14. Renata
I endup spending the rest of the week with Matteo.
We eat, fuck, and swim in the pool and then we fuck some more. Matteo gives me his undivided attention.
He gives me orgasms like I’ve never experienced, but this is dangerous because the sex is leading to other feelings. Perhaps that’s a female thing, and he doesn’t feel the same. But each time he gives me a mind-blowing orgasm, my heart becomes deeper involved.
The weekend comes, and we are lazing in bed with nothing to do, both sated and exhausted. I’m sore. Aching, but it’s a pleasurable one, so I have no complaints.
This whole thing feels out of control. My plans for revenge are on the back burner, and I’m getting stupid ideas. Like playing house.
Like falling in love.
No, no, no. I can’t do that.
“Stay the weekend,” he says. “The only thing is, I do have to meet with my cousin for a couple of hours in the early evening tomorrow. But I”ll be back in time for us to sit and watch a movie maybe? And I don”t have to be in the office until eleven on Monday morning. Do you have anything you need to be back for?”
Everything for my small online business is up to date, and I could take a long weekend if I wish to. Of course, I”m somewhat paranoid as to why he”s asking me to stay. It isn’t as if I can trust him after he left all that information for me to see. Despite the amazing sex, why has he asked me to stay again when he’s going out?
The thing is, though, he”s already played that hand. There’s nothing else that I can imagine he”s going to leave lying around for me to see. That would be far too obvious, and he clearly thinks he”s doing a good job of tricking me so far. It makes me think that this offer of letting me stay, even while he has to go out at some point, is genuine.
As I consider his invite, a plan forms in my mind. A devious one, and it makes my stomach fizz with excitement. “Alright,” I say. “I”ll take you up on that kind invitation and stay. I don”t have anything to get back for, and it might be nice to chill out here for the weekend.”
“It’s not that kind.” His deep laugh rumbles through me. “In fact, I have ulterior motives.”
My heart skips a beat.
“I want your body where I can have access to it on my every whim.” His hand slides over my back.
I kiss his shoulder. “Sounds like the kind of ulterior motives I can get on board with.”
I have a plan now. Something I can do to further equalize the stakes between us, but if I’m being honest, it isn’t the only reason I want to accept his offer.
The more I think about going back to that cold, sterile apartment, being on my own again for the whole weekend, the more I feel depressed.
I”ve never admitted to anyone how much I dislike being alone. I always portray this image of a confident, single woman. If anyone knew the truth, they”d be shocked. However, the fact of the matter is, I intensely dislike my own company. I spend my time filling the space with noise and things to do. I”ll turn the music up full blast and clean even though the place is spotless. I hope to get a dog, or a cat. Probably a dog. Cats are far too independent. I want something to love me. Unconditionally. The way my family never has.
The thing about your own company is, if you”re a well-adjusted person, it’s probably quite pleasant. When you”re a neurotic, bitter, angry mess, then spending time on your own is nothing but toxic. I usually start to get angry and then stressed. Or I get sad, and I hate crying. I blatantly refuse to cry anymore over my family. I try to see Jilly as often as I can, and Carol when she”s in town. I really should try to make some other friends, but it isn’t easy. I’m that desperate that I even asked my nail technician out for a drink one night, and although she said yes, it was clear we weren”t going to click.
That”s the other problem I have. I don”t really fit in anywhere. In a strange way, despite the enmity between our families, Matteo and I are from the same small slice of life. My family has money and lots of it. What they don”t have is respectability. I”ve never fit in with the girls from my snobby, private school. I”ve also never got along with the women from work, when I tried to be a career girl, which is probably why I sucked at it. I have too much money to fit in with people like my nail technician. And far too little class to fit in with the other people who have the same kind of money as me.
When I was married to my minor royal, a little bit of his aristocratic Stardust landed on me and let me glitter for a while. I was superficially accepted into the kind of world he moved in. The minute we were divorced, and I took the blame, that shine wore off. Of course, I let some rumours of his affairs spread just to reaffirm his virility. However, every single thing that was leaked to the press was agreed between me and my ex-husband beforehand. I was bought and paid for. I said what he wanted me to, so that I could secure my financial stability for the rest of my life. Some people may see that as cold, but it isn’t as if I can rely on my family to look after me forever. I don”t really have much on my resume other than my short time doing office work, so getting a well-paid job wouldn”t be the easiest thing for me to do.
