Chapter Two
“You know, when you mentioned breakfast, I kind of thought you were going to go home and make pancakes again.”
Lorenzo laughs, standing on the street corner in the Chelsea neighborhood, just down from a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place that stays open twenty-four hours. He clutches a styrofoam container, at eight o’clock in the morning, eating the most gigantic burrito I’ve ever seen in my life.
Four bucks, cash only.
He made me order one, too.
Or rather, I said I wasn’t hungry and he said, ‘fuck that, I’m getting you one and you’re going to eat it,’ like the gentleman he is. I’m grateful for it, even though I pitched a fit.
Turns out, it’s delicious.
“Can’t believe you’ve never eaten there,” he says. “I thought it was a requirement to be a New Yorker.”
“I’m not your typical New Yorker,” I point out. “I never really got the experience. Too busy slinging pussy, I guess.”
A woman walks by as I say that, clutching her chest and casting me a look, like she might catch something by walking near me. Yeah, like some fucking human decency, maybe. I scowl at her, chomping on my burrito, waiting for the light to change so we can cross the street.
The old battered teddy bear is tucked beneath my arm. I probably look ridiculous, I know, like I escaped from some hospital’s mental ward. People cast looks at me like they’re genuinely concerned about my sanity, which is funny, considering I feel more at peace in this moment than I’ve felt in a while. “You ever worry you might really be crazy?”
“Worry? No. I’m pretty sure.”
“You’re pretty sure you’re crazy?”
“Yes.”
I laugh, looking at him, seeing he’s watching me curiously. The light changes and people go around us, but he doesn’t move. Not right away.
“There’s nothing wrong with being crazy,” he says. “It’s all just a matter of perception. Hell, I think my brother’s crazy, working some bullshit job with his beauty queen girlfriend studying whatever she’s studying, spending tens of thousands for a little piece of paper that’ll declare her competent enough to get her own bullshit job where she’ll make not even a fraction of what I make, when I didn’t even finish high school. But the world thinks that’s normal, and really, that’s all normalcy is—it’s whatever fucking brand of crazy has the majority.”
He goes on so long, staring at me, that the light changes again and people gather around us.
I stay quiet, waiting until it’s safe to walk.
“Besides,” Lorenzo says, turning to cross the street, “crazy gets shit done, Scarlet.”
We stroll along, finishing our burritos, neither of us saying much of anything after that. He’s right, I guess. Maybe we’re all crazy. Maybe the trick in life is just to find someone whose crazy plays well with your own.
After we discard our trash, Lorenzo heads for the subway. It’s packed with commuters at this hour, so there aren’t any seats left, even standing room scarce. Lorenzo grabs a pole, pulling me in front of him without a word. It’s cozy. Warm. His arm drapes around me as I rest my head against his chest.
He’s so warm I almost fall asleep standing there.
It takes forty-five minutes to make it to his house. As soon as we walk inside, we come face-to-face with Leo and Melody, who are dressed for the day and heading out. Leo works in some fancy ass restaurant, one that requires he wear a tuxedo, whereas Melody is carrying her backpack full of books for class. It’s all so picture-perfect.
Normal.
Leo eyes us. “Long night? You both look like hell this morning.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Lorenzo asks right away. “Somewhere that doesn’t include talking to me?”
Leo laughs at that, slapping Lorenzo’s shoulder. “But I always have time for my big brother.”
“Go to work,” Lorenzo says. “You get fired, you’re fucked, because I’m not paying for Firecracker’s wining and dining, so all romance will be off.”
“Oohhh,” Melody says, making a face as she grabs Leo’s arm. “You know what no romance means...”
“No pussy?” I guess.
Now Leo makes a face.
“Good,” Lorenzo says. “Maybe then they’ll keep their clothes on and stop playing Slip ‘n Slide on my damn couch all of the time.”
“Speaking of the couch,” Leo chimes in, “you were just kidding, right? You didn’t really steal the new couch from some strip club.”
As soon as he says that, I glance into the living room, seeing a familiar black leather couch with gold accents. Oh god, did he seriously...?
