Page 40 of Bought By the Mafia

“Not when there’s another person around. We can’t keep up the happily married ruse with us sleeping in different bedrooms.”

“But I like mine!” I could feel the tone of my voice rise in panic. Even though we’ve slept together a few times now, we’ve never done it in bed and the thought of being under the same sheets as his made my temperature rise. Lately, I’ve been having dreams of him sleeping naked and me joining him, but before anything happens, I would wake up. I couldn’t sleep in the same bed as him and have those dreams. What would happen? I might maul him in my sleep. No. It would not do. “I can’t sleep with you,” I said.

“The bed is big enough. We can both fit.” He was taunting me. The laughter in his voice was an indicator. Was he serious? His eyes said he was, and it didn’t look like he was going to let up any time now. “I can’t sleep with you in the same bed.”

“Why not? It’s not like we haven’t fucked before.” He put emphasis on the word ‘fucked’ that it was easy for my brain to conjure up images of all the times we had done so. The way his body felt against mine. His hot skin rubbing against mine. How he enveloped —

“Don’t care. We’re not sleeping in the same bed.” It clicked then that I’ve never been in his room before. “Doesn’t your room have a couch or something? You can sleep there? Or I could, if you’re so fond of your bed.”

“It doesn’t. It has two somewhat comfortable chairs, but not good enough to sleep in. They’re great for other things though,” he said. I rolled my eyes at the double meaning. Try as I might, it seemed like there was no way out. He was right about us sleeping in the same room. It made sense and it would be difficult to explain to Allison why we were in separate rooms and I couldn’t think of a plausible excuse myself. “Fine,” I said. “We sleep in the same bed, but no funny business.”

He guffawed. “You sound like my eighth-grade schoolteacher.” Raising his hands, he added, “I’ll make sure to leave enough space for Jesus.”

Anyone who doubted our ruse would look at his room and have those doubts confirmed. There was no hint of femininity here. It was a lot of dark colors intermixed with pale blue and white. It was the bedroom of a bachelor, not a man married to a woman. But maybe our whirlwind romance and quick wedding cover story would be good enough of an explanation. I looked around and at anything but the bed, feeling a little out of sorts. It was as if I had entered his private space, but not as an equal but as a naïve prey led into the lair of a predator.

“You should bring some of your things in here. At least while Allison is around. I figure she might stay for a few days, maybe a week,” Gio said as he strode past me and went into a room beyond which I assume was the bathroom. A week? Of course, she would stay here for a couple of days or more. Somehow I had thought she would leave tomorrow and all of this was only for tonight, but if she was staying for a week, that meant Gio and I had to sleep together for the same amount of time! Could I handle Gio’s body inches away from mine?

I stared at the bed, giving it my full attention for the first time. How many women had had the pleasure of being brought to ecstasy on that bed? A wave of jealousy stronger than any I’ve ever felt tugged at me as images of women having sex with Gio rotated in my head. He was a known playboy. He must have had gone through half the women in this city. I closed my eyes and shook my head to dispel the images, but one remained. That of me and him tangled in those sheets. It was both hot and scary. I tried to dispel that too, but it remained at the back of my mind. My own special taunt played by my mind.

Instead of standing in the same spot dumbstruck, I galvanized into action and went to my room, where I gathered a few of my things and put on pajamas. Nightdresses were out until further notice. When I came back, Gio was already sitting in bed reading a book. The image would have been nerdy and domestic if weren’t for him being in just his trunks.

“You’re half naked!” I said.

“And you’ve dressed for the Siberian winter. What’s with pjs Mrs. Claus?”

My pajamas were silk and while they covered pretty much every part of me except my hands, feet and head, they were hardly conservative. I ignored him and went to placing some of my clothes into his gigantic walk-in closet. Despite my attempts to delay the inevitable, I completed the task quicker than expected. I took my time placing my toiletries next to his, but eventually finished the task. Finally, it was time for me to place my body next to his.

He was still reading his book when I came back. When I flipped open the linen on my side and climbed onto the bed, he didn’t spare a glance at me. He seemed too engrossed by whatever he was reading to pay attention to me, which felt good at first, but after a while and when sleep refused to come, I became a little restless. Even the warm cotton sheets and the soft bed weren’t enough to bring me to sleep. I turned around to see what he was reading. I had initially thought it was some business memoir or something boring like that, but on closer inspection, I realized it was fiction. An author I’ve never read, but one I had seen countless times in bookstores in the historical fiction section.

“I never took you for a World War two guy,” I said.

“I’m not,” he replied without lifting his head from the book.

“Interesting. So why are you reading a Churchill biography? One would be right to assume you’re into World War two if they catch you reading the biography of one of the most influential men of the period.”

“I thought it was fascinating when I saw it at one of the airport bookstores.”

“And is it? Fascinating I mean.”

He sighed and closed the book with a loud thud. He twisted his body to face me, and I rose slightly, mirroring his movements without thinking. “For someone who was nervous about sleeping here, you can be a little annoying once you warm up to the situation.”

If I was not giving off nervous energy, then good because I was nervous as hell. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop talking. I wanted to shut up, but I couldn’t. And now his naked torso was right in my eyesight. If he wanted to, he could lean over and at once cover my body with his. I would not protest. I could do the same too. Lean over to him and cover his body with mine and make him forget the old dude from the nineteen forties. Would he be willing? I bet he would. I could see it, him and I writhing against each other as we both slowly went mad with desire. Other images invaded my mind. Images of him with other women doing the same thing. They tormented me until I could not take it anymore. Out of the blue, I blurted, “How many women have you slept with in this bed?” I didn’t mean to say it, but once it was out, I wanted an answer. For my sanity, at least.

The question surprised Gio. He regarded me with an inquisitive look. “Do you really want to know?”

How many were they? Ten? Twenty? Hundred? My mind would not rest until I got an answer. I nodded.

“Zero.”

I scoffed. Even the most naïve person in this city knew it wasn’t true. Not with his reputation. “Sure,” I said. “And I’m the queen of England.”

“It’s true. I’ve never slept with anyone on this bed.” He said so matter of fact that I was incapable of telling whether or not he was fooling around. I held his gaze to see if he would break the facade, but he didn’t. I broke first. “Next, you’re going to tell me you were a virgin the first time we had sex and have remained celibate until we got married.”

“I never said I’ve never had sex. Nor did I say I’ve never brought a woman here. I’ve just have never had sex with anyone in this bed.”

I was about to question how that was possible until I realized that he’s had sex with me multiple times and I live here, yet we have never done it in his bed, or any other bed. If he were telling the truth, then he certainly had an odd kink. What was so special about his bed that he didn’t want anyone in it? I asked him that. It took a while for him to respond. One would think I had asked something he had never contemplated before, which made even less sense considering it was an odd rule. Finally, he said,

“I hate cuddling.”

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