Buttercup (13 page)
was a girl. What could I do?”
Silvio’s hold lessened. Della knocked his hands free. She stepped back. Her actions drew his brows together in suspicion. “I wish it were different, but it wasn’t.”
He made a move toward her. Della pressed her hand to his chest and stopped him. He looked down at her touch and then back up to her eyes. Together they stood there for several breaths. She could feel his heart beating into her palm. It wasn’t as calm and controlled as his piercing stare. In fact, it galloped like a stampede. She ran her hand over his chest.
The fine threads of his shirt were felt over the hard edges. Della reached up and touched the side of his face. She was surprised to see his eyes softened upon contact. “You believe me, Sil?” She closed the distance between them, hopeful. “I thought of you so often. Did…did you think of me?”
Silvio’s gaze remained guarded, hooded, and unreadable. “You did think of me, didn’t you sugah?” she said, embolden by the flaring of his nostrils but the softening of his stare. Desire crept in over the coldness. It sparked and then blazed as her touch went down his chest. She didn’t fear him, not when he looked at her with such soul-wrenching longing. A conflict she understood. She remembered it to be one she could soothe, and maybe in doing so he could soothe her wounds. To her delight, Silvio’s lips fell upon hers. Della hadn’t been kissed, touched or held by a man since his embrace. Oh how she missed this. Contact sent an electric current that threaded through her veins, shocking her to her core.
Immediately, she grabbed the back of his head to feed the kiss. Her fingers gripped the soft hairs at his nape. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tight. His hands travelled along her sides, then splayed to caress her rump before squeezing both halves of her cheeks and lifting her body up against him.
Mercy, his touch was just as she remembered
. Her hands to his face, she panted, smiled, grinned at his urgency to keep her mouth pressed to his. She playfully let her tongue dart in and out of his mouth just as he once taught her. Silvio grabbed her wrist and forced her back.
The anger flashed in his eyes. “For years I’ve thought about nothing, no one, but you. Years!” he seethed, giving her a shake. “You and this fucking carnival! You!”
“Sil…”
“Quiet!” he shouted in her face. “Did you think to ever tell them the truth while I rotted in that jail? When Sheriff Tuck shot and killed Jelly? When they tried me for my best friend’s murder, condemning me to busting rocks for the rest of my fucking life instead of the hang man’s noose!”
Della blinked, shocked. “Killed?”
“You knew what they did and you said nothing!”
“I…don’t know what you’re talking about; I thought you was in the clink for robbin’ the carnival, not murder…”
“Lies!” he released her. Silvio turned from her in a fit of anger, possibly to keep from touching her again. Della rubbed the sting of her wrist. She looked to the gun he had tossed away. She could reach it. Still, she made no move for it. When she glanced up, he stood there staring at her. “You dancing like a whore. Is that what you are now? Or is that what you always were? It was a trap. Wasn’t it? From the very start, they seen us coming, and you helped.”
Della clenched her teeth. The hurt of his accusation clawed its way acidly up her throat, incinerating her vocal cords and rendering her speechless. Pride welled in her chest and the corners of her eyes filled with tears. The words formed again, but when she opened her mouth to speak, they lodged in her throat, a mixture of sadness and regret. She never betrayed him in such a horrid way. But she was a hooch dancer, a colored one at that. There was nothing special about her. Yes, she was a far cry from gentility whether her legs parted for townies or not.
He sneered at her as if he strengthened from her pain and as if her silence was an admission. That too hurt. But her pride couldn’t let her see the hurt boy baiting her; she only saw the emptiness of the man. A mean-tempered man had returned. Madame Danique said he would. She said he'd have his revenge.
“What I am….” her voice broke, “… what I am is what I always was, and it ain’t never been any man’s whore, not even yours.” Della sucked down a hard breath to steady her voice. “I tell you what else. What I is, is miles away from a thief—a gun-toting thieving killer. And that’s all you are,” she shot back.
Silvio’s eyes narrowed to blue slits. Della crossed her arms in defiance. “Is that why you come here? To finish me off for what you’ve become? Well? Is it!” His silence was enough. She boldly stepped to him.
Her lips curled up in self-righteous anger. “Then do it. I was wrong to think you were ever anythin’ more than a bitter vengeful buzzard anyway!”
He grabbed at her arm, but this time he got an open palm slap from her right hand. Kicking like a wild cat, she shoved and slapped him about his face and chest. She was fueled by fear of what he’d do to her, heartbroken that he would even think her capable of such a betrayal. Oh she mourned for her foolish heart as she clawed at him, refusing to be his victim or anyone’s victim any more. She fought to push him to the door and hopefully out of it. But Silvio was even more determined. He drove her down and back on her bed, pinning her arms above her head. Della jerked and bucked beneath him. “Quiet!” he yelled.
Della opened her eyes. An angrily guarded veil of tears clouded her vision. She blinked them away, causing several to slip from the corners.
Silvio brought his face only centimeters from hers. His rich scent unfurled her nostrils. His warm breath escaped him as he breathed out resistance.
“I didn’t come to kill you. As if—as if I could. I want to be free of you, damn it!”
Della stopped her resistance. Staring up at him, she let his words take root. He didn’t release her. In fact, he was pressed between her thighs. She shifted despite his weight and granted him the permission. His eyes slowly lowered from her face. The front of her robe was parted down the center, her breasts were revealed. She waited as his stare lingered there and took note of the bulking of his cock pressing against the zipper of his pants. “Who is he?”
“He?” she panted.
“Peanut? Who is he to you?”
“I…”
He looked up at her. “Are there others?” he asked. Della tried to process what “others”. Why had he asked about Peanut? But in her eyes, she saw he knew little of her, of what waited for him. “Answer me.” He shook her and thus the bed. Several pillows fell off to the floor. On the floor lay the pictures of the only one in her heart.
