Tommaso

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  She looked down at her feet, working out the scenario he’d just laid out. “So you really wanted to help me.”

  “Yes. And, unfortunately, I came to the same realization as you had once I got down there.”

  She looked at him, confused.

  “Ta’as had already been recruiting,” he explained. “And he was too strong to take on directly. But I also knew he would flip sides eventually. So I would wait patiently for that to happen and then kill him. Once he was out of the way, I could take out the other Maaskab. Especially if I turned. Then it would be only a matter of time before the Uchben caught up to me. Problem solved. One Maaskab to take out. Just one. And you’d be free.”

  She gasped and covered her mouth. “You changed on purpose. You let them make you a Maaskab again.” Her eyes began to tear.

  He nodded. “It was the only way to be powerful enough to kill them. Unfortunately, I never expected you to show up.”

  Her mouth opened and then closed and then opened again. “You became the one thing you hated most in this world simply to give me a chance at a peaceful life? It’s-it’s beyond heroic. I don’t know wha-what t-to say.”

  He shrugged. “Goodbye will do sufficiently for me.” He turned and started grabbing his shirts. He’d never gone so far out on a limb, done something so morally difficult for anyone, but he’d done it for her. And the result was her telling him how he wasn’t worthy. Well, screw that.

  “I want to see the house,” she said hurriedly.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Why?”

  “Because I want to see my new home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Crap. I’d screwed up. So, so badly. Now hearing the truth, I finally understood why I wanted Tommaso so much. He hadn’t just gone down to Mexico to fight my demons, he’d gone down to confront his own, too.

  “Please?” I asked, my voice filled with vulnerability, knowing that he could stomp on my heart right then and there and I would deserve it. That said, I’d had no way of knowing any of this. He should’ve just told me, and I was banking on the fact that he knew it. We were both responsible.

  “You really want to see the house?” His surreal, turquoise eyes were bursting with volatile emotions.

  “The whole damned thing. Even the garage.” Strangely, though, this closet seemed familiar somehow. Like I’d seen it in a magazine or had been here once.

  He held back a little smile. “You sure? Because it’s a big fucking house—it needs a lot of attention. You can’t just move into it and then leave next week because you decide it’s too big and too beautiful to handle.”

  I almost cracked up. He was too much. Too hot, too adorable, too tough.

  “You’ll have to pry me out. My cold dead body.”

  “That’s a bit morbid,” he said.

  “I was trying to make a point.”

  He looked at me and then sighed. It was the kind of sigh a person made when they couldn’t express their state of contentment with words. How’d I know? Because I made the same one at the same time.

  “I also made a coop for your chickens,” he added. “It has central heat since you said they’re always cold.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded.

  “God, I so want you.” I rushed toward him and threw my arms around his neck, our mouths colliding. We fell back, and he must’ve unintentionally grabbed onto too many shirts—a reaction to being love-tackled—because the rail of the auto shirt rack came down but was still moving.

  The shirts began piling on top of us, but I wasn’t about to let go. I kissed him hard—full tongue, hands plowing through his soft messy dark hair, my breath unable to find a comfortable spot inside my body. My heart was in no better shape; it was exploding with happiness.

  I ground myself against him, and he laughed. “Charlotte, what are you doing? I feel like I’m being love-mauled.”

  I jerked back my head, laughing. “Next I plan to tie that shit up and bang it hard.”

  “Dear gods, woman!” He was no longer smiling.

  “Too much?” I smiled blushingly. “Sorry. I was just joking around.”

  “No. No, it was hot. I mean…what man could resist such passion?” He laughed. I laughed. And while we stared into each other’s eyes, I think we both realized we were…happy. Stupid happy. Imperfect happy. In love happy. Happy.

  His smile faded away into an intense gaze, and the air spiked with tension. “I love you, Charlotte.”

  This time I smiled from deep inside my soul. “My chickens love you back.”

  “What?” He pulled me down and rolled on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. “Tell me you love me back or I’ll eat them.”

  “You wouldn’t dare eat my ugly children.”

