12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
FIAMETTA
W here does he disappear to, I wonder, as the familiar sound of his light footsteps carries him closer to me. Two months before, and now a week, without a sign of life or interest. Then he returns, like a whirlwind hurricane whose sole intention is to turn my life upside down.
“You left so suddenly the last time you were here, I didn’t think you’d come back,” I say, bravely. I know it’s Crue sneaking in, because the noise comes from my window and not the door. Though, I’d have known it was him even if he had used conventional means to enter my bedroom. I’m lying on my side, with my eyes fixed on the door.
Suddenly is an understatement. He went from trying to kiss me, to a poof of dust in seconds flat. He left me with the burden of facing the demons waiting in my bathroom alone, and didn’t even bother to say goodbye. The funny thing is, I probably would’ve kissed him that night. I couldn’t, immediately. Not before I knew the results of the pregnancy tests, but I was so overwhelmed with joy and excitement at Father’s news that stopping myself from making a regrettable decision was not an option.
No words come from him, only the rhythmic, precise steps he takes to reach me.
“I packed my bags the next day. I waited and waited.” I egg him on, even though I know why he’s here. I know what he’s after. And my excitement at his return means I’ll gladly give it to him. If it means freedom, he can take whatever he wants from me.
“Gone again, to wherever you pass away your days and plot your schemes.”
The bed sinks as his hefty frame drops onto it. I started this thinking my ramblings would force him to answer. Not to one in particular, maybe just haphazard words, strung along sentences, trying to justify what he’s done and what he has to do.
However, his silence makes me uneasy. He said he doesn’t have to kill me anymore, but what does that mean to a man like Crue? He’s obviously wrestling with his own demons and, if they win, where will that leave me?
For the first time since I heard him enter, a thrum of fear moves in my chest and onward through my body.
In typical Crue fashion, he stills it without needing to use any words. His arm moves swiftly over me, with such force that a small gust of wind brushes against my cheek, and he grabs the far side of my blanket. He yanks it off me with one hard motion and discards it beneath his knees.
Instead of gently ushering me toward him, Crue grabs my hair by the loose ponytail I tied it in for bed. His tug is softer than it was on the blanket, but still hard enough that I can feel the sharp sting of my muscles resisting.
Oh, fuck. He’s coming in hot tonight.
I gasp, but there’s no fear or intimidation in the sound. Only the earthy lust his hair pulling creates inside my core.
He keeps pulling on the makeshift leash of my hair, until I’m on my knees with my ass pressed firmly against his swollen cock. My hips move instinctively, rubbing up against his jeans, allowing his head to glide between my ass cheeks.
I giggle. Not because of the lunacy of allowing him to take me, or even my lack of common sense, after putting so much effort into sending him away before, but because of the rumbling sounds that are emanating from Crue’s chest
He snaps my head to the side with another hard pull on my hair. Wincing from the sharp pain, I don’t notice Crue lower himself, until his mouth is against my neck. He starts with a single, tender peck, which he quickly replaces with his teeth, sinking them into my flesh.
I cover my mouth with both hands, fighting back my urge to scream.
Crue’s free hand wraps around the front of my body and sinks to the damp heat between my legs. His mouth starts with gentle kisses that pepper their way up to my ear.
“I told you,” Crue snarls, “You’re mine, Fiametta. This hair?” A much softer pull follows the question. “Mine.”
“Your mouth-watering tits?” Finally releasing his grip on my hair, he slings a hand over my shoulder and grabs one of my breasts. He locks the nipple between the V of two fingers and squeezes tightly to emphasize his point. “Mine.”
Keeping me in this precarious position, Crue pulls me back until I’m stuck against his body. He falls silent again as his hand slides over my panties and the tip of his middle finger brushes against the hood of my clitoris.
“Your pussy?” He makes a first slow rotation with his finger, allowing his tongue to slither out of his mouth to touch my earlobe. The overwhelming intensity of this whole ordeal makes my legs buckle and my heart rate spikes to the point of breathlessness. “Mine. All mine. Not when you want it to be, but always. Forever. Mine.”
“Yours,” I say, weakly.
“Good girl.”
Oh God, why is his wicked acknowledgement so fucking hot? I couldn’t stop this if I wanted to. My body has given itself over freely to Crue.
He moves both hands away from their places of pleasure, and sits them onto my hips, using them to pull my ass tighter against his cock. He rocks his hips, and the enormous denim-covered slab of meat starts thrusting against me through the material.
Heat pulses throughout me with every motion. We haven’t even gotten naked, and I find myself on the verge of my first orgasm. It’s as if he’s some kind of magic man who can make me cum by gently brushing his hands across my skin. Then again, if anyone can, it is Crue.
Without warning, and mid-thrust, Crue tightens his grip on my hips and uses it to hoist me into the air. My heart sinks, the same way it does when I jump too high on a trampoline. But before I have a chance to yelp, he’s spinning me around to face him.
My flat palm immediately shoots to his face, and I cup his cheek. Even in complete darkness, I find my way to him without fault, just as he has done with me. Everything is precise. No fumbles or mistakes hamper our progress. How? It must be divine intervention.