“Do you think I’d really do that?” Lorenzo asks.
“I’m hoping not,” Leo grumbles.
“Go to work,” Lorenzo tells him again before turning to Melody. “And you, go wherever it is you go when you’re not in my house, breathing up all of my oxygen.”
They grumble goodbyes and head out, while Lorenzo stands there, staring at the door, making sure they’re gone before turning to me.
He looks like he has something to say, but I beat him to talking.
“You stole a couch,” I say, “from a strip club.”
“So?”
“So do you know what happens on those couches?”
“Probably the same ooey-gooey shit my brother does on it, but it doesn’t matter. I disinfected it.”
“You disinfected it.”
“Yeah, got a can of Lysol and sprayed the fuck out of the thing.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “I, uh... I’m too tired to think of a response to that.”
“Then come on,” he says, stepping past me. “Let’s go to bed.”
I don’t argue with that. Bed sounds like a beautiful place to be, so I follow him upstairs. As soon as we reach his room, I kick off my shoes and yank off my hoodie, falling into the bed with a sigh, still clutching the damn bear.
Lorenzo strips down to nothing, as usual, before climbing in beside me.
Thirty seconds, if even that. My eyes drift closed, exhaustion taking over. Lorenzo’s already snoring. Sleep hits me hard.
Out like a light.
I don’t know how much time passes before I’m jolted back awake, but my body is sore and the room is dim, growing darker, so I sense it’s late. I slept all damn day. Groggy, rubbing my eyes, I pull myself up to a sit as something falls into my lap.
Buster.
It hits me again then, as I pick up the bear. The pressure in my chest makes me feel like I’m suffocating. My fingers explore the bear’s beat-up face, caressing the filthy fur and shoving stuffing back into the holes.
I wondered if I’d ever see the thing again. I wondered where it ended up and hoped—no, counted on—it being with Sasha. She doesn’t have me, I’m not there to protect her, but I thought she’d at least have her best friend Buster.
She doesn’t, though.
She’s all alone.
So am I.
In the literal sense, on my part.
Lorenzo’s not here.
I reach over, running my palm along the cold sheets. He’s been gone so long that the bed’s no longer warm.
Sighing, I get up, trudging over to the closet to pull out my duffel bag that’s tucked in the back, along the bottom. I shift through it, grabbing the small black cell phone, plugging it into the charger using the wall socket as I sit down on the floor.
After a few minutes, as I hold onto the bear, the phone powers up, coming to life again. There are only a few numbers programmed into it, and I hit the button to call the top one, bringing it to my ear.
It rings a few times, as I inwardly panic, a voice in my head screaming for me to hang up right the fuck now, but the devil on my shoulder isn’t having that. The line picks up, a voice calmly greeting me, the Russian accent still thick despite him living in America for years. “I have been waiting for you to call.”
He knows it’s me. I’m not sure how. I keep my number blocked for this reason, but yet somehow, he always knows.
I don’t say anything.
I can’t find the words.
My voice doesn’t want to work.
I used to have a lot to say, but my pleas always fell upon deaf ears, so I rarely say anything anymore. I just sit, and I listen, hoping one of these times he’ll say something of value, that he’ll slip up and I’ll hear her in the background.
It has never happened.
These calls used to be as frequent as the visits to the precinct, but trying to rationalize with Kassian is a lost cause. It’s like trying to civilize a caveman. No matter what I say, it’s never enough to get him to act human for just a moment and let me talk to my daughter.
He’s never even acknowledged to me that he has her.
The sound of his voice makes my insides ache, but I shove the feelings down and absorb every syllable he’s willing to offer, like maybe this is all a riddle that I can eventually solve.
“Did you enjoy your present? I know Christmas was months ago, but it is better late than never, no?” There’s a lightness to his tone, like he’s amused by all of this. “I am assuming your scarred plaything gave it to you, since you are calling... unless you are simply missing me today.”
I stretch my legs out along the floor, Buster lying in my lap, as I rest my head back against the wall.
