Stepping onto the wooden porch, I fall on my ass breathing harshly. Dylan tumbles beside me, panting and I grimace as I look at the wound on his shoulder.
We’d managed to bandage it and stop the blood flow after escaping the police. Thankfully, the piece of wood didn’t go too deep or hit anything vital but it left a lot of splinters that we had to remove with a tweezer. After that, we had acquired a change of clothes, cleaned up and managed to bury Zekiel’s body on the outskirts of the town.
Raphael had left us to get help at the compound nearby. Once he has achieved that he’ll retrieve Zekiel’s body and give him a proper burial.
Dylan and I had then started our trek to the safe house stashed away in the mountains. It consisted of two hours of hiking and not on a marked trail, but through wild vegetation. Needless to say, my legs and knees are in pain and my clothes soak from the water vapour on the low lying trees and shrubs.
We had snatched some bottled waters from the town to keep hydrated and all ten bottles were utilized on the journey. The only reason it took two hours and not less is because of my sad excuse of a physique. I’ve been neglecting my gym hours lately and I’m feeling the effects.
“It’s bleeding again,” I say as my breathing gets under control, my chest rising and falling slowly.
“I know,” he says, beads of sweat littering his forehead.
“We need to get it cleaned up and bandaged,” I say once more, scrunching my nose at the dirt covering his clothes. Given I’m not looking any better but the bacteria from the mud may infect his wound.
“I know,” he states pushing himself to his feet, heading towards the wooden door with a metal keypad attached to it.
Opening the protective plastic covering, Dylan punches in a code. The sound of gears turning filled the air before the door springs open with a pop.
“Come on,” Dylan says to me, waiting as I get off the porch steps and make my way into the cabin.
When we had stumbled upon the cabin, it didn’t look like much but I could’ve cared less how cozy it is. As long as it has a bed, food and clean water supply, I’m content... but looking at it now, it’s not what I was expecting at all.
The interior of the cabin is quite spacious, its walls seem to be lined with mortar to give it a concrete look and painted a burnt sienna colour. To my right is a living area with a cozy grey, love seat sofa and a matching one-seater. There’s a small flat-screen TV mounted on the wall along with, mirrors and decorative frames.
There is a wooden stair to my left that leads to what I’m guessing are the bedrooms and bathrooms. There is also a decent-sized kitchen sharing the open space of the living room but divided by a breakfast bar. The floor is made of wooden panels and a welcome mat is spread in front of the doorway.
“Take off your shoes and clothes here,” Dylan instructs redirecting my focus to him and my mouth nearly drops as he rids himself of his shirt. “No sense dragging the mud inside with us.”
I freeze for a moment as his bronze torso demands my attention. A toned physique greets my eyes, muscles bulging and flexing as he works the shirt over his head. The sweat glistens all over his chest, highlighting those prominent pectorals that house black inky designs. There is a tribal tattoo wrapped around his thick bicep extending to his right pectoral and on his left pectoral below his wound lies some words in Greek lettering.
He turns around kicking off his pants and a small smile graces my lips as I notice the fox tattoo on his lower back, identical to the one on mine. He’s now in tight black boxers that frames his Glutinous Maximus deliciously... It makes me wonder how tightly it hugs the front...
No, no, no thoughts like that Indie. I scold myself. He might be sex on legs and you might be a nympho but there is too much going on to go there. Explanations first before anything else.
Even though I agree with that logic, it doesn’t stop me from looking. Small intricate work of art adorns other parts of his body, some hidden under the material of his boxers but I don’t get the time to ogle them as Dylan turns around to face me.
I snap my eyes to his not wanting him to know I’ve been ogling him and he raises a brow at me. “Take off your clothes.”
My eyes widen a bit at his demand, then I remember that I’m muddy from head to toe. A blush stain my cheeks but I fight it back, clearing my throat. There is no way I’m stripping in front of him.
“Can I get some privacy?” I ask staring pointedly at him and he shrugs.
“It’s nothing that I haven’t seen before Ana, only a little more toned and mature,” he states folding his arms and my face goes red.
