Vivienne

Massimo lied.

He doesn't trust me. He's calm for about ten minutes but then his brain starts working again. Which means he harasses me with questions—no, demands—that I tell him everything that's going on. The thing is, I'd comply if I didn't know for a fact that he'd immediately try to wrangle the situation back into his control.

"Vivienne, this is absolutely unacceptable," he informs me, pacing back and forth in a state of undress. His shirt is unbuttoned, billowing behind him like a cape. "There are things I need to do, people I need to call. Where the hell is my phone?"

He seems to have acquired a shitty mood in the shower, and I have no idea why. I waited for him to finish before taking my own, emerging in my towel to find him erratic like this.

Finding out I confiscated his phone seemed to be the final straw.

"You need to focus on resting and getting your strength back before we go see your brothers and Cora," I insist. He won't say it, but that bitch being in the same vicinity as his brothers is throwing him. Who knows what she could be telling them? It's the collision of two worlds he almost killed himself to keep separate. "Just a couple days. It's been a couple hours. There's nothing you can do when you're like this."

After everything that's happened, he shouldn't even be standing—at least before getting one night's sleep. But this is what Massimo does. He stands. Despite and through it all, including the gruesome unraveling of everything he's built his life on. And I know for him, it all couldn't be unraveling in a more miserable way. He hates having my father involved. Hates people knowing and having to accept help. And he hates, above all else, that he's going to have to tell his brothers at least part of the truth when we get there.

I, on the other hand, have a one track mind. His mind and body have been through hell, and he's not out of the woods yet. I've been banging my head against the wall trying to get him to fucking relax. It's frustrating both of us, this disconnection. I can't shake the feeling that there's got to be a way to get through to him. 

Why am I failing?

"Look, why don't you just talk to me?" I cross my arms, staying parked in front of the door. Initially it was to keep him from making a break from it, but the view from here is also pretty great. His skin is glistening ivory, abdomen tight and flat. Too bad he's stressing me out too much to appreciate it. "Maybe if you run through it with me, we can work it out. Who do you need to call? What do you need done?"

He stops in front of me, lips flattened into an unhappy line. "People, Vivienne. And things. I don't talk, I do."

I tighten my hold on the towel, making sure it's covering everything. For some reason, there's a rock in the center of my chest. "Well there's nothing either of us can do right now. It's one in the morning."

That stubborn tick of his jaw starts up. Against my will, my gaze drifts down and over his contoured chest, ridged abdomen, carved hips. When I get back to his face, his eyes are narrowed on me. A unique tension sits in the air between us, thickening it. I've honestly been trying to ignore it.

Why can't I breathe, suddenly?

"Vivienne. You cannot understand." He drifts closer, face taut with impatience. "So much damage has been done by my absence. I am already doing my best to operate on this vague declaration that Cora will be taken care of. Frankly, I cannot stand to think about that woman right now. Or what she's telling my brothers and what they think of me now." His throat bobs as he swallows. "I care only about salvaging what's left of my business. A business that, for all your talents, you do not know how to run."

"You don't think so?" I crane my neck as he practically pins me up against the door, solely with his imposing presence. Not touching me but very much looming. "Well, I've actually been... I... um."

I'm prepared to do it, to tell him how I've been running things, to bicker and argue until one or both of us acquiesces. Our usual dance and all. 

But—oh God.

"Vivienne. Hello?" He's completely ignorant to my current struggle. "Give. Me. My. Phone."

Oh shit oh fuck oh God. 

It's coming. I can't stop it.

Massimo is staring at me in confusion and frustration as it happens. As I burst into tears and throw myself at him.

It's the release of everything I've been feeling not only over the last couple weeks, it seems, but the last several months. Ever since I met him and obtained a front row seat to his demise. 

He's silent but I feel his arms come around me, and all I can think as I sob into his neck is that I really hope that towel stayed in place. But everything goes away, all my bravado and confidence. I don't want to argue with him or be stubborn or do this whole power struggle. I can't. What's left is my heart baring itself to him, unable to keep pretending.

Just a few hours ago, he had completely given up on life. Now he's okay—but apparently I still have emotions about that. And apparently he needs to experience them with me.

 At some point, he backs us up until he's on the bed and every one of my limbs is wrapped around him. And I guess I decide to try and explain some things to him, but it's just an endless stream of emotion, still tucked up against his collarbone, wet and incoherent: "I just want you to be okay" and "I tried so hard and I was so fucking worried and scared" and "I'm so sorry for everything."