“There are no others,” she said gently. “You will never believe me, but it’s the truth. No man has touched me since… never.”
“Why?” he asked studying her face, wanting to believe.
“Tiny wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t,” she swallowed, trying to catch her breath. From the way he stared into her eyes, she found it hard to breathe. She felt faint from the rush of awareness his body's closeness brought. Solid, imposing, he radiated heat like a furnace. “I fell in love with you long after you left,” she said, her confession shocking her. The day Joyce put her baby boy in her arms, sticky and gooey, screaming in her face, she wept.
She was his
. When her boy took his first step and beamed up at her, she felt it.
She was his
. What was his excuse? Why did he care for a girl that the world said didn’t matter?
If he did at all.
“What good is it of me thinkin’ of you, when you evidently hate me?”
Silvio pinned her arms above her head. “That’s just it, doll. I never could.” He lowered his face to her chest. His cheek pressed to her breast.
Della closed her eyes, opening and closing her hands. Her wrist, in his grip, had her pinned beneath him. She lay there for him, perfectly still, as he decided on her truth. She prayed that he’d open up his heart enough so she could share more. Then he stirred. His face, lips, nose, brushed the valley between her breasts. Damp moist heat met with her already feverish skin, and she moaned deep down in her throat. He flatted his tongue against her skin and gave a slow lick. She shivered with delight.
Then his face eased in the opening of her robe as he enticed her nipple into his mouth. “Sil, there’s more, somethin’ you should know,” she sighed.
Silvio’s hold on her wrist softened. His hands released to glide up and rub his damp palm over her open palm. Their fingers entwined as he suckled her breasts. Della’s back bowed up from the mattress beneath him. She rubbed her need against the hardness of his chest while he crept down, his lips and tongue over her neck, collarbone, going lower. He wore his coat. He remained fully dressed, and still she felt him. The feel of him was the best. No more phantom dreams. He was the real thing. She loved the feel of him. Della relished his tongue. The way it moved in continuous swirls over her achy nipple left her dizzy. She let her fingers intertwine with his and held on.
Then Silvio broke from her nipple. Rising back on his hunches, he shed his coat, tossing it aside. Della watched with mounting desire as he lowered his suspenders and removed his shirt to reveal another, which he pulled over his head and cast away. There was a scar over his left breast that marred the perfection. She ached in her heart for him and the cause.
He undid the button to his trousers. The sash to her robe kept the Kimono together at her waist, but the fabric was pushed open and her nipples glistened from where he moistened them. Beneath, the robe parted to showcase the dark curls of pubes that covered her sex. Her thighs were forced apart, because he was positioned between them. He reached and undid the tie. The robe eased opened.
“I’m sorry, Della.” Silvio cleared his throat. He palmed her cunt, his middle finger rubbing the wetness between her silky folds. He wouldn’t stop with his touches. It was as if he had to touch every inch of her, continuous, sensual, massaging caresses that brought a quiver to her bottom lip. “I come for you and only you,” he said in a voice edged with desperation.
Della’s eyes stretched in wonder. Silvio lowered to her and she expelled the deepest sigh of relief to have him in her arms once more.
“I’ve desired you always.” His lips moved whisper-soft over her lips before he offered a possessing kiss. She didn’t question the sincerity. Six long years and his return renewed her faith in emotions she kept under lock and key. His hand reached between them while his other braced against the wall of the train car above her head. She bent her knees and then held her breath for him to take her. Her mouth watered. Her body temperature rose, and her pussy spasmed, achingly empty…desperately in need of him. The headiest rush of desire swept through her. Silvio traced the head of his dick along the skin of her inner thigh. He hesitated and then wiped the bulbous tip down her slit. Della hissed in air. When the blunt head of his cock pressed in on her for entry, she groaned deeply when he pushed in an inch and then withdrew. She took in a trembling breath and resisted the urge to beg.
A wave of tenderness suddenly suffused Della when he planted a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. “You’re mine, only mine,” Silvio said in a rough demanding tone, his face hovering. “My sweet, sweet, Buttercup.”
Then came an unexpected thrust. His hand reached underneath to grip her butt painfully tight. He maintained his balance with his other and clenched his teeth when he sank in deeper. Della dug her nails into his skin, moving with, then giving upward pumps causing him to go deeper and deeper. He pushed inside her with a slow easy slide, her vagina stretching sweetly, giving her the final inch. Della’s mouth fell open in a silent, obedient sigh.
***
Lowering to her, he dropped his face against her neck, grabbing both halves of her ass and parting the cheeks so he could pump in and out in long strokes. Her knees were parted, but the heels of her feet rested on his lower back as he drilled his desires deep into her. He bit her flexed collarbone and rolled his hips to get at the core of her desire. That soft wet heat commanded it so. He went in deeper and then pulled out to the tip before plunging in once more. Pleasure gutted through him with knife-like precision. Zips of ecstasy threaded through his nerve highways, intensifying the euphoria. He would live and die in this moment if it was to be. It was her again, his Buttercup. She was his.
Buttercup squirmed beneath him, and he tightened his grip on her butt. His chest heaved to the punishing pace of his hips that continued to bang against her as his cock throttled her tamed vagina. Both of them panted loudly with her clawing at his back for mercy. He hit it from every angle possible with her beneath him. He withdrew, flipped her to her stomach and got in from the back to a resounding whimper. He growled against her shoulder, pumping away at her and deciding on her dark hole next. But he’d been out of practice. Out of practice of making love. His heart and his dick somehow became one, and the pleasing of her was all he could endure. Silvio dropped his forehead to hers, panting with her.