Sinful (Undone)

by Jennifer Dawson

  “Me too.”

  She whirls on Leo. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

  Leo sighs, in the exact same way I’ve heard my brother use on me.

  The other Santoro girls, Maria and Bianca, both as dark and Italian looking as the rest of their family, surround me. The three sisters talk all over each other in excited voices, closing in on me and shutting Leo out of the circle.

  “Your dress is to die for,” Bianca says.

  “I’ve been telling him for ages you belong together,” Tailia says, grasping my hand.

  “Where did you get that eye shadow?” Maria asks.

  They are all talking so quickly, asking questions and squealing with laughter, I don’t get a chance to say anything, to do anything but giggle right along with them.

  Leo shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  The girls grab my arm, and Bianca says, “Let’s take her to Nana.”

  “Good idea.” Maria nods her head.

  “She’s dying to see you,” Tailia agrees.

  “Stop.” Leo’s voice is loud and filled with a delicious bark. “I will take her, you three just settle down.”

  Tailia sighs. “Oh all right.”

  Maria, who’s closest to me in age, grins. “She’s excited you’re here.”

  “It’s great to see you all.” I wave as Leo drags me off. Before I disappear into the crowd I call back, “We’ll talk later.”

  Leo’s arm slips around my waist. “That was a nightmare.”

  I give him a little hip bump. “They’re excited because I’m so awesome.”

  His fingers squeeze. “You are awesome.”

  I puff out my lower lip. “But I’m still mad about the Italian, how can you hide this from me?”

  “Do you have some sort of Italian fetish I should know about?” He slants a glance at me.

  I laugh. “Gee, no girl ever liked a man that spoke Italian to her. That’s, like, totally unheard of.”

  He stops, leans down and whispers in my ear, “Più tardi, ho intenzione di mettere sul mio ginocchio e farvi venire.”

  I actually feel my knees wobble a bit. “What did you say?”

  “Later, I’m going to put you over my knee and make you come.” He licks a path along my neck.

  I suck in a breath and force myself not to get lost in him.

  He pulls away and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Let’s go before I drag you out of here.”

  It takes us fifteen minutes to make our way around the room where I meet so many people my head spins. Half of them talk to me in Italian and Leo translates for me before answering them. The smooth roll of the language off his tongue is so rich I want to roll around in it. Roll around in him.

  They tell me I’m beautiful. Which is always lovely to hear.

  That I look Italian. Which I’m pretty sure is, in their eyes, the highest form of flattery.

  They tell me I must be very special to have Leo bring me here. And, oh how I hope that’s true.

  Some of the men threaten to steal me away, and Leo takes it in stride, running a proprietary hand over my hip and saying they are welcome to try but that I’m difficult to handle. It makes me laugh. Shiver.

  And finally, I’m standing next to his grandmother. An old, weathered woman that looks like she’s part of the earth. Leo leans down and kisses her paper-thin cheek. “Buon compleanno, Nana.”

  “Grazie, grazie.” She pats his hand and smiles. She crooks a wrinkled hand in my direction and it quavers slightly. “L’hai portato a me.”

  “Si. Jillian you remember my grandma.”

  I smile. “Happy Birthday, thank you so much for having me.”

  “Come,” she says in thick-accented English. “Let me see you.”

  I crouch down, and I smile up at her. “We met once before, at a party for Leo a couple years ago. We talked about your cookies and how men were stupid.”

  She laughs and pats my cheek. “Si. I remember.”

  She looks up at her grandson. “I told you.”

  Leo nods. “You did.”

  She points a weathered finger at him. “I only want one thing for my birthday.”

  Leo stiffens and starts shaking his head.

  She puts a hand on her chest and glances to the ceiling. “God gave you the voice of an angel, Leonardo. And what do you do, you waste it.”

  Surprise lights through me and I raise my brow.

  Leo frowns and says to his grandma, “I’m not wasting anything.”

