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“You two better not be fucking in here,” my second says, his booming voice filling the small closet.
“Lilah won’t let me fuck her,” Dante complains like a petulant child.
“That’s because he’s still letting his little goumad touch him,” I say, stepping away.
“She’s not my goumad, Lilah.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot, I’m the goumad technically.”
“Jesus Christ, Lilah—” He sees the small tilt of my lips, sees the game, the teasing, and shakes his head.
“You two done in here?”
“I mean . . . ,” Dante starts.
“You gotta be done in here. Dinner’s in five,” Marco says, changing his request to a demand.
“Got it. I’ll leave. You let Lilah know when three minutes have passed,” Dante says, stepping forward, but I grab his arm and move him back.
“No. Marco, you let Dante know when three minutes have passed. I’ll be heading out now,” I say, ducking under the big man’s arm.
“Marco—” I turn to face my husband, looking over Marco’s arm as I do.
“Remember, Dante. Marco’s one of my men now,” I say with a smile and then walk out the closet, Marco clicking the door behind me.
But as I walk away, I hear that deep, bone-warming laugh softly following me in the distance.
EIGHTEEN
-Dante-
Dinner starts and I’m seated next to Lilah by some stroke of luck, with Angela across from me and Paulie across from Lilah.
It's lucky because I think if Angela were next to my wife, she might just slap her, and if Angela were next to me, I don’t even want to know what Lilah would do.
I can just imagine her kicking a pointy heel into the other woman’s shin and giving her a sweet smile of fake apology.
It’s been an eye-opening experience, seeing how my sweet wife is just as possessive about me as I am about her. The past week of this game, of her demanding I drop Angela, was just that—a game. Who would break first? Who could resist the other?
But it was also so much more.
It was a chance to learn my wife in a different way. The first night I was alone with Delilah, I couldn’t keep my hands off her and that never changed. Having this forced celibacy has almost been a cleanse. It was much more similar to how things were during those days at the club, when I would sit in the shadows and pester her with questions, dying to learn more about her—anything about her.
The nights have been spent like teenagers, kissing and giggling and talking, but not much more, despite how much I know we both would have enjoyed it.
How much we both wanted it.
But, while those nights have been nice, I’m done with this.
I need my wife.
And now that she’s seated next to me, I know I can plot my defeat of this woman.
* * *
The game starts during the dinner course, some kind of ravioli in a cream sauce that I know before she even picks up her fork, Lilah will just push around to make it look like she ate.
I also know I’ll be bringing her food tonight, making sure she’s fed and happy, always.
