Sick Bastard (23 page)

“Okay?” he repeats cautiously.

“Yes, okay.” He came all this way. He’s pursued me relentlessly. He’s pushed his way in so at this point, I’ll stop fighting and play along? Besides, I really don’t have much of a choice because he’s not going anywhere.

He’s challenging. There’s a mystery there―a code I’m dying to crack. He’s bossy and pushy to the point of annoying. He’s strange and I know he’s dangerous, but there’s more to him. He can even be funny and entertaining, even sweet in his own, fucked up sorta way.

“Good, because
cara
? I’m not going anywhere.” And if he did, I might die of shock.

Dante

I took time away from my work and my life. I dropped a pretty penny to charter the private jet on short notice, called in my pilot while he was off, and rearranged my whole fucking schedule so I could fly hours over the Atlantic to find her and here I sit, watching her talk to
Matt
.

I’ll never understand the things I do where she’s concerned. I can’t fathom why I put myself through this. She’s laughing uncontrollably at Matt, and he’s laughing right along with her. I missed whatever it was he said because I couldn’t rip my attention away from her long enough to catch it.

And I wouldn’t change any of it. I wouldn’t ruin this moment. I waved the waiter off as soon as I saw him approaching. I need to keep her laughing. I like her relaxed and happy because I know I’m the one causing so much stress in her life. I’d like to keep her this way forever, but I’ll take tonight if that’s what I can get.