  “It’s my dying wish,” Nana says.

  “But you’re not dying.” Leo’s voice is good-natured, telling me they’ve had this discussion before.

  I take a box out of my purse and hold it out for her. “It’s not a recording of Leo singing, but I hope you like it.”

  With shaking hands she takes off the top of the red box and pulls out the book I’d bought her at a tiny shop in Little Italy. An old, beat-up collection of sonnets by Francesco Petrarca in Italian.

  Her faded brown eyes grow bright as she runs her hand over the cover. “You remembered.”

  “I did.”

  Over my shoulder, Leo asks, “What is it?”

  “It’s a collection of poems your grandfather used to read to her when she was a young girl and he was obsessed with her.” We’d been sitting in the backyard and she’d told me the story of how they’d met and how she refused him. So he’d recite sonnets of another man’s unrequited love under her window until she finally agreed to a date. They’d been married two weeks later. They’d celebrated sixty-two years together before he died.

  I’d loved the story, told to me in her thick-accented English, the flush of memory across her face. As soon as Leo said he wanted to bring me to her party I’d gone on the hunt for that book.

  She takes my hand and squeezes with surprising strength. “Thank you. I will treasure it.”

  “Happy Birthday.” I give her a kiss on her cheek and rise to stand.

  Leo slides his arm around my waist and Nana starts pointing at him and speaking so fast in Italian I can’t even begin to keep up.

  “Okay, okay,” Leo says.

  She says something else.

  Leo nods. “I’ll do my best.”

  She beams at us. “Now go, have fun.”

  We say goodbye and another couple approaches her.

  Leo takes my hand and pulls me down the hall, away from the crowd. When we’re alone he pushes me against the wall and captures my mouth with his, kissing me with a ferocity that borders on desperation. I wrap my arms around him and throw myself into him, until we start to strain with need. He pulls away and his lips trail over my jaw and down my neck before he whispers in my ear, “You know what I love about you?”

  My heart skips a beat and I whisper back, “What?”

  “How you win everyone over, effortlessly. Every person you meet instantly adores you.” His tongue presses against my pounding pulse. “How did you remember that?”

  “How could I forget?” My lashes flutter. “Leo?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why won’t you sing anymore?”

  He raises his head but I can’t read his expression in the darkened corridor. “Because I don’t want to.”

  “But why?”

  He tucks my hair behind my ear. “It reminds me too much of Tony.”

  “I’m sorry.” I kiss him.

  “I know,” he says, his voice soft.

  Not willing to push him on the painful subject, I ask, “What did your grandma say?”

  “She said if I lose you she will curse me.”

  His hand slides up my waist, over my ribs and brushes my breast. “She said you’re the one.”

  My whole body stills and I wait in suspended anticipation.

  His fingers play briefly over my nipple before sliding up my bare arm to curl around my throat. “Just like she’s been telling me for years.”

  “Oh.”

  He presses against me and I shudder. The air is thick with e
motion, with everything unsaid between us. His thumb brushes over the cords of my neck. “You’re mine, Jillian.”

  “Yes, Leo.” There’s more, sitting there waiting for us, but we don’t say it.

  Instead, his lips once again capture mine and we let our bodies say all the things we’re not ready to admit.

  Leo

  “I think this is a really bad idea,” Brandon says.

  I fiddle with the note Jillian left me while I was still sleeping before she’d gone off to her GRE prep class. My table is littered with books she’d bought to prepare, her notebooks and laptop. I’m not sure how it’s happened but slowly she’s been filling in the empty spaces in my condo.

  A part of me, that cool, pragmatic part that wants to keep her at a distance is warning me that things are moving too fast between us, but I want her too much to stop. I’ve slept without her for two nights in the last three weeks and I’d missed her too much to contemplate.

  I’d never been with a woman I’d wanted to sleep with. I hardly even brought a woman home with me, preferring to stay at her place so I could escape when I wanted to. But I didn’t want to escape Jillian.