He cups the back of my head to press me closer against his chest, pressing small kisses along my hairline. That, for some reason, makes me cry harder as I realize some things. Despite actively passing through hell these last months, Massimo opened up his world to me little by little. Trusting me enough to relax around me, kissing and caring for me, letting me guide and challenge him; even when it was a risk, when it went against everything he'd ever known. He then went and, as his world was being burned down, sacrificed everything in order to keep me around. And when that didn't work, he still sacrificed it all just to keep me happy. He fucked up and he hurt me, and I fucked up and I hurt him, and it's all absolutely humbling.

If love can't be reduced to three simple words—and I'd argue it can't—then I figure it would look something like that.

Once I've calmed down enough, I pull back from the sanctuary of his neck, taking stock of myself. I'm sure I look like a basket case, but at least my towel is in place. I haven't been crying on him with a tit out, or worse.

"I hate when things are messy, Massimo. I hate having to sit with shit. I want to move past things that hurt and get to solutions." I take a deep breath, feeling him comb my damp hair out of my face. "So I do understand. There are thousands of solutions pushing for your attention right now, but I need you to sit with it. I've barely been able to process that you're okay. This is the first time the world isn't going to fall apart if you just... sit. And breathe."

Finally, I look at him. And what I see sucks all the breath out of my lungs.

All my pain, my emotion, reflects back at me in his face. "I have one problem," he murmurs, taking one of my hands and pressing kisses to each finger. "I can't stand you crying over me. I'm finding I can sit with anything but that." Then he draws me to him, kissing along my jaw to my ear before fixing me with that shattered stare. "If I were to admit I'm scared, or feeling other things for the very first time that make my head want to cave in, that would be easier, Vivienne."

And Massimo is not a poet; he just speaks in simple truths that are poetic in the simple elegance of someone discovering what it is to be human.

He kisses that way too, in devastatingly beautiful pulls of his mouth that force me to surrender everything to him, clutching onto him wherever I can reach. He pushes so hard into the kiss that I have to wind both arms around his neck to keep from falling backwards as we cling to each other everywhere. His hand begins to slip beneath the hem of the towel, and that's when, by some miracle, I manage to pull away.

"Massimo, look—"

His eyes dull, his hold on me falling away. "I understand. We don't need to do that now, or ever if you do not wish—"

"What? No!" Frantically, I shove a hand over his mouth without thinking, "I swear to fuck, don't even go down that path. I just—I have a confession first. Something you should know."

He raises a brow, prompting me to remove my hand. His arms hoist me back into him, although his eyes are still dim. But I'd feel a little manipulative if we did anything before I told him.

"Okay well, there's another reason I don't want you to worry about business right now. And I just need you to hear me out, okay?"

A measure of sobriety firms up his features and I immediately get a bad feeling. His business is his baby. Literally his everything. I hesitate, wanting to enjoy these last moments of him not knowing.

No regrets, but damn I think I fucked up.

"I've taken control of things in your absence. I've been... making some decisions. Santo's been involved—it's not just me. But he thinks I've been running everything by you." I peer into his eyes, biting my lip. "As you know, I have not."

No reaction. So I keep digging my hole.

"There are some things I just can't do. Like, there are several big, mean men who are currently wondering why they're losing all their money in the markets. Santo and I have been holding them off, feeding them bullshit about how they're going to get it all back, but that probably won't hold for much longer. But it's fine," I wave my hand a little manically, "you'll work your magic there I'm sure. And also," I clear my suddenly dry throat, "the Russians are getting angry. Kirill Sokolov is one difficult son of a bitch. But I have that under control."

I hope meagerly that in his drug detoxification haze, Massimo finds it in him to not pin me to the wall via knife in my throat. But I'm sure I've just made some sort of record, like how fast you can make a guy go from horny to murderous.

For a while, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. When he speaks, his lips barely move and the air seems to have cooled thirty degrees.

"What have you said to Kirill Sokolov?"

Here I go.

"He doesn't exactly hold a favorable opinion of you. He thinks you're unfit to lead, but also that you're planning something to fuck with him. I know exactly what you're thinking, and yes," I purse my lips, trying not to get heated, "I've told him that's contradictory as fuck. But that man does not know logic. Like, does he think you're stupid and weak, or that you're smart enough to do something nefarious? He lacks even the pretense of common sense! I at least pretend that I have a fucking functioning brain. But whenever I call him out on it, guess what he fucking says? You'll never guess."

