by Stasia Black
I put my forehead to his. “I need to be fucked hard tonight. Can you do that?”
We’re close enough that I can tell that he gulps before nodding. He seems shocked by my language. I haven’t cursed often in front of him. I’ve always felt like bad words should only be pulled out when you’re feeling a lot or want to express something extreme. Tonight qualifies.
“Then fuck me like a goddamned fucking animal.”
His breathing picks up and both of his elbows brace on either side of my head. He doesn’t hem and haw or ask five hundred times if I’m sure.
He just thrusts his cock into me and oh God, yes. I draw my legs up and then wrap them around his back. I pull my own pelvis back and then do my best to jam hard back onto him.
He growls low and then lurches back before ramming in again. My back jerks against the ground and God, yes, yes, yes. Sometimes you just need to be fucked.
Even though he’s vigorous, he’s still not giving it to me as hard as I want it. I need it all or nothing.
“Do you know how to fuck or not?” I bark. “I want that cock jammed so hard up inside me I’ll never feel anyone else there. Can you fucking do that or not? Do I need to go find someone else who will?”
That does it. He starts jack-hammering into me and clutching me so close, I can taste the sweat that drips off his forehead.
“You will never find someone else,” he breathes into my mouth before devouring my lips. He wraps his arms around my back and up underneath my shoulder blades, clutching me closer than I’ve ever been held in my life. “This body is fucking mine. And I’ll fuck you until my cock fucking brands you on the inside if that’s what it takes for you to realize it.” He pulls out and he jams his cock back in so hot and hard, our groins cement together. With every stroke, he drags across my clit and it feels—
Fuck. Fuck.
“Yes,” I cry. “Yes.”
One orgasm rips through me and I grip his body to mine, sweat pouring from both of us so that it takes extra effort to hold onto him, we’re both becoming so slippery.
But it was an unsatisfactory peak. I can feel more, something higher. I need it and I know what I need to get it.
I need what’s wrong. What’s so wrong.
I grab one of Kennedy’s arms and unwind it from my back. Then I position his hand at my throat.
“No.” He tries to pull away. “Scarlet.”
“I need it,” I beg. “You said anything. You promised. I need it. I need it so hard.”
“Shit,” he swears. But he gives it to me.
He’s tentative. Of course he is. His fingers apply the barest pressure. Tears slip out of my eyes at his gentleness.
“Harder,” I command. I get the slightest increase of pressure. I start slamming my pelvis against his with even more fury. “Do you want me to come? This is what I need,” I hiss. “Are you going to give me what I need? Harder!”
And God bless him, he applies just that much more pressure. I can still breathe. I’ve never had anyone do this to me before in this context—for pleasure—but I imagine even they do it harder, enough so that breathing is difficult.
But the fact that Kennedy’s willing to go against his nature—and that I’m taking back what that bastard did to me this afternoon. And just, it’s so wrong and oooooooooooooohhh, oh shit, right there.
“I’m coming,” I breathe out, tears pouring out of my eyes. “It’s so good.”
And it is. It hits, so high and pure and just—
Kennedy starts pumping into me that much harder and oh fuck, I just keep riding the wave and rubbing up against him as he fucks me and oh shit, it just keeps going. I swivel my pelvis and press my neck up against his handhold and push and push and oh God, oh fuck, I think I’m coming again, or like, it’s just one long high, and oh my God, I’ve never felt anything like this before—
A high-pitched whine comes out of my mouth as I continue fucking and grinding that spot against Kennedy. He’s stilled his movements, his whole body strained but I just keep rutting against him, riding out the third wave and oh God, there’s the crest.
“So,” I pant, “beautiful.”
I squeeze Kennedy’s body with everything I’m worth. Holding him to me with my legs, my arms, the inner walls of my sex, everything. I want to give him everything.
And never ever let him go.
Which sends a cold rush of reality slamming like a bucket of ice-water over every good and wonderful feeling I just experienced.
Oh my God.
What am I doing?
