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I take off my clothes and lift the comforter to slide in beside my wife, gathering her in my arms, hands going beneath the silk top and bottoms she took to wearing when I’m not home. Needless to say, the air conditioner gets kicked up until I come home only to turn it down. It’s a good compromise for her, not wearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants she used to wear.
“Nico,” she murmurs. I’m an asshole, taking advantage of the softness in her tone, the way she gives herself to me completely while I’m the one working night and day. I’m up and already at work before she rises, and I don’t get home until well after she’s in bed, yet every night, like clockwork, when I reach for her like I am tonight, she gives me what I need.
“Need you, vita mia.” She lifts her arms for me to work the top off and away before going after her bottoms. Goose bumps pebble on her skin as I touch her in every way possible, needing her, needing to know she’s real, writhing beneath my body. I control the way she responds to me, and I know she has no problem giving it to me
“You have me, all of me, always.” I slide between her legs, not holding her in place, allowing her to touch me the way I touch her. “Let me get on top tonight.” It doesn’t take but one smooth move of our bodies, and my back meets the mattress, hands on her hips. Journey’s hand grasps my cock. A hiss leaves me, feeling the amount of pleasure at one movement of her palm until she places my length at her entrance.
“Fuck.” I watch as her cunt slides down my dick, tightening as she drops down, taking me all the way inside. “Ti penso ogni giorno.”I think of you every day,I tell her truthfully, caught up completely in her. My hands cup her tits, thumbs rasping along her nipples, her head tipped back as she uses the tops of my thighs for leverage while she fucks my cock. All the stress, the constant worry, it all slips away as I lose myself inside of her.
TWENTY
Journey
Three WeeksLater
We’re passingin the wind, well, really the night. We’re back to the days when Nico is a late night caller once again. Only here in the middle of the night, barely calling or texting, and on the rare moments he’s home when I’m awake, the conversation is stilted. I’ve tried bringing it up, but every time I start to say something, his stupid phone rings and he’s kissing me, leaving me breathless. I swear if I could get ahold of his phone, I’d throw it on the ground and stomp on it until it disintegrates in tiny little pieces.
“Darling, why don’t we go out to lunch?” Delaney asks on the other end of the line. I have no idea what we’re talking about, lost in the way our marriage is crumbling and trying to figure out what to do. Between my work, his work, and planning a wedding that I didn’t want in the first place, I’m about ready to throw the towel in.
“I’d love to, but I can’t. Tomorrow?” I’m so wrapped up in my own feelings that company is the last thing I need.
“Yes, you tell me when, and I’ll be there. Things will get better after you cry on my shoulder.” God, my best friend is the absolute best.
“I love you, Delaney, never forget that, and if you have time between clients, we’ll do lunch. Today, I must deal with a few pressing matters.” Mainly my husband, who is once again missing. I’ve been patient, and I think my patience has had about enough. I’m more than just a fuck doll he can wring orgasms out of, fall asleep next to, and then leave, like my feelings mean absolutely nothing to him.
“You tell me a place and a time, I’ll be there,” he repeats. The garage door opening alerts me that either Enzo is back, or Nico, though that’s highly unlikely. Knowing my husband, he won’t be home till after midnight. Tonight, things are going to be different, though. I’ll turn away from him, use the period excuse, which isn’t all that untruthful seeing as I’m days away from starting and probably also the reason I’m on edge.
“Sounds good. I’ll call first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll set a date.”
“Love you, girlie. Things will get better.” I glazed over what was going on, preferring to tell him the issues I’m dealing with face to face since, you know, I can’t tell my husband.
“Love you. Talk soon.” I hang up the phone, place it on the counter, and go about finding something for dinner. Assuming I’ll be by myself again tonight, I take out one of the cook-at-home meals that come pretty much prepared, besides the minimal chopping of vegetables, herbs, and whatnot.
“Hmm, what to have? Sliders or gnocchi,” I say to the empty house that’s become my home. Using my condo as an office actually works, and it’s a better tax write-off while also serving a fallback plan, a plan that might be needed before too long. My head is in the refrigerator, meaning I’m not paying attention to the alarm beeping as someone walks in, a hazard that comes with the territory because this house is like a department store. Guys walking in and out, checking doors and windows before leaving, or if Enzo needs something out of Nico’s home office, he does that, too. I’m beginning to feel like a piece of furniture, and it’s starting to really piss me off.
“You make gnocchi from something other than scratch, and you’ll be doing the whole family a disservice, vita mia.” I don’t move my away from the refrigerator, using the cool air to calm the rising anger building up inside me, threatening to bubble over, and if he doesn’t quit talking, I’m going throw the gnocchi at his dumb head. “You’re not going to say hello to your husband?” Yep, I’m going to do it. Dear God, he’s reducing me to violence with the way he’s acting like nothing is wrong.
“Gnocchi it is,” I say under my breath, grabbing the paper bag that has the ingredients I need before I turn around, shutting the double-door fridge with my hip. A little over the top for one person, well, now two. I stay silent as I take him in, willing myself not to cry over the fact that our marriage could mean so little that he can’t see the issue before his eyes. It’s been weeks since he’s been home in the light of day. Surely, Nico isn’t that thick in the head. He’s in a classic suit and tie, and his hair looks like he just had it cut, beard trimmed to perfection. Nico looks like his normal everyday self, except for the dark circles beneath his eyes. I should be sympathetic to him, and I would be, if he’d let me in just a smidge. I’m not asking to know what’s going on every single moment of every single day.
“Journey.” I watch as he walks closer to me, my hand coming up to stop him.
“No, not right now. I can’t do this. For weeks, Nico, it’s been three weeks that I’ve been trying to talk to you. I’ve sat waiting up for you, attempting to wake up earlier to see you, and every time, you shut down. So, I’m going to make the fucking gnocchi because I am starving, then I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” I take one last look at the man who completely owns me with every depth of my being. Right now, though, he’s not the man I’ve known, the man I married. He’s a ghost of that today. I know him; it’s only a matter of time until he’s done keeping his distance. How he’s doing so right now is a shock. I see the set in his jaw, almost as if he’s grinding his teeth against one another, hands fisting and then releasing. I’m not going to him, though. I turn my back and unload the bag.
“Vita mia, let me make this right.” There’s a desperation in his voice, one I only hear when he’s taking me in the middle of the night, both of us lost in the throes of passion.
“I don’t know that you can.” My shoulders sag in defeat. Nico takes that time to come stand behind me, not touching me. Instead, he’s hovering there, waiting for permission. The man who dominates my body in bed is apprehensive right now. That shows me he knows mistakes were made. The one thing I’m banking on is his willingness to fix it.
“I will, Journey, believe me, I will.” His phone chooses that moment to ring.Please don’t answer, please don’t answer, I chant inside my head. He answers it, though, demolishing any hopes and dreams I may have had.
TWENTY-ONE
Nico
“What?”I answer the phone pissed that this fucking thing has yet to stop ringing, even when I told the guys tonight was off-limits. Journey is standing at the stove, shoulders quaking, and here I am, ignoring all the signs of breaking her heart because of one man, a powerful man who continues to slip through our fingers.
“Boss, I know you’re off tonight, but you gotta see this,” Angelo, another guy in the famiglia, says on the other end of the line. Enzo is taking a few hours off after working all day and night, leaving me to answer the phone. Which is fucking bullshit. Things will have to change quickly.
“Where?” My temper is barely holding on by a thread, causing me to use one-word answers.
