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9

SAbrINA

M onte promised we’d stop and find a hotel when he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He finally hits this point in the early afternoon right outside Terre Haute, Indiana.

We’re having lunch in a sandwich shop when Monte nearly nods off into his roast beef hero. I’ve managed to sleep for a few hours, huddled up in the front seat with his blanket and pillow, but he’s running on fumes and needs a break.

I’m afraid he’ll choke on his lunch or hit his head so I place a folded sweatshirt on the table to break his fall and move to his side of the booth, cutting his hero up into smaller bite-sized pieces before he can stop me.

After that, he’s too annoyed to pass out.

It’s a stroke of luck when we locate a nearby family-friendly budget hotel that allows us to check in early. We even manage to score two connecting rooms.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Monte growls as he deposits the last of my belongings in my room, including the gas station shopping bags.

“I’ll try and quell my urge to explore Terre Haute without you,” I mutter and start pawing through my suitcase.

Monte pauses at the door connecting our two rooms. The looks he shoots me is so bleary-eyed and drained that I feel a pang of sorrow for being such a constant pain in the ass.

He’s also extremely huggable standing there in his untucked wrinkled shirt, his posture exhausted, after a long night of doing everything humanly possible to protect and care for me. Really, the man deserves to be knighted.

And I must be tired as well, which explains the sudden threat of emotional tears as I gaze at Monte Castelli. I wonder what he’d do if I ran over there, squeezed him with affection, proclaimed my gratitude, pushed my body against his and…

Never mind. This is about to veer off into a forbidden place.

“I promise I’ll stay put,” I say. “Please go and get some sleep.”

He cracks a wide yawn and raises his arm to lean against the doorframe. His forehead presses into the back of his hand and his eyes are closed. No matter how fatigued he is, the visual effect is powerfully sexy.

“We’ll be back on the road before dawn,” he murmurs, sounding so very weary and looking as if he might collapse before he reaches a bed.

Maybe he needs some help. The buttons on his shirt might be too complex to manage in his current state. Luckily, I’m not too tired to unbutton his shirt. Or unbuckle his belt. I’m sure I could deal with the zipper on his pants. Once his pants are open, they’ll be easy to roll down over his hips. If he wants to shed his boxers then I’m not afraid to assist with that task either.

I wasn’t exactly being honest the night I insisted that I didn’t want to see his dick. Monte’s dick, from what I’ve heard, is an object of legends. My inner muscles clench every time I think about what this means and how it would feel to put myself at the mercy of a man of his size and monstrous strength. His stamina must be outrageous.

And if there’s a hell for people addicted to dirty fantasies at inappropriate times then that’s exactly where I’m going. I can only hope they have chocolate.

At least Monte doesn’t notice that I’m over here in the middle of a raging hormonal fit. I bet my face is red. I probably look sweaty.

He turns his head and opens one eye, gazing at me. “See you later.”

“Nighty night,” I say.

He smiles. My insides liquify. I’m never prepared to receive one of his smiles. An invisible lightning bolt burns through my core.

Monte turns and starts to close the door between our two rooms. “I’ll leave this unlocked,” he says.

“Great,” I croak and watch him retreat.

The instant the door is closed I flop on the lumpy queen-sized bed and stare at the ceiling. The sleep I cobbled together in the passenger seat of Monte’s car wasn’t really high quality, yet I’m too amped up to sleep. And I want to come.

My period is almost finished. Still, this is a chore best suited to the shower. Even if my period was completely gone, the only thing separating me from Monte is one unlocked door. What if he barges in here while I’m spread-eagled on the bed and fucking myself with a vibrator? That would be terrible.

Or would it? taunts the demonic voice inside my head.

With a groan of shame, I grab a bed pillow and pull it over my face. This pillow is starchy and too soft, not nearly as nice as Monte’s pillow, which was left in the car.

I can hear him in the room next door. Judging by the sounds, he’s opening his duffel bag and rummaging for clothes. A pair of thuds, one right after the other, is likely him dropping his shoes on the floor. Then comes the squeak of door hinges as he moves to the bathroom.