It’s one of the reasons I”ve been so pushy about getting it on the family business. I could be an asset to Nico. I see things in a different way to him, and despite the fact that we knock heads constantly, we do actually complement one another in many ways. The sad fact is, though, he will always see me as only a woman, and because of that as a lesser being.
I think back to when James, Nico’s right-hand man, suggested the handbag business to me. I suppose I cut off my nose to spite my face by rejecting that outright. It could actually be a viable business. It would have made me more money than my dabbling in the jewelry world. I didn”t want to give them the satisfaction, though. The thought of taking the scraps they were throwing me from the table makes me want to puke. I want a seat at that damn table, not beg for the scraps off it. Still, the handbags would have complemented the jewelry I sell rather well.
“I can practically hear you thinking from here,” Matteo says. “What are you dwelling on?”
“I’m just thinking about how much I hate my family.”
“I don”t think you really hate them,” he says. “You haven”t cut them out of your life.”
“Oh, trust me, I do hate them.” I turn and rest my head on my hand against his chest, looking up at him. “You know what it”s like with family, and it isn’t always easy to fully walk away. Just because I haven”t cut them out of my life completely doesn”t mean that I harbor sentimental feelings for them.”
“They say that blood is thicker than water,” Matteo replies. “I don”t think that”s wrong. It”s one of those sayings which is based in an elemental truth.”
“And what”s that truth?”
“That when push comes to shove, most of us will choose family over anything else. No matter how chaotic or unhappy it may be.”
“I disagree,” I argue. “I know plenty of people who wouldn”t choose their family over their friends or their partners. If I was married, and it was a proper love match, then that person would be my person. They would take precedence over my family. There is no way that if I had a husband whom I loved that I would let my family come first. My first marriage, however, was nothing but an arrangement. I owed him no loyalty. I have few friends, and I don”t even have a job at the moment, other than my online business, which I run entirely from home, so it’s lonely. I suppose you might say that I”m a coward. Maybe if I had other things in my life, then the idea of cutting my family out wouldn”t be so difficult.”
“I always thought of you as a very self-reliant person.” Matteo moves so that I”m no longer laid on his chest, but we”re facing one another on the bed, our heads next to each other. I want to look away from his dark gaze as it’s far too perceptive. If he sees the real me, he’ll see how hollow I truly am. “You always struck me as having this air of confidence about you.”
“I am confident in many ways.” I choose my words carefully. “However, that doesn”t mean that I have the strength to walk away from my family, at a time when I don”t have a lot else in my life. You might judge me for that, but you”d be a hypocrite if you did. After all, you”re still entwined with your family, and they haven”t always treated you the best way.”
“You”re right, of course,” he says. “Anyway, that”s enough with the landmines for tonight. How about we have a very late-night snack.”
Somewhat mystified about his comment about landmines, but not wanting to push things any further, I nod in agreement. The mention of food has made me realize just how ravenous I am.
“What sort of snack do you suggest?”
“How about a cup of tea and some toast?”
“How very British,” I say with a soft laugh.
“When in Rome,” he replies with a smirk.
“Tea and toast sound marvellous.”
He gets out of bed and hands me a soft, fluffy robe from the back of the bedroom door. I stare at it for a moment, wondering if any other woman has worn it.
“It’s new,” he says. “My housekeeper bought it a while ago for me, but I prefer the cotton one.” He takes the stripy cotton one in question and wraps it around himself.
“You knew what I was thinking?”
“I guessed and quickly realized it looked like I was the sort of douche who had guest robes for booty calls on the back of his bedroom door.”
I crack out laughing at that.
“Anyway, you”ve already cast aspersions upon my toast making ability, so now I have to prove my manhood by preparing for you the finest toast in the land.”
