Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (65 page)

The soap felt good, and the too-hot water felt like the scour I needed. But still there was more. I wanted to peel him off me. I couldn’t even really think about it directly but the urge was distinct and undeniable: remove that man.

Taking the razor in my trembling fingers, I balanced my heel on the tub ledge and squirted a handful of foam into my palm. With my chin to my chest, I took a good look at my wide hips, my full belly, and the dark, untended triangle of pubic hair I thought was sort of feral and sexy.

One deep breath in, and I drew the shaving foam across my undercarriage and up through the triangle. Like cake frosting, I used my fingers to artlessly maneuver the foam into the crevices I could see through the dripping sheets of water that covered my eyes.

The first stroke of the razor chattered and hissed like a faraway conversation. It sounded rough and dry. I cleaned the razor and started again from as far back toward my ass as I could reach, around the side of my nether lips, to the front and up. Over and over, clearing more of a view with every stroke.

At some point I sort of realized I had never actually seen myself before: never bothered to look, certainly never seen my labia without their furry covering. That seemed weird: my boyfriends had seen parts of me I never had. Even strangers. Just a couple.

Checking myself out felt like unearthing an artifact I’d only ever heard about. The smooth, plump, dusky lips. The lighter pink center peeking out like a shy secret.

Hey. That’s sort of cute.

After a few moments’ thought, I decided to just shape the unruly triangle into an orderly one. What were ladies really doing with their pubic hair these days? I didn’t know, but I sure didn’t want to spend the next two weeks regretting some kind of dramatic all-bare action, so I figured this was conservative. Moderate, even.

I snapped off the tap and stepped out of the tub, dripping and freshly scoured, head to toe. My reflection startled me a little bit in the long mirror near the door. Usually I avoided it entirely, but in the foggy, steamy air I could barely make out my shape: too-curvy, too-wobbly, a lot of fleshy swells. But the neat, dark triangle in the center was like a bull’s eye. It made the whole image seem different, somehow, like I did the big girl thing on purpose.

Don’t get weird. You’re still the same girl.

But after I toweled off and slipped into my panties and dress, I could feel a difference. The newly bare skin sizzled as it slipped against the crotch of my panties. I’d never been aware of my sex before unless I was
having
 sex, but as I leaned toward the counter for a comb - wow - there it was again. It felt kind of weird. Startling. And kind of great.

I ran my damp hands through my dark, wavy hair and tried to make it look less insane, but nobody in Chicago had good hair in the summertime anyway. A handful of humectant gel, a slash of eyeliner pen across each eyelid and a swipe of mascara, and it was done.

“This is it, girl,” I muttered to my steamy reflection. “Do it now, and do it for good.”

Vaguely amazed at my own sense of hustle and direction, I flung open the bedroom door again to see Carl still cowering in the hallway. He looked so frail and naked with his hands still up like I might hit him. I found myself filled with revulsion as I strode past.

“Bree, you can’t leave,” he insisted.

I rolled both cases down the wood-floored hallway and picked up my purse from the dining room table where she I dropped it.

“Brienne, we can work this out, please?”

Finally, I spun around. I looked him in the eye. Memories of all the other times I had looked into those eyes threatened to flood me with rage or sadness, I couldn’t be sure which.

“We worked it out
last time
. Remember, Carl? And Dave says you’re out of two-percent.”

Snatching my keys from the hall table, I rolled my cases out the door and slammed it behind me. I looked at the keys in my hand. Inhaling deeply, I dug the keys for the Jeep off the ring, then turned around and dropped the rest through the mail slot back into the apartment. I wouldn’t need them again.

Getting the suitcases to the parking garage was slightly more challenging. I stared at the “Out of Order” sign on the elevator in disgust, then decided to just walk the bags up the ramps to the third level.

The garage was deserted. Most commuters had gone for the day and wouldn’t be back until after dinnertime. I listened to the sound of the suitcase wheels on the dirty concrete and tried not to think maudlin thoughts about my life crashing down around my ears.

Perspective
, I demanded as I walked toward my car.
You need perspective.

The rear gate on my 1995 Jeep Grand Cherokee slammed shut with a satisfying sound and I took my one-thousandth cleansing breath. Turning toward my driver’s side door, I realized I was parked next to Carl’s 2015 convertible Mini Cooper. Some part of me wanted to stab through the rag top with my keys. Drag a rock down his custom orange racing stripes? Slash his tires?

I shook my head and hopped into the Jeep’s driver’s seat, then fumbled around in the passenger’s side until I found a discarded envelope. Dragging a black Sharpie marker from my purse, I wrote: “YOU SUCK” and slipped it, facing in, under his wiper blades.

The big Jeep roared to life and blew musty, hot air and dust out of the vents immediately. I made a face and fiddled with the knobs, then cranked the window down hard and breathed the comparatively fresh air of the parking garage.

I drove slowly around the ramps, trying to keep the big truck from scraping against the low concrete overhangs and the shiny late-model cars. As I left, I gazed at the electric car charging station with envy. A tiny, electric car sounded fantastic, especially compared to the behemoth my father had left me. I would be able to find parking spaces on the street occasionally… Gas it up about three times a year instead of every other time I wanted to drive it… And they had all those space-shuttle-quality digital readouts on the dash. So shiny.

In all fairness to Carl, he had suggested I upgrade to a newer model car, but I couldn’t get over my sentimental attachment to the Jeep. I remembered taking it straight up the river banks in Michigan one summer, screeching with delight as my dad executed what seemed like death-defying, gravel-spitting turns up and down steep embankments.

I remembered sleeping across the big bench seat, wrapped in an old woolen army blanket as we drove endless miles to wherever: Wisconsin Dells, Chattanooga, Mammoth Caves… Anywhere we could pitch a tent and make a fire without someone calling the cops.

