In the week of their intimacy, he had taken
almost all the lead, though she was a responsive and energetic
participant. She was learning new things about her body and the
ways it could experience pleasure, and being with her for those
discoveries was hotter than any fantasy he might have conjured. She
had ridden him, but he had led then, too, bringing her over him and
leading her with his hands on her hips. This marked the first time
that she was taking real charge.
She dropped her head to his and kissed him,
her tongue searching his mouth, her teeth nipping at his lips.
Still frothing a little from the emotional tilt-a-whirl he’d been
on since the afternoon, he began to feel frantic with need. When he
tried to draw his arms up so he could hold her, she fought him,
holding his hands down. When he began to overpower her, she
released his hands and sat up. He groaned; he needed her close.
But she only smiled down at him.
Then she moved, lifting up from his hips and
resettling herself on her knees, between his thighs. He knew what
she was up to, then. Something she had not yet done. Not for him.
He knew why, too; they’d talked about it. How Auberon had trained
her for this. That asshole had been one seriously sick fuck.
“Bina, no—you don’t have to.”
“We’re simple tonight, yes? We left
everything outside the door?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Then this is something that is just you and
me. How I know it—that’s out there.” With that, she put her hands
on his belly—which he had not been expecting, and it made him jump
a little—and rubbed heavy circles from his hips to his ribs,
pressing in, but not too hard. It felt wonderful, intensely
relaxing, and he moaned a little as his legs relaxed outward. Her
position between his legs, leaning forward to rub his belly, made
her breasts brush his cock again and again—just light swipes of
skin that drove him quietly mad.
By the time she stopped and moved her hands
over his hips, the pressure she’d exerted on his belly had somehow
itself become sexual, and he’d taken to making strained grunts with
every exhale.
Then she circled his cock with one hand and
bent down to suck on just the tip. Sensation shot through his body,
and he went tense. “Ah! Jesus, Bina!”
She backed off until he could relax again.
Next time, though, she took him deeply into her mouth and bobbed on
him, sucking heavily. When he reached down and tangled his fist in
her hair to hold her as he came to the edge of orgasm, she stopped
and backed off until he released her and relaxed.
“What are you doing to me?” he gasped. And
she only smiled.
Over and over she brought him to the brink
and backed him off, all the while smiling that tiny, smug smile
every time their eyes met. Finally, when he had the headboard in
both fists and his head bent so far back he was cutting off blood
to his brain, she went at him with vigor and focus, and he knew she
was going to let him off this fucking carousel of delayed ecstasy.
He got to the point where she had denied him again and again and he
felt a clench of fear as he waited for her to back off again. But
she didn’t. Instead, her other hand, which had been heretofore
propped on his thigh, moved to cup his balls. She was going to let
him come—the simple thrill of knowing almost took him over.
And then her hand moved from his balls to
the skin below it, one finger moving backward, and his body stepped
back from the cliff. He sat up partway. “What are you doing? No,
Bina.”
She slid her mouth up and away from his
cock, but she didn’t move her hand. “Trust me. I’m not going to do
what you think. Trust me.” As she spoke, the finger in question
made a circle on the skin behind his balls—and fuck, oh fuck. What
was that?
“What are you—what?”
“Is it good?” The finger circled and
circled, pressing on his skin, a little harder with every
circle.
He had to force his head to make words.
“Its…it’s…yeah.”
“Lie back. It will be even better.”
He did as she said. She took him in her
mouth again, sucking firmly, bringing him back to the edge, and her
finger massaged that one deep spot, and when he came he had to
clench his teeth together to hold back the need to shout to the
heavens. He could feel every muscle straining with the stress of
his release. She stayed on him, swallowing, until he became one
giant, exposed nerve, and he reached down and pulled her off his
spasming body.
She wiped her mouth with two dainty fingers
and then came up to lie alongside him. “That was good?”
It took him a few seconds to reclaim his
breath enough to answer. “I don’t know if I’ll ever want the story
of how you learned that, but sweet holy Jesus, baby. I’ve never
felt anything like it.”
He felt spent and exhausted, and he didn’t
think he had more to give her tonight. She had taken everything.
She seemed to know it, and she lifted his limp arm and tucked
herself in, her head on his chest.
Lying there, sated to an extreme, his
beautiful woman in his arms, his happy child sleeping down the
hall, in this house that had always been his home, Carlo felt well
and happy again. They had indeed left it all outside the door.
There was a lot to be said for simple. Or stupid, even.
Bina’s fingers traced light, lazy circles
through the hair on his pecs. The circles slowed, and he thought
she might be falling asleep even before he did. But then her
circles grew, and she grazed his ribs and his belly, and his cock
began to stir and stretch. Could he go again, even after all
that?
Another pass of her hands on his body, and
the answer was yes. “You sleepy, Bina?”
“Not so much that I don’t want that.” She
gave his hard cock a rub. She was growing more and more confident.
Playful and saucy. Every day she was more perfect.
He rolled over and settled between her legs,
hooking her knees over his arms. “Let me give it to you, then.”
Sabina spent Sunday night at the house, too.
She had not intended to. She’d gone to Mass with the family, and
then come back to the house with them for brunch for Rosa, who was
on her way back to the dorm at Brown—not too far, not much farther
than Carlo now planned to commute, but apparently she did not come
home often during the semester, so they sent her off with a
farewell.
When Carlo Sr. and Rosa packed up and left,
Sabina had left, too; she’d gone back to her apartment to change
for work.
She’d had every intention of closing up Sea
Weaver on Sunday evening and going back to her apartment with some
take-out, to have a normal, quiet evening alone and take some time
to think things through—Trey’s birthday had been full of things
that needed thinking through.
