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“So, what do you remember from our time together five years ago?” he asks, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room and leaning back with his arms crossed.
He’s putting on a front, and it’s working. I’m already warming up to him just based on the way that he speaks to me, even if it’s a bit predatory at its roots. I want him to overtake me, to claim me as the prize that he captured.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Why do you want to know that so badly? Don’t you remember as much as I would?” I ask cautiously.
“We’re going to be stuck here for a while, so indulge me,” he replies as he reaches for a box of cigars on the side table next to him. He lights a cigar, glowering at me like a snake from across the room as he begins to smoke it.
It takes a moment for me to get my bearings again, and his demeanor is already arousing me from across the room. I hate myself for having so little self-control, but this is a moment that I truly never believed I would get to live.
“I remember every detail of it. I remember the way you looked at me after you kissed me the first time, the way you started to feel my body as soon as we were behind the door of my hotel room,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush again and sighing in frustration.
He leans in a little, intrigued by my reply. “Yeah? Did you ever think about me after you left Italy?”
I would laugh out loud if it was even the smallest bit appropriate. “I thought about you all the time. Some days, it was near constantly.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really? I guess I can’t blame you.”
God, what an asshole.
Despite the fact that he’s sucking his own dick in real-time with this conversation, I want to pour myself out to him and tell himjust how muchI really thought about him. In the shower, at the dinner table, in the middle of meetings where I’d picture him fucking me in front of everyone in the conference room.
“That can’t be all of it. I remember you beingverywilling and submissive. Is that how you normally are with men?” he asks, taking another puff of his cigar.
“I don’t know. You were just... so commanding. It felt like the right thing to do. And I really did love it,” I confess.
I don’t even want to look directly at him. His stare is so potent, so intentional, that I feel like he can see into my soul. If he could, he’d see just how much of a grip his memory has had on me. Would he think I was pathetic for holding onto this one experience so tightly?
“Maybe I felt like that was what you needed. You needed some guidance, someone to show you what you like,” he replies.
His voice is so low and smooth with just a little bit of a rasp from the cigar smoke. I was so upset with myself when I forgot what his voice sounded like over time. Hearing it again, just as I did in that hotel room, fills me with the same insurmountable longing that I’d felt then.
When I realize that this man is the father of my children, I physically recoil. The idea of their father is so foreign to them. They have no concept of him whatsoever, yet here I am, cuffed to his bed in the most unpredictable circumstance I could have imagined. Being with him again, even in such a compromising position, feels alien to me as well.
Not having anyone around to help me raise my kids has left a sort of grey hole in my life when others interact with me. There’s always a presumption of a father, especially with twins. How could someone have twins without the father’s involvement? Isn’t that justirresponsible?
My mother was furious with me for being so careless, and I didn’t have it in me to try and explain to her that I wasn’t in my right mind when Marcello and I had sex. She wouldn’t have understood the gravity of his energy, the way he worked his way into my mind and took hold of it within minutes of meeting. She would have beenluckyto have met a man who could do that to her, and she would have had a much more understanding perspective if she had. In a way, I feel fortunate to have known such passion, even if it did end up costing me my freedom.
Ironically, it costs me my freedom this time as well.
I look around the room again, trying to picture where he must have fucked other women that he’s brought here. The mental image makes my chest burn, but the jealous, possessive girl in me hijacks my rational thinking abilities and dangles them in front of my face.
Oh, they definitely fucked on the chair in the corner where he’s sitting. I bet he sat there and jerked off while he watched two women have sex on his bed.
There’s a patio connected to the bedroom with a sliding glass door that I hadn’t paid much attention to before. It’s pretty dark outside, so I didn’t feel compelled to try and see out of it when all I could see were street lights and the glow of windows across the neighborhood.
I can picture Marcello with some beautiful Italian supermodel with three-foot-long black hair, fucking her and choking her as she leans over the edge of the balcony, moaning and begging for more.
“Did you ever think about me?” I ask, aware of the fact that the answer might devastate me.
He pauses to put the cigar out, leaning back just as he was in his cocky, unimpressed position. “I did. I thought about you quite a lot for a long time. But life is crazy, and you have no idea what kind of stress I’ve been under. It’s nothing personal.”
My heart wants to crumble, but I can’t give him any more power over me than he has. He literally has me in bondage on his bed as he leers at me from across the room. If he knew how devastated I was, he would probably get high from it. If one thing is obvious about him, he’s obsessed with power.
“I mean, there’s actually a high chance that you do know what I’ve been up to since I still fully believe that you’re a cop,” he continues, changing his tone from smokey to flat and disinterested.
“I already told you I’m not a cop. If I were a cop, I would have been able to find you a hell of a lot easier than I did,” I reply, disappointed that he’s chosen to change the direction of the conversation.
