13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Luciana
“W hy are you still awake?” Emilio asked.
It was one thirty am. I had fallen down another rabbit hole of researching that mysterious symbol. It was probably nothing more than a homeless person’s artwork while they were strung out on meth, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said. It was technically the truth.
“I can think of some fun things that will help you sleep,” he said suggestively.
I grabbed the pillow that was beneath my head and flung it towards him. He effortlessly caught it, his laughter filling the room.
But I had been thinking about doing said things with him. His presence alone was enough to make my heart race and palms sweat. Every time our eyes met, I felt drawn to him like a magnet, unable to resist his charm and raw sex appeal.
When we could go out in public, women - and some men - would stop and stare at him, for good reason. He was a god among men; a modern day Adonis.
If he didn’t get on my nerves so often, I might have actually fallen trap to his antics.
“In your dreams, Emilio,” I said.
“Actually.” Emilio walked over to the bed. He pushed his knee between my thighs and caged my head between his hands. “In yours.”
My face turned bright red. I had expected him to jab back, as he always did, thriving off our playful yet heated exchanges. But his voice had dropped low, his eyes smoldering with a potent intensity that left me breathless.
“I see you sleeping when I get home at night. Do you know how often your thighs are clenched and rubbing against each other?” He slid his thumb across my face. “It’s really cute when you’re moaning into your pillow, though.”
“You’re lying,” My heart was racing, and I was having trouble keeping my voice level.
“I’m not, though. There’s even a wet spot when you wear your tight shorts.”
He wasn’t lying. I had been waking up most morning with damp panties and an ache in my lower abdomen, begging to be taken care of. With Emilio and the Dino’s around, I hadn’t been able to get enough privacy to find relief. My arousal had crept its way into my dreams.
My cheeks felt like they were on fire as I tried to hide my embarrassment. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and spreading across my face, a telltale sign of my embarrassment.
I still felt too mortified to respond. Attempting a nonchalant ‘tsk’ noise, I cringed as it came out in a high-pitched squeak.
“It’s a self imposed punishment. I can make it go away whenever you want,” he said.
He pushed his body off of mine, strategically grazing his knee across my slit. A jolt of pleasure surged through my core, igniting every nerve ending in my lower body.
I had to escape this man immediately. The wet that was pooling in my underwear was so heavy it would surely show through my thin leggings.
“I’m going to shower,” I blurted.
“You do that, Jaws. Let me know if you want me to join you.”
The mischievous look in his eyes said he knew exactly what I was going to be doing. Oh well. I needed to orgasm so my judgement stopped being cloudy, and entertaining the idea of having sex with Emilio evaporated from my thoughts.
Emilio had no shame. He would get ready in front of me, stripping all of his clothing off, exposing his tanned skin and toned muscles. I mean, I knew we were married, but it was just a facade. Shouldn’t he be more private about it?
“I need to buy some new shirts,” he said, shimmying into a pair of jeans. “Mine are…dirty.”
And by dirty he meant they were covered in blood. He had tried to hide them from me, but I had found multiple ruined shirts shoved in the trash can that was in the laundry room.
“Uh huh. Can I come?” I asked.
I was going stir crazy. The only things I did were with the Dino’s and sometimes my sister (and even then, there was a Dino with us).
“Sure,” he said. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?!”
I was still in my cozy flannel pajamas, with no hint of makeup on my face. My hair, tangled and tousled from sleep, cascaded down my shoulders in wild waves. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows illuminated the messy state of my appearance.
“Better hurry,” he said, giving me an evil grin.
Without wasting a second, I grabbed clothes and darted into the bathroom. The first order of business was getting rid of my disheveled hair. I grabbed a brush and began tugging through the wild waves, wincing as it pulled at knots. After finally smoothing them out, I hastily pulled my hair up into a tight bun.
Next, I hurried over to the sink and washed my face with lukewarm water. Then, I applied some light makeup, just enough to brighten up my face a bit. Foundation, mascara, and a subtle tone of lipstick was all it took. I stared at my reflection, satisfied with the result. After putting on my clothes, I exited the bathroom and found Emilio sitting on the bed.
“That was seventeen minutes,” Emilio said.