It would make sense if he’s decided to take a shower before going to bed. I feel rather stale after so many hours in the car and I’m sure he does too. Monte is likely shedding his clothes right now. Or he might already be naked.

I could easily be naked too. We won’t be in the same room, obviously, but the coincidence is still hot if I use my imagination.

Tossing the pillow away, I scramble over to my suitcase and extract my preferred sex toy from its satin-lined box hidden beneath layers of clothing. With one final scan of the closed door connecting my room to Monte’s, I carry my toy and a change of comfortable clothes to the attached bathroom.

There’s nothing soothing about the way the cheap showerhead spits out shards of hot water with the force of tiny arrows landing on my skin. And the boxy shower stall isn’t exactly roomy but there’s enough space to imagine sharing it. I can work with this.

Facing the slippery wall as the water strikes my back, I fantasize that I’m not alone, that I’m pinned in place by the presence of a formidable male body. I’m overpowered by arms roped with muscle, and I couldn’t leave if I tried. He bends his head, his mouth hovering near my ear. His guttural words are ominous when he makes his demands.

I’ve caused him a lot of trouble lately. His life has been totally upended in order to protect me. I don’t even dare to speak, to move, as his enormous erection digs into the small of my back.

He’s going to teach me a lesson. He needs to do this for my own good. And I’m ready to learn.

I’m breathing hard, clumsy fingers fumbling with the settings on the hot pink rabbit vibrator. I push the toy between my legs, searching for the right angle. I’m so impatient that I accidentally flip the setting to pulse instead of thrust. The thumb of the tool flicks an intensely sensitive place. I moan into the wall and the surge builds.

Within seconds I’m trembling and I let it happen, welcoming the easy orgasm. Warm ripples of pleasure multiply and send shockwaves through my system but I’m not finished. I’m gulping air, my cheek pressed to the shower wall, my fingers shakier than ever as I revert the toy back to thrusting mode.

A fictional echo of Monte’s chuckle vibrates near my ear. In my head it’s not a hot pink piece of battery operated silicone that’s doing the dirty work between my legs. It’s him.

The first orgasm was a pleasant trip. The second orgasm, much deeper, is a warp speed rocket attack. I’m left quivering and unsteady by the onslaught, barely hanging onto the shower wall while Fantasy Monte sweeps my hair away from my neck and promises that I’ve just been a very good girl.

I’m now extremely satisfied, though slightly guilty. True, what Monte doesn’t know about my shower masturbation time won’t hurt him. However, aside from some grumpy muttering, he’s been a true prince. And how am I repaying his gallantry? I’m using him to get off. I ought to be ashamed of myself. What’s more, I should have the honesty to admit that my teeny tiny crush on Monte might be a little more than just physical.

Rather than pick this idea apart, I lather up with cheap motel soap and scrub my crimes away. When I’m finally clean, moisturized with my favorite cherry-scented lotion and wrapped in comfy cotton loungewear, I feel far less corrupt.

All is quiet next door in Monte’s room. The strip beneath the door is dark and I really hope he’s already sleeping. When I flash back to the sheer exhaustion on his face there’s a funny stitch in my chest.

I’ve missed a couple of messages while I was in the shower. Nico texted to ask if all is well. I reply to let him know we’re fine and Terre Haute isn’t a bad place to stop for the night. I’m not surprised when he evades my question about the state of things in New York. This is not information that can be exchanged via text and I’m sure Monte has instructed him not to share any possibly scary details.

Daisy also texted. She’s worried and Daisy is usually too cheerful to worry about anything more complicated than where to park the burger truck. Since I’m on a mission to be extremely quiet for the sake of Monte’s sleep, I wait until I’m closed inside the bathroom to give my sister a call.

“Brina!” she exclaims. “Anni told me what happened. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Monte is fine. For now he’s driving me to Colorado and I guess we’ll take it from there. Are you still in Atlanta?”

“For one more day,” she says. “I’m so sad that I missed seeing you in New York.”