"Viv—"

"He's all like, 'I will not speak to Mr. Romano's secretary about men's business.' Ugh! And then he shuts down! Which is how I know I've won the argument. And if that's how men do business, I don't even want to be a part of it. I just think as leader of the fucking Bratva, he should—"

"My God, Vivienne!" Massimo snaps, shaking me a little. "You can fill out a complaint form later, yeah? What happened?"

Well. Someone got a fucking attitude in the mental hospital.

At this point, I've already said too much. I told Massimo he needed to stay out of it, then I went and spilled all the details. I was supposed to keep it vague but that's hard when Sokolov is such a shitstain on humanity.

"Sokolov is moving in on your territory," I refocus, because to hell with it. "His men are crawling through the city and he's even threatened to begin distributing his heroin there." Santo had bitched to me about how it's not part of the Romano business to run drugs, Sokolov's heroin isn't even pure because the Russians don't care about quality, no respect and no standards, blah blah blah. "And that seemed like an obvious test. So I had Santo get rid of them. Sokolov is angry that we killed his men, but I think we bought some time by proving that we're not afraid to retaliate, you know? Now he actually has to consider his next move. Put his fat fucking head to work and actually think. He's clearly not good at that but—anyway. I already said that." I manage to stop myself from going on another rant, flashing him a demure smile.

The truth is, I've realized the Russians play dirty. But I think Santo plays dirtier, especially when his older, more sensible brother isn't keeping him in check.

"... Massimo?" I desperately search him for a reaction. Nothing. I feel a sting on my scalp and realize his hand has been clenched into a fist around a good portion of my hair. 

Fuck.

"I won't apologize," I whisper. "But I understand you're angry. I just think—"

"Shut. Up." Through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so tight the muscles pulse, he lets me have it. "Just. Be quiet."

I wait for him to start yelling or throw me off his lap. At the very least, he'll read me the riot act in his uniquely Massimo way, like he's reciting a Shakespearean monologue. It'll suck but at least it'll sound all sophisticated and hot.

He shuts his eyes and looks like he's trying to breathe.

"What you mean to tell me," he gets out through a jaw clenched tight, "is that you've more or less appointed yourself to Capo? You haven't consulted anyone, or had a singular thought about how unqualified you are. Instead, you just impulsively took control."

"Well actually," I correct, "I did think about that. Obviously. It just didn't matter."

"And what—you've been ordering around my soldiers? Telling them what to do?"

"I thought I'd get a little more resistance, honestly. But they trust you so much that they automatically trust me. And they recognized the severity of the situation." I smile, thinking about those guys. They're totally obsessed with me, which is the only way it worked. But that's what happens when your boss is a robot of a person who never so much as offers a kind word to anyone, and suddenly is shacking up with a strange woman. Most of them were too fascinated to question a word that came from my mouth. "Full disclosure, they have been running my errands and fixing some things around the house. But that's only because I have a few of them living at my place. They're nice."

Massimo looks like he's having a coronary. "My soldiers are nice?"

Yeah, when you don't make them live in SUVs and actually give them food and shelter.

I shrug. "They do what I say."

His breath trembles on a measured exhale, and I notice he is not exactly looking at me with affection, or any of the emotion of before. There's no 'aw, she's so cute and nice for making sure everything ran smoothly while I was in a mental hospital.'

There's just... fire. He looks ready to pick me up and throw me out the window.

His hands flex, bringing more pain to my scalp. I don't think he realizes it. "And let me get this straight. You had someone killed?"

"I had several people killed," I correct, in the spirit of full disclosure. "Probably like eight, nine?"

Massimo's head drops. His breaths are coming quicker now and I'm beginning to get worried, especially since I can't see his face anymore. Well, I've done it now. He's so mad he's practically shaking.

Shit, we may have to readmit him to the psych ward. 

Then I feel it.

No way.

"Um. Hey Massimo?" I try to peer into his eyes, but soft tendrils of hair spill over and obstruct my view. "Is that—"

He curls his arm tighter, inevitably plastering my hips—which are covered solely in a flimsy towel—to his. Allowing me to feel the thick head of his cock pressing angrily into my upper thigh.

"Are you..." I suddenly sound like I've run a marathon, but I'm past caring, "are you not mad?"

The look he levels at me through his hair makes my bones feel like liquid. Desire blackens his eyes and he's breathing hard. "I should be. I should tell you that you've made choices you don't know how to handle. That you've dealt yourself into the middle of a game you have no idea how to play." He tugs the fist in my hair downwards, forcing my chin up and a whimper out of my mouth. "I should be punishing you for thinking you've taken control."