  Worse, I fear I’m starting to need her.

  She made life better, more interesting. When I was with her I forgot to be distant, forgot all the reasons why that was important.

  “Are you there?” Brandon interrupts my thoughts, pulling me back to the conversation at hand.

  “I’m here, sorry. I got…distracted.”

  “Yeah, sure you did.”

  “I think she wants this.” We’re arguing about my plans to bring Jillian to his house. A plan I’d concocted the night she told me how she’d imagined lying on that table spread out between Brandon and me. Confessed her dark fantasies about being held captive and forced to surrender. Over the weeks I’d been pulling her deeper and deeper into her submissive side, which I now know without a doubt she had. I’d still kept things slow and easy, but I thought she was ready for more.

  “I don’t know about that,” Brandon says, the skepticism in his voice clear over the line.

  This annoys me, his presumption. “Who do you think knows her better? Me or you?”

  “Don’t get territorial. I don’t mean it like that.” He sighs. “Here’s the truth, I have no idea if she wants it or not, but you don’t, and that can’t end well.”

  I frown. “What do you mean, I don’t? I’ve done countless things to girls with you there.”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t Jillian.”

  I don’t want to admit it, but he has a point. It’s easy to watch a woman be touched by another guy when your intention is to send them back out into the world on their own anyway. In the quiet moments when I’m alone, without Jillian distracting me, and to keep the panic at bay, I tell myself I’ll eventually have to let her go. But the second she shows up, that smile on her face, the thought fades from my mind.

  My feelings aren’t the point here. Jillian, and what she needs, is the point. I’ve always made sure to give the women I’m with her secret, most private desires. The ones they don’t even want to talk about. How can I not give this to Jillian? This pounding territorial, possessiveness I feel is my problem, not hers. Part of my job, my responsibility to her, is to give her what she most desires. “I’ll be fine.”

  There’s a beat over the line. “So, what, you’re going to let me fuck her?”

  “No!” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it, before I can even process it. An image of Jillian and Brandon fills my head and my stomach twists.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “There are other things.” I will not let my irrational behavior get in the way of Jillian fully exploring that side of her. “Let’s just play it by ear.”

  “I think it’s a mistake.”

  I look at her note. Trace the lines with my fingers. She leaves me notes all the time, sometimes funny, sometimes silly, sometimes hot. Her handwriting is pretty, filled with flourish, just like her. Today’s note says: Tonight all I want to do is make you dinner and suck your cock. I assume you have no objections.

  She’s fucking perfect. I’m giving her what she wants. What she needs. At least once. As long as he doesn’t fuck her, I can handle it one time. I will not stand in her way. And Brandon is the only one I trust with her.

  Through gritted teeth, I ask, “Are you going to help me or not?”

  Several long moments of silence tick by. “And I can’t talk you out of this?”

  “No.”

  “All right, Friday at my house.”

  I feel a certain grim satisfaction. “Will you get the basement ready?”

  “Consider it done.”

  I hang up. Jillian gets what she deserves. I’ll stand for nothing less.

  Jillian

  “We’re going to Brandon’s tonight.” Leo eyes me, his expression hot and hungry.

  This is the first indication he’s given me about our plans and I feel my stomach drop. I’m standing in my bra and underwear in front of my closet, contemplating my outfit. He’s already dressed in all black and he walks up behind me. He looks dangerous, evil and delicious. He puts his hands on my waist and whispers in my ear, “Put on the most indecent dress you have.”

  I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Who’s going to be there?”

  “Just the three of us.” His voice is low and filled with threat. “If your dress isn’t revealing enough, I’ll pick for you. I want you on display.”

  My heart skips about three beats before it speeds up into a gallop. I remember my confession that first night—about how I saw myself between Brandon and him, how it made me wet and excited. Curious. I swallow hard, nervous now. “What’s going to happen?”

