I don’t even know if she’ll answer me, but I stare at the screen for a minute, then type out, “Can you come over?”
She reads it after just a few seconds and sends back an unenthusiastic, “Yeah.”
I let her know the door is unlocked, but I don’t move from my bed. Eventually, Carly stands in the doorway, looking in at me. She’s wearing black leggings and a huge sweater that bares on her shoulders. She’s holding a little rectangular package wrapped in red and black plaid paper, a fabric ribbon wrapped around it and tied in a bow.
I almost laugh. “You brought me a present?”
She steps across the threshold and sets the present down on my dresser instead of bringing it over to me. “It’s the one I got for you yesterday.”
Now she approaches me, but she remains by the side of the bed instead of climbing on.
It feels a little like my dream. Like there’s a sheet of glass between us, and I shouldn’t touch her.
I do anyway. I take her by the hips and pull her on top of me, just to see if she’ll come. She does. She moves her legs so she’s straddling me, sitting on top of me. My stupid dick stirs, reminding me how many times we’ve started something and left it unfinished. I ignore it, reaching up and brushing a hand along her jawline. I want to see if she’ll give me more, so I pull her down until she’s lying on top of me and I kiss her.