“Well,” I say slowly. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I’m not going back to Sicily. After I visit Anni, I’m returning to New York. Then I was hoping to stay with you and Big Man Bowie while I get everything figured out.”

“Really?” she squeals. “Babe, Sabrina is gonna live with us!”

“Sweet!” Big Man Bowie replies in the background. “Did you tell her about the new white truffle burgers?”

“I did tell her. Just wait till she tries one!”

There’s a lot to be said for simple, carefree people. Daisy and Big Man Bowie are twin rays of sunshine, perfect for each other.

Daisy is now ecstatic and full of plans about all the food she is going to serve me and all the fun we’re going to have together.

As we say our goodbyes, I’m glad to have set her mind at ease and relieved to have a plan for what comes after Colorado. Daisy and Big Man Bowie have a small apartment so staying with them isn’t a lasting solution but I have money saved from my game sales. I’m confident I’ll be able to sell another one soon. It’s time for me to find my own way.

All I need to do now is break the news to my mother in the near future. I hope she can smooth things over with Uncle Vittorio, who regards me as a helpless ward that needs to be married off in order to survive.

No sooner is that last thought completed when my phone goes off.

My villainous mafia lord of an uncle must have supernatural powers. For a few beats I’m just paralyzed as I stare at his name on the screen. I’m not exactly afraid of my mother’s older brother. He’d never harm me. But that doesn’t mean I relish the possibility of being on his bad side.

“Hello, Uncle Vittorio,” I say, bracing for a severe scolding.

“Sabrina,” he responds in a flat, unamused voice. “You’ve had some trouble in New York.”

Gee, good news sure does travel fast in Mob World.

“I’m safe now,” I tell him. “I’m on my way to Colorado to see Anni.”

There’s a long, silent pause before he says, “Your mother is very distraught by your behavior.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

Truly, I’m sorry that my mother is upset but I’m not some teenager who ran away from home and I’m sick of being treated like one.

Yet saying this out loud to my uncle would be a mistake.

“I’m sorry for that,” I say. “I’ll make it up to her.”

There’s a rhythmic clink of metal on the other end. One of Vittorio’s habits when he’s thinking is to tap his heavily ringed fingers. The effect is always unnerving, like a tiger making hunting plans.

“Where are you?” he asks.

Can’t say I’m a fan of the ominous edge to his question.

“I told you I’m safe.” And I’d rather keep Monte’s name out of the conversation. “But I’m driving to Colorado since all the planes are still grounded.”

“That will all be resolved in roughly twelve hours,” he says with such confidence that I don’t think of questioning his news. His accent is not as thick as my mother’s, despite the fact that she’s spent most of her adult life in the states and he’s always remained in Sicily. I can’t begin to guess the full nature of my uncle’s business and I’m not even interested. All I know is that whenever his name comes up, people immediately look like they’re on the verge of puking up their latest meal.

“Who are you with?” he says, his syrupy voice dragging out every syllable.

It’s possible he already knows exactly where I am and who I’m with. But it’s more likely that he’s stuck thousands of miles away and with global information systems not functioning properly, he has no way of answering any of his own questions. This is probably driving him crazy.

Vittorio won’t hear the truth from me. My loyalty to Monte wins over any wish to keep my controlling uncle happy.

“Uh-oh. Uncle Vittorio, you’re breaking up. Must be a bad connection. Tell Mama I’ll call her when I get to Colorado. ‘mkay? Bye!”

I end the call. Then I turn my phone off. I don’t want to know if he tries to call back.

And I’m kind of pissed at Vittorio for ruining my orgasm afterglow. No longer relaxed, I feel the need to burn off some nervous energy.

With my laptop and a bag of gas station snacks, I set up camp in the middle of the bed and dive right into a new game that I haven’t quite mastered yet. A departure from my usual trope favorites, it’s a fast-paced outlaw cowboy game with a lot of shooting and bank robbing and horseback riding. I’m playing in story mode rather than against live online players because sometimes I just don’t have the patience to deal with a bunch of amateurs crowding my screen.

