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Although we’re friends, the lifelong variety, I have to constantly remind myself that we won’t be anything more. I was supposed to show up last night, do our usual drink and reminisce session where I nurse one drink so I don’t embarrass myself, participate in the best friends pledge, then bounce until next year.
Catching up over the phone is much easier than in person. Whenever I’m in the same room with Valentino, he soaks up all my oxygen and a dangerous compulsion drives me to fulfill my darkest fantasies. Valentino is the type of man that can break women without effort.
I’ve seen it countless times. After one night with him, they show up jonesing for their next hit. But Valentino never fucks the same woman twice. And he’s never gentle about letting them down. I’ll never understand how he hasn’t garnered stalkers, or how he continues to win over women voters since he never hides his exploits.
I’ve had to swallow my jealousy and agonize over questions I’ll never voice, because I want to experience his skills in the bedroom. Find out if all the hype is worth it. More importantly, I want to stop imagining how being taken by him would feel. I want to discover his taste and if holding him deep inside will change me like it has the other women.
But I can’t. Even if I could, what would that do to our friendship with Tácito?
He is no better than Valentino, but I’ve had more years to master my body’s reaction to him. Unlike Valentino, Tácito vowed to save himself for “the one.” Despite not sleeping with slews of women, his fan club has a ridiculous following of sexy women flirting with him daily. To my knowledge, he smiles politely and ignores their innuendos, sticking to his childhood vow, but that doesn’t stop my jealousy from raising her ratchet-ass head.
This is also why I stay away. Possessiveness for two men, wanting to rip their clothes off and fuck their brains out, wanting to come home to them every day?
Absurd.
I’ll never admit these thoughts, but how am I going to hide my reaction when they’re forcing me to stay in Valentino’s home while I recover? Thanks to Tácito, I’m full of drugs that diminish inhibitions when I need to keep my mind at peak sharpness. From the state of my body, they’ll want to keep me longer than my other visits. I can’t have that.
If only our friendship was the one thing stopping me from crossing the line, maybe I would have thrown caution to the wind years ago. Indulge in a level of selfishness I rarely get to partake. But something more sinister always stayed my hand, continues to hold me at bay.
Valentino’s aggrieved sigh pulls my attention, which is never too far from him to begin with. “Since I’ve calmed down—”
“You don’t look calm to me.”
“—I’ve come up with some ground rules you will abide by during your recovery.”
“Is that your PR spin for imprisonment?”
“Sloane…”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes while hopes of a short stay dwindle to a bare whisper. “Since you’re in charge of when I can leave and you’ve calmed down, how long will I have to stay here?”
If flames could shoot out of a person, I’d be burned to a crisp from the ones shooting out of his nose and eyes. The fast rise and fall of Valentino’s chest tells me he is close to an edge I’ve never seen before. A healthy dose of self-preservation and fascination fill me.
I’m not afraid of him in the, “he’s going to kill or hurt me” sense. I fear he’ll punish me with his presence because a girl can only hold herself back for so long without relief. But wouldn’t it be glorious to see his shocked face as I launch myself at him, rip his clothes off, and take him inside me? Would he sit and take it, or would we have a battle of wills to see who wins?
All of a sudden, a calm enshrouds Valentino and a fierce light enters his blue eyes. “What if I said I’d keep you here forever?” His deep voice rumbles over me, penetrating my bandages to cause a deep shiver inside me.
My body, bruised, cut, and shot to hell, has no business quivering at the hidden promise behind his words. A promise I know I’m imagining.
I clear my throat and look toward a watercolor painting of a window looking into a garden. “If you haven’t decided, just say so. No need to intimidate me. You know that shit doesn’t work.”
He sighs and resettles in the chair at the foot of my bed. From the corner of my eye, I watch him steeple his fingers and contemplate me. “The first rule: take your pain meds on time.”
“I—”
“Second rule: only do the exercises Tácito recommends.”
“Val—”
“Third rule: don’t manipulate my staff.”
“Why would—”
“Fourth rule—”
“Let me get a word in edge-wise, dammit! You know I hate being ignored.”
“Welcome to the club. Fourth rule—”
