Sick Bastard (15 page)

“That was some friendly banter, that’s all.” I inform him.

“It was so much more than that, so why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not,” I assure him. His lip curves into a painfully slow salacious smile.

“Baby, you’re awfully fucking beautiful when you lie to me.”

Pushing away from the counter, he drags his eyes over my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He looks hungry. He looks feral, and he looks like he’s ready to get wild. Taking a step toward me, I instinctively step back. “London,” he drawls arrogantly, summoning me with a crooked finger.

“I don’t want you to fuck me.” Why am I acting immature and lying? We’re both adults. This could go one of two ways: We fuck and walk away, getting what we feel we need from each other, or this could turn nasty. Is it worth giving it a try and see what happens? Yes.

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least be convincing.”

“Bastard.”

He’s on me in an instant. I have no time to move and there’s no chance for me to run. His overpowering body is flush with mine, pinning me back. “You want me to fuck you. I can smell it on you. I could bend you over the kitchen island and stick it to you good and proper, or I could fuck you right here against the fridge, but either way, you’ll take it any way I give it to you.” I’ll take both. Fuck, I’ll take it all.

“I wouldn’t fuck you―”

“If I were the last man alive,” He finishes for me with a deep laugh.

He runs a hand under the shirt I’m wearing and works his fingers over my stomach and up to my tits. My head falls against the fridge in defeat. I don’t want to fight this anymore. A finger trails around my nipple before wrapping his full hand around it, kneading it slowly. He groans as I shove my chest into it.

He begins kissing up my neck to my jaw. Dragging his lips against my skin, he tells me the dirty things he wants to do to my body. Big, deft fingers pinch and roll my nipple as his lips work their way to my ear and I almost come. “So beautiful, so smart, and so goddamn mean.”

That big hand of his opens and drags down my stomach to the waist of my pants. They’re two too big, leaving no room for much of a fight. He pushes them down my legs, then shoves his own down where they fall to his feet. His hands curve around my ass and move to the back of my legs, lifting them up around his waist and with no hesitation, he shoves his dick inside of me. “But you’re a horrible fucking liar, baby.”

Once he’s in, he doesn’t move and it’s beautiful torture. “
Please
move,” I moan into his neck. He pulls back just a little and with one hard thrust, he buries himself deep and growls, “If you want me to fuck you, let me savor it. I’ve wanted this for a long fucking time, London, and I’m gonna enjoy every goddamn second of it.”

My back hits the fridge in jarring thuds, but I could care less. My thighs and ass are a wet mess and I can barely hold on, but it’s just too good to stop. Dante is relentless as he pounds into me. This man is
not
overcompensating for a fucking thing. His dick fills me, stretches me, and then some. I’m a fucking mess.

When I come, I come hard. He keeps thrusting, letting me ride out my orgasm and I finally hear him grunt, right before he pulls out. I watch as cum shoots out of his slit and all over my stomach, all the way up my chest while he groans and shudders. Holy shit.

I lost my shirt at some point so he could suck on me, and now I watch him do something I would never expect, but Dante doesn’t do anything I expect. He runs his hand through his wet, sticky cum and rubs it all over my belly and around my tits while he watches himself do it, looking fascinated. It reminds me of a caveman, but it’s so fucking hot.

“You made a mess, London,” he whispers against my mouth, running the tip of his tongue over my lips. I watch him glance between my face and the lovely mess he’s made on my body. I see pride glowing in his black eyes when I look down too.

“I need a shower.”

“The fuck you do. I like you covered in me.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Yeah, but I can see it in your eyes that you love it.”

No truer words have ever been spoken.

Dante

My chest heaves and my legs feel fucking weak, but my dick is still hard and throbbing. All I can smell is London all over my skin; coconut and sex. I feel complacent and satisfied, which is an awful combination of lethal emotions.

Taking a deep breath, I try to hold it off. I try to push back the need to fuck her again. I got a taste and the opposite of what I thought would happen, happened. I’ve lost all my goddamn sense with her, and now I’m mess of disturbing emotions.

Looking over my shoulder, I see her spread out on my bed. Her naked backside with that perfectly round ass has me wanting to go again, especially when I see that messy hair that I held in my fist just moments ago.

