“That’s not true. It’s just?—”
“You forgot you’re beautiful, clever, and funny.”
“I’m just average, though.”
“Not to me, you aren’t.” He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “You’re still trapped in this old idea of who you’re supposed to be. You think you have a set role in this life. But you don’t. Nobody does. You make your own life. You set your own role. Nobody else can do it for you.”
I stare at him, pulse racing. He doesn’t understand how much potential Gem has. My time’s already over—I’ll never get into Harvard, I won’t cure cancer, I won’t go on to be great—but Gem could do all those things and more.
But maybe, some voice in the back of my head thinks, just maybe Stellan’s right. Maybe I don’t have to be the best in the world, I don’t have to fix diseases and save humanity. I can be important in my own little way to my own favorite people. I can be special to him. I can embrace and grow into that. Maybe, if I let myself, anyway.
He moves closer and places the box on the floor. I don’t resist when he pulls me into his lap, tugging me closer against him. I tilt my chin up, desperate to feel the way he’s looking at me, with so much devotion, obsession, and joy. I tilt my head, and he kisses me, his lips possessive and hungry, and I kiss him back, wanting more, wanting everything he can give me.
I know it’s wrong. And I don’t care. I kiss my husband on my sister’s old bedroom floor, in the house of a nice young couple, a pair of total strangers. I kiss my husband while they’re held at gunpoint and having the worst night of their lives.
I kiss him and don’t resist when he nudges the door shut. I don’t resist when he pulls off my shirt, palming my breasts, kissing me harder, tongue lapping into my mouth. I moan into his lips, wanting this more than I ever imagined I could, while also knowing how fucked up and wrong it is. But that somehow makes it feel even better.
He pulls me to my feet. I slam against the wall with a thud. Stellan’s on me, stripping my pants off and fumbling with his belt as we kiss in a fevered rush. I shove my hand down the front of his jeans and stroke his hard cock desperately, and he snarls into my mouth, shuddering with how good it feels and how much he wants it. His tip’s wet with precum, and I’m soaking in my panties by the time his fingers stroke me up and down.
“We shouldn’t,” I whimper into his mouth.
He roughly turns me around, tugging my pants down around my knees. “We should.”
“Oh, fuck.” I feel him against my pussy. He’s always so big. He slips inside, slow but firm, filling me to the brim as he pins me from behind. I bite my lip hard to keep from screaming with pleasure as he glides back out, grinding in and back again, fucking me in the darkness of my old home.
It’s messed up. But I take him, driving back against his cock. He covers my mouth to bury my moans, and that barely makes a difference. He fucks me deep and hard, whispering how much he wants me, how good I feel as he fills me again and again, driving me wild, breaking me and building me over and over again.
“I’d give up so much for this,” he says, hands holding my hips, desperate as he fucks me. “That’s what scares me the most. How you’ve become my priority.”
“You just like… fucking me…” I pant, reaching back to grab his hair. I pull him into a kiss.
“God damn, I love fucking you,” he says, and the tremble in his voice drives me closer to bliss. I’m shaking as he fucks me faster. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you feel wrapped tightly around my dick. I love watching you shatter. I love tasting you after. I love your flushed skin and your open mouth and all the filthy fucking noises you make. I love when you swallow me. I love when you arch your back and ask for more.”
“Keep going,” I beg, eyes rolling back to look at the ceiling. I find his eyes instead as he fucks me harder, letting out a low groan.
“Can’t control myself,” he says, shaking as he thrusts, and that note of desperation finally ruins me.
I come as he finishes between my legs. I come hard, nearly falling. He holds us both up. He thrusts, filling me, spilling in me, and his low moans are as filthy as my own. Slowly, we come to a stop, panting and gasping for air. He lowers us down to the floor, and we lay there in a tangle of sweaty limbs.
I grin to myself, way beyond satisfied.
“What’s that smile for?” he asks, kissing the corner of my mouth.
“You’re a big, bad mafia Don, but you still somehow can’t stop yourself from coming when you’re fucking me. I don’t know. I like it.”
“Glad you do.” He glares at me. “If we weren’t in someone else’s house, I’d make sure I fucked you again until you couldn’t walk.”
“Lucky for me then.” I touch his cheek, grinning. “I’m your special person. It’s okay. I get it.”
He glowers back, but it’s softer now.
We stay like that for a little while. I feel guilty about the young couple, but whatever. They’ll survive, and besides, it’s nice to be with Stellan in my old house. He idly plays with the jewelry box and eventually pops it open, rooting around inside with his fingertips. I stroke his arm, thinking about how simple things are sometimes the best.
“Oh, shit,” Stellan whispers. The sharp note of panic makes me pay attention. He’s looking at the receipt, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.
“What is it?”
“This is for—” He grunts as if someone kicked him in the chest and hands it to me. “Just—look.”
