Honest

eight

He takes my hand as we make a break for it. He hails a taxi, old fashioned. He gives the address, his words decisive and firm.

My mind is clouded and he makes sure to keep it that way, fogging my mind with kisses the whole ride.

The car stops. He gets out, leaving me in back seat panting. The door nearest me opens, and I'm being dragged out, into his arms into his house, frantic.

He throws me against a wall making me flinch. His lips press against my neck, as he destorys my clothes, to get to me.

“Mh," I moan as he fondled my breasts, “Ray..."

He comes up to my lips, pressing against them lightly. “Oh yeah, my name isn't Ray Powell. My name is Giuseppe Vitale. Remember it."

G-giuseppe Vitale?

You mean...

He smirks at my wide eyes.

“So you've heard of me?” He licks my lip. “Well that just makes this easier.”

Giuseppe Vitale. The future Mafia Don?

Maybe it's another Giuseepe Vitale. That's a common name in Detroit, right?

Right?!

“Shhh,” He whispered. “Quiet your mind. Look at me,” He murmured.

I do. He smiles. Lifting his hand, his fingers brushing my eyelashes.

“Those puppy dog eyes,” He breathes. He kisses me again, taking my breath away, questions away.

We eventually make it to the bed. Undressing roughly throughout the house.

I don't remember much of the night. I wake up with a groan. He's asleep beside me, black hair contrasting against the white sheets beautifully.

This is Giuseppe Vitale?

I silently try to escape, but he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.

I freeze. He's not awake. He clutched on to me with such an unrelenting force, I can't get away.

I lie there as he turns over, coming face to face me. His arms once again envelope me throwing his leg over mine.

How comfortable can this criminal get with me anyway!

“Hey," I whispered fiercly, poking his face. He frowns.

“Shhh, gattina.”

Gattina?

“But—!”

“Sleep.” He ordered, not even opening his eyes.

“But...”

He rolled over onto of me. God this man is heavy.

“Can't breathe,” I wheeze.

He groans in irritation. Rolling back over.

“I pity your future husband. He won't get any sleep.”

I narrow my eyes. “If you weren't such a freaking buffalo, I could've been out of here."

He opens an eye. “Be quiet, gattina. Sleep, yes?”

“No,” I pout.

“Not a question,” He grunted, pulling me into his chest.

My face burned.

Damn that criminal!