Dominance, Threatened, page 13
Using his tongue, Caiden manages to pull off a piece of flatbread without biting me before removing his mouth, but I can barely think passed his lips, slick and warm, sliding down my finger and disconnecting with a soft, wet sound. “What is it,” he hums.
“What?” What were we talking about?
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I’m thinking that his mouth could be so much more beneficial somewhere else . . . Oh! “Oh. Sputa il rospo. Literally, ‘to spit the toad,’ but everyone knows it means ‘tell me what you are hiding.’”
“Why a toad? That’s a little weird, don’t you think?”
I chuckle, taking a bite of the flatbread to distract myself from thinking of my finger in his mouth. “And your bird one is better?”
“At least birds belong in bushes. Spit does not belong on toads.” Caiden tosses another fry in his mouth before leaning his cheek on one fist, elbow resting on his desk.
“Wait until you hear about hair on your tongue,” I say. His expression is enough to send me into a fit of chuckles, but my phone buzzing in my pocket sobers me up. I look at my hands, one covered in grease and the other still holding a pizza box. “Can you . . .?”
I gesture with the pizza box, wondering if he could take it from my hand so I can answer my phone, but Caiden reaches for the front pocket of my pants and slides my phone from its place there instead. He turns it to show me the caller ID.
Incoming Call
Gaia
I furrow my brows in confusion. Speak of the devil. “Can you swipe answer?”
Caiden does, then places the phone between my shoulder and ear. I squeeze it tightly before standing to try and free my hands. “Gaia,” I ask my sister in our native tongue. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t call my brother just to say hello?” Her voice tinkles through the phone like a glass bell, sounding perfectly okay, if not a little excited.
“No.”
Gaia doesn’t call just to say hello. She always has some new adventure to dive into head-first.
She sighs. “Vincenzo, I need you to come to Italy.”
“No,” I say again, setting the box on a side table and grabbing a handful of napkins to wipe as much of the grease off of my hands as possible. When they are no longer dripping, I pull a hand wipe from the to-go bag on Caiden’s desk to clean my fingers thoroughly. “Why?” I haven’t been to Italy since my father told me I was a disgrace to his bloodline. He and my other brother never approved of my sexuality, though I didn’t let that stop me. Last year, my father suddenly broke and told me how much of a disappointment he thinks I am. Because of that, I spent last summer in Los Angeles instead of Italy, and I didn’t go home for any of the holidays, which is why I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s with my brother and his friends at Adam Santiago’s cabin. Phoenix insisted.
My little sister sighs. “You sound just like Fenice,” she accuses, bringing up the very person who told me I never have to go back to Italy if I don’t want to.
“Gaia.”
“I’m getting married!”
I drop the phone.
It rolls along the carpeted floors and under the tiny sliver along the bottom of Caiden’s desk. I let out a swear, going after it without even thinking. I have to nudge Caiden out of the way on the other side of the desk and crawl on my elbows to squeeze in far enough, quickly putting the phone to my ear as soon as I am able. “What? When? To who?” I forget my language for a moment.
“To whom,” Caiden corrects lowly from where he still sits behind me.
“Taci,” I tell him, wiggling out from underneath his desk.
Gaia gasps. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
My hand smacks my face a little harder than intended as I try to correct my mistake. “No, no, no. I told Caiden to shut up—”
I’m cut off by the loudest scream in my ear, and I grab the phone with two hands. “Gaia? Are you okay? Gaia!”
Her scream turns into a squeal, and I can imagine her tottering from one foot to the other in excitement. “You have a new boyfriend? You have to bring him to the wedding!”
A few others in the background start jabbering, asking about my ‘boyfriend’ and if I will, in fact, be bringing him to the wedding.
“Basta, basta,” I try to interrupt. “No, I do not have a boyfriend. Caiden is a client, and I am his bodyguard. It’s Caiden Augustus, Fenice’s friend. I can’t leave him to come see some quick wedding. Gaia, what is going on? Are you pregnant?”