I laugh at that. Wrapped in the warm fluffy robe, I follow him through the house and down into the kitchen. I step onto the tiled floors, bracing myself for that coldness against my feet, but all I get is a soothing warmth. I glanced at Matteo. “You fancy pants you. Under floor heating.”
“Of course,” he says. “Can”t stand freezing floors against my feet in winter.”
“There are these things they invented,” I say. “I think they call them slippers. You can keep your feet warm without having to spend a fortune on heating your tiled flooring.”
He clicks on the kettle in the corner and takes down two mugs from a cupboard to his right. He adds two bags of tea and as the kettle boils, he takes out a loaf of bread and puts four slices into the steel toaster. After he”s clicked the button, he turns to me waving the butter knife he”s taken from the drawer vaguely in my direction. “Did you know that slippers are one of the leading causes of death in this country?”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
“Yes, for real. Toast is too.”
“Toast.” I shake my head. “How is that even possible?”
“Think about it.” He waves the knife again and indicates pointing the knife down toward the grills of the toaster as if he”s going to push it in. “I imagine it is from electric shocks from people using the knife to get toast out.”
“You”d have to be really stupid to do that,” I observe.
“Sadly, there are lots of very stupid people in this world.”
“I honestly don”t think you”re going to die at the hand of your slippers, Matteo.”
“Obviously. The kind of life I lead, it’s going to be at the end of a knife or a gun.”
I shiver at his words. “Not if you get out,” I say.
“No one gets out, Renata.”
“People do. All the time. It”s just a choice.”
“Well, isn”t this ironic?” The kettle boils and clicks off, and he lifts it and pours steaming water into each of the mugs. As he stirs the tea bags around, he speaks with his back to me. “Here you are suggesting that I get out of the life for safety reasons, and yet you”re trying to get in despite everyone telling you it isn’t safe.”
“I”m not telling you to do anything. I merely pointed out that leaving this life is a valid choice, and it is one that you could take. My family isn’t as involved in that world anymore. I don”t think things are as dangerous for them as they used to be.”
“Yes, I suppose that”s why your brother walks around with a veritable army.”
“You have security too,” I point out. “And on paper, your family are now respectable. Surely you can make that leap?”
He shrugs and bends down to open a cupboard door which I realized is a front for a built-in fridge. He takes the milk out and pours a splash into each mug. “I do have security, yes. Your brother, though, seems to surround himself with a mini army at all times. I”ve heard they even live inside the house. You don”t see that here. My security follow me when I go anywhere, and there”s a couple of guys always in the outbuildings. They stay in their apartments, but no one lives here with me. I don”t surround myself by a gang of soldiers everywhere I go.”
He hands me the tea, and I take a sip. It”s perfect, and I realize something. “You didn”t ask if I wanted sugar,” I say.
“You never did when you were younger,” he replies. “I can add some if you like?”
“No, I”m good, thanks. I still don”t take it; I”m just surprised that you remembered.”
“I remember a lot of things about that time. I remember the posters on your wall that you talked about, and the dreams that you had.” He sits opposite me and in the bright, down lights of the kitchen, his gaze is even more intense than usual. “What are your dreams now?”
“I don”t really have any,” I confess.
“That”s really sad, though. Everyone needs a dream.”
“Okay, the heavy stuff. This is a bit early in the situationship for this convo, but if you must know, there is an issue that stops me from being able to dream of the life that I want.”
His face grows serious. “What issue? Are you sick?”
“No, it”s nothing like that,” I say. I scratch at the mug in front of me, rubbing my nail over a tiny indent in the ceramic. “The problem is, it”s hard for me to daydream about a future when I can”t imagine ever having a happy marriage.”
“Just because your first marriage wasn”t happy, doesn”t mean you can”t ever have a happy relationship.”
“I know, but most people see marriage as part of a package, one that always includes children.”
The toast pops making me jump, and he puts it onto a side plate and leaves it to cool for a minute.
“You don”t want children?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “I haven”t for the longest time. Everyone kept saying that at some point my biological clock would kick in, but so far it hasn”t. I think it”s because from a very young age I was told that was my destiny in life.”