  “Try me. Tell me you love me or they’re nuggets, woman.”

  “I love you,” I said, more serious than I’d ever been.

  He lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me hard. This kiss felt so good. So free. So sensual and right.

  He released his grip, and I felt his hand roam down to cup my breast. Feeling his weight on top of me, pressing every inch of his hard lean frame into my body, made me melt. It made me feel like his. Wanted, loved, protected.

  I kissed him back, running my tongue against his, enjoying the feel of his fresh five o’clock stubble. Hard and soft. Rough and tender. That was Tommaso. That was this kiss.

  His hot breath growing faster and mine becoming frantic, I began tugging on the back of his shirt. He lifted his body to help out the process. Once the shirt was chucked to the side, somewhere among the pile of clothes we were in, I was able to see his chest.

  “Oh, God, Tommaso,” I gasped. His chest was covered with fresh pink scars that ran horizontally. The raised pink flesh of each one had to be about a quarter of an inch thick. “What did they do to you?” I whispered.

  His arms pillared to the sides of my shoulders, he stared into my eyes. “I did what I had to. For you, Charlotte. The only thing I regret was that I almost hurt you. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

  “I know I was crazy to go down there. But I couldn’t let you give up everything for me.”

  “I’m not sorry you went. Because you saved me.” At first, I didn’t know what he meant, because Emma had been the one to save him. But then I realized he wasn’t talking about that one moment. He was talking about his life, his future, his existence. I knew because I felt the same way.

  I lifted my head and pushed my mouth to his, wrapping my arms around his neck to hold him tightly to me.

  We kissed. And then we kissed some more. I just wanted to feel his skin and savor this moment.

  Finally, he broke away. “I’m sorry. I can’t take it anymore.” He began pulling up the hem of my dress and working my panties down to my knees. He unbuttoned his pants and laid himself between my thighs, somehow working my underwear down around my ankles.

  His hot mouth was quickly back to mine, and I felt his hand working between us to position his hard cock at my heated entrance.

  He stopped kissing me and simply stared into my eyes. “You’re so damned brave, Charlotte. I’m a very lucky man.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but instantly forgot as he thrust forward, burying his cock deep inside me.

  I gasped from the unexpected sting.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice low and deep.

  “Don’t stop,” I panted. “Don’t stop.”

  He returned to kissing me, and his taste only kept getting sweeter and sweeter. I couldn’t get enough.

  He pulled out and thrust again, stealing my breath. I tilted my hips to angle him more comfortably toward that sweet spot deep inside.

  “More,” I begged, beginning to get my rhythm and feeling my walls accommodating his thickness.

  He placed his hands beside my head, lifting up his muscled frame. He began pumping hard. I was so close already, but didn’t want the moment to end. Him inside me was ecstasy, sensual sinful euphor
ia, where nothing else existed besides our sweaty bodies.

  After several minutes—five, ten, twenty, I didn’t know—he picked up the pace, hammering hard, me meeting him thrust for thrust, knowing I had but seconds before…

  I sucked in a deep breath and my body exploded into stardust—magical, weightless powder just floating around in the atmosphere.

  He leaned in hard, and I heard the deep, masculine groan rumbling from his chest. His hot cock twitched deep inside me, bursting with cum. The sensation made me climax all over again. There was nothing more sexually raw than a hot man you loved pouring himself into you.

  We held each other tight for several long moments, coming down off of our sinful cloud.

  Panting hard, savoring the feeling of him still deep inside, I had to ask, “How do you feel about kids?”

  He jerked back his head and looked at me with an unreadable but surprised expression.

  “Oops. Too soon?”

  A slow, charming smile crept over his sensual mouth. “Did I mention the house has ten bedrooms?”

  “Ten?” Oh crap. That was a lot of children. “You won’t mind if we adopt a few, do you?”

  “As long as they’re human.”

  I gave him a look.

  “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” he said.

  I shook my head no.

  He grinned. “Anything for you, Charlotte.”

