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“Huh?”
I smirk. I carry her wet body out of the shower and stand her up. I towel both of us off with the same towel. I kiss the top of her wet head.
I jump into my clothes.
Gwen is standing in the bathroom wearing only a towel. She looks like a wet noodle. I lead her back to our bed by the hand. She sits down on the edge of the mattress. I pull the towel off, so she is butt naked. I want to see what’s mine before I go.
“Go back to bed. Rest that pussy of yours. I will see you later.”
I walk downstairs to the kitchen and grab a cup of coffee. Maria is putting groceries away. I am hoping the sounds of our fucking in my bathroom did not carry downstairs. The grey-haired little Italian cook always wears a black skirt, black blouse, and white apron. She always looks professional. She has worked for me for years. She is one of the few people in the world I trust. She is like a second Mother to me. She can say anything to me.
“Good morning, Maria. Could you prepare a nice dinner for Gwen and me tonight?” I ask as I kiss her cheek.
“Good morning, Bobby. Do you mean a romantic dinner?”
I roll my eyes at her. When I rolled my eyes at her as a child, Maria used to tap my arm with a wooden spoon while muttering Italian. I smile at the memory as I sip my cup of hot, black coffee.
“You know Bobby, your wife needs attention – she is lonely.”
Maria puts her hands on her hips.
“I know Maria. I have been busy. I plan to spend this evening paying lots of attention to her.”
Maria smiles and blushes. Then I hear her mumble, “He is going to make that girl sore.”
I leave the penthouse. My bodyguards appear magically behind me. We climb into the waiting SUV.
This is crazy. My life is going off the rails because of the Russians and all I can think about is my wife!Why hasn’t my obsession with her worn off?I should have lost interest in her by now. Fuck! I think about her all the time. I even enjoy watching her sleep! My feelings for her are like a sappy greeting card.Is this lust or love?I don’t know. I can’t tell which way is up or down when it comes to Gwen. I feel off balance. Can’t control her. Can’t control my feelings for her.
Not lust. I feel something powerful and permanent for her and it scares the hell out of me! I never wanted anyone to have any control over me, now this hot little blonde controls my every thought! I don’t understand. She is leading me around by my cock and doesn’t even know it. My cock is wrapped around her little finger – just waiting to do her bidding. Fuck!
Chapter Twelve
“He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious.”
? Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Bobby
Iclimb into the passenger side of my SUV. Frankie and Gino are waiting and climb into the backseat. I tell my driver to go to my father’s mansion.
I call Dominick. I tell him to move Jasmine to someplace safe for a few weeks. Keep her out of sight just in case the Antonovich brothers think she had something to do with their missing soldier. I also tell Dom to beef up security at “On All Fours” just in case they attack the club. Russians are vengeful fuckers. They will retaliate when they discover Boris is missing. They will assume, and rightly so, that the Outfit had something to do with it.
After I end the call with Dominick. Vanessa calls. I don’t answer. I let it go to voicemail.What does she want?To fuck. I listen to her voicemail. She misses me. She wants me to come over tonight – she gives me her address. I text Vanessa: “No.” Not happening. I only want my wife.Wow!Bet you never thought I would say that.
Gino and Frankie follow me through my father’s mansion. I find my father waiting for me on the patio in his backyard. Gwen and I got married here. Seems like a lifetime ago.
The old man is sitting at a round, glass. and wrought iron table drinking a cup of coffee. He is wearing overalls – his gardening clothes. An antipasto tray with sliced fresh fruit, is on the table. He is gazing at his flower beds and vegetable garden. The birds are chirping. My father’s sunny backyard is an idyllic peaceful place, which is ironic, since he spent his life being a brutal gangster.
“Sir.”
“Bobby, grab a plate, help yourself.”
I sit at the table on the chair across from my father. I put my Ray Ban Sunglasses on. Gino and Frankie sit in a couple of lawn chairs about six feet away from me. My father’s bodyguards are spread out in the backyard, keeping watch.
I grab some watermelon. Teresa, his cook and housekeeper, brings me a cup of coffee. I don’t even need to ask. I straighten the crease on the right leg of my khaki pants.
“Bobby, how is Gwendolyn?”