Tonight she looks stunning―perfection in its highest form. She’s wearing a soft green dress with black heels that I want her to wear while I fuck her senseless. I sit sideways in my chair just to be able to watch her eat and laugh. Her wine glass is in one hand while the other flies around wildly as she talks to Matt. Her leg rests innocently enough against mine under the table, but for me, it’s enough to keep me unfocused all through dinner. She’s here next to me. She’s mine, and I will forever own her. She’ll see.

~~~~~~

She pulls me in every direction and I let her. Dragging me along beside her, I watch the awe in her eyes. I can see the fairytales spinning in her mind and the happiness on her sweet face when she stares out at the water below. It makes me smile. It makes me
happy
. She’s been here, and not too long ago she was living here, yet to see her reaction to everything you’d think it was her first time. I’d kill to see the world through her untainted eyes.

Walking along the Millennium Bridge with her, I decide I’m glad we did this. She gave me dinner, whether it was spent with me or not. She laughed and enjoyed it, and then I gave her the evening. I asked what she wanted to do and this was it. Do I mind? No. I’m beyond disliking giving into her because in all seriousness, that’s what I’ve done all along, and I even find myself enjoying it also. Things she enjoys are things I’ve never truly experienced from her views.

“Dante, tell me about you.” There’s not much to tell. I am what she sees―nothing more, nothing less.

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Come on. What’s your life like?” It’s always a series of triumphant accomplishments that leave me unsatisfied and wanting more. My life has been a never-ending barrage of meaningless women. I was raised in an unstable, cruel family. I live in a constant cycle of insanity wrapped in a beautiful designer bow. I spend my days and nights with dark and calculating people. My life is spent looking over my shoulder. I’m untrusting and demanding of everything in my life.

My world is unforgiving, ruthless, cold, and charmed. I see things no one ever will and I do things that most people wouldn’t. “It’s pretty average by my standards.”

She laughs a humorless laugh because she knows I’m lying. “You and your life are anything but average. Tell me about your family.” Now there’s a real life soap opera for you.

“I have a half-brother, Joshua, and a half-sister, Lucianna, or Lucy for short, as you know. We have different mothers and until we got older, we didn’t spend much time together. Our relationships are strictly business now.” Frowning up at me, I can see the pity in her big green eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I’m not. You can’t miss something you never had.

“Don’t be.”

She nods her head once. “Well what about your father?” Now there’s a fucking mess.

“My father is as you saw―eccentric and heartless.”

“He can’t be that bad. Tell me about him.” She says, bumping her shoulder into me.

“He is, London.” I assure her.

“Tell me,” She asks again. Fine. Why not? Well

“My childhood was structured, loveless, and harsh. I went to school, did my homework, and worked. When I was fifteen, I starting working for him full-time. It was terrible and I hated every moment of it. All I wanted was to be a kid, but I was being groomed for bigger things since birth and I had no say. Truthfully, it’s why I was born, to follow in my fathers footsteps. He was hard, unforgiving, and mean to work for. He was abusive and not just emotionally. I busted my ass and tried to prove my worth by working my way up the proverbial ladder. Five years ago, he bowed out and I took over, but he’s still reminding me daily of my incompetence and my lack of ability in his eyes.”

“What a son-of-a-bitch!” Probably. He was cold, ruthless, cruel, and self-absorbed. He’s the reason I’m this way, a product of my environment. I let the terrible childhood I had eat me alive and instead of overcoming it, I submitted to it and let it rule me. I succumbed to who I was always going to become.

“What about your mom?” Her big green eyes are shining with interest. I can practically see the curiosity and care pouring out of her. Sometimes I forget just who she is and the tangled web I’ve fallen into. It’s all a fucking mess.

“She was sweet when I was young from what I can remember. The older I got, the more my father worked and the less he was home. The more he was gone, the less he worried about his family. She was starved for affection and love from him, but he started having an affair when I was young and became absorbed with that. She became lonely and depressed, and eventually killed herself. It was her way out, or so my father claims.”

I can truly say this is one of the few topics in my life that I avoid. I loathe the selfish man who turned my mother into the self-absorbed, sick woman who thought suicide was the only way out. “I-I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to dredge up bad memories for you, I just wanted to know more about you.”

“Then enough about me. I want to hear about you.” Which is now my new favorite subject.

“Hmm. Well my mom died when I was young, so we have something in common. I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know she loved this city, hence my name.” She beams proudly looking around.

“My father wasn’t around growing up. Much like yours, he’s an asshole. He spent most of my life in trouble or in jail for one reason or another. My grandparents raised me until my grandmother died when I was fourteen, then it was just my grandfather and I. I was lashing out a lot and he didn’t know what to do with me, so he sent me off to boarding school where I met Matt. That’s pretty much it.” I know. I know it all. I’ve known this all since the moment I laid eyes on her, but hearing her tell me helps me feel closer to her. She’s freely giving this information and opening up to me, and that’s all I fucking want.

“What else.” I urge her on. She’s talking and smiling. I want as much from her as I can get. “Like what? What do you want to know?”

“What’s your favorite food?” I try. The small details are important. Everything about her is noteworthy to me. I want to hear it all, soak it up and live it.

“Cupcakes.” See? This is important shit to me.

I listen to her tell me things about herself. Some things I know and some I don’t. She loves a movie called
Wong Foo
. Apparently, Matt and her can recite the entire movie. She hates tomatoes. She sleeps with the lights on unless she’s with me and she’s never late for anything. She’s a terrible singer, but loves to sing anyway. To some, these things would be menial and unimportant, but to me they’re worth more than gold. They’re things I’ll remember until I die. They are all about London, and they mean more to me than she’ll ever know because this openness she’s giving to me is something I’ve never experienced before. It’s the most precious gift anyone’s ever given to me, and it’s from someone I care for deeply.

London

Walking hand in hand, I marvel at his rough skin against mine. I’m surprised that he hasn’t pulled it away yet. He’s talking
to
me, and not
at
me for once. He’s even letting me talk. He listens carefully to everything I say and responds thoughtfully. At times like this he seems so genuine, and less of an enigma. For the first time, I begin to think that maybe there could be more for us going forward.

Tonight he’s proven to be less of an intimidating mystery and more of an accommodating gentleman than he ever has with me before. We stop at the sights I’ve seen a million times, but tonight everything looks shiny and new. We’ve spent time just getting to know each other, and that’s all I’ve wanted. Tonight’s been the happiest night I’ve had in such a long time.

We’re only a few miles from home when a big fat raindrop lands on my cheek. “It’s looks like it’s about to rain.” Another raindrop lands on my forehead and within seconds, it starts coming down hard and fast. “Come on.” I start to tug him down the sidewalk. Tugging back he stops me.

“Let’s duck inside and call for Branson.”

“Awe, is Dante Marx scared of a little rain?” I challenge.

With a challenging look, he says, “No, London. I’m not scared of a little rain.”

~~~~~~

My back meets the door of my room with a thud and my arms are pinned above my head with one solid grip while his free hand travels down my neck, slowly tracing my skin. His face is serious with intense determination as he goes to work, making his way down over my chest where he stops long enough to give my aching nipple a rough tug before continuing down to my stomach. “I like this dress on you, London. I especially love that you’re soaking wet in it. It’s fucking sexy.”

His hand makes it down past my hip to the hem of my dress. Grabbing a handful of the material, he yanks it up over my hips. “Did you forget something?” His lips brush across my cheek. I can only nod my response. There’s no need to wear panties when he’s around.

Moving his hand from my wrists, he raises my wet dress over my head, tossing it to the floor. “As much as I like this dress, I like this a whole lot better.”