  I sighed contentedly. “Let’s get on with seeing the rest of the house.” I pulled him back to my mouth and started moving my hips for him.

  He groaned. “Have you seen the walk-in closet? It’s very big. You should see it.”

  I laughed. “I’d love to.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Parties, parties, fucking parties,” the God of Wine and Intoxication groused, riding the elevator up to the rooftop bar at the Shangri La Hotel in Santa Monica, two hours late for the party. Like usual, he was supposed to be bartending—his special gift right along with being the life of the party. He could simply look at a person and know the perfect beverage. Lychee martini, a randy monk (Frangelico on the rocks with whipped cream), slippery nipple (Irish cream with peppermint Schnapps), boogers in the grass (a shot glass of peach Schnapps, Midori, and Baileys) or anything else. There wasn’t a drink on this planet he didn’t know how to prepare, and there wasn’t a party—shitty high school reunion, a wake, a Thanksgiving dinner with in-laws—or your mother’s Sunday meatloaf leftover guilt-trip extravaganza—that he couldn’t turn into a mind-blowingly fun event.

  He let out a long, deep belch—thus his nickname “Belch”—the result of having just consumed a keg of beer. Yes. All by himself. Yes, while he was driving over here. Yes, at the stoplight in sixty seconds.

  What can I say? It’s a gift.

  He poked the button of the elevator, realizing it hadn’t moved. He was still sitting on the first floor.

  Gods, I’m so drunk. Poke. Poke. Hurry the fuck up.

  The elevator doors opened and in stepped a beautiful blonde wearing running shoes, teeny tiny black shorts, and a purple tank top. Her legs were pure muscle, her ass was rock hard and shapely, her tits looked like two perfect halves of a coconut like the ones he’d made mai tais in just last night at a luau.

  Hot.

  She was in her late forties or possibly early fifties by his estimation, but she had the body of a fucking goddess on sexy steroids.

  “Well, hiya,” he slurred, “wuz yur name?”

  Frowning, she stepped inside, pushed the button for the tenth floor, and gave him her back.

  “I’m Acan,” he offered. “There’s a party upstairs if you’re free.”

  She didn’t respond.

  What? She dares ignore me?

  “Hey now. You’re being kind of ruuude,” he slurred. “I hate ruuude people. Especially when they have really tight asses and nice tits.”

  “Ugh.” She flashed a glance over her shoulder as the doors slid closed and they began ascending. “You’re disgusting.”

  “Disgusting?” He looked down at his giant belly and began making circles over the thing. He certainly didn’t see anything wrong with it. “This belly is the result of thousands of years of dedicated alcohol consumption.” Did she not understand the intense training and stamina it required to help so many people let loose? Humans needed fun. They needed to party every now and again, and he was their champion. Their messiah to lead the way to party Mecca. “I’m a god. A fucking good one, too! You’d be so lucky to have me. Even for just one night.”

  She turned and looked at him. “You. Are. Disgusting.”

  “Well, you dunno what yur missin’, sweethurt. One night with Belch is like a night in heaven.”

  She scowled. “Sure. I’ll spend the night with you just as soon as you lose the eighty-pound gut, brush your beer breath, comb your hair, and,” her eyes flashed down to his groin, “wear some damned pants.”

  The elevator doors opened, and she headed out.

  “You’re kind of picky for such an old broad,” he barked.

  She swiveled on her heel, shooting death darts with her eyes. “Old? Did you, pantless drunk man, call me old?”

  Compared to him, she was a spring chicken. But where did she get off? “Yep. Old like dirt.”

  She narrowed her beautiful green eyes. “Club Crossfit down the street. Five a.m. Be there and I’ll show you old, you degenerate, disgusting slob.”

  The doors slid closed as he stood there in awe. So much fire in her eyes. And so much hate.

  Well, you did call her “old.” Yeah, but I’m drunk.

  “I’ll be busy puking!” he yelled at the already closed doors.