I still say nothing.
“It is a shame about the condition of the bear,” he says. “I had to teach a lesson on obedience. I am sure you remember those. We had so many of them, you and I, but you... you never did learn. No matter how many times I showed you, you still thought you could have things your way. But I, of course, had to get creative this time, since I could not teach her things the way I taught you.”
He laughs, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, while I grow dizzy, the room starting to spin.
I have to close my eyes.
“I miss your lessons,” he says, sounding almost wistful. “Striping you bare, fucking you raw, letting them all watch. Do you remember? The way they would fall all over themselves to see you, hoping I was in a generous mood and would let them have a taste. Do you miss that? You can admit it. I will not tell anyone. I will not tell them how much of a good girl you used to be, how you would cry so quietly, so not to disturb them when they took turns—”
“Stop.” My voice cracks as that word forces itself from my lips, tears stinging my eyes. “Just... stop.”
“Aw, pussycat, are you crying now?”
I bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
“It is okay,” he continues. “Come back home, and I will make it all better. Promises. And maybe, if you are a good girl, once you finally learn your lesson, I will tell you what happened to your kitten.”
It would be a lie to say I don’t consider his offer.
Because for a second, a moment of weakness, I think ‘okay’. I think ‘I can do it’. Nothing Kassian could put me through would ever be worse than living in this void, existing in the unknown, without my little girl. I think maybe if I go to him, maybe if I give in, I can find her, get her back, and maybe that way I can protect her. But reality is that I couldn’t even protect myself from this man, and if I surrender now, nobody will ever save either of us.
And it’s stupid, I know, because his ‘maybe’ means nothing. His promises are bullshit. He’d teach me my lesson, sure. He’d find a way to break me.
He’d do it, and then he’d kill me.
“No more to say?” he asks.
I don’t respond.
“Then goodbye for now, pretty girl. I am sure we will see each other again soon. I love you.”
The line goes dead.
I sit here for a minute, those words stabbing at me, before I snatch the charger out of the wall and throw it all in the duffel bag, shoving it back in the closet.
Carrying Buster, I march downstairs, finding Leo and Melody in the living room on the couch.
Not having sex, thankfully—looks like he’s helping her with homework—but ugh, that couch.
If they only knew...
“You guys are back already?” I ask. “What time is it?”
“After nine o’clock,” Leo says with a laugh. “Did you just wake up?”
“Ugh, yeah.” I scratch my head, my hair a knotted mess. “Guess I was really tired.”
I can’t remember the last time I slept twelve hours.
“Is Lorenzo still in bed?” Leo asks. “If so, you might want to check his pulse. He never sleeps more than two or three hours. Might be dead.”
I blink a few times. “He’s not down here?”
“Haven’t seen him,” Leo says. “We got home about three hours ago, so he must’ve left before then if he wasn’t upstairs with you.”
“Is his car outside?” I ask, stepping into the living room, walking over to the window to look out. The black BMW is still parked in the driveway. “Guess he walked, or maybe he took the subway...”
“Or someone picked him up,” Leo says.
Weird.
Staring at his car, I try to ignore the strange feeling brewing inside of me. Ugh. Lorenzo is an adult. He’s under no obligation to check in with anyone before he goes out, much less tell me his business.
Frankly, I’m not sure I want to know half of the places the man has been.
But still, a feeling twists my gut, something dangerously close to worry, like I’m concerned about his well-being.
“Can I ask you something, Morgan?”
Leo’s voice draws me from those thoughts before I can dwell on them too much. Turning, I glance at where he sits on the couch. Melody is reading something out of a thick textbook, while he eyes me peculiarly from beside her. “Ask me something?”
“Yeah, something, I don’t know... personal?”
Oh no.
Inwardly, I’m on edge about that, because personal questions never lead anywhere good, but I plaster on a smile. “Sure.”
“What’s up with you and my brother?”
Uh... “What do you mean what’s up with us?”
