“Just follow and behave,” I warn and begin to open the doors to descend the stairs. “You’ve been here five days and you are lucky it hasn’t been all business. From what I can see, today is a quieter day than yesterday.”
Yesterday, he ended up running around with Enzo, learning the ropes of who is who in the Dio Lavoro. Today, he gets a tour then we go our separate ways. It’s that or I’ll jump him and I cannot allow myself to be driven by my primal needs. However good it felt to have him take control and give me that moment of ecstasy, it’s dangerous ground we now tread upon. I have to keep reminding myself that the girl he loved just over four months ago isn’t here anymore. Once he learns of my atrocities, he’ll realize that, too. I don’t want to fall back in love for it to end with my heart breaking a third time.
“Do you get them often?” Zane asks, trailing behind me.
“No,” I scoff, laughing at his lunacy to even query it. “I’d enjoy it while you can. Usually, there’s something going on. Peace and quiet should have been left at the door.” As we hit the bottom step, I reach out to push the door to the gym open and enter. “This is where you can work out until you’re ready to collapse.”
“I can think of a good workout we could both do,” Zane tries.
“Behave,” I scold and walk away. I feel like I’m going to be reiterating my words to keep myself on some track of celibacy.
“Behaving is boring,” he responds, petulantly. “Do I get a repeat performance of the other night? It’s been two days, and I can’t stop remembering the feeling of you clenching down on my cock, Amelia. That’s a workout I could use.”
“You can work off some sexual tension after the tour,” I tell him, keeping my mind from wandering. I’m aching for him, and I swear thinking of him in that closet has me becoming wetter at just a memory. I would do anything to have him take me, but with everyone watching, I cannot risk it. “There are treadmills, cross trainers, punching bags. You name it, we have it, and if we don’t, it can be here within the hour.”
“Do you come down here a lot?” he asks as I walk between the equipment, stepping toward the punching bags. “You’re toned, but how often do you really work out?”
“I get my quota of working out. I can pack a mean punch,” I muse, running a hand across the hanging punching bag. “I’m not a precious, fragile little girl, Zane. You know I like to play rough,” I joke, smirking hard at him.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he comments, playing dumb deliberately, but the sarcasm overtakes his tone and I love reveling in this playfulness between us.
I decide to say nothing, just turn on the spot and bite at the empty air in front of him. I watch him cringe and see he remembers full well when I took charge. I laugh as he recoils and I decide to lead on while he remembers when I bite down on his penis. I head over to the far doors. I don’t stop as I throw them open and begin another small descent. I feel Zane hesitate from behind, but I continue to lead the way.
“What’s down here?” Zane asks, and I take full note of the apprehension in his voice. “I feel like we’re going into the deeper depths of hell.”
“The Abbiati torture chamber,” I comment, throwing the sentence at him with a blasé essence. “Now that you’re becoming part of the Dio Lavoro, you might as well be privy to the darkest of our secrets.”
I can feel his relief midway down the stairs, when I push open the doors and the brightness of an indoor pool illuminates the darkened stairwell. The morning sun filters into the room, reflecting from the calm water. I start to make my way around the pool’s edge and turn to walk backwards.
“Indoor pool for when the weather’s god-awful,” I comment, walking with a smirk on my face.
“You had me going there,” Zane laughs, his voice echoing from the water’s surface and the space of the room’s walls.
“You’re so gullible,” I tease and head for the large patio doors. “My mother always loved to swim, so my father made sure she never had to go without.”
“You don’t talk much about her,” Zane muses, stepping in to join my stride as I head out to the backyard.
I shrug. “What’s to talk about?” I ask, looking up at him. “She’s dead.”
“So is mine, but I talk about her every chance I get.” Zane’s tone is full of every remnant of grief that offers the telltale signs that he’s still in mourning.