“Head” was definitely the word of the day.
My coochie is still tapping an SOS after I came like Niagara Falls. He feasted on me like I was a five-course meal with no leftovers. His mouth pisses me off, but that tongue magic is next level. Who spits in someone’s pussy while they’re in a headstand?
I don’t have a claim on him, but I feel some kind of way being locked up after our deal and last night. Is it wrong to expect more than a Tubi production with a pillowcase and a Lunchable? I don’t think so!
My offense is offended. Because what do you mean I need to wear a sheet during transport? I don’t know where I am and don’t have a phone to tell anybody if I did.
I huffed and puffed inside that fabric until Alfred told our driver to pull over so he could deal with me. Two goons already have me sandwiched in the back seat with their thighs digging into my knees. Where do they think I’m going?
A girl defends herself one time and is suddenly a threat to a crime organization.
“How much longer?” I ask around a chocolate chip cookie.
Benny can still kiss my ass. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to get a light Bologna and American Lunchable to Alfred for my mid-morning snack, like his refrigerator doesn’t have better meats and cheese.
Alfred glances at me through the rearview mirror. “Ten minutes,” he says in clipped English. “In five—“
“Yeah, yeah. Put on the hood.” I brush the crumbs from my pajama shorts, which takes more effort than it should with these plastic handcuffs, while between Dummy One and Dummy Two.
Alfred agreed to no pillowcase, provided I wear the zip ties “for their safety.” I’m not going to an unknown location looking like the baby Michael Jackson dangled out of the window.
The road winds and curves. At the five-minute mark, the pillowcase goes back on, obscuring any hints as to where I am. Smooth pavement meets gravel. The car pitches up a hill and slows before it stops. The back doors click and the seats dip.
“We’re here,” Alfred says. He cuts off the zip ties and removes my pillowcase.
My eyes adjust to the sun heating my skin. A string of lazy clouds drifts over green hills, reaching for the coast. Trees decorate the property between orchards. A low-pitched roof rests in the shade of the trees cast across a gravel pathway. It’s peaceful, a far cry from the gaudy estate with the dungeon.
“It’s not a castle next to the cliff,” I say to the stone facade of a single-story house.
“The kitchen and dining room are in the primary villa. You may choose one of the five guest rooms where you’ll stay for the duration of your time here.” Alfred motions for me to enter the door he’s opened.
I catch a whiff of his aftershave hanging on his two-piece linen set with a chain. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.” He nods in stoic Billy Dee.
“I bet you broke a lot of hearts back in the day.”
He grimaces. “I assure you I did not. This way.”
The scent of jasmine rolls through the open windows from the gardens.
“This is Benny’s house?” My eyes slide from the tiled floor to the large exposed beams weaving across the ceiling.
“Sir Bennici resides here, yes,” Alfred says, back straight and a hand in his pocket. “He owns several properties across Sicily, but this is home.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
If I was shown this house and told a crime boss lives here, I wouldn’t believe it. Mama Vee would make herself right at home, talking about the aged tiles, found objects mounted to the walls, and whatever else she learned fromBetter Homes & Gardens. This is the kind of house from a romantic comedy about a middle-aged woman who finds herself again while falling in love with the groundskeeper. It gives Nancy Meyers, white lady cozy, in feel-good beiges and creams.
I peek inside a room and sigh. A bed with a wrought-iron headboard faces wooden doors parted to a private balcony.
“Bougainvillea.” Alfred points to the vibrant fuchsia blooming from thick stems, hovering above the iron railing. “This is one of my favorite rooms. You’ll enjoy it here.”
I smile. “Thank you, Alfred.”
He huffs.
“Alfonso,” I correct.