I kiss him and he kisses me back. And as the primal urge for more takes control of Crue again, his grip tightens until his fingers squeeze the feeling out of my legs.
He lowers me onto my knees, but his hands move away from my hips and creep under my shirt. His fingertips graze my silky, soft skin while he hoists my shirt higher and higher, until it’s over my head.
My turn.
I start with his jacket, sliding one shoulder off at a time. It falls to the floor without much effort, and I make my way to his shirt. But Crue’s overeagerness to do what he came here for, has him ripping it over his head before I get the chance.
“Take them off for me,” Crue tugs at my panties, after the clanging of his belt buckle coming undone signals, he has removed his jeans.
I do as I’m told, and navigate my panties down my thighs until they come to a stop at my knees against the bed. Moving awkwardly to get them past the threshold, I’m glad the lights aren’t on for Crue to see my fumbling.
His clothes rustle again while he frees himself from them completely. I know he’s done when I hear them fall to the floor with a thud.
I reach out and my fingertips brush against the solid muscles of his chest. Stroking his skin softly, I feel the smooth, hard bumps of the scars that are scattered across his front. They must be able to tell so many stories. Stories about years of violence, neatly wrapped in the form of discolored skin.
Crue halts my exploration, by grabbing my ass with both his palms and pulling me into him again. He squeezes hard and pulls them apart, and the sensation makes my body tremble.
I wonder what has him acting this feral? Did something happen, or did he do something to spur on this beastly expression? But those thoughts are short-lived as our mouths lock again, this time with Crue’s tongue bashing through the wall of my lips. Much like our tongues, Crue wrestles me downward, onto my back. He perches himself between my legs, and I get my first brush of his cock against my legs.
His hand slips between our bodies, and he uses it to perch his swollen head against my clit. With our mouths still making a love of their own, Crue moves his hips and glides his length through my folds, bracing his tip at my entrance.
Garbled sounds roll out of me and into him, while my eyes roll to the back of my head. Every inch of him feels amazing. Always has, and always will.
I expect him to speak, then. Another fiery one liner to spur my mood on even harder, but it doesn’t come. Instead, after a few loud breaths against my lips, Crue drives his hips forward, filling me with every glorious inch he has on offer.
I squeak out a noise, wanting nothing more than to howl at the sudden pleasure he thrust into me, but we both have to stay quiet. Anyone could pass my door and hear what’s going on. Funny as it would be for them to see me and Crue in the throes of ecstasy, I don’t think Father would get the joke.
I throw my arms over his shoulders and pull him tightly against me. Crue’s in a world of his own, letting me do whatever I want to his top half, while his focus remains below. He’s not messing around or wasting time tonight. He’s taking what he wants and all I can do is give it to him. And give it, I do, matching his thrusts with enthusiastic movements of my own.
“Mine,” he says out of nowhere, grabbing both my ankles and lifting my legs up to his chest. In this new position, it feels as if he’s penetrating even deeper than before. Something I didn’t think was possible. It still surprises me that my body accepts him at all. Now, I can’t tell where his cock ends, and my body starts.
“All mine.” He pounds into me.
My legs start to shake as this wild sensation rips my first earth-shattering orgasm out of me. It hardly had time to form before he extracted it, and it seems another is already close behind.
“Do you hear me?” His hands return to my hips, and dig in for stability against his vicious thrusts.
I nod, knowing he can’t see it. I mutter an attempt at yes , but the word gets lost behind a wall of feverish groans. Crue must’ve gotten his answer, and liked it, as after only a few hard thrusts, his breathing picks up and his body starts tensing.
“I’m close.” Crue whispers harshly into my ear. He’d scream, if we weren’t in the mansion. “I’m going to fill your tight, wet cunt with my seed.”
Not like it matters now. The scary part has already happened once before.
I dig my nails into his back, and rake them over his skin. His filthy admission forces the action. It sends my mind into a spiral and leaves me clawing my way to another orgasm. My legs rattle against his chest, my walls tighten around his girth, and with a final, fierce grunt Crue empties every lost drop of himself into me.
Then, he crumbles to my side. I reach for the lamp switch to turn it on. We had our fun in the darkness, but I want to see the state I’ve left him in.
Crue is staring at the ceiling and panting for air. Even the blinding light can’t rouse him from the orgasm-induced trance he’s lost in. I giggle and fall back into my pillows, finding both his reaction and my own incredibly funny.
I still haven’t made peace with what he did, but it’s easy to pretend on the outside. I play along and make it seem as if we’re headed in the direction of those American Dream love stories that have been popular through the ages. It’s harder to change inside. I feel an unyielding ache in my bones any time a flash of that night crosses my mind.
But for now, it’s different. In fact, nothing will ever be the same again. The heavy burden of nearly becoming one of Crue’s victims has to be secondary. Just for now.
“Crue, I need to tell you something,” I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
Fuck. It’s a little too familiar, isn’t it? Bright smile, full, happy heart, and the two of us together like my life isn’t crumbling to pieces and he isn’t a lunatic. I’m still not fully convinced this isn’t Crue’s attempt number two to finish me off.
