Chapter 9 – POSY #3
I need my jewelry. The watch, the earrings, the matching diamond and sapphire set Dario—or rather Carolyn—got me for our six month anniversary. Even at pawn shop valuation, I could get enough to totally disappear for a nice long time.
I bet it would drive Dario crazy to lose me twice. He’s clearly knocked off kilter. I should be scared. It sure as hell shouldn’t feel even the slightest bit good that I’ve pushed a monster over the edge. Me. The girl everyone could resist. I can make Dario Volpe crazy.
“Did you hear me?” Ray raises his voice over the surround sound.
“Yeah. Dinner in an hour.”
“In town.”
Dario’s letting me leave the house? So soon? My heart kicks up a notch. He thinks he’s got me back in line. I suppose he’s right. I’m not going anywhere today. Not with Renelli looming.
I was at a disadvantage when Dario put me out. He had the element of surprise. When I make a break for it, I’m going to have as many ducks in a row as I can.
“Fifty-six minutes,” Ray drones from the lounger behind me. I think he’s actually watching the movie.
I flip him off as I go upstairs to change. Ray mutters at my back as I go.
Dario hates going into Pyle for work, but about once a week or so, he likes to go downtown for a meal or to check out something he wants to buy before he has it delivered. He rarely takes me to business functions, but he always expects me to go when it’s just him.
I thought they were dates, but thinking back—he never asked. Not if I wanted to go out that night, not which restaurant I wanted to go to. We left when he was done, and he never asked if I was tired and wanted to head home.
His decisiveness turned me on.
I’m an idiot.
When I get to the bedroom, I make a beeline for the safe in the closet where Dario had me keep my jewelry. I spin the knob. 13-29-46. The door doesn’t budge. I try it a few more times to be sure. He’s changed the combination.
I didn’t figure it’d be that easy. I grab the first cocktail dress that’s handy, a one-sleeved bodycon number that looks like gold sequins from a distance, but it’s actually an intricate pattern done with metallic thread. It makes me look like a Bond girl.
Why is this dress in the front? It’s not a favorite. I thought I’d buried it in the back. And why are my sweaters on the lower shelves?
Now that I’m noticing, all my clothes are in the wrong places. I had it organized by what I like to wear the most. Someone took all my stuff out and then hung it back up by season and type of garment.
My spine tingles.
Either Dario reorganized my clothes for shits and giggles, or he really was done with me, and then he wasn’t. What changed his mind?
What if he changes it back before I have a chance to run?
It’s exhausting to try and figure out the workings of a mind like Dario’s. Is that why I never looked too deep? It was easier to accept appearances and gloss over the occasional sense that everyone in the house was tiptoeing around a monster?
I don’t have time to shower, so I blow out my hair, slip on the dress, and dig out a pair of gold peep-toe stilettos.
My foundation does a decent job of covering the scrape on my cheek.
I consider chunky bracelets to cover my bandaged wrist, but they chafe too bad.
I could change into a dress with two long sleeves, but I can’t be bothered.
Dario’s the one who messed up my wrist. If we get stares, he can deal with it.
By the time Ray knocks on the door, I’m ready to go. He helps me with my coat and escorts me out to the town car. Dario’s already in the back, absorbed in his trading app. There’s a new man in the passenger seat. Ivano’s replacement, I guess. I wonder if he knows what happened to his predecessor.
I shiver.
“Turn the heat up,” Dario orders, his gaze never leaving his phone. “She’s cold.”
This is new. He doesn’t notice, well, anything to do with my comfort.
Ray obliges and we pull out. The sun sets as we drive downtown in silence. The new guy is hyperalert, checking the rear and side view mirrors methodically, his posture rigid. It makes me nervous. Is he expecting something?
Ray and Dario don’t seem concerned. Dario’s oblivious, and Ray’s obsessed with people driving too slow in the fast lane or passing on the right. I’m used to him cursing people out under his breath as we drive. The familiarity of it is almost comforting.
“Where are we going?” I call up to Ray.
“La Calomba,” Dario answers. This is new, too. Usually if I have a question, Ray’s the guy. Dario uses transit time to work.
Dario tucks his phone in his pocket, redirecting his attention to me, raking his flinty eyes down my body. I press my knees together more tightly. The outfit is my usual for a night out. The hem hits high on the thigh. My legs are bare.
It’s probably still a little too early in the season for peep toes. My exposed skin is chilly and puckered with goosebumps.
Dario reaches over and strokes from my knee to the hem of the dress, pushing it higher into my lap. I squeeze my thighs.