  As the elevator traveled the rest of the way up, his anger only grew. How dare she insult me. I am a deity. I represent a time-honored tradition of excess and bad judgement. I am…I am…going to kick her ass. “Game on, sweetheart. Game fucking on…”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  ON THE NEXT PAGE…

  YES, KEEP GOING. I’M TALKING TO YOU!

  ~~~

  CIMIL

  There you are! Welcome to the end of the book!

  Okay, my scrumptious little people pets! Dishes have gone unwashed. Dinners have gone cold. Homework has gone unchecked. My work here is done! Yes! I am talking to you, human! The one holding this delightful book in your hands!

  Wait. What is that you say, Minky?

  Ah, Minky is very unhappy. The horny little minx—get it? Horny? She’s a unicorn… Oh, piss off! That was funny! Anynoodle, Minky is complaining because she says there weren’t enough nasty bits in the book. Yep, she means sexy-time. She urges you to email the author—that silly mortal who believes erroneously that she is in control of this story. (Fool! She is but a puppet in my divine scheme to become Goddess of Garage Sales. And to destroy the world.) Annnyway, Minky urges you to write Mimi and demand she tell the truth and the whole truth about Belch, aka God of Wine. His story is full of naughty, dirty sex, and it must be told properly! So it is up to you, dear reader, to influence this Mimi person and appease my Minky! So email, Tweet, Facebook, skywrite, smoke signal, postcard, meme—do what you must to get the message to this Mimi mortal. #Godofwine #MakeitdirtyMimi!

  All righty, now that we have that out of the way, Minky and I have noticed that Mimi has not yet completed the story. I mean, seriously, Mimi. Can you say “hole”? Oh, yes. I for one know every gritty detail of Tommaso’s story. I was there! But the world still has questions about the story!

  #1: Why did Tommaso believe he’d tied Charlotte up and put her in his closet?

  #2: What exactly did Tommaso do during his blackouts?

  #3: Why didn’t Charlotte remember meeting Tommaso at my awesome immortal singles mixer?

  #4: Why didn’t Tommaso realize that Charlotte looked like her cousin Sadie?

  #5: How did Char learn to golf?

  #6: In what two parts of the story do I appear in disguise?

  Now you see, don’t you, human? So many unanswered
questions! But fret nyet, my little pets. Auntie Cimi has you covered.

  I giveth you another quizeth!

  Go to this lovely page on Mimi’s website: www.mimijean.net/tommasotrivia.html

  And take the multiple choice quiz! Minky will select several winners for a glorious bounty of books and other useless crap you cannot possibly want. Yes, there might be unicorn poop involved, but I cannot say for certain.

  Winners will be chosen on JULY 4th, 2016. Answers to the quizeth and the winners’ names will be posted on the same page AND in Mimi’s newsletter.

  All righty, my tiny Ciminions, it is time for me to get to work. Zac awaits me at the office and there are many immortals to fuck with—whoops, I mean help.

  Hasta La We Go!

  Cimil

  P.S. This list of items in my basement, found in the back of this book, is so incomplete. They forgot to mention my Funyun collection!

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  GOD of WINE Coming FALL, 2016!

  www.mimijean.net/godofwine.html

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hi All!

  I hope you enjoyed TOMMASO. I have no idea why I envisioned him being with a preppy-looking golfer gal who doesn’t shave her legs every day, but I’ll just blame it on Cimil! She’s the matchmaker, after all!

  If you’re looking for a signed bookmark, don’t forget to email me with your shipping address (mimi@mimijean.net). As always, I have super yummy magnets, too, as a thank you to my awesome readers who take the time to show some book-love and post reviews! (First come basis, but I did buy extra this time!)

  Just a quick note on GOD OF WINE, book #3: I plan to have it out late fall. (Along with IT’S A FUGLY LIFE!) GOTO: www.mimijean.net/godofwine.html for updates and news!

  OR SIGN UP FOR MY NEWSLETTER (link also at the back of the book) if you’d like an alert. I send out welcome swag for new subscribers upon request. J

  A BIG THANK YOU to my fans who shared with me what they think might be in Cimil’s basement. So funny! You can check out the posts here in the back of the book!