He turns his head to me, slowly. He has still uttered no words other than the things he said to shoot me into the stratosphere. Man, he’s hot when he’s brooding. He is a strong, silent type with hard eyes that stare out for miles, even though they’re pinned to mine at the moment. His stern face refuses to budge, no matter how softly or humbly I approach him.
But I’m not pretending anymore. After all, a week of carrying the news has given me a lot of time to negotiate with this craziness.
“Don’t freak out on me, okay?” I rest a hand on his chest in a subtle gesture to pacify him. Not that I’d ever be able to stop him from doing anything. I’m closer in size to his next meal, than I am a control on him.
His eyes flick across my face. He scans my lips, my eyes, and the lines and contours that make up my facial structure. It’s as if he’s trying to see if he can read what’s about to come out of my mouth.
“I really need you to stay calm,” I go on for no real reason, other than to watch his mind perpetually spinning in anticipation. It’s not as if holding my secret in for another few seconds will change anything.
I’ve made up my mind.
I’m going to tell him.
But maybe I’m enjoying the thrill of watching him suffer in silence.
“Out with it, then,” he says, playing straight into my hands.
“Crue, this is going to be a real shock.” Now that I am on the precipice of speaking the words out loud for the first time, I’m much more anxious than I was a second ago. In all my daydreams about the future, I never once considered the possibility of this going wrong. Well, it’s too late for that now.
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re fucking what?” Crue’s voice goes up several octaves and I slam a hand over his mouth, the way he’s done to me so many other times before.
“Don’t shout. Remember where we are,” I urge him. He might not care that we’re in my father’s home, but Father surely will. And Tomas. And the small battalion of Napoli capos wandering around the property or inside the house.
“Who’s is it?” His voice isn’t as muffled as mine usually is when my mouth is covered. It’s probably because my hand isn’t big enough to hold the whole thing at once.
“Who’s do you think?” I roll my eyes at him, feeling another bout of giggles rushing to the surface. “Yours, you dingus.”
“Mine? I’m going to be a dad?” He says it in an emotionless way. Either he is taking my reminder of where we are to heart, or it’s because it isn’t something that matters. No tears rush to his eyes, no smile cracks the corner of his lip to show happiness. He’s the same, old, stone-cold Crue, asking a question as though his whole world hasn’t just come completely undone.
I had no idea what to expect, but this wasn’t this. I thought he would be either happy or ragingly angry, his neutral nothingness makes me uneasy.
“If you want to be.” My need to giggle is dashed. Instead, my words have a somber severity. “I’m going to keep it, no matter your decision. Taking a life, even if it hasn’t had the chance to blossom into a body, isn’t something I can bear that thought of.” I pause, giving him a chance to speak. When he doesn’t, I continue. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good parent, but I do know I’m going to love this child no matter what. I’m going to raise it differently from how my father raised me. I’m going to give it love, and care, and a family. A real, honest-to-God, family. Not this.” I wave my hand in a wide circle indicating the rest of the house to explain my point. “If it has to be just me and him or her, then so be it. However, I thought you should know.”
It's my dream, anyway. There’s no certainty when it comes to these things. Today I could say one thing, and tomorrow another. Contemplating the future is meaningless. Until this tiny bundle of joy comes into the world, I’ve got no way of knowing what kind of mother I’ll actually be.
But what I can say, with absolute certainty, is that I’m going to love my child with all of my heart. As soon as I saw the plus across all three pregnancy tests, my dread melted away and was replaced by a wave of heartwarming joy and newfound purpose to make things right.
Crue’s involvement, either to be a parent that our child can bond to or an absent father, is fully his choice to make. I’d never push him into anything, especially not now and not like this. But it sure would make things easier, if I knew that he was by my side for this.
“Fiametta,” Crue’s voice is so soft, I almost can’t make out what he’s saying, “I would like to be a part of our child’s life.”
That same unknown force that made me ask him to stay the last time he was here grips me again. This time, it wills me to throw myself forward. I let it take over and grab his face in both my palms, kissing him deeply. Hearing his admission sets my fears and woes ablaze, and turns them to charred ash in the recycling bin of my mind.
That’s not all, is it?
No. Not even close. For the first time since his attempt on my life, I want to forgive his injustice. Finally, I can understand it, and him, and I am able to put it behind me. I’ve rationalized it from the day I woke up in this bed. I told myself that I was at fault, and I believed that because Crue was unapologetically a monster before all else. He made it clear, and continues to do so in all ways. Killing someone to cover up his actions, for one.
Even that is inconsequential now. It feels as if our souls have bonded in a way our minds and bodies never can. I see that he is not a monster. He’s a troubled man who needs help to lead him back to the light.
So let it be me, who carries you back.
Me and our unborn child.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he says, “and take you away from this place.”
“Tomorrow it is.” It can’ t be now, as much as I want it to be. Father’s sleeping and he’d lose his mind if he found out I slipped away in the night.
“Bright and early. You and me.” His eyes travel downward.
“And our baby makes three,” I add to another non-response.
Seriously? Not even a smirk...
Then, Crue does something else instead. He lays his head gently atop my belly and cradles into me.
Much better than a smirk.