  He kisses my neck and I shiver. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Should I be afraid?”

  His teeth scrape across my rapidly pounding pulse. “Yes.”

  Oh no.

  I want to protest. A thousand different reasons I don’t want to do this flash through my mind.

  Leo’s fingers slip into my panties and to my dismay, I’m wet. “I can see how much you hate the idea.”

  I do, but I’ve discovered there’s a fine line between hate and lust. Over the past weeks, I’ve learned my body betrays me. It’s stopped listening to my head and started listening to what Leo wants instead.

  He circles my clit and my head falls back as I give into the rush of pleasure I experience at his hands. My body belongs to him now.

  He pulls away, kisses my neck and says, “Get dressed. I’ll be waiting.”

  Brandon lives in one of those old Chicago mansions, the door alone is massive, with dark wood, and a curved archway. But I’m too nervous to be impressed as I stand at the door, clutching Leo’s hand. Anxious, I tug at the hem of my skirt, no idea what the night has in store for me.

  I picked a black dress of Heather’s actually, a spaghetti-strapped number with a plunging neckline that barely covers my ass because I’m six inches taller. The stretch fabric clings to my curves like the dress was painted on because she’s a ballerina and, well, I’m not.

  Leo approved and hustled me out the door. He’d spent the drive over with one hand on the wheel and the other on my clit. For the entire ride he’d edged me, bringing me close to orgasm before pulling back. As a result I’m a strange mix of nerves, agitation and desire. I’m also soaking wet and I haven’t even stepped over the threshold yet.

  Brandon opens the door, a big dimpled smile on his face, also dressed in all black.

  I point to the three of us. “Hey, look, we match.”

  He laughs. “That we do, baby doll.”

  Leo narrows his eyes like he’s unhappy with the endearment but says nothing.

  We walk inside and Brandon leads us through a massive foyer, and into a sitting room. To calm myself, I decide to pretend this is just an ordinary night where nothing out of the ordinary will happen.

  I take in my surroundings, turning in a circle.
“Wow, this place is crazy.”

  Brandon shrugs. “Old money comes in handy sometimes.”

  My artistic nature can’t help but marvel at the intricate woodwork and classic architecture. The room has an old-fashioned club house feel. Rich wood, intricate moldings and gorgeous, antique furniture. One whole wall, from floor to ceiling is filled with books and has a ladder that slides across the room. In the center, there are two love seats in old-fashioned, intricate brocade and a rich, worn mahogany leather club chair.

  I shake my head. “I can see that. Although I’m a bit surprised at your taste.”

  Brandon chuckles. “I inherited the house from my grandparents. My grandma made me promise I wouldn’t change certain rooms, and this is one of them.”

  “Smart woman, modern, guy furniture would be a complete waste.” I look at the coffee table, resting in between the couches, somewhat appeased that there are trays with food and a bottle of champagne.

  At least I can assume I won’t be spread out like a feast in front of them.

  Leo watches me. I go to sit down on one of the love seats, but he shakes his head and points to the chair that is the focal point of the seating arrangement. “Sit there.”

  Away from him? But I don’t want to sit away from him. I’m nervous enough and want him close. I bite my bottom lip. “But I want to sit by you.”

  “And I want to watch you.” Something flickers in the depths of his gaze. “Who do you think is going to win?”

  My fingers flutter to my necklace and I glance back and forth between Brandon and Leo, standing there looking gorgeous in black, one dark, one light.

  Brandon smiles. “I think she’s nervous.”

  Leo cocks a brow. “She should be.”

  “This is true,” Brandon agrees.

  Leo juts his chin at the leather chair. “Sit.”

  The expression on his face tells me he’s not in a compromising mood. The wise choice here is to do what I’m told. Tension like a knot in the pit of my stomach, I sit, crossing my legs like a proper young lady.

  Brandon sits on one couch, and Leo takes the other, both of them angled so I am their focus.