After I fucked her in the kitchen, we brought it to the bedroom where I could spread her out and feast on every inch of her. Just like I got myself all over London, I’ve got London all over me and I love it.

“That was … that was intense,” she says with a satisfied sigh. Yeah, that shit was definitely
something
.

She touches my shoulder blade and traces my skin―her soft hands make me tense. “You have tattoos.” She states.

“I do.” Do they bother her? Does she hate them? Does she not like mine? Fuck, someone just shoot me already.

“But you wear suits,” She says, sounding amused.

“And you’re college student with one.” Turning my head slightly, I catch that rosary snaking around her ankle with the cross resting on the top of her foot.

“Good point. Well, I like them,” She muses softly. Good.

The bed dips behind me and the sheet around my waist pulls away as she sits up, “I should go.” That’s not gonna happen, at least not yet.

“You’re staying.”

“I am?” I can hear the challenge in those two words and the answer is yes, she is. After having the hottest, most amazing fuck of my life, I want more. Plus I’m hungry. I worked up an appetite and need fuel to keep going.

“I ordered food when I got up to go to the bathroom, so you’ll stay and eat with me.” Getting off the bed, I grab another pair of sweats and leave her in the bed. If I stay in here with her any longer, looking freshly fucked, neither one of us will be eating food any time soon.

~~~~~~

She sways her hips when she walks into the room and I almost choke on my coffee. I thank God that she takes the seat at the breakfast bar across from me because if she were closer, I couldn’t promise I’d keep my hands to myself. For just having sex with a complete stranger, she’s not the least bit nervous or self-conscious around me.

I’ve never done the after sex thing ... ever. I take them to a hotel and when I’m finished, I escort them to the door and slam it in their faces, yet here I am now, feeding one. What’s the rule? Don’t feed them or they’ll come back? I push a few plates toward her. “Hungry?”

I ordered one of everything in hopes I’d find something she likes, and she goes straight for the muffin. She doesn’t pick at it or pop dainty little bites into her mouth like other women do. No, London takes a hearty bite.

So she’s not one of those women who won’t eat in front of people. I’m a fan of appetites. It’s a quality I appreciate.

I’m glad she eats, really, because she’s gonna need the energy if she keeps wearing what she is around me. “Will you stop fucking staring at me? You’re creeping me out.”

“Do I really creep you out?” Creepy is one of those words that you don’t want yourself described as. It’s sort of like the word cute―a little offensive, and a whole lot of annoying. I’m neither creepy nor cute, but I’ll be whatever she wants me to be as long as she stays.

“Yes.”

“Why am I creepy?”

“You follow me around, show up wherever I seem to be, and you look at me like you wanna kill me sometimes.”

“I don’t want to kill you, haven’t I already covered that?” There are a lot of people floating around this world I’d like to kill, or have killed, but London isn’t one of them.

“I don’t know if I believe you.” Well at least she’s honest. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t.

“Fair enough.”

Her eyes are still smudged in black, her lips are bruised red, and her hair’s a wet tangled mess on top of her head, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman so perfect. She’s beautiful just the way she is.

“Still being creepy, Dante.” I’m not gonna apologize for it. I do love when she says my name, though. Not many people in my life call me that and hearing her say it does bad shit to me.

“Do you care?”

“No, not really. It’s just you, I guess.”

“Get used to it.” I tell her plainly.

“Why? Do you plan to stalk me after today?” I do. I don’t plan to stop. It’s become a cruel compulsion I can’t just kick.

“Yes.” She licks her lips and gives me a slow, seductive smile.

“I would expect nothing less from you.”

For a while she eats and stares out the window absentmindedly. I hold my post across the island, trying desperately to keep my composure reeled in. After a long silent moment, she speaks.

“Can I use your phone to call Matt?” I use this as my one and only opportunity

“Only if you’ll finally have dinner with me tonight.” For a moment she’s silent. I know she’s thinking through her options here and she also knows she has none. She’s gonna finally have that dinner I’ve asked for twice now.

“So if I say no, then I can’t use your phone?”

“Exactly.”

“Well then. I’ll assume that I have no choice in the matter, is that correct?” Right again. She makes it sound like I’m putting her out or something, but I call it making her choices easier for her to make.

“Correct.”

Sticking a hand out, she grins. “Phone, please.”

I give her my phone and watch her wander over to the window. She talks with her hands and speaks loudly. She smiles and giggles throughout their conversation, and I can truly see that Matt means a great deal to her. She seems to light up anytime he’s around. If I’m going to continue this with her, I had better get used to their relationship because clearly, he’s not going anywhere.

“I can’t go with you tonight, Matt. I’m being forced to have dinner with a creep.” She smiles sweetly at me while listening for a moment and then she laughs. “Yes, he’s a very handsome creep.” She’s killing me here. “Sure, you can come,” she says and lifts an eyebrow, begging me to challenge her, but I don’t. I’m not a stupid man. I can give in a little to get what I want.

She hangs up and hands the phone to me, “So I’m a handsome creep?”

Cocking her head to the side, she levels me with a serious look. “Who said I was talking about you?”

She’s not like anyone I’ve met before. She keeps me on my toes and questioning everything. “You know, London, I’ve met so many people and most I don’t remember. I’ve been everywhere there is to go and done everything there is to do, and not once in my thirty-three years have I met someone like you.” I tell her sincerely.

“You’re thirty-three?” She yells at me. Out of all the shit I just said, that’s what she caught? “Seriously, London?”

“It’s a valid concern.” She points out. I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into with this girl. “Yes, I am. Does it bother you?” She looks a little embarrassed suddenly.

“No … and Dante?”

“Yes?” I counter hesitantly. I’ve no clue what’s about to pop out of her mouth. She smiles and wrinkles up her nose in a cute way I hate to love.

“You’re definitely not like anyone I’ve ever met before, either. As much as you scare me sometimes, I’ll admit that I like it, more than I probably should.”

London

My car rolls to a stop in front of his building as I wait on the sidewalk. A very tiny part of me wants to stay, but my sensible side knows better. Nothing good would come of it if I walked back in there, into his arms and into his bed.

Opening the car door, I look over my shoulder one last time at the strangest, most insanely unnerving man I’ve ever met. I can’t stop the smile on my face because for some fucked up reason, I like all his creepy, stalker tendencies. It’s just like me to pick the unstable one. Of course I can’t be drawn to a grocer or a lawyer, someone with a stable, sound life. No, I have to pick the odd one.

Giving him a final look, I see him standing just inside the double doors to his building, watching me with his hawk-like gaze and unreadable expression. He’s beautiful―so insanely beautiful.