"But?" Despite my position, a knowing smile tilts my lips. 

"But I like you like this," he feathers soft, wet kisses down my neck.

"What, in charge?"

"Not just that," he parts the towel, and I gasp as I feel his hot mouth on my skin. "Power is an attractive thing, I've always thought so. It's the way you carry it." He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth and I grab onto his hair, mouthing a curse. "You should have the whole world at your feet."

In awe, I pull back and place a palm on his chest. The hot, damp skin jumps under my touch as he looks up at me earnestly. I lighten my touch and trace just my fingernails down, down, down. Shivers raise tiny bumps all along his skin, and his breathing picks up as I get closer to the bulge in his pants begging for attention.

"I think it's more than that," I grin, watching his head fall back as I remove my touch, throat bobbing as he tries to swallow back his need. "Tell me what you like about it," I urge.

"I just like to see you getting what you want. You should always get everything," he says almost to himself, "everything you want."

I watch in delight as his stomach contracts, the muscles shifting, just from the utterance. He's so fucking hard it's got to hurt.

"Can you tell what I want right now?"

He doesn't answer, caving in to kiss me enthusiastic sweeps of his tongue and hitched breaths that bleed into soft groans. My body thrums with tension, with responsibility and desperation and the knowledge that whatever happens between us now will mean more than it ever has.

"More, Massimo. I need more."

Without a word he pushes me back on the bed, removing the towel and throwing it across the room. His eyes run down my body before slipping shut. I gasp as I feel his cock dig into my thigh, then his mouth capturing my nipple again, grazing sharp teeth over the small bud. I jerk in violent pleasure and feel his lips form a smirk against my breast.

Okay, so this is happening.

"Pretty little brat." When he speaks, I can feel the rumbling growl of his words fraying every single nerve ending. "You like being in charge, hm? Making me react this way?" Temporarily losing control, he grinds himself against my thigh. "We both know you're in charge, dolcezza, until you drive me to this. Listen to yourself, practically whimpering already. Il bel bambino ha bisogno di un po' di sollievo, eh? Così, stenditi e prendilo."

He grazes his fingers over the sensitive skin of my thighs as I shiver, either from his touch or the black velvet of his voice. Finally, fucking finally, he presses two thick fingers against my entrance before sliding in with no resistance.

"All this for me?" he marvels softly. The slightest sweep or curl of his fingers makes my back arch from the bed, and he finds my clit with his thumb, drawing circles that make violent shudders wrack through me. It already feels like he's fucking wrestling an orgasm out of me. "Ride my hand," he pants, "yeah, just like that. So eager, I could just let you do all the work, huh?" He's moving fast but I'm chasing pleasure at the same pace, the both of us too impatient.

Before long I'm gasping and shaking, my face in his neck, pussy clamping around his fingers. And by now, any semblance of control Massimo started this out with is completely gone. 

"Tell me how much you want it," he almost growls, "I just want to make it good for you, make you come again and again on my fingers, Vivienne, please, c'mon baby, please come, come for me—"

He needs it now, needs it first, I think deliriously to myself as black edges in on my vision and I dissolve around him, crying his name and a slew of incoherent praises as my thighs clench so tight around his hand it has to hurt.

Somewhere in the middle of it, he began kissing me like he wanted to taste my praise. He nurses me though the tremors, holds me until I can breathe again.

I rub my hand down his neck and his muscles shift as he stays pressed to me, but now soft trembles pass through him. Worry reflexively shoots through me but then I realize I can still feel him, harder than ever, on my thigh.

"Massimo," my voice is hoarse, "that was so good. You were so good. Show me what you need to happen next."

When he picks his head up from my neck, I'm surprised at how flushed he is, eyes completely black, lips bitten and glistening. He seems delirious with need, in physical pain, agony etched into every cell. In awe, I frame his face with my hands, widening my legs so he can settle beneath them. 

We both hold our breath as his hips line up with mine. The fabric still separating us is familiar because I think every other time we got to this place, that woman was not far enough from his mind. This time... it feels different.

"I wanted you since that moment in the alleyway," I confess, making his eyes zip to mine, "and every moment since. Just... all of you. Whoever you are today, tomorrow, next year."

He reaches down to remove the rest of his clothes, not once letting his eyes fall from my face. Then he settles above me, both of us completely bare. Warm. Safe.

"I... don't have anything," he says raggedly.

