Gianni
Her head rolls from side to side, and she pulls up her shirt with her left hand, exposing her heaving tits. She takes one in her hand, massaging, tweaking the nipple until her teeth sink into her lip. She tries to contain a moan but can't entirely, and the soft sound makes my balls lift. That sound, the sound of pleasure. That's all I want to give her.
Her fingers move in a blur over her clit, her touch light, and soon her hips jerk rhythmically while her breath quickens. So does mine, my rasps filling the air, my heart racing while I fist my cock faster while careening toward the edge the way she is.
“Come with me,” I grunt, staring at her pussy, tightening my grip the way her cunt would tighten around me if I were inside her now. Goddammit, I want to be inside her. Now, always, forever.
She opens her mouth to moan again, and this time there’s a name to go along with it. “Gianni...”
Fuck. It's that single word moaning at the last moment before her hips lift, and she goes still, that makes cum spill over my fist and onto my lap. I can barely silence my roar of triumph. The release, mixing with the knowledge that it was me she was thinking of, was me she was imagining working her clit until she came.
There's a wet spot under her ass when she settles back down, and slowly she withdraws her fingers from her glistening folds.
I'm almost dizzy, spent from the force of coming harder than I have in ages. All that pent-up need rushing out of me all at once. I don't care that I made a mess of myself. I don't care about anything but knowing she was thinking of me. Imagining me.
How much longer will she be able to imagine before she breaks down when her body demands the real thing?
I reach for a tissue while she lies still, catching her breath and staring up at the ceiling. She’s glowing, at peace, and I gaze at her in wonder while she comes down from her high. There is nothing in the world as beautiful as my little bird when she’s just come, all flushed and radiant and spent.
“Gianni,” she whispers again—but this time, there's a catch in her throat. A tremble in her voice. I watch in dismay as she throws her forearm across her eyes, and her soft sobs begin. Her body shakes from the force, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“No, no,” I murmur, shaking my head, dismantling from the inside out.
She can’t hear me, of course. I doubt she’d be able to stop herself if she could. She might cry even harder, because I’m the reason for her tears. She rolls onto her side and curls up in a ball, holding a pillow to her mouth to muffle the sound of her anguish.
Anguish, I brought her. This is all because of me. I might not have meant to hurt her, but I did. Deeply. So deep, her body shakes from the force.
And now I have no choice except to watch, just as I watched her come. As much as I want to turn away, I can't give in to weakness. I owe her this much. I will witness her pain and remember it every time I resent her for leaving. Every time I wish I had never set eyes on her, since that would mean essentially freedom from the torment she’s putting me through.
“You won't be crying for long,” I promise, whispering to her shaking image. “I promise you, little bird. Soon, you won't have any reason to cry.”
—
CATERINA
“It's so good to have you back.” Stephanie’s smiling from ear to ear, standing outside my cubicle as I finish getting my things together at the end of what had to be one of the longest days of my life.
I feel like a different person than when I walked out of here on my lunch break that last day. I thought I was going to sign a lease. Something so innocent, the sort of thing people do every day. I expected to return to my desk afterward, because why would I think otherwise?
Now here I am, more than two weeks later. It might as well be two years or two lifetimes. Since I last walked out the door, I was hit by a car and rushed to the ER. I spent days in bed, trying to recover. I found out my best friend was being abused by her ex and was then kidnapped by mine.
And now he's dead, and the man who killed him might have also killed my mother.
When I think of it that way, it's no wonder I could hardly keep myself focused today. Everything seems so stupid and pointless. It's not like I had a terrific opinion of my job before this, but now I can't imagine why anybody would want to spend their life sitting here, going over spreadsheets, wasting hour after hour.
Is this what happens when a person realizes they could have died more than once? Is this my big turning point moment where I realize I need to shake up my entire life instead of wasting another minute doing something I hate?
Right. Fat chance of that happening, especially when I'm living with my father. I'm surprised he let me out of the house to go to work, but not very surprised since he still thinks this job is a big deal. Like I made a massive success out of myself sitting in a gray cubicle all day long and slowly going blind while reading over figures until my eyes crossed.
The least I can do is offer Stephanie a smile and hope it looks sincere since it's not like she did anything to hurt me. “You're just saying that because you're glad you won't have to cover for me anymore,” I tease her, winking.
“Okay, I'm not going to pretend that has nothing to do with it.” Only she gets serious right away, and her smile slips. “Honestly, though. It's good to have you back. You gave us a scare.” Girl, you have no idea how much scarier things got.
I know she means it, even if I can't imagine why. I haven't been here that long. I still have to get used to the idea of people genuinely liking me and not just putting up with me because I tagged along behind Tatiana, who was always more popular and better at making friends.
“Let's see if I can make it two days in a row.” I hold up my crossed fingers and laugh it off, even if inside I'm shaking. I have to do this again tomorrow. How the hell am I going to get through the rest of my life this way?
Especially when all I seem to do is think about Gianni all day long instead of keeping my mind focused on work.
Immediately, I stop myself before allowing him to encompass my thoughts yet again, and replace memories of him with those of my Mom. The way she took me trick-or-treating alone since Dad was always working that night. Our Saturday afternoons at the movies. Learning how to bake bread from scratch, though I completely forgot that one after a little while. How she always smelled like flowers, how she laughed—rich, hearty, almost bawdy. Like there was a dirty joke she was just dying to tell somebody. I grin at the reminder of it while walking to the elevator.
She is who I need to be thinking of now. How can I feel otherwise? Aching for Gianni is pretty much the same as spitting on her memory. I still don't know for sure whether Dad is right and Gianni is the one who killed her, but until I know, I have to at least try to remain neutral.
Which means conditioning myself out of obsessing over him morning, noon, and night.
I'm miserable, but that's how it has to be. I hate this sense of this dark, ominous cloud following over me. Instead of rain, guilt and shame shower me all day long. I can’t believe I made it so easy for him to manipulate me.
The parking garage is mostly empty by the time I exit. A few people decided to stay late, but everyone else filtered out a little before me. Even with a backlog of work, I can't bring myself to put in the extra time when I'm so sad, not to mention feeling overwhelmed. It’s not like I’m leaving early, anyway. I’m so wound up in my own thoughts, and need to get home that I don’t hear the door opening.
Or the echo of footsteps behind me.
I don't see him until he's right behind me, his gorgeous face reflected in the window as I'm about to unlock the car door. Even if I want to scream, there’s no time to react. I've barely registered his presence when he clamps a firm hand over my mouth, snaking his thick arm around my waist, before pulling me flush to his muscular chest. Panic grips me by the throat. Is this where his true intentions are exposed and I discover that my father wasn’t lying?
God, I hope not. This would be a terrible way to go.
Somewhere in my mind, an alarm goes off, and I finally struggle in his grasp.
Fight. Don't give up.