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His chest heaved and then he blinked. Still, he didn’t utter a word. It took a full minute before she dared to speak again.
“Gio?” she whispered. “You’re kind of crushing me.”
It was as if she had spoken magical words. He let go of her throat immediately. His legs moved over her thighs and he braced his arms next to her head. Slowly he started kissing her neck, his nose nuzzling the spot where his hand had been just seconds before.
There was a silent question in his eyes. Almost as if he was asking for permission to continue. She didn’t like seeing him vulnerable, unsure as to how she’d feel if he kept caressing her. There might be things unresolved or left unspoken between them, but one thing she was sure of; since the moment she had laid eyes on Giovanni Detta, there hadn’t been a moment she hadn’t wanted him. So, she did the only thing she could do, what her body urged her to do.
Her hand found his hardness, stroking it, while her other hand pulled him closer.
“Make love to me, Gio. Please, take me.”
A part of her expected him to take the remnants of his rage out on her body. To manhandle her, take her roughly. That wasn’t what happened though. He placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips and then spread her thighs. With one thrust, he relentlessly pounded inside her, all the while, kissing her slowly.
She took it all. His pain, his rage, the deep thrusts, as if he was marking her. When he finally came, he took her with him, his tongue deep in her mouth, muffling her moan.
With a swift move, he pulled off of her, his harsh panting sounding loud in the night.
Jazzy draped herself over his body, relieved when he didn’t pull away. “It’s okay,” she said softly, placing a kiss on his chest. “It’s okay.”
She knew what it was like to not be able to speak about some things. Things that were so dirty, evil, that even putting them into words felt like a dent on your soul. Some things were better left unsaid. Buried deep within you. In a place so deep, hidden, and dark, no one would ever be able to shed a light on it, exposing it out in the open.
“If you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept stroking her hair, and that was enough.
***
When she woke up the next morning, it was to an empty bed. The side of his bed was cold; his nightmare must have really rattled him. The man she thought she had married, the man she had believed she had all figured out, had more layers than an onion. Every day, more and more, she realized that he wasn’t just the man he showed the world; the real estate mogul dubbed as Black Ice. Because deep inside of Giovanni Detta, the fiery pits of hell were burning.
After a shower, she put on some baggy jeans and a black tank top. Today she was meeting up with Tommie again to go over their business plan they were going to present to the bank.
She sent Tommie a message with her address as she went into the kitchen to have breakfast. As usual, Thea had outdone herself. Her blueberry pancakes were to die for. Which meant Jazzy would definitely have to go for a run in the afternoon.
When she took her laptop and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice into the living room, the first thing she noticed was the new couch. A surge of warmth flooded through her when she saw that it was a big, brown, plush one and a delight to sit on. It surprised her that Gio had even remembered her complaining about it, let alone had it changed. She couldn’t help but smile at his gesture.
It wasn’t for another hour, when she was deep into coding, that the doorbell rang, and Tommie was led inside by Thea.
Tommie looked his usual self; ragged jeans, black t-shirt, and a postman bag which held his prized possession, his laptop.
“So, who did you have to sleep with to get in here?” he joked.
“I, um, actually live here.”
“You live here? Are you kidding me?” he asked, looking around with his mouth hanging open.
“If you don’t close your mouth, you’re going to catch flies,” she teased. So, she might not have told him about her personal life much. Such as her grandfather being a former bank for the mob. Or that she was married to a semi-legit mobster progeny going white-collar. Or, okay, she hadn’t told him anything.
Tommie glowered at her. “You let me pay for lunch, you shit.”
“Yeah, thanks about that. Those pumpkin bagels were delish.”
“You’ve slept on my ratty couch,” he argued, his eyes still roaming around the living room that looked like a page from a magazine.
“You may not want to say that out loud,” she warned him.
“Why not? Someone here in theScarfacemansion going to make me sleep with the fishes?” he scoffed.
“Touch her and I’ll take you apart myself. There won’t be anything left for the fishes.”