It takes me several moments to clear my head and realize he's talking about a condom. I can literally feel the length of him, heavy and leaking, lined up against my center. My chest pinches, but I give him a reassuring smile. "I'm on birth control. We're good."

"Vivienne," he says my name like a prayer and slowly sinks into me. Filling me completely. It's a searing, bubbling kind of pressure. Hot and so, so deep.

His eyes slip shut but I keep mine open, because there is nothing more beautiful than watching Massimo Romano let go.

Massimo

"Fuck," I grunt.

I feel her go completely still, even as her walls flutter around my cock, making me go hot with an undefined, heady feeling. 

"You just cursed," she marvels.

I thrust again, and it feels like heaven. Stepping into paradise and hearing the gates close behind me. I can't breathe. Can't think. I don't want to leave. This bed, room, city, and certainly not this woman. 

"Wow," she breathes, still talking about something I have absolutely no knowledge of. "That was hot. You've never done that before."

"Vivienne, fuck," is all I can manage, arms flexing as I push into her again. 

"Massimo," she cries out, her fingers digging deep into my skin. From the feel of it, she'll leave marks. Deep enough for it to sting later. "Oh my God."

All she's done this whole time is lie there and take it. And she's beneath me now but she's still the one with the power. Always will be, as far as I'm concerned, and there's no shame in that.

Her hair is a dark blot against the pillow and time slows as I watch her. Eyes shut in bliss, dewy skin, unparalleled perfection. Sucking me in like a vice, a perfect tight fit.

Her legs hook around my waist, pressing me deeper than I thought was possible. We both groan, and my arms shake and buckle, so I press my face to her hair, feeling her soft pants against my ear. Every thought, word, and breath has been burned out of me. 

It's her. Not just her body, her. 

The bounce of her breasts and the curve of her waist, the press of her heels into my lower back, the ferocity with which she holds onto me wherever she can. This woman who met me at my worst and proceeded to hold onto me through it all. Most of the time with a sarcastic jab and a blinding grin. She still smells as sweet as the first day I met her. Feels even better.

Oh no.

"Fuck," I still, glancing down to where we're connected. The sight is enough to make me groan. "Viv, Vivienne. You feel so—so fucking—"

"Massimo," breathlessly, she pulls at my shoulders. "I can't understand this new language of yours. What's wrong?"

I blink at her helplessly. What the hell is she talking about now? I feel like my brain is about to drip out of my ears, along with many, many years of sexual repression from my cock. This is not good.

"If you move, I'll come."

She stares at me before bursting into laughter. I hiss and grab onto her as a lot of things happen down there. Not good for me right now. Still smiling, she pulls me down for a kiss, biting my lip before pulling away. "Then come, baby."

I thrust into her again, grabbing the back of her knee and hoisting her ankle over my shoulder so she can feel it deeper. She cries out at the new position, our hips crushing together, my movement losing all rhythm as she clasps down on me. Nails digging in so hard they draw blood. The unexpected sting sends a zap of electricity shooting down my spine, and I come in long, wild bursts, pulsing aftershocks that have me groaning her name. Baring myself to her like I have to nobody else.

I lower myself and stay like that, breathing her in until I can move again. Then, ignoring how my head spins, I pull out of her, eliciting a small groan from her perfect lips, moving down her body almost blind with the need to make her come again. 

She looks ruined, my mess spilling out of her, and I just drag my fingers through her velvety folds before she's panting and convulsing, crushing her thighs around my neck. She's half-lidded and drunk when I crawl back up her body, opening her mouth to welcome my fingers.

Her head lifts off the pillow when I kiss her. Afterwards, she blinks at me with shining eyes before shoving me to the bed so she can roll over and bury her face in my neck. Everything falls away and she stays there for a little bit, kissing my skin over and over again. 

She pulls away, only to laugh as I blink down at her in delirious awe, not protesting when I guide her back down to her spot.

My bones feel like they're made of clouds, and each breath is a kaleidoscope of feeling crushing down my windpipe and piling somewhere in the vicinity of my chest, around where my heart beats for her and only her.

I feel the necklace I gave her pooling against my collarbone, my family crest. She never took it off. My chest feels thick.

"Say I'm yours," I tell her.

She jerks against me in a sniffle, and I frown as I draw her closer. I don't like this new emotional Vivienne, but I don't think she's crying in a bad way.

"Yeah," she eventually mumbles, "you sure fucking are."

♛ 

I actually cut this a little short because I wanted it to end after they boned, but can y'all tell I'm tired of the bossy alpha male who NEVER tires of being in charge? Simo simply cannot relate.

- G