“I don’t care if you’ve seen it already. You’re not getting the chance to see it once more. Now can you leave?”
He looks at me for a few seconds and I glare at him. He finally realizes that I’m not going to strip until he’s out of the room so he nods, heading towards the stairs.
“Use the bathroom in the master bedroom,” he instructs climbing the stairs. “Once you’re up the stairs go right, it’s the door at the end of that hall. You can’t miss it.”
He moves out of my sight up onto the other floor and seconds later I hear a door slam shut. I give myself a few more seconds, just to make sure he’s not coming back down before I start to rid myself of the damp and muddy clothes.
After shedding my clothes, I’m left standing in the hallway in my favourite red bra and black mesh panties Dylan’s people had bought for me. I quickly pile the muddy clothing on top of Dylan’s own before wiping my soles on the mat and making my way up the stairs.
Following Dylan’s instructions, I make my way down the small hall, passing a door and multiple picturesque paintings of landscapes on the wall. I approach the door at the end of this hall noticing there is another turn off to my right. I see two more doors in that hallway, it must be an extra room and bathroom. I shrug placing my hand on the doorknob when I hear a door opening.
I look to the right and Dylan enters the hall in his underpants a towel draped over his shoulder. He looks up at me, freezing momentarily as he takes me in and those blue-green eyes darken as he bites his lip.
“Cazzo, guarda la mia Ana,” he says his voice low and sensual. “Stai abbastanza bene da mangiare neonata... e sto morendo di fame.” Fuck, look at my Ana. You look good enough to eat baby girl... and I’m starving.
His look pins me in place and it becomes hard for me to think logically. The nympho in me wants to take him up on his offer of devouring me like the starving man he is but my motherly side says that I’m not thinking straight. I’ve been through a lot and I’m feeling stressed, confused and hurt, I need to approach this logically, not sexually before I spiral into a relapse... In other words, I need to get the hell away from him and get my head screwed on right.
I lock eyes with him, seeing the raw want flicker in them. I feel that want course through my body, causing my core to pulse and I know if I don’t move now I’m screwed.
I swallow the lump in my throat finding it hard to breathe in here. I start to move, turning the doorknob and flinging myself into the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I ensure I lock it before leaning against it, my breathing ragged. The look on his face haunts me as I slide to the ground sweat caking my body.
I resisted... I actually resisted...
I mentally applaud myself. Being away from his smothering gaze I notice now that my motherly side was right... Whenever I’m stressed or under pressure my need for sex rises, it’s like a coping mechanism for me. If I’d given in to my body I would’ve relapsed, hard.
I’m not saying having sex because I’m under pressure makes me a sex addict but if I had given in to Dylan, we’d be at it for hours too engrossed in each other to assess the danger we’re in... Plus we need to clear the air before anything can happen between us.
I’m newly single, yes, but I want to know what was so important to Roberto that he played me and tried to kidnap me and threatened to have me tortured... Also, I haven’t heard the reason why Dylan left me all those years ago... and he doesn’t know about Diana.
We need to talk more than anything else right now.
After calming my hormones, I look up at the room I’m in, loving the deep cyper-grape colour on its walls. There’s a large closet, queen size bed, a nightstand and a dresser in the room, along with a soft African pattern rug. The bed is covered in cream sheets with an abstract red pattern and the curtains in the room match the sheet spread.
Whoever decorated this place has taste.
The sweat on my body becomes sticky and I make my way to the master bathroom, again taken aback by its spectacular design. There is both a large, black, free-standing hot tub and rectangular, glass shower. There are also white twin basins with a black marble countertop and matching toilet. The walls are tiled with grey and white mosaic tiles.
The room is bold yet inviting and I waste no time filling the tub. In five minutes, I’m relaxing as the water bubbles around me. I feel light like my stress is melting away but I know better than that... It’s just heating up.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking down the stairs towards the kitchen and there is the smell of cheese in the air. I notice the sun has set outside, the cabin illuminated by LED lights and as I read the clock on the wall, it says it is 6:45 in the evening. Continuing towards the kitchen, I find Dylan sitting at the breakfast bar, delving into a bowl of what looks like macaroni and cheese.
