134

“We shall,” I challenge masterfully. He narrows his brows and looks at me in a way I’ve never seen before, a cross between determination and lust and ‘challenge accepted.’
“I’ve new ways in which to bend your will to mine, Cara mia. New ways to torture you now that that sexy body of yours is no longer out of bounds. I wouldn’t test my limits if I were you,” he grins wickedly, and I sense the veiled threat, catching my breath in anticipation.
Well, this is new for us. I’ve never had the sexually competent Carrero make erotic promises of punishment and torture and actually mean it.
My pulse quickens, and I squirm in my seat; he has no idea how he can turn me on with a look and very few words. Or that his threat is more of a lure to behave badly.
“You don’t intimidate me, Carrero. Bring it on,” I whisper seductively. Turning with a satisfying lick of my lips followed by a bite of my lower one, I slide my hands up my thighs to get a reaction. Only it’s more extreme than I anticipated.
He swerves to the side of the road, slams the brakes on, unclips my belt, and hauls me into his lap in a quick, effortless move, crushing our mouths together. I’m forced into the smallest space ever, a window at my back and a steering wheel in the ribs, but his hands all over me are drowning out the discomfort as my mind reels at his assault.
I’m putty in his hands. He’s showing me that with just a kiss, he owns me, and it’s working. I’ve melted to a gooey puddle in his lap, where he could strip me naked on the sidewalk, and I wouldn’t argue. He’s uncovered my weakness for him in one night and fully intends to utilize it. Jake has always had skills in manipulation, so this doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. He pulls his mouth from mine, keeping his hand along my jaw, holding us nose to nose.
“We’re going away for some time alone. We need it. I need this.” His voice is thick and husky, and he kisses me again before I can answer. Pulling me back down into erotica, his tongue caresses mine until I feel like the longing will make me self-implode. His hand moves under my dress and finds what he’s searching for, pulling my underwear aside and connecting. I arch on his lap, gasping in pleasure, his mouth still on mine as I squirm.
“Say yes, Bambina,” he breathes into my mouth, slowly pushing his fingers inside me, his thumb circling at the front deliciously. I wriggle and claw at his shoulders, the sensation overwhelming me. Every part of my already sensitive womanhood is throbbing with pleasure. His fingertips gently circle and tease until I’m almost panting, almost begging. He withdraws, leaving me wanting and aching. “Say yes,” he breathes again. I grasp his arm and try to force his hand back to its previous position, biting his lower lip to make him take me, but he stays still, his eyes dark with lust. God, this man is stubborn! The sensation is too extreme and intense to fight, and I want more.
“This isn’t fair,” I moan and grind into his lap, trying to take control from him, but he only smiles. He’s far better at this game than I’ll ever be. I can feel his desire beneath me, hard and obvious, but he’s still as a statue, amusement on his face, making it clear he likes this version of Emma.
“One little word, dolcezza, and I’ll do whatever you want; I’ll screw you right here in the car,” he smirks.
Only Jake could make that the most appealing sentence in the world.
I give in, saying, “Yes!” loudly as I wrap my arms around his neck and fall into a passionate kiss, my inner self squealing out in ecstasy as his hand moves back inside me, as his other hand pulls down my bodice. I don’t even care that he’s manipulated me without effort, probably starting a pattern for things to come now that he knows he can.

* * *

Back in my seat, I try to right my dress, pulling the skirt back down my body awkwardly, my face hot. I’m sure I must be several shades of pink and red; my skin is glowing.
Despite the tight confines of the car and invasive controls around us, Jake somehow managed to make good on his promise and made love to me in his car, on his lap facing me forward to the front windshield, with his arms around me, glad of the heavily tinted windows. It was awkward but erotic, and I ended up sprawled over his steering wheel, gasping in the afterglow. Only then did I become self-conscious about our surroundings, relieved when I saw he had pulled into an empty alley shaded by tall buildings on either side. He’d known he would have sex with me as soon as he turned the car. The appearance of the condom was a huge hint, his naughty wink, and grin confirming he’d pre-planned my surrender to his way of thinking. I have no chance with him as a lover; I will never have any say in this life ever again.
“So … guess we’ll be going to your place to pack a case then, right?” He grins at me, leaning over to clip my seatbelt back on, always obsessed with taking care of me as though I’m incapable. He looks completely unaffected by what we’ve just done. Even his hair is still in place.
“Is this what life is going to be like? You decide something, then use your ‘sexpertise’ to make me agree?” I gaze at him, shaking my head and trying to look unamused, but I can’t stop smiling.
“Like you thought it would be any different?” He grins back, righting himself in his seat and pulling his seatbelt on. “Now, make sure you pack a lot of bikinis. We’ll be solo this time, so I doubt you’ll need any actual clothes.” He winks, and for some reason, I know he means it. Bikinis or naked, I can be sure that’s how I’ll end up if the last thirty minutes are anything to go by.
“Maybe I’ll have a three-week headache, darling,” I reply haughtily, trying to keep the humor from my face.
He has us back in traffic now, and he shrugs, his face animated. “Bambina, the best way to get rid of a headache is to have your hot Italian boyfriend sweat it out of you in various energetic positions.” He throws me a serious look with a raised brow.
Arrogant sod! His ego is big enough for both of us.
Who am I kidding? His confidence and directness make him who he is, and he knows it. Damn you, Carrero!

