by Amarie Avant
“Is that so?” Evan licks his lips as he pulls the zipper down the front of my footie pajamas. “I should be mad at you for wearing these darn cartoon pajamas.”
Whimpering, I say, “But it gets cold at night.”
“The next time I’m in Armani, I’ll push through discomfort to see if they design some sort of onesie.” His laughter is warm as it sinks into the soft skin of my chest.
“Okay, the day you do that, I’ll have no problems forcing you to the store to purchase tampons too.” I grin. “Worse! I’ll have to tell my mom about our freaky relationship. She’s a piranha when it comes to my well-being. See how much Lolita likes you, then.”
The affable glow in Evan’s gaze warms over with lust. He palms one of my breasts, then helps me take the pajamas off. Granted, there is no sexy way to get out of my favorite pair of footie pajamas.
His eyes move down from my breast and rock-hard nipples, past my smooth, tiny waist and to the tiny lace triangle hiding his solitary goal.
“You’re still dressed, Detective,” I give a sly smile. “And now I’m freezing. Is that fair?”
Evan nods, and climbs to his knees. He takes one of my boobs in his hands and flicks it softly with his tongue. Mmmm, every single time his tongue brushes my skin, my toes curl.
This is torture. It feels so fucking good.
Then he shows my other breast the same amount of attention. My hands go to Evan's hair, fingers massaging the mass of chocolate-brown curls. His tongue and lips begin to leave a sweet, wet trail down my chest. He plants a smooch to my belly button, hands over my abs and he bites my panties pulling them down with his teeth.
He sits up, leaning over me. Silently his golden eyes taunt me with delights that are yet to be had. His hand slides down my belly. My breath hitches, moist pussy ready. Yet his hand slides back up over my breast, as his hips hitch to the left in pure amusement. Evan then squeezes both my breasts before allowing his large hand to trail its way back down again. He pets between my legs. Not delving into the gift I have to offer him, but allows his hand to cup over my trembling pussy.
“Open your legs wider, Reese,” Evan’s order sends a thrill up my spine. My legs slip apart, giving him a visual of my bare pussy walls.
Evan takes in a breath as if the sight before him is magnificent, new, a sight to behold. “If I could, I would paint— ”
“Not over my dead body,” I snap, though inwardly giddy at how attracted he was just staring at the sight of my luscious, silken folds.
Evan places a hand to his lips. “Shhh.”
My face beams in a smile as I stay quiet.
He leans down. My heart skips a beat. His face is poised inches away from my slit. Evan’s finger barely grazes against my clit. I shudder to his touch. “You’ll let me paint your gorgeous, sweet pussy?”
And because I’m not dumb enough to deny him, and live, I utter the word, “yes.”
Evan smiles.
I inwardly grumble, fingers clutching the sheets.
“Don’t tense, Reese.” His warm breath glides over my thigh as his finger traces along the lips of my womanhood. When satisfied that I’m no longer seizing and twisting the linen, the pad of Evan’s finger slides over my clit.
“You’re getting wetter,” his tone has deepened.
“Evan, fuck me, baby,” I moan, my hips twirl attempting to coax his finger inside of me.
“Open your legs wider.”
His finger penetrates my body, my eyes flutter closed, and I nearly faint. Two fingers begin to stroke, pace quickening by the second.
My mouth opens wide, head tilted back. At my brink, Evan hefts my legs over his shoulders one after the other.
I die in this moment, he growls against my thighs, his nose nudging my pussy.
When he touches his tongue to the lips of my labia, it’s as if my body opens wide for him. I inhale deeply through my nose and arch my hips granting him full access. His tongue plunges into my body. His nose prods at my clit, adding to the titillating stimulation. My pussy has become a sugary confection as his long tongue works its way to my g-spot. Pure bliss feathers my entire body. He growls like a beast and my hips buck. My legs start to spasm, first orgasm radiating throughout my soul. Evan tastes every morsel I have to offer.
I sink into the pillow incapable of lifting even my head.
Evan sits up again, and pulls his undershirt over his head.
“Condom… condom. Put on a condom,” I beg.