~~~~~~

Standing in the kitchen, I whip up some lunch for my grandfather, who insists he’s not coming for lunch, but I know him better than that. He’ll pillage my fridge and raid my cabinets if I don’t have something already made for him.

Tipping a can of cannellini beans into the bowl of romaine, green beans, red onions, and black olives, I go to work on pouring the olive oil over the top. Adding a little bread, it’s the perfect lunch, although I’m sure Grandfather will have something to say about not having meat.

There’s a knock on my front door before it opens, “
Mia bella ragazza
?”

“In the kitchen,” I call back.

My grandfather isn’t a handsome silver fox, nor is he suave and dapper. With a balding head and a rim of messy gray hair, he looks much older than his age. His face is aged and lined with creases and wrinkles that tell stories of a hard life. As I look at him today, his face is unshaven and his eyes are tired.

What he lacks in classic looks or handsome features, he makes up for in ruggedness and the personality of a saint. He’s gentle and loving, kind and caring. He’s been the only constant parent in my life.

I’ve been told that he’s a horrible man. The stories were told to me growing up, but I’ve never seen that man. I do know of him to be a businessman who’s worked hard his whole life in the Import/Export business, with ports all over the world, making him not only one of the hardest working men I know, but also a very wealthy one. He has a tough exterior and doesn’t take any shit when it comes to his business or his family. I think the stories were drawn out by people he may have fired or was less than gracious with. He’s been nothing but loving with me, Matt, and anyone I’ve ever seen him with.

“I made lunch,” I say as he flops into a chair at the island, shaking his head.

“I do not come over for food,” he mutters in his deep accent. Sure he doesn’t. Today is only a salad, but I make the only home cooked meals he gets.

“Well you get it anyway. Matt! Come and eat.”

“You sound like your Grandmother, always yelling like a banshee.” He laughs.

“Well I’ve gotta feed my guys, and Matt needs a good yelling at every now and then.”

