Page 67 of Working for the Mob

My cry was a whimper that never made it out. All I wanted was to see where Art would take me after I’d given him complete control over my body.

“I’m going to get off soon,” he whispered, but I didn’t know if I could hold on that long. I needed to get off now. I was an overtaxed dam, about to break.

Harder. Faster. Harder. Fas–– He stiffened his body and I finally let go in an eruption of gratification. He growled into my ear and I trembled beneath him, riding each mind-blowing orgasmic wave. He hung on and milked himself, drawing out each swell until his orgasm ended and I finally allowed myself to collapse in the sweat-covered sheets.

“Fuck me,” I panted, as Art rolled next to me.

“I think I just did.”

Chapter 19 – Art

There are moments in life that you want to stop time for. Moments that are so high, that you know that the shithole called “life” won’t return you to that high for years. Maybe even decades. You work, you worry, you pray, you eat, you laugh, and you look forward to when you’ll be returned to another one of those moments. And when that perfect moment happens, you want to catch it and hold onto it for as long as you can.

But that’s not how life works. The perfect moments flow by like a leaf flowing down the stream. You see the leaf coming and it floats towards you. You want to catch it, hold it close, and cling to it forever, but you can’t. You can only watch as it floats right by.

Fucking Genevieve wasn’t that moment. Sex wasn’t that leaf. But as I laid there facing her, exhausted, stroking her brown hair while she slept, I knew this was one of those moments that I wanted to hold onto forever. And all I could do was enjoy it as it floated by.

???

I woke up to someone shaking me.

“Art,” Genevieve said, and shook me again. “Art.”

“Where am I?” I asked her, and looked around a room I knew wasn’t mine. My blood pounded in my ears as I took in the chest of drawers and bedframe.

“You’re in my room,” Genevieve said.

She already wore her familiar blouse and conservative skirt. I no longer had to imagine what lay under those layers of cotton. “I think you should get dressed.”

The setting sun cast an afternoon glow into the room. I must have been asleep for at least three hours.

I searched the room for my clothes, which were strewn across the floor. I pulled on my briefs while Genevieve watched.

“You didn’t look like you had slept last night, so I left you here. I already made us food to bring in, and I have enough clothes packed for me and Lucy,” she said.

“Huh.” It wasn’t easy to form words after just waking up.

“I already had my coffee, but here is your cup,” she said, and held out a cup that I took happily. Caffeine would solve all my problems. I sipped the coffee and frowned.

“It’s cold.”

“Of course it is. I made it over an hour ago. But you can still drink it. It’ll have the same amount of caffeine,” she said.

I knew my perfect moment had floated by, but every frustrating second around this woman made up for it.

The sun beamed down on us during the drive back to the hospital. With the windows wrecked, the rays were the only thing keeping the trip bearable. On the way out, we passed Lance’s car parked downtown.

“So, what did Lance do last night?”

Genevieve let out her breath. “He dropped us off late, and said goodbye. This morning he banged at the door before dawn to let us know what happened.”

“Were you upset it wasn’t me at your door?”

“Yes,” she said, and smirked. “We need more firewood cut.”

We continued under the tunnel of barren trees, and she spoke again. “Whatdidhappen?”

Shit. I didn’t want her to know. I didn’t want to tell her; I coughed into my hand to buy myself time. I had been able to hide that part of my life from Genevieve so far.

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