“I’m just wondering what your plans are,” he says. “Do you see this thing with him actually going somewhere? Do you want it to go somewhere? Or is it just, you know, convenient—”
Melody slams her book closed, interrupting him with a glare. “Leonardo! I know you are not trying to have the ‘what are your intentions?’ talk with her!”
My eyes widen. Is he?
Leo turns to his girlfriend. “What? I’m just asking...”
“You can’t just ask somebody that,” she says. “Don’t you remember when we first started dating and you got the third degree about your intentions? Didn’t like that so much, did you, buddy?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, rolling her eyes. “They’re grown ass folk, so mind your beeswax.”
“But—”
She points him in the face, her finger jabbing him in the nose as she makes a screeching noise to cut him off, loud enough to startle even herself.
I step closer, perching on the arm of a chair near the couch, as Leo grabs her finger and playfully pretends to bite it.
“I get it,” I say. “I show up out of nowhere, and here I am, doing all the crap he complains about, like eating his food and breathing his air, yet he tolerates it.”
“Yes!” Leo throws his hands up, shooting Melody a smug look. She scowls, shoving his face away as he laughs. “It’s just not like my brother.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t really have an answer. I’m just trying to survive, and your brother? Well, I don’t even know what to say about Lorenzo. He’s an asshole a lot of the time, completely unyielding, but in a refreshing way... I kind of like it. As for why he puts up with me? He’s been bored and the sex is good. Or well, that was his reasoning when I asked.”
Leo doesn’t look disappointed. Quite the opposite, in fact. He grins like a maniac. Melody, on the other hand, opens her book again, muttering, “talk about romantic.”
“Anyway...” I stand back up, holding Buster out. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a sewing kit around here anywhere, would you? A needle? Some thread, maybe?”
“Check the kitchen,” Leo says. “Or the library... or the bathroom... or maybe Lorenzo’s room...”
“So check everywhere?”
“Pretty much.”
I go to walk out when Melody glances up, her brow furrowing. “Is that a teddy bear?”
“Yep,” I say.
“It’s, uh...” She hesitates. “Nice.”
“It’s falling apart,” I say. “I need to fix it back up.”
“Why do you have a teddy bear?” Leo asks before turning to his girlfriend. “Wait, am I allowed to ask that?”
Melody just rolls her eyes at him.
“Oh, it’s not mine,” I say. “It belongs to my daughter.”
I step out into the hallway just as my words seem to strike Leo. “Your what?” he shouts, but I don’t answer, hearing Melody stop him from following me with another line about ‘beeswax’.
I scour the kitchen, finding a hell of a lot of utensils, enough knives to potentially qualify Lorenzo as a one of those Doomsday preppers, but no sewing kit anywhere. I move on to the library, scanning the shelves, squatting down to search a row of built-in cabinets beneath them, and am about to give up and move on when a loud voice cuts through the room. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I jump up, banging my head on a cabinet, and wince as I get to my feet, rubbing my scalp. Shit, that hurt. Lorenzo stands in the doorway, dressed impeccably in a fitted suit, wearing black from head-to-toe, looking... whoa.
“Yo, bro, what the hell?” Leo hollers, coming down the hallway. “Was that a cop that dropped you off?”
Before Leo can barge in, and without acknowledging his question, Lorenzo grabs the library door and slams it right in Leo’s face. I wince again, this time from realization. I was so distracted by the look of Lorenzo in a suit that it didn’t strike me that he just caught me searching through his library.
His library.
You know, the room nobody goes into without his permission?
He caught me all up in the cabinets, digging through his shit.
“I’m looking for a needle and some thread,” I tell him, shutting the cabinet doors. “You know, a sewing kit?”
He watches me incredulously as he comes closer. “Do I look like I fucking knit?”
“Actually, you knit with—” I cut off abruptly when he raises an eyebrow. “Well, you don’t knit with anything, because you don’t knit, but needle and thread, come on... you’ve never had to sew up a cut? Give yourself a few stitches?”
“No,” he says, “that’s why we have doctors.”
“Whatever,” I say, holding up Buster. “A doctor’s not going to perform surgery on this guy.”