As I’m galloping over rough terrain and trying to evade the local sheriff, I remember what Monte said about his summers on his cousins’ ranch. The image of Monte Castelli riding through rugged brush on horseback is not one that comes easily. Monte is a son of New York, as much a part of the city as the subway tunnels. He doesn’t really belong anywhere else.

Maybe that’s something we have in common. I never belonged in Sicily. Only New York feels permanent.

For the next two hours the game keeps my attention, although my mind keeps adding suggestions about how the action could be improved. Still, the graphics are spectacular and the story line engaging. I would give the experience a solid B+.

Eventually, I tire of winning duels and I switch to my notes on the game I’m currently working on. There is still no sound from the neighboring room and I’m glad. A prick of guilt strikes every time I remember Monte’s obvious exhaustion.

It doesn’t occur to me how long I’ve been sitting in one position until I move to grab a sleeve of powdered donuts. This whole time my legs have been crisscrossed with the laptop balanced on my knees and my bad ankle is particularly stiff. As I roll my foot around to improve the circulation, I wish I had an ice pack to ease the ache. Plus my Gatorade is warm. Gatorade tastes best when enhanced with ice cubes while drinking through a straw.

I have no access to straws but I know where to get ice. Earlier, I spotted an icemaker just down the hall. A clear plastic ice bucket sits atop the dresser beside a pint-sized coffee machine.

After mulling over whether I’d be breaking a promise to Monte if I walk down the hall and fill the bucket with ice, I decide that I’m not. I promised not to leave the motel and I won’t. Besides, Monte is sound asleep.

Since I’m not wearing a bra under my flimsy pajama top, I pull on the Gino’s Pizzeria tee that I wheedled out of Monte. There are plenty of other pieces of clothing that would make more sense to cover myself with when wandering the halls of the chilly hotel, but I like this one. It’s comfortable, nearly reaches my knees and comes equipped with a very enticing hint of Monte’s cologne.

Monte left the card key on the dresser beside the ice bucket. I grab them both and exit as silently as possible. The hallway is empty and bathed in yellowish light. Faint noises from other guests echo from nearby rooms. A woman’s laughter. The whir of a hairdryer. A blaring television tuned into the latest depressing news.

My Pacman flip flops land softly on the cheap green carpet but I take pains to be extra silent when I pass Monte’s door. Our rooms are at the very end of the long hallway and the ice machine is just ahead, located in an alcove at the midway point between here and the elevator. This will take no time at all.

There’s still no one around as I fill the bucket halfway. The card key to my room stays in my other hand. Or is it the card key to Monte’s room? Suddenly, I’m not sure. There were actually two card keys left on the table. There’s a fifty percent chance I’ll need to return through Monte’s room.

While I’m still considering how I feel about the possibility of walking into Monte’s room and finding him sleeping naked atop the covers (because it’s my fantasy and I’ll picture whatever I like), I step out of the ice machine alcove and receive a dreadful shock.

Monte is leaning against the nearest wall and wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue gym shorts. A gun idly dangles from his right hand. His black hair is adorably messy, he still hasn’t shaved since we left New York and his eyes rake me over from head to toe.

“What the hell are you doing?” he says in a tone I don’t especially care for.

I hold up the bucket. “I’m stealing the Impala and drag racing through Terra Haute. What does it look like?”

He grunts and surveys the hallway. “I told you to stay in the room.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance Lenny Lombardo and the mafia will find me here.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk about that.”

“Mafia!” I call, then yell it louder down the hall. “MAFIA! See? Nothing.”

“You can be such a brat,” he mutters with a shake of his head.

“Occasionally,” I admit with my eyes lingering on his absurdly broad shoulders. He’s still wearing his gold cross and Italian horn. Perhaps he never takes them off, not even in the shower. “Anyway, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I got up to take a piss. The light in your room was on but there was no answer when I knocked because you decided to go on a field trip.”

“Dramatic much? I’m just getting some ice.”

“I would have gotten you ice.”

