by Mj Fields
“Oh?” I puff up my chest, waiting for the next jab.
“I’m pretty smart. I even have a fucking degree to prove it, asshole,” she snaps, in a whisper of course, as she turns and stomps to the cabin.
I walk in behind her and she lets out a growl, a fucking growl and every instinct kicks in. I snatch her up, ready to take her insolent little ass over my knee, when the tension completely leaves her body. Suddenly, she is limp in my arms.
I walk into the bedroom and flop her onto the bed and she becomes like a wild animal, desperately trying to escape. I grab her ankle and pull her back towards me, then quickly flip her on her back and position myself on all fours, hovering over her.
Her eyes are wild. She isn’t afraid, but anticipating. This is exactly what she likes, I know. She craves my touch. I push my arm under her and lift her as I sit up. Her body is against mine and her nipples are hard as hell. My cock presses into her and she gasps as it grows.
I am an inch from her mouth, ready to take what she refused me before. It was a fucking gift to her. I take no pleasure in kissing. But now, all I want to do is kiss her. I want her to see she can’t refuse me—anything.
I take the back of her head and pull her to me. I suck her plump bottom lip between my teeth and pull. She whimpers and I shove my tongue into her open mouth. Her tongue is motionless and I caress it with mine. It tastes good. So fucking good. I pull her hair, bringing her head back, causing her lips to open further.
I feel her hands on my shoulders, pushing me away and I grow more insistent. I lick her harder, as my need increases. Now she is pulling me closer. Her tongue strokes mine and I unwittingly groan into her mouth.
I reluctantly pull away from her mouth. Eyes closed, I keep my head against hers as I pant in rhythm with her.
“Do you like me now?” I growl.
“I like that,” she hisses. “You, I’m still not sure about.”
I reach between us, pushing my hand inside her pants.
“How about now?”
“It’s wrong,” her voice quivers. “You’re wrong.”
I push my finger between her soaked lips and rub her. Satin.
“What about this feels wrong, Melyssa?”
“Almost everything.”
“Then why don’t you focus on what doesn’t feel wrong? Enjoy the pleasure, get out of your fucking head for once and feel.”
I lean back on my knees and pull her pants down with no fight.
“Look,” her voice is strong, like she is about to make some sort of statement against pleasure. So I lay beside her, on a fucking bed, going against everything I believe in. “This—”
I press my lips against hers again, because I want to shut her up. I also want to taste her again. Lips, mouth, tongue, all of which I have avoided for ten fucking years and all of which I want, right now.
I kiss her until I can’t fucking breathe. My heart is pounding when I push myself up and off of her. My body is all tension and as much as I want to fuck her now, I need a fucking moment. I look down at her, sucking in slow, deep breaths. No longer anxious, her face is flushed, her lips swollen and red.
She looks fucking stunning, heartbreaking. I need to walk the fuck away and take a minute to clear my head.
I stand up, grab a bottle of discount store wine off the counter and walk out the door.
Standing on the tiny cabin porch, I unscrew the cap—fucking wine doesn’t even have a cork—and take a drink. The sky is clear, but my head is far from it. I sit on the steps with an aching hard-on and drink until the bottle is nearly gone.
I look up when the door opens. Melyssa sits next to me on the steps.
“May I?” she asks, pointing to the bottle. I hand it to her. “Thank you.”
“Answer a question for me, Melyssa.”
She takes a drink and hands the bottle back to me with a nod.
“Are you going to accept my.....”
“Proposal?” shakes her head. “You know how messed up this is, right?”
“I know it will make you rich.”
“Please don’t treat me like I can’t see the big picture here, Sabato. This isn’t about me being rich; it’s about your freedom.”
“I am freer today than I have been all my goddamned life.”
“Since your mother passed away?” she asks.
My heartbeat quickens and I look away.
“Look, If I agree to go along with this...this farce, I’m going to do it smart. Which means: if I agree to this, you and I need to be able to get through a Stokes Interview with a big fat A.”
“So...you’re agreeing?”
“I am considering it.”
Like she has a choice.
She stands up. “I’m going to make a sandwich for myself. Would you like one?”
“Per favore. Grazie, Melyssa.”
I finish what is left of the screw-top bottle of wine and sit, staring up at the sky.
“What are you thinking?” she startles me when she hands me a plate full of sandwich squares.
“It’s too quiet,” I take the plate. “Grazie.”
“It is, but...peaceful.”
I take a bite and nod.
“It’s an illusion.” I point up to the stars. “There is a glass ceiling up there waiting to fall down on us, Melyssa. All the twinkling stars will come tumbling down, causing a kind of hell only some people can understand.”
“It never goes away, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“You think it’s going to rain glass. You think that, because of what happened to you. You expect it, because it is something that hurt so bad, but—”
“Don’t.” I try to stand and she grabs my hand, stalling me.
“If this is gonna work, I need to know you, Sabato.” She stands, “And you need to get to know me well enough to know that you can trust me with your feelings. Otherwise, there is no need to continue.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. I close my eyes, sighing. Then I feel her lips press to the top of my head.