“What panties are you wearing?” he asks.
I cast a glance to the front seat. Both men are keeping their eyes straight forward, pretending they didn’t hear, but there’s no way they missed what he said. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice.
My face heats. I lift my chin and stare out the side window.
He reaches out as fast as a whip, grabs my jaw, and turns me back to face him. “You don’t ignore me.”
“ You ignore me .” I didn’t plan on baiting him. The words just flew out.
“I’m talking to you now.”
“We’ve been in the car for twenty minutes. You haven’t said a word to me until you asked me about my panties.”
“That bothers you?” He’s gentled his grip on my chin, but he hasn’t let go.
I shrug. I hadn’t intended to complain. I was only being argumentative. “I guess not. I don’t care what you do.”
“You wanted to talk about something?”
“No.”
His eyes narrow like they do when we’re playing a game, and he’s trying to figure out the method to my madness.
“You want me to talk to you?”
He’s not dropping it, and I don’t know what to say.
“Before, you talked. All the time.” He says it like an accusation—like how dare I change the rules now.
He’s right. I was very good at filling the silences with chatter. Just like Mom babbled away at the dinner table while Dad shoveled food in his mouth, interrupting her every so often to ask her to get him another beer.
“Maybe I had more to say then,” I toss out.
Dario leans closer to me. His sharp, clean scent teases my nose.
“I like listening to you,” he says, his voice cast low.
The way he’s turned, he’s blocking me from full view from the front seat. I feel small. Pinned in place.
“Why?” I ask.
He smooths his fingers down my throat and slides them to my shoulder. He bends even closer until his mouth is right next to my ear. “It’s like listening in on a broadcast from another country. Makes me wonder what it’s like.”
“Wonder what what is like?”
He doesn’t answer. “I want to see your panties, Posy.”
His hand strokes my thigh. It vaguely registers that we’ve pulled into a parking garage. A tendril of excitement curls in my belly. It’s wrong to be excited, but it’s not crazy . Dario is a beautiful man. He smells amazing. His voice is gravelly and deep.
It’s not messed up to be turned on. It’s natural. Not smart, but not crazy.
For some reason, he’s abandoned his “take what he wants, when he wants” strategy. He seems to want my cooperation. Maybe I can work this to my advantage.
“You want me to show you my pussy?” I whisper back.
His eyes spark with fire.
“Gentlemen. Out of the car,” he barks, his gaze not leaving mine.
There’s a quick slamming of doors. I peer around Dario’s shoulder. Ray is in front of the car by a low wall, his back to us, staring out over the city skyline. The other guy must be behind us.
“Yes,” Dario breathes. He edges back to give me room. I unclick my seat belt.
“Show me,” he groans.
Am I going to do this?
Yeah.
I don’t say no. I don’t know how to play that game where you cling to your pride or your standards or whatever. But this one? Show me? This game I know.
This feels familiar, and familiar feels safe.
I slip my feet out of my shoes. If I rest the stiletto heel on this buttery leather upholstery, I’ll rip a hole, no doubt. I wriggle the dress up until it’s bunched under my boobs, and Dario can see my white silk bikini briefs. They’re nothing special. They don’t even match my bra.
Still, he sucks in a breath. Yes. I like that.
“More,” he demands.
I swallow. My throat is tight, and the swirling in my belly has spread to become a thrum between my legs.
I prop a foot on the seat he had been sitting in, and I let my knee fall open, canting my hips. I look down, following his gaze.
My panties cover me completely, but he can see the tender crease where my thighs meet my hips. Dario strokes a finger along the line. I smother a gasp. Then he hooks a finger under the elastic, tugging them to the side, revealing my puffy lips, reddened and shiny with my juices.
Dario’s breath turns jagged and rough. He’s being so gentle, so tentative. He’s never like this.
My whole body is on edge. My breasts feel heavy, my stiff nipples chafing against my bra. My skin is hot. Perspiration tickles behind my knee and above my lip. I’m going to sweat out my hairdo.
What am I doing?
I don’t know, but I don’t want to stop.
Dario’s looking at me like he does when we play games. Intent. Curious. Amused.
“Take them off.”
My gaze darts out the window where a silver SUV is parked.
“No one but me will see. Sal’s back there.”
“Is Sal the new guy?”
“You don’t need to give a fuck who Sal is,” he growls. “Take your panties off.”
A little spasm causes flutters deep inside me. He’s being a dick, but I don’t care. I want this. I want to be the center of his world.
I shimmy the scrap of fabric down, leaving it ringed around an ankle. I prop my foot back up on the seat.