He steps away from me, looking me over from head to toe as he undoes his pants and pulls out his dick. I watch in absolute fascination as he begins to stroke himself, loving the way his hand fists his himself, pumping slowly. I bring my own hand to my pussy and begin to give him the same sexy show he’s giving me.

He’s on me, lifting my legs around his hips and pushing himself inside of me, hard and deep. “London,” he taunts against my lips, “I’m going to fuck you until you’re sore, baby. I hope you’re ready.”

I grab onto his shoulders, thrusting my own hips into his to match his strokes. Pounding hard and deep, he hits every fucking angle perfectly, making me come hard and fast, making me wetter, making me crazier.

I don’t even come down from my orgasm because I swear I can already feel another one ready to come over me. “So fucking tight.” he pants, grinding into me with each word. Wrapping a big hand around my neck, he squeezes, “Scream loud for me, baby. I want the whole of London to hear you scream my name.”

I can feel the tingles in my toes, slowly working up my legs. My eyes start to roll and my stomach starts to tighten. It’s pure bliss.

“Fuck,
Dante
.” I scream his name over and over as I have what feels like the never ending orgasm. Oh my God, it’s so fucking intense. This man knows how to fuck me, and he’s ruined me for anyone else. I’m even sure his cocky ass already knows this, too.

~~~~~~

One arm is wrapped around my back and one of his hands is gripping my ass tightly. I keep my legs wrapped securely around his waist as the hot water beats down on my back and the steam clouds the shower. “Take two steps back for me.” I say.

“Why?” He asks as he does it. Still wrapped around him, I reach over his back for the shampoo. “Because I’m gonna wash your hair.”

He looks confused. “You’re gonna wash my hair?” He asks me skeptically.

“I am.” I tell him squeezing some shampoo into my hand.

“But why?” God, he asks a lot of questions.

“Because I want to, that’s why.”

He does as I ask. He rests his forehead against my chest and lets me have my way with him. Running my soapy fingers through his hair, I slowly rub it through his soft locks, rubbing along his head as I go.

“Fuck, that feels really good.”

“No one’s ever washed your hair before?”

“No. Who would’ve done it?”

“A wife or girlfriend?” I say, but it’s more of a careful question.

“I don’t now, nor have I ever, had a wife.” Well that’s a relief

“Girlfriend?”

“There is only one, London, and that’s you.”

“So you’re saying that I’m your girlfriend?” I laugh. I’m not going to make an issue out of a word. This time with him is just too perfect to ruin.

Nodding his head, he kisses my chest. “I would think so, although I’ve never had one. What else would you be to me?”

“A friend?”

“Try again..” The sincerity of his confession melts a little part of my heart. I may not like all the bad he is, but I love how he is when he’s with me.

“You want me as your girlfriend?” I ask running a hand through his hair.

Shrugging, he doesn’t remove his head from my chest when he speaks, “Yes, I want you in my life. Whatever you want to call it or however it is, I’ll take it. I just want you.”

~~~~~~

We spent one more wonderful, lazy day in London, mostly in bed, before I was plunked down on his plane, bound for the States. Matt stayed for the remainder of the vacation, sending me on my way with a kiss and a warning to be careful. Maybe he saw something different in me and was letting me know that he knew.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to get when we touched down in NYC. Would things change or stay the same? Do I want them to change? I’m not exactly sure what I agreed to. When I asked what he was expecting to happen once home, his response was, “You belong with me, and you always will.”

Pulled away from the routine of my life, I’ve been thrust into Dante’s strange, yet comforting one. Two weeks back from Europe and we’ve been inseparable.

He’s still all the things he was when I first met him. He still stalks me and I don’t know why. I mean, he’s got me, right? He’s still bossy, pushy, and guarded. His personalities are still very much alive. He’s exactly the same and completely different at the same time. We don’t discuss the night I left his father’s house and what went on. He only told me that he was more than upset and took it too far, and that he’d never hurt a woman or a child, but the man was another matter. I left it at that since the man and his family, according to Dante, were fine and would remain that way.

The now familiar crinkle of the newspaper pulls my attention up from my donut, mid-bite. I look and catch Dante staring at me like he always does. Licking the frosting from my finger, I smile around my finger. “Yes?” If he’s staring, there must be a reason. I’ve learned that there is always a method to his madness.

Clearing his throat and adjusting the neck of his black button up shirt, he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Do you have a black dress?” Well I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth. I stare at him, unsure about what’s going on. “Right. Unnecessary question. Of course you do.”

“Why?”

“You’re accompanying me to a funeral.”

