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He unbuttons the top of his shirt and shows me a map of Italy over his left pec.
“Sinead, it’s been more than a decade since anyone’s arrested me, but I’ve had this tat since I was sixteen. My mother nearly killed me. I have feared for my life many times, but never have I been so close to death as my mother finding out I got my first tattoo. The police have photographed some of them, so you would know about these, anyway. But I can’t let people see them. I don’t want to always be fully clothed with you.”
“So, no voyeurs when you want to be naked.”
“When either of us wants to be watched, we can, but not if you want me naked. You said it was hot to see me fucking clothed. If you want that, and you want people to watch, then they can. But I have two conditions to that.”
“Okay?”
I have no idea what’s coming next.
“We never have sex in the main room. I can handle knowing someone might watch us through the two-way glass, but if we’re having sex in the main room, then I will know there are people watching you. I will know seeing you is getting them off. No one ever joins us, Sinead. Don’t ask because I will not even consider it. I told you, once we’re together, there’s no one else. I am not a possessive man in general. I come from way too large a family to be. But the idea of watching someone else arouse you or get you off, someone touching you, makes my head want to explode.”
“Good. Because I will fucking tear a bitch apart if she comes near you. I feel the same about the voyeurs and the main room. It’s too personal seeing who’s watching, to know men and women are getting off from watching you. I want that to be mine alone. I won’t share either, Gabriele. I’ve been in non-monogamous nonromantic relationships before. And because I always use condoms with guys, and we have to test regularly, I don’t care if those two men are with other people. We fuck and say goodnight. I have no contact with them outside of the club.”
“Do they know about each other?”
That makes me hesitate.
“Sinead?”
“Yes, they know about each other. They're bi.”
“Are they a couple?”
“Yes.”
“Is that something important to you? Do you want to be shared?”
“With them, I don’t care. With you, no. I don’t want anyone else with us, male or female. But I do want certain things a dildo or vibrator can do instead.”
“That’s fair.”
I nestle back against him, emotionally and physically drained. My body still feels rung dry by those two orgasms. They were, like, cataclysmic. But I’m emotionally worn out from this conversation. It’s been so fucking much to take in. I haveneverhad a conversation like it. Not even remotely close. I feel better about the two of us being on the same page and knowing we want the same thing, but I’m suddenly exhausted. I can’t help but yawn as my eyes drift shut.
“It’s time to take you home.”
Home.
It’s not really home. At least, not his, mine, or ours. But I wish it were ours. Somehow, I think that would be the happiest place I’ve ever been. I’m fucking certifiable.
He helps me onto my feet, and I push down my skirt and run my hand through my hair. I hear buttons being pushed, but he’s squatting in front of a desk drawer. At least I assume it’s a drawer. Maybe it’s a safe. I can see him reach in and take something out, but I don’t know what. Then he’s standing and putting his suit coat back on. He reached for something at his lower back when we got to my apartment. He doesn’t want me to see what he has, and he put his coat back on.
“Gabriele, are you carrying a gun?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t! They will throw you in jail with no possibility of bail. They've released you on a ridiculously high bail. You’ll lose your freedom if the cops find out.”
“Sinead, I will always take that risk because it’s way less than being without one. There’s no fucking chance I won’t have one when I’m with you. I carry a knife too. I will protect you any way I have to, and you already know being my attorney, let alone anything else, comes with risks. This isn’t negotiable. If you can’t live with it, then you can’t be my attorney or anything else.”
I can only stand there and blink. My mind is scrambled eggs. He steps around the desk, but he doesn’t get any closer to me. He waits to see what I do. I nod, but I don’t have words right now. The gun isn’t what freaks me out. It’s knowing he might have to use it to protect me.
What the ever-loving fuck have I gotten myself into?
ChapterEleven
Gabriele
