“And then?”
“I can’t predict the future. No. I can. I’m going to fuck you tonight. I’m going to fuck you until Otto calls or until you’re in a thousand pieces on the bed. Whichever comes first.”
A thousand pieces on the bed. I knew what that looked like. It looked like me, naked, sated, catching my breath. Sore everywhere. Drenched in sweat and the smell of pine. Barely conscious with not a thought or worry in my head. It sounded so good, I didn’t want to derail it. I wanted it to happen as promised.
But as we drove west, I had a nagging question, and I was sick of dancing around it. I needed a plan. We needed a plan. I played a game of Whac-a-Mole in my head. Every time the issue popped up, I smacked it down, but it popped up again.
“Antonio, I…” I didn’t finish the sentence because he smiled at me and looked at me as if I were the last woman on earth.
“Yes?” He pulled into a narrow alley behind a little house that was packed against its neighbors.
I could press him about his wife, or I could take what was mine and discuss it later, after I was in a thousand pieces on the bed. I was sure there was no right choice. “I hope this place has a washing machine.”
He snapped a key off the car’s ring and dangled it in front of me. “Go in while I put this in the garage. And get your clothes off. If you’re not naked when I get in there, I’m taking my belt to your ass.”
I turned red from my cheeks to my chest, where my nipples hardened under my shirt.
“Go,” he whispered.
I got out and walked up the wooden steps to the back. The little porch was clean of dust, dirt, and personality. No one lived there, of course. When I unlocked the back and went in, I knew I was right. There was a pot on the stove, but it was spotless. The lights went on, and the kitchen could have been a hotel.
I realized how few times Antonio and I had made love in anything that resembled a permanent home. His unfinished house in the hills. His temporary space in Mount Washington. The loft I shared with Katrina. That was as good as it ever got. And now we were in another generic space, probably owned as a business loss. The likelihood that he and I would ever have a marriage bed was unlikely, and I got sad for a second before I remembered his demand that I be naked.
I felt like hell. Filthy to the core. I took off everything and found a washer/dryer in the closet. I threw everything in, dumped in some soap, and snapped the lid closed.
“What about mine?” Antonio asked from behind me.
“You’re fast,” I said, opening the lid.
He responded by peeling off his shirt, a fast reveal of the perfection underneath. The hard abs, the straight shoulders, the line of black hair from his navel to the heaven below.
He threw his shirt into the wash then got out of his pants. He was fully erect, and I found my need for a shower turned up a notch.
The rest of his clothes went into the wash with a swoosh. I turned my back to him and snapped the lid closed. I pushed buttons. I didn’t even know which ones. The colors were mixed, and I didn’t know if I’d put the right amount of detergent. Hot water? Cold? Rinse? His body was against mine while I turned dials and pushed buttons. He grabbed the hair at the back of my head.
“Where do you want it?” he whispered in my ear, his cock at my ass.
I trembled then turned. “I need a shower, Capo.”
“All right.” He leaned into me and reached behind me to pull the dial. Click. The water whooshed as the machine filled.
“Oh, you do laundry?” I cooed.
“Tonight, I do laundry and you.”
I kissed him through a smile, and he carried me to the bathroom.
thirty-five.
antonio