“Goodnight.”
The sun is just coming up, when I wake.
Sabato sits in the chair at the end of the bed with his feet on it—and a gun on his lap. His face is lightly dusted with stubble and he looks...at peace. I wish I had my phone, so I could take a picture of him like this.
I get out of bed quietly and go into the bathroom. Everything he bought is unpacked now and I want a shower. I had a decent night’s sleep—considering...everything—and now I want a clean and clear head, to discuss how we can make this work.
I have a plan and I’m going to make sure that if I am going to go against everything I am, breaking the law and completely going against everything I’ve been taught, I am going to make sure I can walk away at the end of this feeling like there was a greater purpose.
I stand in the shower for a long time, just thinking about yesterday and how I finally lost my ‘V card.’ All those years of not wanting to just give it away to some boy who rubbed against me, of never getting a guy off and then yesterday I went straight to being fucked. Hard. And yet, he didn’t even finish. On some level, I take satisfaction in it. Not that leaving him unsatisfied was my intention, but it makes me feel better.
After throwing on my clothes, I grab some cash out of my pocket. I decide to go to the campsite’s little general store and buy some eggs and milk. I will make a decent breakfast, then Sabato and I can sit and discuss this arrangement.
Walking back towards the cabin with my groceries in hand, I consider the fact that I might be a complete idiot.
Is it stupid of me to think we can pull this off? Is it me being led by desire? I look up, when I hear a vehicle come to a skidding stop. Sabato jumps out and I know he’s annoyed—panicked actually. I hold up the bag and smile.
He shakes his head as he stalks toward me. I see his eyes dart left and look to see what he is looking at. A family is walking out of their cabin. He grabs the bag from my hand, pulls me toward him and k
isses me softly as he whispers, “Don’t fucking do that again. Get in the car. Now.”
Even though he’s practically dragging me behind him, my head is spinning from that kiss. It’s like nothing else and the fact that he is doing it in public means to me that maybe, just maybe this will work.
He opens the door for me and I smile. “Thank you.”
“Uh huh,” he hisses his whisper, before slamming it shut.
Once in the vehicle, I see his chest rising and falling quickly. He is scowling and I am liking the fact that even though he came after me because he clearly thought I had tried to run, well...he actually came after me.
“Did you miss me?” I ask, jokingly.
“Questo non è divertente,” he growls, as he throws the vehicle in drive.
“Okay, then. I’ll take that as a no and also assume that you did not just call me a nasty name,” I say in a light tone, hoping to change his mood.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is, a little. You thought I took off.”
“What would make me believe otherwise?”
“Because I said I wouldn’t,” I state simply. He pulls into the parking lot and turns around, heading back to the cabin.
“Sei uan rompicoglioni.”
“English?”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
I shrug, scoffing. “Jesus, I just wanted to make breakfast before going over my terms.”
“Your terms?” He snaps. “Sei pazzo.”
“English?”
He groans, clearly frustrated with me. “You’re crazy. Come è possibile che si desidera sempre....”
“English?” I laugh.
“Never mind.” He throws the car in park and gets out. He looks back at me, impatiently and I decide to start with my list of demands now. After another couple of seconds, he storms over to the door and opens it.
I shove the bag at him. “Thank you for getting the door, Sabato.”
He rolls his eyes and forces a fake as hell—yet completely panty-melting smile.
“You have a very nice smile,” I say. And then it’s gone.
Once inside, I grab a pan and a bowl from the small cabinet. “Do you want to wash these out? Who knows how long they’ve been in here. There’s dish soap in the bag. Do you like scrambled eggs?” I hand him the soap.
“I don’t know how to wash dishes,” he scoffs.
“Well, you’re about to learn.” I shrug. “First on my list of demands: equality in this marriage. Turn the water on as hot as you can handle it and make sure you put the stopper thingy in to keep the water from going down the drain. Squirt some soap in the water and viola: you have dishwater.”
Sabato lets out a long, slow breath, then walks to the sink and begins. I grab the dish sponge out of the bag and stand next to him. “Use this.”
“My hands are very capable,” he says, and there is a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“The sponge is the appropriate way to wash dishes. Watch.” I stand next to him, but he doesn’t budge, so I am forced to lean in front of him. He still doesn’t move and I feel his breath against the back of my neck as I rub soapy circles around the small glass bowl.
I hear him take in a deep breath. I am very, very close to losing my train of thought. Also, forgetting how to wash a dish.
I turn my head to look up at him. “See?”
He nods and stares at my lips.
“Do you think you can do the pan?”
He shakes his head, no. “I think you’ll have to show me again.”
“Okay, but then you’ll rinse the soap off and dry.”
“Now, why would I want to dry?”
There is a hint of a sexual innuendo in there—I think, but...maybe not. I quickly wash the pan and reach to turn on the faucet to the other basin. I nudge him with my hip a little and he moves, just enough for me to squeeze between him and reach the sink to rinse both dishes.
I do it quickly, because I know where this can lead: me over his shoulder, then on the bed and...damn.
I grab the paper towels and dry everything myself, then I get ready to make scrambled eggs and bacon.