Hearing my footsteps he looks up, his lip twitches as he notices how his shirt and shorts flow off my body. When I’d stepped out of the bathroom a black t-shirt and grey shorts were waiting for me on the bed, so I donned them. I had washed my underwear immediately afterwards, so it can be clean enough to wear tomorrow.
I shuffle on my feet a little uncomfortable under his gaze and it didn’t help that below these baggy clothes I’m going commando. I can practically feel my nipples harden under his observing eyes and I release a mental sigh when he finally averts his eyes.
“There’s food on the counter for you,” he says before continuing to eat.
Making my way into the kitchen, I spy the closed lid container and waste no time grabbing a fork, placing some of the cheesy goodness in my mouth.
God that tastes amazing... I mentally sigh, closing my eyes.
It’s been months since I’ve had cheese, having eczema meant that I had to cut back on dairy products... specifically for me cheese since it triggers my rashes more than anything else.
This amount won’t be that harsh, so I don’t have to worry about skin irritations.
I’m so consumed in feasting on my guilty pleasure that I jump when a clink sounds beside me. I look over at the sink to find Dylan washing his dish, his jaw clenched. His eyes flicker over to me, primarily where his t-shirt had ridden up and my fox tatt is exposed. His eyes then move lower to -if I’m not mistaken- my ass that’s still looking round and plump in his baggy shorts.
“Hey buddy,” I say catching his attention before placing a forkful of cheesy macaroni in my mouth. “My eyes are up here.”
His lips lift into a smirk and he returns his focus to the dish in his hand, rinsing it. “I’m quite aware of that but I was looking at something else... Something big, firm and grabable.”
He turns the dish down on the dish dryer, turning to lean against the sink and I swallow the food in my mouth.
“Are you finished?” he asks and I look down at my container seeing about five Marconi in there.
I place them in my mouth, holding out the empty container and the fork. He takes them, giving them a quick wash and I thank him.
My eyes flicker to the makeshift bandage (made from a ripped shirt) under his black tank. “Did you disinfect it?”
He looks down at his injured shoulder before shaking his head. “I just washed it. I was too hungry to do anything more to it until after a meal.”
I nod before taking his hand and pulling him to the living room. I ignore the warmth of his hand in mine, pushing him onto the couch.
“Where’s the first aid kit?” I ask as I stand beside him.
He looks up at him, an unreadable expression on his face before telling me where it is and I go to retrieve it. Returning, I kneel onto the couch after placing the open first aid kit on the floor beside me. I unwrap the makeshift bandage from his shoulder, grimacing at the redness and swelling.
Under the bright lights, I notice there are a few splinters stuck in the skin. I reach down grabbing the tweezer, alcohol and a swab of cotton from the first aid kit.
“This might hurt,” I say as I apply the alcohol to the wound using the swab.
He twitches but makes no sound. I disinfect the tweezer before slowly removing the splinters from the swollen skin.
“So...” I start as I place the extracted splinter onto a sheet of tissue on the couch between my legs. “There’s a lot of things we need to discuss.”
“I know,” he grits out as I extract another splinter.
“Good, so firstly I’d like to know what deal Roberto was so willing to betray me for,” I state, placing that splinter with the others before scouting for another.
“Nope,” I say pulling out another splinter that causes him to hiss. “You answer me or I’m done playing nurse and you’re on your own with this possibly infected wound... I’d like to see you get these splinters out on your own.”
He looks at me with those blue-green eyes trying to trap me but I’m determined to find out the truth so I don’t succumb. His lips thin as he notices I’m not backing down and he agrees to my demand.
“Now answer,” I state resuming my work.
“This was not the first time I’ve visited the states from Italy,” he starts. “On one of my trips here I’d met a very influential person in Atlanta. He was the leader of the Poison Dagger gang, Giovanni Ferrez. His gang was the largest in the state and was growing in numbers. He became interested in the business we conducted in Italy, saying he was looking to expand his reach outside of the US. Charles, my father who was still leading the mafia at that time conducted business with him. Ferrez distributed our drugs and ran a prostitution ring for us in his division while we sent weaponry to him. At first, it worked but Ferrez fucked us over causing the deal to fall short.”