“Shouldn’t you be driving away, then?”
He rose and approached me, gently squeezing my cheek between his fingers. “Nah. I’d never leave you behind.”
“You’re going to smear my makeup,” I deadpanned.
“Eh, you don’t need it.”
I swatted his hand away. “Not the point.”
“I don’t want anyone staring too long at my wife.”
The mischievous grin that usually adorned Emilio’s face was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was somber and uncharacteristically serious. This time, he wasn’t making a joke.
My heart thumped in my chest at his words. I was unsure whether to feel flattered or threatened. His protective nature, while endearing on one side, could also be dangerously oppressive.
“Let’s go,” I blurted out.
He chuckled, his facade returning to its usual buoyant state. “Sure thing, Jaws.”
We exited the penthouse into the parking garage towards Emilio’s sports car. Emilio held open the door for me, his strong bicep flexing under his black shirt as he did so. I slid into the leather seat, my heart still beating furiously as I tried to process his serious demeanor.
Soon enough, we arrived at our destination: an upscale mall nestled amidst a cluster of high-end boutiques and exclusive restaurants. Its grandeur was obvious even from afar; the front was lined with intricate architectural designs and ostentatious decorations that screamed wealth and sophistication.
We walked in tandem into the first shop; Emilio’s muscular hand held on firmly to mine. I wasn’t sure why he always held my hand or wrapped his arm around my waist. He was under no obligation to.
Inside, it was grander still - marble tiled floors sparkled under ornate chandeliers while soft classical music played.
“Only shirts?” I asked as the two of us strolled into the men’s section.
“Mhm,” he said. “I hate shopping.”
I nodded, acknowledging his sentiment. As a woman, I loved it, and could spend hours shopping both online and in person.
The men’s section was a maze of clothes; rows upon rows of racks filled with neatly pressed shirts, perfectly ironed trousers, and immaculately folded sweaters. The walls were adorned with an assortment of high-quality pictures – models striking confident poses in the very merchandise we were browsing.
“Gingham or plaid?” I held up two shirts for him to examine.
“Neither,” he said simply, lips curving into a small smirk, “Plain.” He pointed to a black shirt nearly identical to the one he was wearing.
“Do you wear any color that isn’t black?” I asked him.
“Gray. Dark blue, sometimes.”
I groaned. “Emilio. If I have to be married to you, you’re expanding your wardrobe.”
“I think this is the first time you’ve acknowledged our marriage since the wedding day. Am I growing on you, Jaws?”
If I hadn’t heard it directly from other Mafia member’s mouths, there was no way I would ever think that Emilio could be “The Butcher.” His personality was too nonserious.
But here I was, helping him replace his bloodied shirts. I wondered how many men he had killed or injured to ruin that many tops.
I picked out shirts in varying shades–colors that would accentuate Emilio’s dark features and highlight his athletic build. Dismissing anything garish or overly embellished, I settled for clean lines and subtle patterns. The selection process was laborious but worthwhile - each piece I picked out elicited a satisfied nod from Emilio.
Once satisfied with my selections, we moved to the fitting rooms. Emilio tried on each shirt I had handpicked, and each time he stepped out to show me, I couldn’t help but marvel at how the clothes accentuated his figure.
But, the man could wear a paper bag and still look good.
“This should be enough for now,” he said, draping the mass amount of t-shirts and button ups we had picked over his arms.
I wanted to ask how long it normally took before he bloodied them, but I decided against it.
Instead, I indulged him in small talk as we made our way to the counter. While he settled the very expensive bill, I took in the sight of him - the way his muscles shifted under his shirt, the way his fingers effortlessly swiped his card. I wondered what his fingers could do - no, bad Luciana. I shook my head, silently reprimanding myself.
As we exited the shop, loaded down with bags, Emilio glanced towards me, a small smile on his face. “You have good style.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “You make a good mannequin.”
“Uh huh. Do you normally ogle mannequins that much?”
“I wish you were a mannequin. I could leave you in the men’s section of Neiman Marcus and not come back.”
He laughed, a deep and throaty sound that echoed around the high-vaulted spaces of the mall. “I’d make a damn good window display.”
“So modest,” I sighed. “C’mon. Let’s go get ice cream.”