Lorenzo pushes his chair around to face me as he sits down. His expression wavers, some of the anger melting as he reaches down to untie his shoes. “I’ve got duct tape.”
“I’m not so sure that’ll work, but thanks.”
He kicks the shoes off, leaning back in his chair. “Suit yourself.”
“Speaking of suits...” I wave toward him. “What’s got you looking so snazzy tonight?”
He undoes his suit coat, shoving it off, and starts rolling up his sleeves. “Had a meeting.”
“With a cop?”
“There was a cop involved, yes. A detective.”
My stomach sinks. “Gabe?”
Lorenzo shoots me a confused look. “Who?”
“Detective Jones,” I say. “You know, the one you call my cop friend?”
“Ah, no, not the one you’re fucking.”
I cringe at how he says that. “Fucked. Past tense. Not currently fucking, nor will there be any future fucking. That battleship has sunk.”
“Fucked,” he repeats, running his hands down his face, letting out a deep sigh. “This is one you’ve never fucked. Name’s Jameson, works Organized Crime in the city.”
“And that required a suit? Not that I’m complaining, because whoa... just haven’t seen you wear one before.”
“Sometimes you’ve gotta play the part, Scarlet. You know that. When most people think of guys like me, they still imagine someone like Michael Corleone, so that’s what they get. It’s kind of funny, really. They’re more terrified of me in a suit with shiny dress shoes than they are when I’m wearing combat boots and carrying a loaded gun.”
“Maybe they’re not more terrified,” I say. “If they’re trembling, heart racing, sweating, I’m saying there’s a chance they might just be turned on.”
He laughs, loosening his collar. “Do you piss your pants when you get turned on, too?”
I step over to him, shrugging. “Depends on how turned on I am.”
He reaches out, grabbing ahold of me, pulling me down for a kiss. It’s soft, slow, and doesn’t last very long before he breaks from my lips. “When’s the last time you showered?”
I push away from him. “Are you saying I stink?”
Before he can answer, I tilt my head down, sniffing, trying to be subtle about it, but he catches on to what I’m doing and laughs.
“If you have to smell yourself, Scarlet, there’s a pretty good chance you’re due to be hosed off.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring how he words that. If you only knew, man. “Right now.”
“Right now?”
“Yep, that’s the last time I showered,” I say, skirting past him. “Right now.”
Look, I know you’re probably over there cringing. I’m filthy, and yeah, I kind of stink. I’m wearing the clothes I slept in, and I haven’t fixed my hair in a few days, just throwing it up in a sloppy bun. So yeah, whatever, cringe all you want, but I’ve had a pretty fucked up life, you know, so don’t judge me.
Trudging upstairs, I haul myself straight into the shower, scrubbing and shaving and shampooing, using all of Lorenzo’s stuff since all I’ve got is my lotion and a toothbrush. Afterward, I brush my hair, slathering on lotion from head to toe before putting on some fresh clothes and heading back downstairs.
He’s gone again. Lorenzo. It has only been about thirty minutes, but the library is empty. Seriously? Sighing, I go to the living room, finding Melody sitting there by herself.
No Leo, either.
“Have you seen Lorenzo?” I ask.
“He left,” she says, glancing up from her schoolwork. “He had to go do something, made Leo drive him. Said it would only take a few minutes.”
Well then...
I approach her, curiously glancing at her book. Elements of Moral Philosophy. I’m not even sure what that means. “Philosophy.”
“Yeah,” she says, making a face. “I thought it would be fun to major in.”
“A degree in philosophy, huh? What kind of job can you get with one of those?”
“Probably the kind that involves a stripper pole.”
She’s being sarcastic, grumbling under her breath, but I laugh at that answer because it’s not far-fetched. “Well, hell, you could’ve saved all that tuition and just gotten a job with me at Mystic.”
She cuts her eyes at me as I sit down. “Mystic?”
“A club I used to dance at,” I say. “Definitely didn’t need a degree to work a pole there.”
Her eyes widen. “Seriously? You’re a—”
“Stripper, yeah... or well, I was.”
“Wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” She cringes. “Ugh, I’m such a dumbass. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to say, you know, that there’s anything wrong with stripping...”
“It’s fine,” I tell her.
“That’s just... wow. I mean, I guess I can see it, you know? You look like... well...”
“Someone who takes her clothes off for money?” I ask, taking a guess at where she’s going with that.
Her face turns red as she shakes her head. “I mean like someone who doesn’t give a crap what anyone thinks about her.”
She stares at me like she wants to ask something, but before she can find the words, headlights flash through the window as a car pulls into the driveway.
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter what people think,” I say, getting back to my feet. “Only I have to live with my consequences.”
Walking out, I nearly run into Leo when he steps through the front door. He stalls, looking at me, his expression falling somewhere between surprise and confusion. “Seriously? A daughter?”
Before I can respond to that, Lorenzo steps in behind him, grabbing ahold of Leo by the head and shoving him past me, to the living room. “Fa ti cazzi tuoi.”
Whoa.
“Geesh, fine,” Leo grumbles, walking off. “No need to get your panties in a twist, bro.”
Lorenzo waves him off. “Suck my nuts.”
I stare at Lorenzo, surprised by the exchange, as he steps toward me, right up against me in the hallway. His suit isn’t put together anymore, his shoes untied, shirt hanging loose.
“You speak Italian?” I ask.
“Some,” he says, leaning down like he’s going to kiss me, but instead he runs his nose along my jawline. “Why? You want me to talk dirty to you?”
“I, uh...” He’s got me flustered as he grabs my hip, pulling me even closer. I shiver, feeling his warm breath on my skin. It’s like he’s breathing me in. “Well, I didn’t, but I kind of do now.”
He laughs. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll teach you all the dirty words you want.”
I hum, tilting my head as his lips trace along my cheek. “All of them?”
His breath is against my ear as he whispers, “Every single one.”
He doesn’t have to say that again.
Pushing away, I snatch ahold of his hand, grasping tightly as I drag him up the stairs. As soon as we reach his bedroom, he slams the door, shrugging off his coat again and tossing it onto the dresser.
It hits with a thud, something in the pocket.
I cast it a curious look but shake it off, distracted when he pulls a gun out from his waistband to set it aside. He reaches for me, tearing at my clothes, but I slap his hands away. Instead, I go for his pants, unbuckling them as I sink to my knees in front of him. Lorenzo stands still, not moving at all.
I pull his cock out and stroke it.
He’s already rock hard.
I don’t hesitate, bringing my lips right to the tip, my tongue swirling around the head before slowly, I take it into my mouth, his cock sliding down my throat.
“Fuck,” he growls, grasping the back of my head as I suck him. “That feels so good.”
Lorenzo’s hands tangle in my still-damp hair, his head tilting back and eyes closing. Soft groans escape his throat, and he stays like that for a moment, just enjoying it, letting me do what I want to do without saying another word.
It’s a few minutes—three, maybe four at most—before he pulls his hand from my hair, reaching down further to nudge my chin.
I look up at him.
He’s watching me now.
We lock eyes, and I keep sucking as he gently runs his fingertips along my face, caressing my hallowed cheek. His expression makes my chest tighten, a softness in his eyes as he tucks some wayward hair behind my ear. His breathing picks up, chest rising and falling faster as he swallows hard, the only signs that let on to him getting close. So close.
“Il mio piccolo dolce trombamica,” he says, his voice low and gritty. He cups my chin, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth, tracing my lips as they slide along his cock. “Vedere il mio cazzo tra quelle belle labbra è una fantasia che mi ha perseguitato dal momento in cui ci siamo incontrati.”
I have no idea what he’s saying, not a fucking clue, but the sound of those words sends sparks through me as they roll right off of his tongue. I stroke him faster, sucking harder, a smirk on his lips as his eyes again drift closed.
Once more, he tilts his head back, jaw going slack, as his hand again tangles into my hair.
He grips harder this time, though, fisting handfuls.