Not only is there an expiration date on my time with Kennedy, but if I do this like I’ve planned, I’ll tear this man apart.
Not just his life.
Kennedy himself.
I bury my face in his chest and listen to his pounding heartbeat. Because I’m starting to think it just might rip me in pieces, too.
Chapter 13
I manage to keep it together all week by pulling back some from Kennedy. He starts going back out to work and I mark the days by spending long hours in the kitchen on the most difficult recipes I can think of. I cook a complicated veal and spinach roll in bolognese sauce on Sunday.
Monday I make my nonna’s famous Napolitano pizza recipe from scratch, including the dough. She was from Naples—the birthplace of pizza—as she constantly reminded us. She was appalled that Americans took pizza for granted as their favorite delivery food without ever stopping to remember or honor its origins, Well, her grandchildren would not be so ungrateful! We would know the history of every Italian dish served at Bianchi’s.
Nonna was an amazing woman. Enzo was terrified of her but I was just old enough to appreciate her as she stormed around the kitchens shouting orders. Dad liked to pretend he was in charge, but it was Nonna that ran the kitchen at Bianchi’s.
All growing up, I heard about how Nonna’s cooking saved the restaurant when she moved here from Italy after World War II and married Grandpa Anatolio. She brought all her recipes with her, just what the struggling restaurant needed after great-grandpa lost three sons in the war. Grandpa Anatolio was said to have lost his spirit in the war and only regained it when he married Nonna. She saved the restaurant.
All that history was only one more reason Dad had been so determined to do the same—save the restaurant. He also wanted the legacy for me and Enzo.
I shake my head as I pack salt into the fresh cod I bought from Fisherman’s Wharf earlier today. I’m making baccalà. This one Dad taught me. It’s just dried and salted cod, but there’s something about the whole process that’s soothing. Walking over to the wharf. Buying the fish, coming back home and salting it and then storing it in the fridge. Tomorrow I’ll bring it out, rinse off the excess salt, then wrap it in cheesecloth and set it out to dry.
I think of Dad’s hands performing the same actions. How Nonna taught him and he had taught me. How I learned everything at either his knee or Nonna’s. She died when I was nine and then it was me and Dad. Enzo stayed with a neighbor in the afternoons while I helped out in the kitchen.
“All this will be yours one day,” Dad would say, smiling no matter how tired he was. “The Bianchi legacy has stood for seventy-nine years. I’m just a caretaker for now, but it’s you and Enzo who will keep it alive.”
But we never even had a chance and Dad was devastated by what he considered his life’s failure of letting not only me and Enzo down, but also Nonna and all the generations who had gone before.
Because Kennedy Benson stole our family legacy out from under us.
* * *
On Friday, Kennedy and I pull up in front of a palatial mansion in Silicon Valley.
“We’re here. You awake, Scarlet?” Kennedy’s voice is gentle. As is his hand on my knee when he touches me.
“Mmm?” I move slowly like I’m just waking up.
Yes, I pretended to nap on the hour-long drive down here. Am I proud of it? No. But then am I proud of anything I’m doing lately?
God, I don’t know any
more. I was so sure of my path when I started this. And now?
I put a hand to my forehead. I have a headache from all the stupid thinking I’ve been doing the whole drive. Hell, all week. Kennedy’s the bad guy. Right? Then why do I feel so freaking conflicted about this?
I’m tired of the constant war in my head.
“You feeling all right?” Kennedy’s concerned voice only makes it worse.
I wish I was back in my kitchen. Flour, dough, pasta, olive oil, basil, tomatoes, garlic—
“Scarlet,” Kennedy cuts off my mental listing of ingredients, “if you’re not feeling good, we can go back home. It’s not a big deal, I’ll just reschedule.”
“Stop.” I cover his hand with mine and look up into his eyes. Why does there have to be such concern there? Why couldn’t he have just been the asshole I expected him to be? That would have been more difficult in some ways but far, far easier in others.