I sigh and look at the table. “I was always told I would be made to marry someone and have lots of heirs. I was also continuously bought dolls and pushed into playing with them even though I had no interest. I genuinely have a theory that if I”d been left to do my own thing, I might not feel this way. However, I always felt that I was being pushed in a direction I didn”t want to go, and it made it something that I became truthfully almost phobic about.”
I continue to stare at the mug as if it”s the most amazing thing I”ve ever seen. I don”t often talk about this with people because I”m worried they”ll think I”m strange, or perhaps cold and dead inside. Even though there are plenty of young women choosing not to have children these days, a lot of them due to the cost of living, which is bad enough when you”re just an adult, never mind if you have a child support, I still feel judged for my feelings on the topic. Of course, with my family, I like to use it to annoy them. I don”t really care what they think about me. Matteo, however, is a different matter.
“I also don”t think I”d be a very good mother,” I say in a small voice. “My own wasn”t the greatest, but it”s left me more than a little messed up. I don”t want to perpetuate that cycle, you know?”
“I don”t think you would,” he says. “The simple fact that you”re aware of all of this means that you”d be a better mother than yours was to you. I also don”t think it”s strange that you don”t want children.”
“You don”t?” I ask.
“No. I”ve never wanted children either. Not really. I mean, I love kids; they are great. I can”t wait for my sister to visit with her massive brood, and I can spoil them rotten, but at the end of the day I’d prefer to give them back, you know?”
“That”s how I”ve always felt. Except, so far my brother hasn”t procreated. I thought I”d be this glamorous aunt, and instead I”m turning into some sort of sad old spinster.” “I don”t think you can qualify as a sad old spinster before you even hit your late thirties.” He busies himself putting the toast onto separate plates and offering me a variety of toppings. I go full-on British and choose marmalade for my toast.
I bite into it, and the tart bitterness mixed with the sugar is divine. “I don”t really understand why this isn”t just called orange jam,” I say as I chew and swallow.
“Because it”s different. Jam is made from the whole fruits, and marmalade is made only from the peel, and that”s why it”s so much tarter.”
“How do you know so much about it?” I ask with a giggle.
“One of my friends in college claims that his great-great-something-grandmother was the woman who invented it in Scotland. Or, at least, invented it in its modern form. I think he said that it came from Portugal originally, but then it was changed in Scotland and made into the recipe that we know today. So, there you go.”
I”m properly laughing now, and he”s grinning too. “I”m glad to see that that college education wasn”t a waste,” I say as the giggles overwhelm me again.
“I know; money well spent.”
“Going back to the previous discussion,” he says, taking me off guard.
Damn, I thought I had been saved by the toast.
“You”ll never truly know how you feel about it until you”re in love, which means you don”t have to make a decision until then. If once you meet someone that you want to be with forever, then it”s something to discuss.”
I think I might have met that person, but the thought terrifies me, and he’s a bastard and is playing me so boo-fucking-hoo for me. Life sucks. I almost want to cry and swallow it down, letting the rage in instead because that’s easier to handle.
“You said that you”ve never really wanted them though either,” I point out.
“I suppose I”m agnostic on the subject.” He gives me a wry grin. “It”s one of those things that you shouldn’t really do unless you were passionate about it, you know? I can guarantee that I would never take having kids lightly. If I did it, I would do it with my whole heart.” His stare holds mine in that deep well of his, trapping me, unable to move as he watches me. “It”s going to be exactly the same way when I marry again.”
I swallow and glance down at the toast, picking at it as I try to formulate a reply to that.
“You should do the same,” he says. “Don”t settle for less next time, Renata. Not when you deserve so much more.”
All those nice words, dripping from his lips like honey. So seductive, and such lies. He says I deserve so much more, and yet he’s tricking me.
I can’t let the sex addle my brain to the point I forget that he’s lying to me. Worse, he”s setting me and my family up for something. What exactly, I have no idea. Is he a sociopath who can say exactly what people want to hear? Or is he as messed up as me? Does he really feel things for me, things that are so mixed up with the past that it”s hard to decipher what”s new and what”s old? Perhaps he wants to hurt me, but maybe he hates doing it.