A few seconds pass before he bucks his hips, my nose pressing into his stomach as he holds my head still, fucking my throat. A few thrusts, as I gag, before I feel him spilling. I swallow, grasping his hips to brace myself, but breathing is becoming difficult.
I give him a few seconds, holding my breath, but my chest is tight and he’s not letting go, so I pinch his inner thigh. Hard.
He flinches, shoving away. I fall back onto my ass and inhale sharply.
“Christ, that hurt,” he says, rubbing the spot I pinched.
“Oh, quit whining,” I mutter. “I could’ve just bit you... or, you know, punched you in the balls.”
He glares at me when I say that, giving me an ‘I’d like to see you fucking try’ look, trying to be intimidating, but it’s kind of hard to take him seriously when his cock is just hanging out of his pants.
I smirk. “You know, you’d probably be a lot scarier if your junk wasn’t dangling all up in my face.”
Before the last syllable is completely out of my mouth, he steps toward me, grabbing his cock. “Keep talking shit, I’ll fucking slap you with it.”
Laughing, I throw my hands up defensively, warding him off as he swings it, shoving it right at my face, smacking me in the forehead.
“Oh my god,” I yell, still laughing, shoving him so hard he staggers. “What is wrong with you?”
He shrugs, tucking himself away, zipping his pants up. “You sucked the brain cells right out of my dick with that goddamn Dyson mouth.”
Turning, he starts to walk away from me when I grab his leg. “Whoa, where are you going?”
“To take a shower,” he says, trying to shake me off.
“Oh, hell no,” I say, tugging him back toward me. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He thrusts his leg out, damn near kicking me so I’ll let go. “What do you want?”
“Some reciprocation would be nice,” I say, “but I’ll settle for just knowing what you said in Italian.”
He pauses as he starts to undress, stripping out of his suit, like reciprocation may not only happen but that it might go even further. “I said I’ve been fantasizing about those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock since the moment I met you.”
“Seriously?”
He crouches down in front of me, wearing only his unbuttoned black slacks. “Yes, seriously, my sweet little trombamica.”
“What does that mean?”
A slow smile spreads across his face as he leans closer, kissing me softly, quick pecks on my lips, before he stands back up, saying, “Figure it out, Scarlet.”
“Figure it out, Scarlet,” I grumble mockingly as he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving me kneeling here. Rolling my eyes, I get up and head straight downstairs to where Leo and Melody still hang out in the living room.
Leo looks up at me when I appear. He has questions, I know, but I’m not in the mood to talk about those things, so I beat him to speaking.
“Hey, Leo, you know what a trombamica is?”
His eyes widen. “Uh, yeah...”
“What is it?”
“It’s a... friend.”
“A friend.”
“Yeah,” he says, “one with benefits.”
“A friend with benefits.”
“Just a, uh, more vulgar term.”
My eyes narrow.
Leo’s about to say something else, but I don’t give him the chance, walking back out and stomping upstairs. Unbelievable. I hear the water running in the bathroom and don’t even hesitate, opening the door and walking right in since he never locks anything.
Grabbing the shower curtain, I fling it open, glaring at a naked, soapy Lorenzo. “A fuck-buddy? Really?”
He stands beneath the spray, water cascading down his bare chest. It distracts me momentarily, detracting from my anger, as I follow the trail of water down his body.
“Didn’t take you long to figure it out, trombamica.”
I scowl, looking back at his face. He’s grinning. Smug son of a—ugh. Before I can respond, he grabs me, yanking me beneath the spray. I nearly trip over the edge of the tub as he pulls me into it with him, fully dressed.
“What the hell, Lorenzo? You’re getting me wet!”
“Don’t I always?” he asks with a laugh, grabbing my drenched clothes and tearing them off, flinging them onto the floor before drawing the shower curtain closed again. He shoves me back against the tile wall, and I gasp as he grabs my thighs, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, holding onto him. “Guess I owe you some reciprocation, huh?”
“You’re damn right you do,” I say. “You better make it good, too.”
He grins, kissing me, whispering against my lips, “I’ll do my best.”