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“How do you like the pizza?” I ask, breaking the silence of the table as I watch her. Typically, when I speak to her, she looks at me, but tonight Thea keeps her gaze firmly fixed on her plate. “I had to search for a place that does pizza thick and crunchy like you wanted.”
“It’s good” is all she says.
I’m not blind. I know something’s wrong with her; I just don’t know what. I do know, however, that this mood began when she talked to her brother—hence why I offered to let them see each other. An attempt that, I hope, will make her happy.
I… I want her to be happy, as silly as it may be.
A bizarre notion, I realize, considering what the end game would have been if she and her brother had succeeded in their original plot to sell me to Cormac O’Connor. My end at the hands of my worst enemy would have been torturous and bloody. Truly, making her live with me, making her mine in more ways than one, is not an equal exchange.
But it’s what I want from her. It’s what I need. From that first night, when she asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend, I had to know more. I needed to know more. Now I know more, but not enough. I might know her favorite color, her favorite food, and where she would be if she could be anywhere in the world—or in space—but it’s not enough.
I want to know everything. I want to know more than what makes her tick, more than her hopes and dreams.
Does she want a family? Kids? And if so, how many? Does she have a preference between boys and girls, or would she be happy with any children? These are questions I can’t say I’ve ever wondered about any other woman before.
And, perhaps the biggest question I’ve caught myself pondering this last week in particular: if I let her go, what would she do? Would Thea run away from me? It’s doubtful, given that I have her brother, but if he wasn’t in the picture, how much would things change?
I don’t want her to run. I want her to pick me.
Hmm. It’s stupid, I know.
I must stare at Thea a bit too hard, because she finally lifts her gaze off her plate and brings those beautiful blue orbs to me. Her ashy hair is a bit messy, but it frames her heart-shaped face perfectly, and that eternal pout graces her lips, same as it always does. There isn’t a single thing about her I’d change, nothing at all I’d consider a flaw.
She’s perfect.
“What?” she asks in a huff, annoyed. “Maybe you should take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
“Why would I take a picture when I have the real thing?” I watch her frown. Never in my life have I seen a more adorable frown. “Thea, what’s on your mind? Your time here will crawl by infinitely slowly if you keep acting like this.”
Thea leans back in her chair. “What is this?”
“It’s pizza, love, the meal you chose.”
My literal answer only makes her roll her eyes. “I mean, what is this?” She gestures between herself and I. “Am I your prisoner or am I your… your….” Every time she tries to finish the question, she stops herself.
But now I’m curious. I set my elbows on the table and lean forward. “My what?”
“Your girlfriend?” Thea finally spits it out. “Am I your prisoner or am I your girlfriend? Sometimes it’s hard to tell which one you want me to be, Silus.” She hisses my name in such a delightful way, puffing herself up like she’s full of venom even though we both know it’s just a show, her feistiness on full display.
A chuckle escapes me. “Why can’t it be both?”
My answer must not be what she’s expecting, because her mouth falls open and it’s a good long minute before she can say, “So, you’re not seeing anyone else. You’re not having a million other women throw themselves at you when you leave me here alone to conduct your mafia business shit?”
“For future reference, we don’t really describe what we do as mafia business shit. We also don’t call ourselves the mafia. I’m just a businessman. That’s all.” A businessman whose businesses aren’t always on the level, but that’s beside the point. “And as for whether I’m going out and seeing other women… why? Does the thought of me fucking other women bother you?”
“Should it?”
Again, I laugh. “You’re the one who brought it up, love, so I think we both know the answer already.” The way she glares at me from across the table really makes me feel some kind of way. Smug, happy that she’s jealous over fictional women. “Let me put your mind at ease: I have not fucked another woman since you stumbled into my life.”
Thea asks a question I’m not anticipating, “Why not?” This girl is on a roll tonight, for some reason. She’s in fight mode, ready to rumble, and I find it attractive.
“Because I don’t want to fuck other women, Thea, I want to fuck you. The space between your legs is the only place I want to bury myself in, and those pouting lips of yours are the only pair of lips I want wrapped around my cock.” I shrug. “See? It’s simple, really.”
“But why?” Thea just won’t let it go. “Why? My mouth and my pussy aren’t anything special—”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Your mouth and your pussy are something special.” My stare hardens as I study her across the rectangular table. If she was closer to me, I would grab her, but as we are now, she’s just too far—and I know if I get up and go to her, the rest of the night would be a wash. “They were made for me.”
The sound she lets out after that is a mix between a laugh and a groan, as if she finds my statement ridiculous. I can’t blame her. A month ago, I would’ve found something like that asinine, too. Impossible. All pussies were the same… until Thea.