Or, maybe, I think to myself, he believes that doing something to hurt my family won”t really be harmful to me. After all, I’ve been very vocal in expressing how much I can”t stand them. If that”s the case, though, why not simply ask me to give them some false information? I”m convinced that if he presented it to me that way and said he had an idea as to how I could bring my family down a peg or two, then I”d be on board. I’m back to the horrible questions I’ve had ever since I realized he was setting me up.
“This is comfortable,” he says. “I never thought we could get here.”
“It’s just because we’ve sated the little lust demons,” I say with a laugh.
“Are you entirely sated?” he asks.
“I don”t know… I think I could do with a little bit more sating. Maybe, though, something off the side menu. Not another full course.”
He”s taken a sip of his tea when I speak, and he splutters around it a little as he laughs. “I like your euphemism. I could always go for some desert,” he says. He stands, takes another sip of his tea, and walks around to where I”m sitting. He lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his waist.
Matteo carries me with such ease and deposits me on the smooth surface of the table, and he pushes me back as he unties my robe.
I gasp as his head bends between my raised and widened legs, and he finds my clit and sucks it into his mouth. He begins to kiss me expertly, licking me the way I love and sucking at me too. He adds two thick fingers and crooks them just so, and I’m soon curling my fingers around the edge of the table as he expertly and terrifying brings me to an orgasm.
It hits with a force so hard my body bucks up. He’s kissed and caressed me through the come down, and I struggle to push myself up, ready to return the favor, but he pushes me down with one hand firmly on my chest.
I’m half propped up on my elbow, watching as he pulls his robe undone. I stare at his massive cock and swallow.
His fist pumps the length of it, all the while staring at my spread legs. “Open them wider for me,” he orders.
I do as he says, my legs parting for him.
My sass and determination to always fight authority seem to disappear with this man when he gives me sexy orders. My whole body just complies, before my mind can decide which way to go.
He steps closer and removes his other hand from my chest. “Don’t move,” he says.
I nod and bite my lip.
His big fist moving up and down his cock is an erotic sight. I watch ravenously as he milks out drops of pre-cum. He moves closer again and shakes his cock, making those drops splatter my pussy.
“So pretty,” he groans.
Then he fucks his fist for real. “Undo your robe fully and sit up,” he says. “I want to get this all over you.”
I do as he says, no idea why I’m finding this such a turn-on. His gaze roams from my tits to my face, down to my pussy and back again. It’s as if he can’t decide what he likes the most.
His thighs tense and tighten, and he grunts as he comes all over me with a hot splash. The first jet hits my tits, coating them and dripping down them. The second splashes my belly. The third drips along my pussy. He continues working that big cock as long stream of cum covers my pussy, and he still isn’t finished. He pushes the head against me, and works out a few more dribbles, covering me in it.
The way he’s coated me in himself and is staring at me like he wants to devour me makes me feel feral.
He’s just made me come, but I don’t care. I want him again. I want more. I sit up and plaster my sticky, messy body to his. I moan into his mouth as we kiss.
So much for sating our lust.
This is frightening in the intensity it holds over us because no way is this just a me thing. He’s as deep in the physical aspects of this as I am. He groans into the kiss like a man starving. His hands run over my body, rubbing in his seed, and I press my tits against his hard chest, rubbing my nipples against the light smattering of hair there and loving the friction.
“I want you again,” I pant. “I need you to fuck me.” This is messed up. We’re both crazed for it. For one another.
“You’ll be sore,” he says.
“Fuck my ass.” I glance down at his cock which hardens again at my words, despite him just coming moments ago.
It’s massive and those piercings! I worry for a moment, but they’re round, smooth metal balls, not rings, and he doesn’t have any barbells or anything sticking out which might cause damage. It should just enhance things, right? If he takes it easy.
“Jesus, fuck, Renata. I want to, but I’m not small, and with the ladder… Are you sure?”
“Have you done it before? Did it do any damage?”
“Yes, and no.”
I’m both relieved and upset to hear that. “Okay, so we can try, right?”
I look up at him and there’s such naked, raw lust in his gaze it steals my breath.
Oh, we’re going to try. For sure.