Page 95 of Married With Lies
“Cale, you can’t let those guys eat their dinner on the floor.”
He mulls this over and drapes an arm across the back of my chair. “Listen to me,” he says, keeping his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Those two fuckers insulted my wife. It’s a matter of respect. Now let it go, Sadie.”
Do I have another option?
This version of Cale worries me. I want the real Cale back. The one who calms me down during a thunderstorm and carries me out of a wedding after I’ve vomited on the bride and prompts me chatter on endlessly about Bright Hearts during our late night phone calls.
What I’m seeing now is the ruthless and unpleasant side of Cale. The Cale who belongs to his uncle.
Speaking of Richie Amato, I see that he’s watching us. Again. This time he seems entertained.
The food arrives but I’m less hungry than ever. I pop a crouton into my mouth and don’t even taste it. Cale impales ziti on a fork like he’s at war with it. All around us, mobsters and their wives carry on like it’s Mardi Gras.
Cale doesn’t get to have a monopoly on being annoyed.
Who does he think he is?
He confides nothing, he comes and goes as he pleases and throws his credit card at me as a consolation. Now he’s showing just how much of an obnoxious bully he can be and ordering me to keep quiet.
For heaven’s sake, it’s as if I’m a real mafia wife.
This sudden indignation along with a hefty dose of sexual frustration, major disappointment, and a vague buzz from two sips of whiskey are responsible for my next move.
“Honey, your plate looks so good,” I say in a sugar sweet voice. “You don’t mind sharing, right?”
Before he can say or do a thing, I slide over and hijack his lap. He can’t very well shove me off. That wouldn’t look good. It would seem as if we’re not really married or something.
Despite my irritation, the feel of his body is instantly addicting. To borrow the corniest of phrases, my loins quiver.
Cale’s sharp inhale of surprise is satisfying. The way he balls his right hand into a fist when I shift my weight is even more satisfying. This is what I want from him. To drop the mask he wears for his uncle and give in.
To prove a point, I arch my back and roll my hips, ever so slightly. Then again. His breathing hitches. He’s working hard to smother a groan.
Now I really feel him. The fabric of my dress is thin and he’s packing a cannon inside his pants. On the inside, I’m aching for more. But to anyone watching, I’m just mildly digging into my husband’s plate of ziti. Cale isn’t the only one who can put on an act when required.
“Awww,” Donna says. “You two are so cute.” She holds up a cell phone to snap a picture.
My response is to turn my head and fasten my lips to Cale’s. Donna gets her picture. Cale gets a taste of my tongue. Everyone hoots and applauds.
His green eyes are now fierce. A war of anger and lust is being fought behind them and he can do nothing about either one.
Flashing a charming smile to my husband, I return to making myself cozy in his lap. This includes wiggling around enough to drive him crazy. I’m driving myself crazy too. So many hours have been spent fantasizing about how it would feel to take him inside me. Only a few layers of fabric separate us and I can hardly stand it.
“Take a bite,” I say and direct a forkful of ziti into his mouth, earning another severe glare.
He snaps his fingers for another whiskey shot. When it’s delivered he downs it in a flash.
I’m startled when his big hands capture my hips. He massages lightly, then his fingers dig in harder. The buzz between my legs rises to a fever pitch. The way he moves my hips around is slow and deliberate. The muted lighting works in our favor. Along with the fact that half the table is already drunk and the other half is busy eating.
But I wonder if the two guys sitting on the floor can see the show. If they can, I don’t care.
Cale grinds into me harder. An extremely sensitive spot is grazed. I bite my tongue to keep from squeaking. Every throbbing second is sweet torment.
I’ve given up trying to eat pasta. Cale’s fingers sneak through the slit in my dress and find my right thigh. In order to avoid moaning, I grab for his glass of water and gulp down a mouthful. His fingers trail upwards and find the elastic band of my panties. One finger hooks its way inside. I nearly choke on the last sip of water. Cale is issuing a dare. If this keeps up I’m going to come right here in front of the room and I’m sure he knows it.
Cale withdraws his hand and smoothly takes the water glass I’m clutching. He takes a casual drink and sets it down.
“Hey Richie,” he calls. “My wife is kind of tired. You mind if we take off early?”