* * *

Sarah is home when we get to the apartment; she looks frantic, and I’m instantly guilty. My phone died late last night, and I’ve been so absorbed in being with Jake that I haven’t even thought about her being worried. She looks us over in surprise, then grins knowingly. I guess I still have that flushed, ‘just been screwed’ look, and with Jake’s arm around my waist possessively, it tells her all she needs to know.
“Emma? Thank God! Well, I can call off the search party!” She grabs me in a hug and points the finger at Jake. “You better be treating her right this time, stopping all this nonsense and bullshit evasive behavior.” She waggles it at him, bringing her tiny frame up to his in an overly aggressive manner. Jake raises his palms and tries not to smile.
“Like she’s my queen. She was a little too busy to think about phoning home, ‘mom.’” He darts out of the way of her playful slap, and she turns to me instead.
“I was worried about you,” she says, turning to me. “Next time, how about a text to say, oh, I don’t know, ‘My boss stopped being a schmuck and finally hooked up with me.’?”
I smooth back her stray hair and try to fix her baggy shirt. She’s obviously been in her nightshirt all day and pacing erratically. Our old relationship would have never seen her worry about my absence this way; it’s a little cute, and I feel awful.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t think you would even notice. I won’t do that again. Promise.” Despite never being one, I hold up a Girl Scout salute and try for an apologetic smile. She glares, then shakes her head and gives me another hug.
“Marcus said you would probably be away trying out some guy’s bedsprings,” she snorts.
“Hey! Less of the ‘some guy’ stuff,” Jake cuts in, a frown creasing his brow as he moves to lasso an arm around my neck, pulling me close and linking his hands in front of me. “There’s only one guy Emma will ever test bedsprings with, and that’s yours truly. She’s a lady, a ‘one guy’ kind of girl,” he says a little grumpily.
“Marcus is an idiot,” I retort and look around for signs of him but find none. He’s obviously at work.
“What about you, Carrero?” Sarah narrows her eyes and hunches forward to scrutinize Jake’s face, “Are you ‘a one girl’ kind of guy now?” she interrogates almost menacingly. I stifle the urge to laugh at her protective, mother-hen routine.
“Scouts honor.” He holds up his fingers in an attempt to make a scout’s salute and fails. He was obviously never a scout either; something else we share is a severe inability to get scout salutes right. He leans over to tweak her face and gets his hands batted away aggressively.
“I swear, you better treat her like a queen. She doesn’t tolerate side chicks or any of that nonsense, you got that? You hurt her, and I'll cut off your family jewels. I’m a chef! Trust me; I have big sharp knives and a lot of skill.” Sarah looks convincingly scary, so much so that even I blanch at her in alarm.
Where the heck has this little psycho been hiding?
“Look, tiny scary person, I love her,” Jake responds with conviction, “I told her so many times last night, and I’m telling you now, no side chicks. I’ll be looking after her from here on in. You can stow the knives elsewhere, possibly in the back of the next guy who insinuates my girl has been sleeping around.” Jake flashes Sarah one of his Hollywood smiles and kisses me on the top of the head. Sarah seems satisfied. Her manic expression drops and is replaced by a welcoming smile, and I sigh with relief and pull myself out of Jake’s arms, still a little wary of the crazy girl.
“I’m going to get out of this dress and pack,” I say, lifting the skirt from the floor, so I don’t trip, and start heading to my room.
Jake moves to follow me, but Sarah’s raised eyebrow and come-here finger-wiggle stops him. She hasn’t done talking to him yet, and I throw him a supportive smile and gesture for him to stay. He looks like he might refuse, and I don’t blame him. Sarah has the air of ‘Gestapo and torture methods’ exuding from her in droves. At a glance, I can tell that he wants to come with me and continue what we did in the car.
I’ll need to get my stamina up living with him; I’ll never get through a week at this rate. He’s insatiable. I may not be the most experienced woman on the planet, but even I know his hunger for sex isn’t normal, or the ability to go at it so much. I wonder if this is his Italian blood or just Jake's blood that makes him a sex addict with stamina second to none. I can’t complain; since finding out he loves me, I have become just as greedy, and it still shocks me. I never knew I had it in me or that it was even possible.

* * *

I start packing up my case, my phone on charge in its dock by my bed, as I take my time and some breathing space from Jake so I can think. He’s like a tornado that devours everything in its wake when he’s with me, and sometimes I need time to process things more slowly.
I’ve put on jeans, a T-shirt that skims my figure, Converse sneakers, and a denim jacket. This is probably the most casual he’s ever seen me other than my gym attire, but for some reason, I feel comfortable being this way around him. I’m far removed from the Emma he met a year ago, who didn’t even own jeans. He must see how much he’s changed me. I want him to see how different I want to be with him.