“I’m in love,” she sighs dreamily.
“You are 19,” I deadpan. “When is this so-called wedding? Is there still time to call it off?”
I can almost hear Gaia’s pout over the phone. “Fenice was a lot nicer to me. And, no. It is final. It is the second Saturday in April.”
Counting the days in my head, I come to a quick realization. First, that is just under three weeks from today. Second, that is the day before Phoenix’s birthday. “You are getting married the day before Fenice’s birthday?”
“It was his idea, Enzo. He said something about inviting his friends and having a birthday celebration here. Everyone is so happy for me, brother. Why aren’t you?” Gaia sniffles and my heart drops into my combat boots.
“Nonononono,” I run the repeated word together. “I am happy for you, beautiful. I wish I knew this man and could give him a nice man-to-man chat, but if you think this is best, I am here for you. And I will be at your wedding.”
“With your boyfriend,” she tries.
I grumble. “With my client. I have to work now, Gaia. I love you. See you soon.”
My sister replies, and we disconnect the call. I must have a dumbfounded look on my face because Caiden asks what’s wrong. “My little sister,” I start. “She is getting married in less than three weeks to a man I don’t even know.”
“Will you be going to Italy, then?”
Nodding, I collapse into the chair by the door, staring out in thought. “You will be, too. It’s the day before Phoenix’s birthday, and, apparently, he is planning to invite your friend group.”
The rest of the day passes relatively uneventfully. I call Phoenix at one point, but other than grunts and groans, he doesn’t give any input on the Gaia situation. He does confirm the birthday plans and tells me not to worry about guarding Caiden if they are all out together. Of course, he doesn’t want me to go out with them for his birthday. Like usual.
It isn’t until we’re in the safety of my apartment that I finally pull my head out of my ass long enough to remember we will need dinner. The guys are already either on post or sleeping for the next shift, so I slide my socked feet into the kitchen in search of something to cook, spitting out my minty nicotine gum in preparation for tasting food.
Caiden is nowhere to be seen, so I assume he is just in his room doing some weird organization of his closet. That seems like something he would do.
Since there is no one to judge me, I blast Taylor Swift and Arianna Grande into my Bluetooth headphones while searching for something to cook. Luckily, I find all the ingredients for a simple carbonara.
I pull some spaghetti-style noodles from my freezer, knowing my nonna would roll over in her grave if she knew I make a big batch of pasta only to freeze it for later. Despite that, I still use traditional guanciale, eggs, pecorino cheese, and lots of black pepper — just as Ma made it before Gaia changed our diet.
Seriously, a vegan Italian? Nonna would never.
Just as I serve the pasta between two plates, I turn to find Caiden sitting at the bar, resting his cheek on one hand. He lifts his other hand, wiggling long fingers in a wave, and I remove the headphones from my ears.
Even held at my side, the unmistakable sounds of ‘You Need To Calm Down’ by Taylor Swift can be heard playing throughout the otherwise silent kitchen.
Caiden’s mouth tugs up in a crooked smile. “How do you have any hearing left?” He drawls, looking pointedly at my headphones.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Oh, somewhere between Ariana Grande’s ‘Thank you, Next’ and ‘Dangerous Woman.’” Caiden shrugs. “Some bodyguard you are. I could have been getting murdered in the living room.”
I roll my eyes, not interested in his antics. “Do you want some food or not?”
The brunette peers around my body at the counter behind me, those hazel eyes zeroing in on both plates of twirled pasta. “You made some for me?”
This time, I ignore his dumb question and grab one of the plates along with a fork for myself, leaving the other behind. I shut off the headphones with a quick tap and the kitchen falls into silence as I sit on a stool at the bar.
Caiden starts rummaging through my kitchen cabinets. “Does it need salt or pepper?”
