After about thirty minutes, we arrived at a gated apartment complex in North Hollywood. I’m really impressed that she's living in such a nice area, considering her career path. I would have expected her to live in a far less extravagant area of LA, with a lot more graffiti and traffic. Not that I don’t think a model as hot as her couldn’t make big money— it’s just rare to meet people managing that career when they’re just starting out. I guess I assumed she’s in the same boat as me.
She opens her side of the door before I can even get out of the car, and I leap out of my side after her. She’s already headed up the sidewalk to the guarded entrance before I can say a word.
“Lydia.” I catch up to her, and she doesn’t look my way.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you speed-walking up to your door like I’m going to murder you if you don’t slow down?”
She stops, turns to face me, and plasters a smile that I don’t believe.
“I had fun, I’m tired, and we have a big week ahead of us. I’d like to get inside.”
Her words freeze me in place. My fingers are still damp from being inside her, and she’s turning me away now? But her tone is clear–she’s shutting this down for some reason, and as badly as I want to fuck her, I’m not going to force it. I study her deep emerald eyes, but I can’t tell what she’s really feeling. I’m not about to sound like a fucking idiot and beg her to let me walk her to the door. She seems highly capable of doing that herself. But it’s just not the way I’ve been taught.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.” She nods. “I’ll call you.” With that, she turns away from me, and I let her walk by herself to the door. As soon as she swipes a card on the door to the entrance and hands her ID to a security guard, they let her inside, and she obliges without looking back. I turn towards the car again and prepare for the dreadful drive back to Pops’. I didn’t want to go there tonight. I consider getting a hotel, but by the time I decide that it’s a good choice, we are already driving through the gate and down the path to the mansion.
“She’s a nice girl.” Knox pipes up as we park by Vince’s Rolls-Royce.
“Yeah.” I nod, recounting the way her body felt pressed to mine. She’s more than nice. She’s a fucking badass.
I climb out of the car and begrudgingly lumber to the front door, waiting for Meena, the maid, to let me in like she always does when I’m out late.
“How was it?” She asks me excitedly, and I shrug.
“It went fine.” I’m not about to go into details.
“Grilled cheese and chocolate milk?” She places a hand on my arm, and I glance at her.
“Sure, Meena.” I shrug and walk with her to the ground-level kitchen. I take my usual spot at the bar and watch as she begins to cook.
This has been a routine of ours since I was little. I used to run to Meena a lot as a kid. She doesn’t speak English very well, but I enjoy her company nonetheless. She doesn’t make me say more than I’m willing and never expects anything of me.
So, grilled cheese, chocolate milk, and chats are our tradition. Occasionally, she’ll make it when I’m sad; other times, she’ll make it to celebrate with me. Tonight, she’s probably making it because she thinks I’m sad. I’m not really. What would I have to be sad about? Being with Lydia was electric, and getting my dream job is fucking incredible. Then there was the successful mission that I almost forgot about.
Vince never waits up for me, but I wish he would— at least I wish he would on a night like this. Just to see him admit that I did a good job would be remarkable.
Instead, I settle for the silent company of Meena as I eat the food she’s prepared before heading up to bed.
I hop in the shower, hoping for the hot water to wash away the remaining frustrations of the evening, but all it does is give me the privacy to start thinking about Lydia again. The way she kissed, her hand on my cock right before that fucking cop interrupted us, the heat of her enveloping my fingers–
Fuck. I’m instantly hard. It’s not even a slow process like most boners, that swelling that turns into firmness and then aching, throbbing need. I’m just immediately rock hard, my angry tip brushing my ridged abs, and my hand goes around it instantly, even though that’s not what I want.
I want Lydia’s hand. Her mouth. Her fucking tight pussy that I got to feel just long enough to have a perfect fucking mental image of what it would feel like grasping my cock. Wet and soft and hotter than she is herself, andfuck,I want to plunge myself balls deep into that. I want to break my one-night rule for her and fuck her as many nights as I can, here and in Paris and every other place I can get the chance, until I’ve ruined her for every other man.
My chokehold on my dick is almost angry as if I’m taking out all my frustrations on it, slamming my fist down against my balls again and again as I roughly jerk off. I could be fucking right now, but I’m too obsessed with her. No one else will do. And as I spray my cum all over the shower floor, letting it wash down the drain along with my hopes and dreams for tonight, it’s her name I grunt out between my teeth.
It's an odd sleep, almost half-awake the whole night, tossing and turning with images of men's faces plastered in my brain. The men I killed were all criminals, going against us, killing our people, resisting peace. So, why the fuck am I dreaming about them? I hesitate to say worrying about them, but I guess I am. Worrying about their families, who will find them, when they’ll have funerals.
By the time I open my eyes to the light of day, I still feel the fear of the night lingering in my bloodshot eyes. I find my way to the kitchen, grab just-made coffee that’s probably been made by Jess, and slump down in the dining room, eyes nearly shut.
“You were out late.” Jess’s chirpy voice alerts me, and I open my eyes to see her sitting across from me, coffee in one hand, scone in the other.
“Yeah.” I sniff, looking down at my black coffee and feeling something I haven’t felt since starting mafia work— remorse. Jess tilts her chin, furrowing her eyebrows at me.