“Excuse me?”

“A funeral, London. You know―caskets, graves, grieving families.”

“I know what a funeral is, smartass, but why am I going? Who died?” I don’t recall him mentioning a death and he hasn’t acted like someone’s died. I would’ve thought he’d mention something like that to me.

“No one important.”

~~~~~~

The next morning, Dante leads me up the steps of a beautiful, cathedral style church. I’m not nervous, but I’m definitely hesitant. Why is he bringing me to a funeral?

We’re here and I’m still as uninformed as I was yesterday morning. After Dante’s curt invitation, I was only told that the funeral we were attending was for one of his employees. He said he needed to make an appearance, but that was all I was offered. I didn’t ask anymore because I knew that was all I was getting.

A sea of men and women dressed from head to toe in black, pack the church halls and aisles. Some are sobbing quietly into handkerchiefs, while others talk quietly to each other or are praying.

I feel out of place. I feel like I’m an intruder and I don’t like it. This is their time to grieve a loved one and I shouldn’t be here, but I know that Dante isn’t going to let me go.

Following dutifully behind him, I watch what happens everywhere we go. The room’s soft murmurs and voices die into an eerie quiet when he walks into the room. People stare, men nod in respectful bows, women smile, and some people look down, not daring to look him in the eyes. It’s so goddamn strange.

Dante makes no effort to return smiles, nods, or any other forms of acknowledgment. He doesn’t pass out condolences or offers any sympathy for the death these people are here to grieve. Dante hasn’t uttered a word or shown any sign of emotion for anyone here.

“Here,” he stops at the first row of pews. Nodding to the long wooden bench, he pushes me towards it. Is he kidding me? This is where family sits. Why the fuck are we sitting up front? He’s this dead person’s boss, so what makes him think this is okay to sit right here?

“Dante.” I protest.

“Sit down, London. Please,” He asks. Fine, fine. I sit, but feel so wrong for it.

I sit and listen to the wife of the dead man
ooh
and
ahh
over Dante as she sobs into his chest. She clutches his suit jacket, crying while thanking him repeatedly, but he’s uninterested and uncaring.

“
Signore,
I’m so thankful to have you here. My husband would be so honored to know you were here. He loved you very much.”

“Antony was a good husband, Maria.”

Prayers, sobs, kind words, cries of agony, poems, more sobs, and memories are shared while I try to think of anything other than the dead body a few feet away.

“… In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all of our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praises forever and ever. Amen.” The priest finishes with a soft smile.

Finally, we’re all asked to rise. “Dante?”

“No,
amore mio
, go to the back of the church with Vinn. I’ll be there momentarily.” I nod and start to move, but not before he places a kiss to my forehead, lingering longer than I’d expect from him, and walks away with the family.

Leaving is the same as when we arrived. It’s the same wherever I go with Dante. Women are in awe of him and men give him looks of respect. Everyone is so fascinated by him. I know he’s not a goddamn celebrity, and he sure as shit ain’t the President, so who the hell is he to these people? Does he pay great wages and have amazing benefits packages?

“Who are you?” I watch his face pale ever so slightly when he looks down at me and immediately starts to mess with his watch.

“What are you asking me?”

“Why do people stare at you? Why do they seem intimidated, even awed by you? Hell, some even look scared shitless of you.” He almost looks relieved.

“I’m the Boss.”

“That’s not why.” He’s lying to me again.

“What do you expect? I’m rich, powerful, and I’m important. Some people don’t know how to deal with that.”
Some
people? Try
everyone.

“I do.” He’s a lot of things to me, but someone to bow to or fall over is not one of them. Leaning into me he places his hand on the back of my neck. His fingers rub small circles on my skin and I watch as he smirks.

“I know, and that’s why you’re here with me, in my bed, and in my life, London.” Leaning closer, he puts his lips to mine. “Lets go home.”

Sliding into the limo, I take a final look at the breathtaking church across the street. Life with this insane man is anything but average. I don’t see him ever changing his ways. I’ve learned to see the positive in his peculiar traits. The stalking’s become companionable and comforting, knowing he’s always close. His life is shrouded in mystery, like on those occasions that he leaves and never tells me where he’s going, but he always comes back. He’s open about his feelings for me. Every once in a while he’s dark and scary, but I find his brooding sexy and alluring.

I get his humor and laughter often. He always gives in when I want something, even when I know he wants to argue with me. I never have to ask him for attention because he’s always there, giving it to me at every opportunity. He’s kind and caring. For all the dark in him, there’s also light. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Dante adores me and makes no secret of it.