“You know how to take care of an old man,
cara mia
.”

~~~~~~

I spend the rest of my afternoon lounging by the pool and gossiping with Matt after our lunch date with my grandfather. I try hard not to think about Dante but it’s useless.

The sex was insane. If he could fuck me to death, I think he would’ve. I could tell he wanted to hurt me by the way his hands would shake and ball up into fists when he touched me. He’s a man that you just know is on the very edge of being violent at times, but he never slipped. The possibility was thrilling and scary. As wrong and disturbing as it is, I wanted him to lose control with me. I wanted to see what it would feel like for him to play out his fantasies, no matter how morbid they could be, on me. It’s thrilling to imagine how far he could go. I want to know.

Matt flops down beside me, munching loudly on some chips and taking me out of my fantasy. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“Nothing.” I say with a laugh.
Crunch.

“Slut.”
Crunch.
I’m going to slap him if he crunches in my face one more time.

“You’re a pig. I thought gay men had better manners.”

“You thought wrong, babe.”
Crunch
. I can see that. Ten years and he still grosses me out. Getting up off my lounger, I head inside.

“I’m gonna leave you up here alone to eat like a pig.” He just shrugs and stuffs more chips in his mouth. “Oh, and Matt? You’re not coming tonight.” I tell him.

“It figures! Need help with your hair later?”
Crunch
.

“Maybe!” As long as he’s not eating.

~~~~~~

I take a long, hot shower. With a towel wrapped around me, I head to my room and to my dresser, grabbing my strapless bra and my favorite pair of lace boy short panties. Once I throw them on, I twist my wet hair into a tight bun before I turn to walk to my closet and damn near have a fucking heart attack. “
H-how
the fuck did you get in here?” I stutter, wondering how he got into my apartment. “Did you break into my home?” I ask. He just ignores me and continues to stare.

I should be terrified, but oddly enough, I’m not. The breaking in is a little fucked up, but I was just passed out drunk in his apartment not 24 hours ago and I woke up feeling like death, but I woke up,
not
dead. I think he wants to fuck me more than he wants to kill me for now. I don’t
feel
like he’d physically hurt me in a “beat me up” sort of way, but emotionally is completely up for debate. I need to keep my emotions out of whatever this is.

Looking me up and down, he rubs the back of his neck and starts to fidget with his jacket. “Is that what you’re wearing?” He asks as he stares at my tits. I look down at myself.

“Of course not, you idiot.”

Taking a step into my room, he smirks at me knowingly. “Do you know how to knock?” He’s jumped from the small offense of stalking to breaking and entering. This is an all-time low for him. Raising a clinched fist, he pounds hard on my door, twice.

“There, I knocked. Are you happy, Princess” I just look at him like he’s stupid. “If you plan on wearing that out, I think we should order in.” He tells me seriously.

“Nice try.” It might be fun to slip on a trench coat and go in only this. It would make for one hell of a dinner, that’s for sure.

“Can you blame a guy for wanting to
eat
in? Because after this morning, that―” he waves a hand up and down my body, “has been all I can think about. It’s very distracting.” I could say the same for him, considering I just scrubbed the rest of him off my body.

He looks distracting himself. He’s wearing an impeccable charcoal suit, but it’s not just any suit, it’s a full three-piece Italian cut suit with a crisp black shirt, black and white tie, cufflinks, and a pink pocket square. He’s dressed to the nines. His hair is fashioned into the usual mess that makes my panties damp. His face still needs a shave, but he still looks lickable. He’s finely crafted, psychotic perfection.

“London?” His tone is teasing. I’ve been caught staring him down too.

“What?”

“You don’t get some clothes on, we won’t be leaving.”

“Is that another promise?”

“Get ready,” He mumbles and points over my head to the bathroom, clearly not finding me funny. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he turns on his heels and intentionally starts to ignore me. Giving me a final heated glance over his shoulder he says, “Now,” and walks out of my room.

“So disappointing,” I mutter back under my breath.

Standing at the bathroom counter, I muss with my hair. Looking into the mirror I catch Dante lingering by the door

“Why did you show up so early? You didn’t give me a time so I was thinking you’d show up about seven-thirty or eight.”

“I didn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind and disappear into the night on me. I’m not in the mood to chase you, but don’t think I won’t if you get a wild hair and decide to try.”

