“You’re a smart-ass is more like. There’s just one thing: I’m not going to assume I know how you feel, but I do want you to stop comparing yourself to women in my past. They are in the past for a reason. I can’t change the things I’ve done; I’m not saying I would even if I could. I promise you, I don’t think of them, I’m not comparing you to them. I’ve never done it before, and I’m not going to start. This right now, you and me. This is all that matters.”
I swear I can feel her smiling through the phone. “Yes, Dante. Whatever you say, Dante.”
“I should have recorded you to play it back later. I’m pretty sure you’ll never say it again.”
“You know me so well.” Her yawn is quick—she’s trying to hide it.
“Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a feeling I won’t be having dinner with Enzo. I’ll be home around five thirty.”
“Sounds good. Night, Dante.”
“Night.” This time when I close my eyes, sleep envelops me completely.
9
Bethany
This day is taking forever. I’ve done yoga for over an hour without it helping to ease my tension. I’ve read an entire romance novel that might as well have been porn. I highlighted my favorite parts then spent a solid twenty minutes with my vibrator and I’m still fidgeting, waiting for Dante’s call, please let him call.
When my phone rings I snatch it up. It’s a little after five. “Hi.”
“Hey, I’m wrapping up now. Want to go to dinner? Sushi?”
“If I promise not to wear anything clingy, can we eat here?” He’s quiet for a minute. “Please, Dante.”
“Fine, nothing clingy and I’ll grab takeout. Sushi, okay?”
“Sounds yummy to me. A California roll, instead of crab, salmon and some shrimp tempura please.”
“Got it, see you in forty-five minutes. My place and nothing tight.”
“You’re no fun.”
His answer is to hang up on me. I deserved it.
I’m wandering around what I’m going to call his library considering the amount of books in here, but it also holds a massive piano and a wall of family pictures. We share not just the love of books, but we seem to like the same ones of mysteries and thrillers. He has a few sci-fi, one of the few genres I don’t read, but there aren’t many.
I can’t stop looking at the pictures. There are some when Dante and his brothers were little kids, even one with Cesare proudly holding his baby brothers. I love the Halloween ones, Dante in a skunk costume with the words “Lil’ Stinker” across his chest. Then there are the pictures of Cesare and Alicia’s wedding. Me on Alicia’s side and Enzo on the other. It was supposed to be me and Lydia and Enzo and Dante, but only two days before Dante’s ex went into a meltdown when her father collapsed from a stroke. Dante flew out to be by her side, hating every minute from his later admission.
“I remember seeing those pictures and thinking, damn Bethany is cute as hell. Enzo told me to quit being a pervert, you were too damn young. Looking at you now, you don’t look too damn young.”
“It’s not tight.” The white lace top doesn’t even show my breasts. It’s long enough it goes past my ass, which is covered in silky white boy shorts. He backs away as I come toward him. “Dante.” I whine, as I follow him down the hall.
Shaking his head, he mutters, “No, food first. I’m getting changed, go get the food unpacked.”
He closes his bedroom door in my face. Asshole. I stomp into the kitchen.
***
Dante
Christ, Bethany is driving me out of my mind. I have zero experience with needing to control my sexual urges because it’s never been necessary. I’ve never wanted a woman this much, ever. Before, sex was just sex. A need as basic as hunger to be satisfied. I wanted sex, I made a call and I got it. In the rare times I couldn’t find a woman to fuck, I jerked off and went about my day. But Bethany, close enough to touch, begging me to fuck her, this shit is hard.
A flick of my wrist sends hot water flooding me. Closing my eyes, I’m jerking my cock hard and fast at the memory of Bethany in the lacy white top and the way whatever the hell kind of bottoms she was wearing showed a white lace thong underneath. Fuck. I come hard and fight to stay standing as I lean against the tile.
I lose track of time until my stomach grumbles. With a sigh, I turn off the water. As I dry off in my walk-in closet, I decide tight jeans and an even tighter shirt are necessary weapons against Bethany’s roaming hands.
When I walk into the family room kitchen area, Bethany is on the couch watching television. My food is on a plate on the kitchen counter.