“Aw, Dad,” I sighed wistfully and drove the car south on Ashland Avenue, then turned left on Roscoe and left into the alley behind Melita’s house. I hopped out to punch the garage’s security code into the keypad, then hopped back in and drove the Jeep into her garage.

I’m sure she won’t mind,
 I thought as the garage door rumbled shut again.
Pretty sure. Reasonably sure.

I left the alley and walked back to Ashland to hail a cab, my dress swishing around my thighs, my crotch weirdly alive and semi-aware in my panties, purring like a cat with every step. Somehow it seemed like it improved my posture, making me taller, longer, stronger. I felt like an animal, supremely connected to my body instead of just driving it around like it was a borrowed car.

The first cab I saw slowed immediately for my upraised arm and I got into the back seat, thumbing my phone’s face as I gave the driver the address.

I’m not coming back,
 I texted Melita.

Hold up what??
 was her immediate reply.

Tell u everything later,
 I replied and stuffed the phone back in my purse even though I heard it start ringing. I knew she would call back and be pissed I didn’t pick up, but I was on a mission that I had to complete. Now. And if I thought about it too hard, I would just chicken out.

I fluffed up my still-damp hair and stepped into the revolving glass doors. A blast of cool air shot up my dress and tickled my thighs as I walked into the cavernous marble atrium.

I could hear the sound of water trickling far off in a corner, shielded by a bamboo screen. Music and blue light filtered down from the skylights and somewhere I heard people walking, but couldn’t see them.

Looking around, I found the curved desk of the security guard and walked across an expanse of echoing tile to the uniformed guard. Holding myself as straight and confident as possible I simply asked for Mr. Jack. The security guard cocked his head at me slightly and consulted the clipboard on the desk.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Well, no,” I stammered, “but I think that he--”

“Brienne?”

I whirled around, suddenly wondering what in the hell I was really doing there. How was I supposed to pull this off?

“Oh,” he said, his features a mask of amused confusion, “I thought you were bringing coffee?”

 I waved my hand in the air as though that was a small matter that should be immediately forgotten. I’d seen other people get away with that kind of sorcery so why not? I could try it, right?

“Well,” I said, putting on a sultry purr, “I heard that you already had an espresso bar here in the building?”

I raised one eyebrow at him and hung my hand on my hip, trying to look as though I was sassy and confident even while my insides were doing backflips and begging me to hide in a corner somewhere.

To my complete astonishment, it appeared to work. His eyebrows went up in an expression of surprise and mirth. He seemed to be enjoying the tease.

OK. You like the saucy vixen, do you? Well, if this is going to be how I have to play it, I will.

I switched my weight to my other hip, almost biting my lip at the intense stroke of my panties across my crotch. That was a complication. How was I supposed to concentrate on my mission with my labia getting more frisky with every passing second? I felt a flush crawling up the skin of my chest and hoped he wouldn't notice.

“The meeting is over anyway,” he admitted, shrugging. “I assumed you had forgotten. We were just going to lunch. Would you like to join us?”

“I came about the job,” I blurted out with my chin lifted, slightly disbelieving the words as they rolled out of my lips.

I must be insane.

“The job,” he repeated slowly, working his jaw as though rolling the words around in his mouth. I could see a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Well, that is quite a development. Why don't you join us for lunch and we can discuss it?”

“Does that mean there is no job?” I said archly. “This was all some kind of tease perhaps?”

“Oh no no,” he said, quickly putting his hands palm out as though trying to stop traffic and express his innocence at the same time. “Please don't get the wrong impression. We have, uh, positions available in multiple areas. Honestly, I just-- I never really thought you were going to take me up on it.”

He stepped closer to me, his aquamarine eyes twinkling merrily. I had a brief memory of staring into his eyes flash through my mind like lightning. The way he squinted at me, confused and intense. The way his gaze darted down my cleavage and back up again...

“I can't tell you how exciting this is, frankly. There are about a thousand things that I would like to discuss with you. When can you take a meeting?”

Do I say: ‘I’m here now?’ Do I say: ‘I’ll pencil you in?’
I wondered, my body beginning to tremble from the strain of maintaining a regal, authoritative pose while my panties got progressively more swampy.

Maybe that pussy-shaving idea was bad timing. I can practically hear it purring.

Somewhere in the dark shadows of my mind, that small voice that tells me how ridiculous I probably look started hissing at me and I took my millionth cleansing breath. I figured had exactly thirty more seconds before I ran out of courage and started galloping for the front door.

While I considered how best to end the conversation I heard the elevator open behind me. A waft of expensive cologne washed through my sinuses as Lyle walked by and stopped, turning and crossing his arms in one smooth motion as though suddenly diverted by a shiny thing he might like to buy.

“Oh hello,” he said in a low chuckle. His biceps bulged inside of his crisply starched, sky blue shirt and I couldn’t help but remember his fingers grazing across the top of my thigh when he was behind me, pressed up to me, his hips behind my hips as though…

“Haven’t we met?” he said with a devilish smirk. “Didn’t we rescue you from a band of rabid square dancers last night?”

Do not glance at his crotch. Do not glance at his crotch. Do not glance at his crotch.

Aw, fuck.

Owen cleared his throat with a noise that almost sounded like one of those coughs that you use to cover some other word. I turned toward him, grateful for the distraction. My weight slid to my other thigh, dragging my sensitive undercarriage across my panties again, sending a shudder shooting up my torso that ended at my lips.

Did that come out?

Oh my god did I just make a sex sound??

Stretching a smile across my teeth I blinked, twice (I counted!) and took a breath through my nose. I stayed completely still, smiling like a game show model, throwing the last of my courage together with every ounce of strength I had.