On impulse, I undo my seatbelt and lean over the gearshift between us to hug him. “You’re a good man, aren’t you?” I whisper in his ear as I hold him tight. My arms can’t close over his large, muscled frame. He’s so strong. So solid.
It’s not fair. None of this is fair.
He laughs as he wraps me up in those muscled arms of his. “I don’t know.” I hear the honesty in his voice. “I’m trying to be.” He squeezes me tight. “I’m trying to be,” he repeats.
God, enough of this. Torturing myself by his closeness. His scent.
I hurry out of the car and Kennedy has to jog to catch up to me.
He rings the doorbell and after a moment, a tall, extremely broad-chested man opens the door with his arm around the waist of a petite blond.
“Welcome, come on in,” says the giant of a man, smiling. “Hi, I’m Jackson but everyone calls me Vale. And this beautiful lady is my fiancée, Callie.” If I thought his face was soft before, it’s nothing compared to the way he transforms when he looks at the woman at his side. He looks positively gushy, like a big, soft teddy bear when he gazes at her.
She laughs and holds her hand out to me.
Their happiness is infectious and I can’t help a wide smile of my own. “I’m Scarlet, nice to meet you.” I shake her hand. I had no idea what to expect at this meeting, but I imagined people a lot more stuffy and proper.
“Come on in,” Callie echoes her fiancé, waving us in. “Feel free to take your shoes off or leave them on, whichever you’re more comfortable with.”
We step into the house. There’s no foyer, it just immediately opens into a large, open floorplan with lots of light. In the far corner is the kitchen, separated only by a counter that cuts it off from the main room. The whole space is decorated in deep reds and ivories, with sumptuous leather couches and hardwood floors.
As I’m looking at the floor, my eyes track over and see that Callie’s wearing what look like a very comfortable pair of fuzzy blue lounge socks in spite of the fact that she has a lovely black cocktail dress on. She follows my gaze.
“Whoops,” she laughs. “I meant to change those. My feet just got so cold earlier.”
I wave my hands. “Don’t bother on our account.” I lean in. “To be honest, these shoes are pretty, but they’re killing me. Keep the socks on and I won’t feel so funny about going around without them.” I slip off the pumps that were pinching my toes and set them beside the door.
Callie smiles big. “You want a pair of socks? The hardwood’s lovely, but it can get so cold.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Would you? I hear it’s the newest fashion rage. I’m so embarrassed to have forgotten mine at home.”
She laughs, a deep-chested laugh that’s not fake at all. I really like this woman. I can already tell she’s my kind of people.
“Speaking of fashion, that scarf is so adorable.” She points at the bright purple mini-scarf I have tied around my neck. Unconsciously I lift a hand to make sure it’s secure in place.
“Thanks,” I say, probably too brightly. No need for her or anyone else, especially Kennedy, to know that the scarf is completely a practical measure to cover the bruises Francisco gave me last week. They’re getting better every day. But the greenish-yellow marks in the shape of a handprint on the front of my neck can’t be explained away as anything other than what they are. Choke marks.
So I’m more than glad when Callie drops it at that.
“I’ll be right back with those socks.” She winks at me, then puts a hand on her fiancé’s arm. “Hon, can you get our guests some refreshments?”
Vale’s been watching her with quiet amusement during this whole exchange. He nods while she jogs off down through the large open room toward a hallway.
“As the future wife demands,” Vale holds out an arm to a small bar set against one wall. “What’s your poison?”
We get our drinks and Kennedy, Vale, and I chat. Soon Callie’s back with the socks—fleece pink ones that make my feet feel so good, it’s like I’m walking on clouds. We meander over toward one side of the room and leave the men talking on the other.
Callie sips from her glass of champagne. “So how long have you and Kennedy been together?”
“Oh.” I blush. I should have thought through how to answer questions about us. What is Kennedy telling Vale? That thought makes my cheeks go even hotter. “A little while. I mean, we’re not even really together together. We’re just…”
I glance over at Kennedy. He looks so at ease standing beside Vale. They’re both striking men, but Kennedy’s inky black hair and strong eyebrows and…just his whole demeanor of gorgeous, dark and dangerous. Damn, it just does it for me.