Chapter 29
Evan
“There's no fucking way, I'm wearing a condom, Reese's Pieces.” She’s already on the pill. The monstrosity of a story Lolita spun a few months ago has Reese paranoid. These days, protection during sex is our only argument.
“But my mom said–”
“Okay, it's true. Lolita said if you have a son, Milo’s father is going to take interest. You're taking birth control pills. Good. I kinda want the wife and house before the baby crib. But either way, I'm giving you a son first.”
The saccharine from her pussy is on my lips, coating my tongue, enticing me before she pulls away. My body sinks into the mattress. I grumble and cuss under my breath. More. Fuck the Giugliano family! Arguments between us have become seldom. The only time we fight is when it has something to do with fucking Giovanni. A man I don’t give two shits about. Reese begins to rise from the bed.
I grab her hand, sit on the edge of bed, and pull her down onto my lap. “So after I marry you, Reese, my son will grow in your womb.” My eyes bore through hers as Reese glances at me from the dresser mirror. Hand caressing her tummy, I say, “One day when we have our son, I dare that motherfucker to come out of the woodwork, Reese. You’re gonna be pregnant with a Zaccaro baby boy, there’s a million of us. Despite that, I don’t even need an army of Zaccaros to keep my son safe.”
“Stop being so machismo.” She tries to softly elbow me.
“Hey, even your mom believes in us Zaccaros.” Reese told me her mom had saved up a few millions of dollars from all of her past marriages. That’s why Lolita never pinched not one penny to help Reese with the bakery. She’s a true example of what a mother would do for her child. Now Lolita is Tony's wife, and anticipates staying as much. Part of the money Lolita had put away for safe keeping, if she and Reese ever needed to flee, has been placed into the reconstruction of Flour Shoppe in a less ‘police headline’ location and Nook too.
“Not fair, Evan. I’m not like my mom.” Reese takes a deep breath. Though she loves her mom, their relationship has been tensed since Milo’s untimely demise. “I didn’t say that I don’t believe in you.”
“Then just trust in me, Reese. Always trust that you belong to me. When you’re ready we can work out the dynamics.”
“A wedding,” she smiles. Reese readjusts herself on my lap, taking my face in her hands. “Evan, I… I care about you more than you know. I trust you, babe. We can have a little girl...”
“And if you get pregnant with a boy first? We abort, we give him away? How the fuck are we to react?”
Her face contorts, “Evan, don’t be so cruel.”
I rub the back of my neck. Yeah, it was harsh. Sighing deeply, I start over, “We'll have a boy. Then a little girl. I want both.”
“I’ve got to go bake the cannoli now.” Reese stands up.
As her fingers glide through mine, I let go. Then I grab her wrist, my thumb kneading over her racing pulse. She’s still troubled. I caress the silk of her wrist to determine her heart rate, I’ve noticed it helps calm her heart. I raise her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers. “Look at me.” My other hand tips her chin. I joke, “The boy’s name will be Tyrone.”
She scoffs, eyes twinkling. “You're a fool. You and Tyrone are not naming your sons after each other.”
“He's saved my life. His lady is okay with a little Evan.”
“Better not be,” Reese's eyes slit with jealousy and then she's laughing again. Tyrone’s girlfriend is expecting, and the ladies have become friend
s during our double-dates over the past half year.
“No Tyrone’s. Jamie won't let me live it down. Every chance he’d get, that fool would be singing Erykah Badu’s song.” Reese shudders while laughing.
I shake my head. “I'll have to search that song the next time Ty gets on my nerves.” Again I pull her into my arms. “Now go make me a cannoli.”
“Damn,” she sighs, heading toward the bathroom. “My customer will be here soon. And who said you'd get one, buster?”
Water streams down my body, and I lean a forearm against the shower wall to think. Reese pushes me away ever so often, so do I really want to tell her the truth about her father?
She’d finally told me the story as to how he was gunned down. I knew a war raged within her soul as to if she should hate all cops, hate me, over her father’s misdeeds. He’d been holding her… Lolita says Reese has erased the bad part from her memory. The part where Milo Benincassa placed a gun to his daughter’s head. He’d been so high off cocaine, so invincible in his mind as he held a ten-year-old Reese against him, shielding him from the cops. He’d been surrounded, no means to escape, and ready to take out anyone, even his own flesh and blood. A sharpshooter had taken the shot. I’d reviewed the case file and it corroborated the phone call I’ve had with Lolita. I turn off the water, the steaming condensation begins to evaporate as I step onto the cupcake-print rug.