“So your answer was to break into my apartment?”

“Yes. I was outside, taking a few calls when I saw Matt leave. I came up, I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I didn’t feel like waiting so I let myself in.”

Rolling my eyes, I finish up the task of making myself look pretty, but I go with simple makeup and my hair down.

He watches me intently until his phone rings, requiring him to leave the room. He answers as he walks out and toward my bedroom. I guess he’s ready to watch me dress now.

~~~~~~

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dante demands. Looking up from my selection, I find him standing in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking irritated.

“Picking shoes,” I tell him.

Shaking his head, he holds a hand out to me and says, “Get up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get. Up. You’re taking too long, and if you continue to wear what you’re in, I told you we won’t be leaving at all. I’m dead set on taking you to dinner so move, it’s my turn now.”

“Seriously?” I’m not leaving my wardrobe for the night in his hands.

“Yes, London. I’m deadly serious.” Reluctantly, I move and let him take my place. I watch as he brushes a hand through rows of clothing ‘til he gets to the dresses. There’s a contemplative scowl on his face while he moves them away, one by one. Why is he always so serious?

Pulling out a pink, cross back lace dress, he shoves it towards me. I notice that it matches his pocket square perfectly.

“This.” He demands. Not a bad choice.

Squatting down, he grabs a pair of shoes, being precise and quick with his selection. I have a nagging feeling that he’s already dug through my closet before. He looks like a man who knows where to find what he wants in there. My white Belly Nodo Christian Louboutin’s are held up and shoved at me to see.

“And these.” Reaching a hand out to take them, he shakes his head, “Get dressed, shoes after.”

“Alright, Boss.” I salute him.

“I’m not sure I feel like sharing you with the world tonight.”

“No?”

“Fuck no.” Jumping off the bed, he goes to the chair in the corner and pulls it out for me. “Sit down.”

He reaches to grab my shoes as I sit down. Crouching down in front of me, he runs a finger from my thigh to the side on my foot, giving it a tap, “Up.”

Setting my foot in his hand, he taps my painted toes one by one, a simple smile playing on his lips. “Did I tell you I have a thing for women’s feet? ” That’s a little … gross? I’m not a feet person, but to each their own fetishes.

“No, you didn’t.”

Laughing softly, he says, “Well now you know, and I think yours are my favorite.” Thanks, I guess.

Sliding my shoe on, he repeats the process with the other. He’s slow and meticulous, taking this job seriously and it doesn’t make me laugh like I usually would at such a thing. It feels endearing, like I’m important enough to take his time and appreciate the task, even if it’s just for my feet. He’s showing me that they need love too.

My skin breaks out into goose bumps as he rubs his hands up and down my calves. It’s sends shivers everywhere. He leans back and admires his job. “Perfect.” Standing up slowly, he folds himself out to his intimidating height and holds his hand out to me, “Come on,
cara
. It’s time to go.”

~~~~~~

I’m swept into the small Italian restaurant with Dante’s hand resting on my lower back, guiding me in as he walks damn near attached to my hip. A man greets us at the door, “Good evening,
Signore
. Your table is right this way.”

People stare as we walk by and floating conversations dull into hushed whispers. The room dies to only kitchen noise and scattered whispers. Men sitting at tables nod respectfully at Dante, while some raise their glasses as he walks by. It reminds me of how people act when my grandfather walks into the room. It’s fear, it’s love, it’s intimidation, but most of all, it’s respect.

Our waiter graciously pulls out my chair for me and my napkin is folded for me onto my lap before I’m smoothly and effortlessly pushed into our table. “
Signore,
your usual?” The waiter asks briskly.

“Yes.” Dante grunts without taking his eyes off me. The man scuttles off, leaving us alone.

“You’re beautiful, London.” He whispers softly. I can feel the light blush rise on my cheeks at his sweet words

“Thank you.”

“Maybe beautiful isn’t a strong enough word for how I see you. It doesn’t do you justice.” Oh.

The well-dressed waiter returns with a bottle of wine. Setting it on the table, he presents it like an award. He begins telling us the history of the wine before pouring it into our glasses. I’m well versed in wine. I drink expensive, I drink it cheap, I’ve even been known to drink it from a box. Hell, I might drink it wrapped in a bag outside of a Seven-Eleven.
I’m not picky.