“I’ve heard that name before... That’s what you called Roberto.” I point out, placing the tweezer on the tissue, all splinters extracted from his skin.
“Roberto is Giovanni’s son... He deals with the transport aspect of their business. We met once over the two years our fathers conducted business. That day you and I met in the restaurant, he’d invited me to New York to “right the wrongs” between our fathers and talk business. I was sceptical of his offer but I’ve learned that having your enemies close and knowing their objectives is the best way to do this business. So I came and discovered his plan. Somehow he found out about my past relationship with you and decided to use you as a tool to force me into transporting their drugs into our territory.”
“So you’re telling me he turned on me just because you refused to pump his drugs into our country?” I ask in disbelief.
“You fail to understand that with this deal their gang would grow and gain immense power, moving up the ranks. This deal would’ve cemented their position in this business,” he explains as I grab a needle and some thread from the kit.
“Okay. So I was just a power play. One he placed years of work into,” I state bluntly, threading the needle.
“You can say that.” he agrees, clenching his jaw as I grab the sides of the wound, squeezing them together.
“This is going to hurt,” I state as I pierce the skin with the needle I sterilized with alcohol.
His face scrunches up in pain and I grit my teeth pulling the thread through his skin. He’s in discomfort and it’s evident, but that doesn’t stop me from blurting out my next question... One that has played on my mind for years.
“Why did you leave me?” I whisper.
He stills as do my hands and there’s a moment of silence before I break it whilst continuing my work.
“I need to know,” I say but he doesn’t respond right away... he doesn’t reply until six minutes later when I’m on my last stitch.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he states, as I knot the thread.
“Everyone has a choice,” I say cleaning the needle before repacking the first aid kit. “It may not always be the easiest one but it’s there.”
“Indiana I had no choice,” he states harshly, looking up at me with those captivating eyes.
“I don’t believe that,” I state avoiding his eyes and wrapping the splinters and bloody pieces of cotton into the tissue before walking towards the kitchen to dispose of them.
“Indiana, you don’t understand,” I hear Dylan say from behind me.
“Then make me!” I shout frustrated, spinning to glare at his half-naked figure. “You tell me you had no choice yet you refuse to tell me why! I just want the trut–”
My words are cut short as he slams his lips onto mine, his hand gripping the back of my neck. Effectively shutting me up and provoking the flare of want inside me.
“Sta ’zitto,” he says huskily as he pulls back, trapping me with his gaze.
“Make me,” I hear myself whisper, locking my sultry gaze with his and he wastes no time recapturing my lips.
The feeling of his lips on mine, makes my insides coil and I groan, gripping my nails into his biceps. He pushes me against the counter with a light thud and I mewl against his lips as his fingers grip my ass, lifting me onto the surface. His body presses against mine, hard against soft and my fingers fist his hair pulling him closer to me.
My heartbeat quickens, chills running down my spine as his fingers find their way under his baggy t-shirt, touching my skin. My inner nympho squeals in delight, hand reaching out to pull him closer to my wanton body. My temperature rises, my body heating up and my breath hitches as I feel something very hard nestled between my thighs.
“Dylan...” I whimper and he releases a throaty groan.
The sound makes my insides melt, desire leaking onto my thighs. My hands find his shoulders running down to his back, my nails sinking in as he breaks our kiss to nibble on my neck.
“Yes...” I moan out tightening my legs around him and he moves his explorative finger to my stomach, teasing my skin as they rise. “Don’t stop.”
“Non mi fermerò... mio Ana,” he grits out, thrusting against me and I gasp. I won’t stop... my Ana.
I begin to shake, the feeling of his hands on me and his thrusts sending shocks through my body. I fling my head back, biting my lips as his fingers inch so close to my heavy, aching breasts. He devours my neck, his teeth scraping my skin and I jut, crying out in pleasure. His hands were almost at their target and my body tensed in anticipation... he’s so close...
“You know when we said to stop by anytime, the door’s always open. This isn’t what we meant, Dylan.”