“No,” I let my accent out full force. “You do not need to put anything on it, Idiot American. Here, sit.” I move from my spot to grab his plate and place it beside mine on the counter along with a fork and a wine glass.
Most of the time, I don’t drink. Phoenix gave me a bottle of expensive Italian wine for my twenty-first birthday, but I haven’t found a reason to use it yet. It was a dumb gift anyway because back home I’d already had plenty of wine and decided I didn’t like it.
I don’t enjoy the feeling too much alcohol gives me — of being unable to control my disciplined body — but I figure Caiden might appreciate an authentic Italian experience.
Caiden sits as I pour the room-temperature wine into the clear glass, turning it red.
“Do you know how to savor the wine?” I ask. “Not just get drunk off of it.”
By the color shading the tips of his ears, I determine Caiden has no idea.
“I don’t really drink, but basically, you just—”
“You haven’t smoked,” Caiden blurts as if he has already chugged half the bottle of wine, all inhibitions gone.
I pause in my explanation, staring at the wine in my glass. This isn’t a topic I want to discuss, especially with him. I wouldn’t say I’m addicted to nicotine, but I don’t want to go a whole day without it. “I alternated between a nicotine patch and gum,” I say, pointing to the pack of minty gum resting on the table beside the door. “I knew there wouldn’t be a lot of time to take smoke breaks at your office, so I went prepared. Do my lungs feel too clear right now? Yes, yes, they do. Am I stressed? No.”
The man furrows his brows but grabs his glass and attempts to imitate how I am holding mine. “Go ahead,” he almost whispers.
“So, you want to swirl it like this,” I let the wine circle around the sides of the glass for a moment. “Then, you can tip the glass and smell the wine to get a feel for the flavors. Finally, take a sip and pump the liquid with your tongue to—”
I break off as Caiden practically kills himself by snorting the wine instead of taking a soft sniff. He sputters and coughs, rubbing at his nose furiously while I am laughing too hard for any noise to come out. My abs start to hurt as I double over, my free hand holding onto the edge of the counter for support, and Caiden simply sends me a death glare.
“Are you done?” He snaps.
Wiping a tear, I nod despite the guffaws still threatening to spew from my mouth. “A sip. Take a sip . . .” He tilts the glass into his mouth. “It’s not cocaine, so don’t snort it.”
Caiden flips me a middle finger and narrows his eyes playfully but moves his mouth as if he is tasting the wine as I instructed. “Not bad,” he observes.
Choosing not to reply, I take a sip of the deep red liquid and find I quite like the taste of this one.
Look at Phoenix doing something right for once.
My eyes drift over to Caiden as he picks up his fork. Almost like slow motion, I watch as he brings the silver utensil down on its side and —
Cuts. His. Pasta.
“No! You don’t cut the pasta!”
10 Did I . . .?
Caiden Augustus
“I just want to get laid,” I complain to Phoenix, who, as usual, hasn’t said a word this entire evening.
It’s Thursday night poker, and even though the guys are still moody, the gang is all here — except for Koda. V said Phoenix gave him the night off — said something about how my four new nameless bodyguards and Phoenix were enough protection. Based on the complicated schedule he explained to me the other day over lunch, I was under the impression that Matthew, Hunter, TJ, and Winnifred would be my guards tonight, but they must have switched to have the night off to themselves.
With the way they wrestled their way out of the apartment this evening at their shift change, I assume they have a fun guys’ night ahead of them. Part of me wonders what they are doing and where. Do they go to a club, a bar, a restaurant, the movies? Somewhere else?
I didn’t intend to vent my sexual frustration to Phoenix Bernardi during our usual poker game, but Jackson had asked, “what’s got you in a bad mood?” and that was all it took.
Ashlynn has been trying to visit me for the last three days to no avail. She came to my office on Tuesday only to receive a ridiculous pat search from my bodyguard who also refused to leave the room. I wasn’t about to have her suck my dick in front of Phoenix’s little brother — that’s for sure. So, we made a plan to meet in the bathroom, but my escort barged in after only two minutes asking why it was taking so long to piss.