With a towel tied around my waist, I sift through Reese’s closet for one of my suits. Though this site for Flour Shoppe will be moving soon, for good reason too, we both have clothing at each other’s houses. I dress in a simple pair of black Armani slacks and a button up. Stomach growling, I decide to head down to Flour.
Since Reese and Lolita have placed much investment in promoting the pending opening for Nook, there’s no hustle and bustle of the morning crowd as I come downstairs. Reese has spoiled me when it comes to breakfast, so I’m gonna have to figure out what we’re eating while she bakes only desserts.
There are boxes along the hallway leading into the kitchen, filled with items which will be transported to the new Flour location once construction has finished. Maria is singing softly to Mariachi music while piping some sort of cream into tiny triangle cakes. Jamie's index fingers are in his ear as he sticks his tongue out.
“Good morning,” I nod. I walk past the duo, smile on my face as they say a quick greeting.
In the front of the bakery, Reese is happily chatting as one would with their father. Not sure why this strikes me as the proper analogy but it does. Leaning against the doorframe, I cross an ankle over the other and watch the love of my life. From my angle, I’ve got the perfect view of the curve of her ass. The side of her face is bright with a smile. I can’t see the old guy who’s harmlessly flirting.
“Sal, I've out done myself this month,” she says tying a satin bow around the light-blue box.
“Delizioso,” the old man sounds like he’s kissing his fingers, while telling Reese she's beautiful, sweet, in Italian. “Every time I stop by, you get better and better. One day, soon and very soon, your cannoli will taste like my late-mother’s.”
“I hope so,” Reese says, each word is infused with a smile. “I’m counting the days until you’ll have to visit our new Flour location. I hope one day; you’ll consider breakfast at Nook too. Just a few more weeks and it’d be nice to offer you a cup of coffee with your cannoli.”
“Hmmm, I’m not a cup of joe kinda guy in the morning, but I promise to swing by. And, Oh, I can’t wait to visit the new Flour,” he says. In Italian, the guy tells Reese what a beautiful businesswoman she is.
“Aw, Sal, I’ve really gotta learn the language,” Reese says.
“I'll teach you one day. I plan to settle down here, Reese.”
“Wow, Sal, you’ve traveled the world and want to settle in smoggy LA?”
I straighten up. This bit of their conversation has become a red flag. So far, they’ve made small talk. Why mention this?
I walk toward Reese, as she stands at the display. On cue, Giovanni Salvatore Giugliano removes his Vuitton sunglasses. His eyes land on mine. “I was waiting to meet the famous Zaccaro. Cosenza, right?” Giovanni mentions my family’s hometown in Italy. “Very touristy,” his lips curve in distaste. “But your Italian, that Vande… whatever his name was. It’s good that things didn’t work in his favor.”
I stand before Reese. My forearm pushing her toward the back exit, but she won’t budge. She’s glued to me as her confusion yields to fright.
“Signor Giugliano, you're not welcome here,” I assure.
His fat jaw curves upward into a smile. “You keep our girl safe, until I'm ready to settle down. Spend some time working on my great-grandson, capiche?”
“Like I just said,” I begin again, jaw tensed, hands balled at my side. “You are not welcome around this bakery. If I so much as hear of you lurking near Reese, you and I will have a motherfucking problem. Know what I’m saying?”
“You're a soldier. I like that. Because of me, you are a MADE MAN, Valentino. Stay that way.” Those eyes tell me Giovanni’s crew is right outside but he doesn't need a single one to help him.
Reese begins to curl behind me. Her grandfather picks up the box of goodies, he gestures toward his granddaughter. “Reese's Pieces–”
“You can't call me that anymore,” her voice is tiny, yet strong.
“Okay, doll. When you're ready,” he gazes at her lovingly, then his eyes slither over mine as if to tell me I’m in this too.