He leans back against the sink, crosses his arms and watches me. I whisk up the eggs and milk and dump everything into the pan. The stove is heating up and I look around for a toaster. There isn’t one.
I am extremely uncomfortable, trying to perform even the most basic tasks with him watching me.
“Why don’t you sit? It’ll be ready soon.”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, then why don’t you see if there are plates and forks in that cupboard over there?” I point.
“Now, why would there be dishes in the bathroom?”
Flustered, I say, “Then, why don’t you look for them...wherever? While you’re at it, maybe wash them.”
I don’t wait to see his reaction. I just go back to attempting to cook while he watches my every move.
Somehow, I get through it. Somehow, he manages to find plates and silverware while still watching my every move. I know he does, because I can feel his eyes penetrating me.
I am fully aware that in order to try to get Sabato to open up, I should probably try to use his fascination with me to get him onboard and work with my demands. My demands...for my marriage. My marriage, that I had no idea about. And yet, somehow, I still ended up losing my virginity to the man that holds a license which says he and I are man and wife.
So...I guess technically that means I got to be a blushing, virgin bride, after all.
I can’t help but laugh at the ludicrous truth of it, as I carry the plates to the table.
“What’s so amusing?”
“This...this whole situation.”
“I don’t think it’s funny at all.” I set Sabato’s plate down across from mine.
“Well, from your point of view, you’re right—it’s very serious. But from mine, it’s laughable.”
“How so?” He scowls.
“I am supposed to be in class right now, at an Ivy League school.” I smirk and shake my head, “for law.”
“And I am fighting for my freedom.” He sits back and pushes his plate away. “This is not a joke….”
“I never said it was, but answer a question, the one you haven’t yet: Why me? I mean, you keep saying you chose me, because of that night at dinner, that you thought I was perfect for this plan...at least, before. So. What makes you look at me and think, ‘Hey, she’s the one.’?”
He looks confused, but then he shrugs. “You’ve shown me that you want me.”
“Really?” I am not exactly arguing. “So, because I checked you out, because I thought you were...decent to look at...you just assumed—”
“Melyssa,” he holds his hand up. “Let’s not complicate things with any expectations based on feelings. This can be messy, or it can be very simple. A business arrangement and an investment in your future. One hand washes the other. You help me, I help you.”
“But....”
“You want to know ‘why you,’ because you want me to say I am enchanted with you.” He shakes his head. “My God, all of you, like little girls obsessed with a fairy tale. I will admit, this was an issue I didn’t expect to encounter with the woman peeking in my window, watching me fuck like an animal and clearly liking it.”
Says the man who kissed me stupid for nearly thirty minutes, last night.
I swallow hard, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Okay, well.... Just make sure that works both ways and we’ll be fine.” I want to add that I can feel the way he looks at me, but I am still unsure if in fact I am just romanticizing this crazy situation, because he’s the man holding my V card.
He looks slightly amused. “Love is a disease, Melyssa. I would prefer to avoid it as much as you seem to want to avoid STDs. And, as you know, I will tempt fate by fucking whoever I wish—with a condom, of course.”
I am slightly annoyed by his response, yet I am not surprised.
“That
is actually a great place to start. If this is going to work, if I am to agree to this, this...sham of a marriage, you need to know that I am zero percent on board with cheating. So—”
Sabato laughs. “Well, that is just too bad. Sex is a necessary part of my life. Don’t worry, I will make sure my indiscretions are not public.”
“I warn you,” I jab my finger at him. “When this investigation happens—and it will happen, because of who you are and...what’s been happening—it will not work unless people think we’re crazy about each other. This isn’t me talking, not some ‘stupid little girl with a fairy tale obsession,’ it’s the U.S. government. For this to work, it has to be believable. No one will ever believe that I would agree to be in an open marriage.”
“Hmm. Interesting point. Would they believe you were a voyeur?”
“I am not.”
Sabato’s head cocks to the side and he rolls his eyes. “Right.”
I refuse to dwell on his...accusation. “Moving on. If you are unable to abstain from fucking whoever...whomever you please, this will never work out.”
“Oh,” his dark eyes glitter, “I’m sure we can work that out.”
“Fine, you go right ahead. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t already banged Valentina, so....” As the words come out, so does the realization that there is just no way I can possibly handle this. “Okay, look. You’re right, I mean, you were wrong about me before. I’m not the right person to be your...fake wife. I can’t do this. I won’t go to jail for you. If I do, every chance I have at becoming a lawyer is shot to hell. So you’d better just, I don’t know...figure something else out.”
I stand and make my way to the bathroom. I know I’m going to cry. I know how stupid I am being and I know I am probably going to cry. I also know he hates it when I do. Inside the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror and stand there waiting for tears to flow, when the door opens.
“Come out and finish this conversation,” he demands. I push away my tears and I dig down deep to find anger. I can’t put what I’m feeling into words though, so I give him the finger.
What happens next is not a surprise. Or, it shouldn’t be. The jungle cat appears, lifting me over his shoulder and carrying me to the bedroom.