“Monte.” I grit my teeth together, irritation now overcoming fascination with his bare chest. “If I want to be treated like an infant then I’ll go back to Sicily. I wanted ice. I got ice. The end.”

His jaw ticks and his eyes flash but then he sighs. “You’re right.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I thought it might be a sugar hallucination. Say it again.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “You’re right, Gamer Girl. You’re allowed to get as much ice as you want.”

“Cool. I win.”

“You win,” he agrees with a hint of a smile.

“Now can you put that thing away?” I ask, gesturing in his general direction.

He takes a pointed look at his crotch. “Not easily. It’s kind of attached.”

“Funny,” I mutter, although now I’m looking at his crotch too. To be fair, I’ve already glanced in that region a couple of times within the last minute.

He plucks the bucket from my hands, dumps his gun on top of the ice and motions for me to start moving. He walks directly behind me, as if he doubts that I can be trusted to return to my room.

“Nice shirt,” he says.

Oops. I forgot I was prancing around in his property. What a desperate look. My cheeks heat up.

“This shirt is, um, very comfortable,” I stammer as I swipe the key card in my door. I’m relieved when it unlocks because I already look like enough of an idiot.

Monte follows me into the room, which suddenly seems a lot smaller with him in it, especially once he closes the door and sets the ice bucket on the dresser. I’m acutely aware that we’re alone.

And we’re in a hotel room.

And he’s nearly naked.

“Help yourself to some snacks,” I say, motioning to the two plastic bags on the floor beside my open suitcase. “I can’t eat it all.”

He eyes the bags. My heart stops.

FUCK FUCK FUCK! NO NO NO!

My own sloppiness is now my worst enemy. Not only have I left some Minecraft-patterned panties spilling out of the suitcase after my most recent clothes hunting spree, but my two-pronged vibrator is hanging out in plain sight. The lid of the box is flipped open, exposing my favorite pleasure device in all its hot pink glory.

“Here, let me get them for you.” I shove him out of the way, swiftly flip my suitcase lid down to cover my intimate secrets and snatch the bags off the floor.

He gives me a funny look as I push both bags into his chest.

“You can take everything,” I say. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not hungry either.”

“You might get hungry later. Go on. It’s all yours.”

He shakes his head and throws the bags on the bed before heading to the connecting door between our rooms. “Good night, Sabrina.”

“Take your gun with you, Monte.”

He turns around, spies the ice bucket where he left it on the dresser and extracts his wet gun. “No more field trips,” he says.

“No promises,” I reply.

He closes in until he’s inches away. My nose is lined up between his impressive pectorals. Dark tattoos run riot over his skin. Gently, he tips my chin up with the hand not holding the gun.

A pool of heat stirs low in my belly. The sudden ache between my legs is so severe that I hold my breath rather than risk moaning out loud.

“No more field trips,” Monte repeats, more sternly than last time.

“Okay,” I whisper because right now I would literally agree to any demand he made.

His breathing hitches. My eyes beg for the chance to wander lower. However, my gaze remains cemented to his and before I can recover, he relaxes his grip and walks away.

Without another word, the door closes behind him. My legs wobble. I sit on the edge of the bed and mourn the fact that I’ll never know if Monte was hard just now.

Oh well. We can’t have everything, I suppose.

I truly don’t wish to cause him anymore angst tonight. Besides, I am kind of tired. I don’t even feel like dealing with the ice in the bucket. After a visit to the bathroom to get washed up, I crawl into cool hotel sheets and shut off the light.

All sexual tension aside, it’s a comfort to know that Monte is nearby. My feelings for him are a blend of very strong emotions. There’s desire. Frustration. Affection. Trust. More desire.

I like to think that if he tried to kiss me, I wouldn’t stop him. I do want him to kiss me. The problem isn’t him. The problem is that I’m still… me .

My King of Hearts.

I don’t know why the memory of the old woman should haunt me right now. Maybe it’s because recent events have made the death card feel uncomfortably relevant.

But with Monte in the next room, I couldn’t possibly feel afraid.

For tonight, I’m pushing the uneasy thoughts from my mind and welcoming the friendly void of sleep.