Footsteps(97)

Bina’s fingers traced light, lazy circles through the hair on his pecs. The circles slowed, and he thought she might be falling asleep even before he did. But then her circles grew, and she grazed his ribs and his belly, and his cock began to stir and stretch. Could he go again, even after all that?





Another pass of her hands on his body, and the answer was yes. “You sleepy, Bina?”





“Not so much that I don’t want that.” She gave his hard cock a rub. She was growing more and more confident. Playful and saucy. Every day she was more perfect.





He rolled over and settled between her legs, hooking her knees over his arms. “Let me give it to you, then.”





~ 20 ~





Sabina spent Sunday night at the house, too. She had not intended to. She’d gone to Mass with the family, and then come back to the house with them for brunch for Rosa, who was on her way back to the dorm at Brown—not too far, not much farther than Carlo now planned to commute, but apparently she did not come home often during the semester, so they sent her off with a farewell.





When Carlo Sr. and Rosa packed up and left, Sabina had left, too; she’d gone back to her apartment to change for work.





She’d had every intention of closing up Sea Weaver on Sunday evening and going back to her apartment with some take-out, to have a normal, quiet evening alone and take some time to think things through—Trey’s birthday had been full of things that needed thinking through.





Everything had gone according to her plan all afternoon. She closed alone, because Andi had a date, and she was content and busy, thinking about stopping at the little trattoria on the corner, which had a nice to-go menu, and then reading more of Sylvia Plath’s poetry. She’d gotten as far as the door of the restaurant, and the thought of eating a calzone on her own in her apartment while Carlo and Trey, and Carlo Sr., and maybe some of the siblings, were sitting around that big table in the dining room made her feel bleak and lonely.





She’d called Carlo, and he’d met her at her apartment, where she’d gone to pack a bag. She hadn’t even driven her car over—it was as though she were trying to make it as hard on herself as possible to exert any willpower at all.





Stupid seemed to be the path she was choosing.





But on Monday morning, when Carlo Sr. had gone to work and only Carlo, Trey, and she were left, it didn’t feel stupid at all. The shop was closed on Mondays, so Sabina planned to spend the day with Trey while Carlo had meetings in Providence.





Sabina made eggs—sunny side up—and toast while Carlo got Trey up and ready. Eggs was something she had made often for her aunt, and the skill had come back to her quickly. Standing at the big gas range, frying eggs in a cast iron skillet, listening to Carlo and Trey talking about what Trey wanted to do for the day—he wanted to take his flying shark to the park, and he wanted ice cream, and he wanted to watch How to Train Your Dragon—Sabina felt like she was part of a family. It was not a feeling she wanted to give up. She was beginning to wonder whether her little attic apartment was the smart decision, after all.





Just as she was plating the eggs and toast and setting them at the breakfast table in the kitchen, Carlo and Trey came in hand in hand. Trey’s soft, light-gold hair was sticking up in all directions, but he was dressed for the day and smiling brightly.





“Ms. Bina, Uncle Joey is gonna take us to the park!” He gave her a hug and climbed up onto his chair, where she’d just set a glass of apple juice.





She turned to Carlo, surprised. “He is?”





“Yeah. I’d feel better if you had company for a while. Just…until I know more what Saturday meant. Okay?” He kissed her cheek, and Sabina was distracted from the question on her tongue. He looked spectacularly handsome dressed up for meetings. She adored the way he dressed normally, so casual and free, in faded jeans and chambray or Oxford-cloth shirts, almost never tucked in, and in the scuffed, light brown boots he usually wore. Rough and sexy.





But now…now he was wearing black pants and black lace-up shoes; a black shirt without a tie, open at his throat; and a charcoal grey tweed jacket. And best of all—tortoiseshell framed glasses. He wore those only when he read or when he worked, so she did not see them often. But they were very nice. And seeing them as part of his whole professional ensemble, Sabina expected to spend a lot of the day thinking about the way he looked right now.





“Bina—okay?” He was grinning at her; she must have been ogling obviously.





“Oh, yes. I’m just surprised it’s Joey.” Carlo had barely spoken to Joey in weeks. She thought it had to do with Joey being beaten up, but neither of them had offered any details.