Mood ruined.
Not that sex in a public bathroom is necessarily a mood.
Wednesday, we went out for lunch, and when we returned, I pretended to have forgotten my laptop in the car. I instructed V to stand at the elevator in the garage while I went around the far side of the car to a waiting Ashlynn. She had one hand in my pants and my tongue down her throat when the cock-blocker rounded the car.
“I’m not going to stand here and listen to you fuck some chick,” he’d said. “I’ve witnessed plenty of that on your poker nights.”
His words had sent Ashlynn into a frenzy so furious, he had to block a slap aimed at my face.
Does he not know bro code? You don’t expose a man for getting it somewhere else while his girl is right there — much less drunken sex-capades that mean nothing the next day. Ashlynn and I aren’t technically together, but it’s still the principle.
Ashlynn and I tried to reconcile early this morning around three to make sure V would be sound asleep. I gave her the address to the apartment building and tried to creep out unnoticed. Of course, Matthew and Winnifred were on watch and refused to let a man get a quick fix. They even tattled to their boss, who gave me a tongue-lashing for giving out his address.
“Your little brother sucks,” I grumble, folding my arms like a child.
At that, Phoenix lets out a snort while shaking his head. Knowing when to hold them, the large tattooed man folds his cards before reclining back in his chair. He takes a sip of dark liquid from his glass and sets his dark gaze on me. “I will not tell him you said that, as a favor to you since you are my friend.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
Phoenix mumbles his next words, mostly to himself and very accented, and takes a bigger mouthful of whiskey this time. “Because, knowing that fucker, he will take your words too . . .”
I can’t hear the rest, but I feel like I know what he is saying. Perhaps V would take my words too seriously and think I mean he sucks at his job. If his job is to prevent me from getting some head, then he is doing very well actually. “I’m just saying he could loosen up a little. I’m holed up in his apartment and stuck with him all day, every day. It isn’t really what I would call an ideal situation.”
A tattooed hand slams a now-empty glass down onto the felted table, hard. All eyes raise to Phoenix. “Do you think we prefer it this way?”
His voice is louder than any of us have ever heard it — not yelling, but a normal volume versus his usual muttering — and Adam, Jackson, and I exchange worried glances.
Did I just piss off Phoenix?
“Because of your arrogance, you slipped my team and got yourself shot. Because you are my friend, I had to dispatch my best employee — my own brother — to be your around-the-clock guard. I am short nine of my top guys, plus a lot of my brother’s daily contribution to our company, and have to pay for that from somewhere. Cazzo, I have been having to fill in at certain events because our clients contract specifically to have a Bernardi on their detail, and I do not have time for that shit right now. Do you think my brother likes having you in his home, eating his food, and disrupting his personal time? He does have a life outside of work, not that you seem to care. Look,” he flicks a lit cigarette between us, the ashes falling to the ground. “You do not even pay enough attention to him to offer him a smoke break during the day. He has been smoking since before he was of legal age even in Italia, and yet here he is suffering to do his job to protect you — though he will not admit it. I have shit to do and only came tonight to give him some time off. If my brother does not want to chaperone you getting your dick wet, I am not going to punish him for that.”
Adam and Jackson slide their eyes to me, silence falling in the wake of Phoenix’s words. No one even seems surprised by how much he just said — too focussed on exactly how badly he just scolded me by saying the absolute truth.
I grit my teeth and flex my jaw, looking at the poker chips in front of me, then the cards in my hand. I slide a stack of chips forward, doubling my bet, and just like that, the game continues.
Jackson starts talking animatedly about some photography he is interested in, asking Phoenix if there will be enough time in Italy for sightseeing.
“Will we be able to understand anything at the wedding? Or, anywhere for that matter?” Adam inquires like a mature adult.