He glances over at me and our gazes catch. I swear, it goes straight to my sex. Just one look from him and I’m freakin’ wet and squirming in my stockings. He looks back to Vale and nods at something he says.
Oh crap. I blink out of my Kennedy-induced haze and look back to Callie. “What was I saying? Oh, yeah.” I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts back on track. “I, uh, fell on some rough times and he’s letting me stay with him. Just till I’m back on my feet,” I hurry to add.
She nods, then glances back and forth between Kennedy and me. “Mmm hmm,” she says, one eyebrow arched. “Well, you’re fucking each other’s brains out, that’s obvious.”
I choke on the sip of champagne I just took.
Callie laughs and claps me on the back. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Vale’s always telling me I need to learn the art of polite bullshitting.”
I laugh. “Oh no, please not on my account. I hate polite BS.” I lean in. “And you’re right. I am fucking his brains out. On the regular. But how could you tell?”
“Are you kidding?” she laughs. “Sheesh, the two of you in a room together making those eyes at each other could start a four-alarm fire.” She starts fanning herself. “And hon, Lord knows I had myself my share of rough times in this life so I hope you know that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She looks across the room at where Vale chats with Kennedy and her face—no, her entire body—softens.
“But you gotta know, that even for girls like us who life’s taken a beating on—we can still get our happily ever after.”
Um. Okay, I might like her and all. But she can’t be serious. Is this beautiful woman really going to stand here in her no-doubt designer gown, in this multi-million dollar mansion with her gorgeous fiancé and an adorable kid to boot—he must be out with a babysitter right now but I saw a picture of them all out on a green lawn grinning at the camera on a sunny day—and tell me she can relate to me?
I keep a pleasant smile on my face but inside, I’m thinking, sure lady, I bet you’ve had some real hard times in your life. It must have been so stressful heading the cheer squad or being president of her sorority or whatever the hell problems she thinks she’s had. I hate it when people who have no clue what it’s really like out there try to freaking relate. Goddamn rich-ass liberals talking about the homeless problem from their eight million dollar mansi
ons—
“You think I’m full of shit, don’t you?” Callie laughs out loud. Vale looks over at us and smiles. Callie presses a kiss to her palm and waves at him, then turns back to me, amusement still dancing in her eyes.
Which, you know, is pretty annoying. I really did like her when we first met, but I don’t stand for anyone laughing at me —
“Look, hon,” she reaches out a hand to place on my elbow but then pulls back, probably seeing the unspoken expression on my face. The amusement leaves her eyes.
“I don’t want to get into a war of who’s suffered worse in their lives,” she says, “but I was a desperate single mother for a bunch of years. I was shit poor and did things I’m not proud of to get out of the situation.”
A single mother? My eyes shoot back to the picture on the mantle. So the little boy isn’t Vale’s. I look back over to him. He’s smiling affably with Kennedy. Everything about him says that he’s a man perfectly happy in his life.
Again my gaze catches on Kennedy. He seems in his element with this wealthy man, drinking a dark amber-looking liquid out of a glass I’ll bet is real crystal. Again Vale laughs at something he says and I try to focus on the man who’s physically larger than Kennedy, even if not nearly as appealing to me.
“How did you meet him?” I nod to Vale.
She follows my gaze. I expect her to go soft again, but instead, I feel her body stiffen slightly.
“I got a job working for his competitor a couple years ago. He was a very nasty man.” She knocks back her champagne glass and empties it in one long swallow.
She closes her eyes and breathes out a long breath of air. Finally, she looks back at me after appearing to gather herself. “Vale started pursuing me because he wanted to save me.” She looks back at Vale and there it is again—the warmth, adoration, and absolute love. “In the end, we saved each other.”
She smiles but it’s not a socialite’s smile.