“Was it two or three more times here before the new Flour?” He inquires. She is mute. Giovanni nods, “Alright, see you next month.”
Chapter 30
Evan
January…TWO MONTHS LATER
“The first person who dies has to cook dinner!” Reese shouts, voice full of playfulness as I lean against the doorframe of the entrance of her apartment. There are boxes everywhere. Low and behold, on top of the cardboard box to my left is a Super Soaker.
I sigh, shaking my head. “No fair, Reese, I've had a long day at work. You've made cupcakes.”
“Whatever, Evan. I resent that. Not to downplay baking, but I’ve actually been arguing with the moving company all day. They’re charging me by the room, as if a hallway and a smidge of a bathroom count. Now, pick up the gun,” she says.
“Alright, but I should warn you, I've had to handle my Beretta today, Reese's Pieces. So I'm already warmed up.” I grab the lime-green plastic handle of the water gun. In a sinful tone, I add, “Prepare to get wet for me.”
Instead of having the last word, Reese is a ball of giddiness as she sniggers. There’s a cocky smile on my face, along with a few gashes from being in the line of duty. I start into the living room, back against a wall of cardboard boxes, I proceed toward the hallway.
“Keep laughing, Reese, mark my words, you’ll be wet. Thanks for allowing me to pinpoint your location.”
The laugher coming from the bedroom is now stifled. I suspect Reese has a hand over her mouth.
“St… stop trying to get in my head. No friggen cop spidey-senses allowed, that’s cheating,” she shouts.
When I peer just inside the bedroom, the canopy posts have been removed, the bed is all post and mattress. Red, glossy toes are peeking out from behind the bedroom dresser. BINGO.
Reese hops up from her hiding position, and I take the shot. She does too.
Her white camisole, which was already clinging to her skin, is now outlined by pink, hard nipples. I smile. Until I look down at my nuts. Head cocked just so, I tell her, “Right in the fucking sack, really?”
A smile beams on Reese’s face. “Looks like someone needs a diaper.”
“You're a riot, my shot is more lethal.” I again aim at her chest, and continue to spray. Her silky skin is dripping wet as she comes around her hiding spot. “Beautiful, I’m hungry, I believe you made the rules, right?”
I reach down and my lips brush across her forehead.
“Oh no, Evan. Gran
ted, you shot me in the friggen tit, but I shot you in the balls first.”
“So that’s your story and you’re sticking to it?” I arch an eyebrow.
Reese leans into me. “You betcha. But you can be my sous chef.”
With a smile on my face, I decide she’ll pay later. She lingers in my arms. As I hold her tight, I cannot imagine my life before her and becoming so obsessed with a case. Reluctantly I step away from her curves.
Reese and I head into the kitchen. “Get a tomato and the bunch of squash out the fridge,” she says.
“Hmmm, sous chef sounds more like slave?” I inquire, opening the stainless steel door. A split second later, I fall in love with this woman all over again. When I glance at her sideways, Reese is all smiles. There’s baked ziti with sausage, already prepped and ready to go into the oven. I exclaim, “This is why I love you, and you made my favorite?”
The bright smile on Reese’s face wavers for a moment. The words to say she loves me too are dangling at the tip of her tongue. Only, she just doesn’t have it in her to verbally reciprocate. “Yeah right, Evan. The panna cotta is already set. All you have to do is place dinner in the oven, okay, slave?” She says. “Then take a shower, stinky.”
I step before her, planting my palms on either side of the counter. The woman I love, who is too conflicted to utter such a simple adoration is caged between myself and the cupboards. My throat vibrates, almost likened to the deep purr of a lion as I lean in, nudge my nose against her and inhale the sweetness of her skin.
The scent of black berries, strawberries, blueberries from the panna cotta and her, the fucking sweet scent that’s match to no other is embedded on my brain.
“You smell so fucking good, Reese.”
“I know,” she murmurs hardly able to get the words out. Her slender throat is vulnerable, pulse increasing, and she gulps lusty saliva. “You stink, Evan, go wash off.”
Goosebumps prickle her arms and I swear that her heart is beating wildly against my chest as I lean just that close. She’s shooing me away, with her words, but her body is shouting for me to ravish her. She wants to be dirty.