Everything had gone according to her plan
all afternoon. She closed alone, because Andi had a date, and she
was content and busy, thinking about stopping at the little
trattoria on the corner, which had a nice to-go menu, and then
reading more of Sylvia Plath’s poetry. She’d gotten as far as the
door of the restaurant, and the thought of eating a calzone on her
own in her apartment while Carlo and Trey, and Carlo Sr., and maybe
some of the siblings, were sitting around that big table in the
dining room made her feel bleak and lonely.
She’d called Carlo, and he’d met her at her
apartment, where she’d gone to pack a bag. She hadn’t even driven
her car over—it was as though she were trying to make it as hard on
herself as possible to exert any willpower at all.
Stupid seemed to be the path she was
choosing.
But on Monday morning, when Carlo Sr. had
gone to work and only Carlo, Trey, and she were left, it didn’t
feel stupid at all. The shop was closed on Mondays, so Sabina
planned to spend the day with Trey while Carlo had meetings in
Providence.
Sabina made eggs—sunny side up—and toast
while Carlo got Trey up and ready. Eggs was something she had made
often for her aunt, and the skill had come back to her quickly.
Standing at the big gas range, frying eggs in a cast iron skillet,
listening to Carlo and Trey talking about what Trey wanted to do
for the day—he wanted to take his flying shark to the park, and he
wanted ice cream, and he wanted to watch
How to Train Your
Dragon
—Sabina felt like she was part of a family. It was not a
feeling she wanted to give up. She was beginning to wonder whether
her little attic apartment was the smart decision, after all.
Just as she was plating the eggs and toast
and setting them at the breakfast table in the kitchen, Carlo and
Trey came in hand in hand. Trey’s soft, light-gold hair was
sticking up in all directions, but he was dressed for the day and
smiling brightly.
“Ms. Bina, Uncle Joey is gonna take us to
the park!” He gave her a hug and climbed up onto his chair, where
she’d just set a glass of apple juice.
She turned to Carlo, surprised. “He is?”
“Yeah. I’d feel better if you had company
for a while. Just…until I know more what Saturday meant. Okay?” He
kissed her cheek, and Sabina was distracted from the question on
her tongue. He looked spectacularly handsome dressed up for
meetings. She adored the way he dressed normally, so casual and
free, in faded jeans and chambray or Oxford-cloth shirts, almost
never tucked in, and in the scuffed, light brown boots he usually
wore. Rough and sexy.
But now…now he was wearing black pants and
black lace-up shoes; a black shirt without a tie, open at his
throat; and a charcoal grey tweed jacket. And best of
all—tortoiseshell framed glasses. He wore those only when he read
or when he worked, so she did not see them often. But they were
very
nice. And seeing them as part of his whole professional
ensemble, Sabina expected to spend a lot of the day thinking about
the way he looked right now.
“Bina—okay?” He was grinning at her; she
must have been ogling obviously.
“Oh, yes. I’m just surprised it’s Joey.”
Carlo had barely spoken to Joey in weeks. She thought it had to do
with Joey being beaten up, but neither of them had offered any
details.
“Luca and John are both busy. Carmen, too. I
don’t want you to do anything different from what you were planning
for the day. Just have some company and keep an eye out for
anything weird. If you think something’s off, assume it is.
Okay?”
She felt a heavy weight of responsibility
for Trey. “You’re sure we shouldn’t stay here?”
“I’m sure. I don’t want to overreact, and I
don’t want his day getting screwed with over it. I have a meeting
this morning, and then lunch with Pete and two meetings in the
afternoon. I should be back around six or so, unless traffic
sucks.”
She nodded, feeling worried and happy
both.
“Ms. Bina, what’s on my plate?”
Sabina turned to see Trey poking with
suspicion at his breakfast. “That’s an egg, Mr. Trey.”
He turned a look on her that said she was
clearly pulling his leg, but he was no fool. “Daddy, is this an
egg?”
“Yup. Just a different kind than you usually
have. Try it.” Carlo sat down and used his fork to lift one of his
eggs onto a piece of toast.
Worried that she had, again, failed at the
task of feeding Trey, Sabina sat at her own place and asked Carlo,
“Should I have…”
“It’s fine. He’ll eat anything.”
Trey poked again and broke the yolk. Yellow
oozed over his plate, and Trey looked up at them with a grin. “My
egg is peeing!” And then he laughed so hard his face turned red.
Carlo and Sabina both followed suit.
Carlo tousled his son’s hair. “You’re a
funny guy, pal. Eat your peeing egg.”
Sabina watched her boys eat and thought of
past mornings, those of her life before. She thought of the last
morning she’d spent in the house in Providence, when Gloria had
made Eggs Benedict, and when James had stabbed her breast with a
knife covered in egg and hollandaise.
He’d stabbed her until she’d bled, and then
he’d sucked the blood from her breast. Then he’d pushed her head
into his discarded breakfast and fucked her.
That was the life she’d had before.
What she had now could not possibly be
wrong.
~oOo~
Joey’s jaw had been wired for weeks and
weeks. He was due to get released from his torment in a few days,
but his mood had only seemed to get surlier as the end of his
sentence of near-silence approached.
However, he was always cordial with Sabina,
and he doted on Trey, so she expected to have a nice day together.
He arrived at the house around ten, after Sabina and Trey had
cleaned up breakfast—Trey had cleared the table, bringing each dish
to her individually, including each piece of flatware—and they had
spent some time coloring together.
Joey came in the front door, and Elsa got up
and greeted him. Trey looked up from the starfish he was coloring
green, but he didn’t get overly excited until Joey came into the
kitchen.
“Hey, Three-peat,” Joey gritted through his
clamped teeth. He’d gotten more adept at making himself clear.