“Then?” I prepared my espresso. “What did you do?”
“Now I know why Americans don’t ask.” He crossed his legs and leaned deep in his chair. “You’re pushy.”
“That’s why we rule the world.”
A shot of a laugh escaped his lungs.
“Mio Dio. Asshole. I should blow smoke at your face just to watch your wife take you out of here by your ear.” He fingered his Zippo as he looked over the railing to the sea, but didn’t light a cigarette. “It was the accident.”
The accident.
My sister had fallen off a second story veranda with an infamous mob boss. Antonio had taken the blame for the boss’s death, but when mafia soldiers started secretly paying tribute to her in the hospital, we all suspected Theresa had done the deed.
Antonio put Sambuca in his espresso cup and drained it.
“She can’t have children,” he said. “A shard of hip bone punctured her…” he paused, pointing to his own stomach. “You know.”
“Uterus?”
“Fucking Americans. Yes. They took it out.” He poured more Sambuca. Between the sugar and the alcohol content, he was going to pickle his brain. I hailed the waitress.
“Can you get this guy an aperitif?”
“Limoncello,” he cut in. “And Pellegrino for the American.”
When the waitress was gone I leaned forward, putting my elbows on my knees.
“You could—”
“Basta. I don’t want to adopt. No surrogates. It’s children as God intended or nothing. I give my life to my Theresa. That’s the end of it. Let’s talk about calcio or something normal.”
I leaned back and glanced through the window into the restaurant. Monica wasn’t watching me. She and Theresa were talking closely, with real seriousness to their posture. Theresa wiped her eyes. Turning back to Antonio, I was glad he didn’t see his wife’s tears, and changed the subject so he wouldn’t react.
“You inherited a house,” I said.
“Went today. Roof leaks. Foundation’s cracked.”
“I can take a look at it. I build things for a living, in case you didn’t know.”
“I don’t know. I’d sell it but…”
He waved his hand to dismiss the conversation.
“But it’s home?”
He shook his head and smiled, looking back at me as if I’d said something particularly incisive. “Fucking Americans.”
Gabby was sleeping across the hotel hall with her nanny.
I was naked from the waist up.
My wife was naked with a belt in her teeth, bent over the footboard with her wrists tied to the rails and her ankles tied to the bed’s legs. She had a pillow under her abdomen so the bar didn’t dig into her. The only discomfort she should feel should come from me.
The red patches on her ass were hot to the touch. She’d taken the swats from my hand like a champ, and when I slid my fingers into her seam she was soaking wet.
“Now,” I said. “You pulled me away from cigarette smoke seven times and reminded me to take my meds an hour before I was supposed to. That’s eight.”
She looked around and grunted an objection. The belt in her teeth was wet with spit. I took it out.
“That’s totally not fair! There was a time change from Prague.”
“Nine, then.”
She rolled her eyes at me. I never punished her for that because it didn’t bother me. But she was getting used to pain, and nine would barely make a dent in her defenses.
“You know what?” I said, tapping her red bottom gently with the loop of the belt. “Let’s make it an even dozen. Count.”
I brought the belt down on the soft, raw skin of her ass. When she buckled, my balls throbbed.
“One,” she said.
Damn, she was perfect. She fit right into my life. I hit her in the back of the thighs.
“Two.” She was trying to sound bored, but a hot pink mark rose where the belt had been.
“Oh, Goddess, you’re such a brat.” Across the ass, where her cunt was blossoming, I tried to hurt her free of boredom.
“Three.” Clenched teeth. Another across the same spot. “Four,” she grunted. I stroked her ass, feeling the rising swells of skin, then slid two fingers deep inside her.
“Italy agrees with you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Eight more.”
She counted three strokes as they came in fast succession, yelping “seven.”
“Why was my sister crying?”
She paused for too long, so I gave her one on the back of her thighs.
“Eight. There were two kids squatting in Antonio’s dad’s place. She was sad.”
Coupled with the conversation I’d had with Antonio, I could imagine she was. I could get the rest of the story later.
Swat.
“Nine.” Her tone was almost relieved, as if she’d arrived at a destination.
Swat.
“Ten.”
“These next two are coming hard, Goddess.”
“Okay.”
I never knew if she forgot out of brattiness or if she was so deep in subspace she had limited syllables.
“Okay, what?” I touched her sore, friction-heated skin and she jumped.
“Okay, Sir.”
Pulling her cheek away, I inspected the tight pucker of her ass.
“Three more. A baker’s dozen.”
I brought the belt down and she counted to thirteen.
Leaning close to her, I kissed a tear from her cheek.
“You are absolutely perfect.”
She smiled and mouthed, “so are you.”
“Do you want to use your safeword?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m going to take your ass. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
I put the belt by her lips. “Open.”
She opened her mouth and clamped onto the leather.
Behind her, I ran my fingers over her cunt, gathering moisture to spread over her ass, tucking a finger inside to stretch her.
I wet my cock on her seam, and she groaned when I pushed in for a single stroke. I pinched her clit between thumb and crooked finger.
“You ready?”
She nodded.
Slowly, gently, I pressed my cock to her anus, watching it give for me. Changing from a peck on the cheek to a gaping, open mouth. I knew her. I knew how slow to go. I knew how to minimize the pain and maximize the pleasure. How she liked her clit touched, how powerful her orgasms were when I was in her ass, and how it pulsed around me when she came.
I left everything inside her.
“Jesus Christ,” I said into her back. “This never gets old.”
She made a mm sound, and I took the belt from her teeth. “Hang on.”
I untied her. She was like jelly in my arms. Droopy in subspace. I laid her on her stomach and kissed her everywhere before rooting around in my bag for lotion.
“How are you doing?” I asked, soothing her welted skin.
“Thank you.” She spoke in barely a whisper.
We didn’t say more for awhile. After I’d taken care of her body, I tucked her under the covers and joined her there, cradling her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you for being there for my sister,” I said. When she looked at me quizzically, I continued. “You tore your eyes away from me long enough to take care of her.”
“She’s upset.”
“Antonio told me about the kids on his father’s farm,” I said. “Did you know she couldn’t have any?”
“Yeah.”
“How come I didn’t know?”
“You’ve had other things on your mind.” She stroked the scar in the center of my chest.
“What did she say they were going to do?”
“They called the Italian equivalent of child protective services, but…welcome to Italy. No answer. It’s a holiday weekend in August and no one’s around.”
Antonio had told me the same. I was just testing to see if my sister had the same story.
“I think they’re staying until after the weekend to sort it out.”
Her phone buzzed three times against the night table, then two times, then three.
“Shit,” I said, watching Monica sit up. “What did we bring a nanny for?”
“So you could fuck me in peace,” she replied, standing in all her naked glory. “Not so she could do our job.”
“You should stay.” I threw the covers off me. “I’ll go.”
Monica was already getting on her pants.
“No. I’ll go.” She wiggled into her shirt. “You went last time.”
She crawled onto the bed and kissed me. I put my palms on her cheeks to keep her close.
“See you in the morning, Goddess.”
“See you then, my king.”
We kissed again, then she left to take care of Gabby.
THERESA