Gabriel
What if she isn’t there?
As I tear through Toronto’s rush hour traffic, past lines of cars and the turning heads of stunned pedestrians, I push the question from my mind for the fifth time: What if she isn’t there?
Again, I glance at my phone: 6:03 pm. Three minutes late and I still have a ways to go. What if I get there and she isn’t there at all, has left, fed up with waiting?
It took a week for both of our schedules to calm down enough to see each other; I won’t be able to take messing this up.
But how could I have predicted that Hannah would call just as I was about to leave? Or that the flower shop would have a lineup as long as rush hour at McDonald’s? Or that traffic would be horrible and every other light would be against me?
I got roses, I dressed up in my best suit, there’s no way I’m letting this not work.
I can’t afford this.
Finally, at 6:07 I pull up to the familiar tower and park on the concrete in front.
I run to the elevator. Once inside, it ascends too slowly, while my heart beats too fast.
Calm down Gabe, just calm down.
When the elevator finally stops, I saunter off and inside, past the hostess mid “Hi, how are—” and past tables of well-dressed women and well-bellied men, glazed-face families, and then, at the end of the room, I see her.
It would have been hard not to. She’s wearing that dress. The dress. The red one that clings to every curve of her body, that goes from her tits to her ass, that is one zipper-pull away from full-on nakedness.
Damn, how am I supposed to focus on the meal now?
As soon as I’m within hearing distance, I hold out the roses, say, “Sorry I’m late.”
Rising with a smile, she arches a brow then says, “I’ll consider forgiving you depending on how the meal goes.”
She accepts the roses with one hand, and I take the other and kiss it.
“Babe,” I say, “You’ll forgive me by the time the waiter brings our drinks.”
She lays a few fingers on my cheek, pats it, says, “We’ll see.”
After we sit down, I pause to take her in.
Really take her in, her long-lashed brown eyes, her silky sheath of black hair, her full red-lipped smile.
I’m enjoying her and she knows it.
In this restaurant where the tables, chairs and floors are brown, the cityscape in the window is black, she’s a red vision.
“You look stunning,” I tell her, and she smiles again.
She leans in, enveloping me in vanilla and another one of those smiles that says, “You haven’t even seen what’s underneath.”
I flick my gaze away from her lips.
God, getting through this dinner is going to be harder than I thought.
“Don’t worry,” she’s saying, her red-nailed hand squeezing mine, “I ordered us drinks already.”
As if on cue, the placid-faced waiter whisks over, depositing a bottle of Brachetto red on the table.
“Would you like to order?” his fleshy lips ask.
His fish eyes swim over to Toni and linger on her cleavage too long.
“No, you can go now,” I reply coolly.
His gaze flicks to me in surprise, Toni gives an apologetic smile, and he glides away.
“Gabe,” she scolds me, clasping my hand, “You are just awful.”
“Well he’s our waiter,” I argue, “Not your boyfriend; he shouldn’t be looking at you like that.”
She releases my hand and puts her finger in my palm. Then, drawing a circle, she coos, “You’re jeaaalous.”
I close my fingers around hers.
“Damn right I am. This is our first date and I want you all to myself.”
Now her eyes meet mine, and, leaning in further, she purrs, “And you will.”
Our gaze holds for a minute, our mutual want flickering in each of our eyes.
I pull back, glance away.
No, I can’t just sweep her up and away now. I want a date with her, a real date.
“So, how is Hannah doing?” she asks.
“Fine,” I say, “She’s back at school, basically back to normal. She’s happy, almost as if… it never happened.”
When I look down, that the tidy beige tablecloth bears four notches where I’ve been stabbing the fork into the table.
“About that,” Toni is saying, her hand balling up her napkin, “Words can’t express how sorry I am, how absolutely humiliated I am by what happened, that your sister was taken by my brother, kept in my house. I was literally a room away from her and I suspected nothing, I—”
I pat her clenched hand.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for Toni. You had no idea. Hannah’s fine now, it’s okay. You’re not the one who should be sorry.”
She nods unconvincingly, and I change the subject, “What about you? How is Carlos?”
With a shrug, she rips her gold-tipped napkin in half, then rips it into strips as she speaks, “As angry and bitter as ever. He blames me for everything of course. He’s holed up in the hospital now, yells at any nurse who comes within five feet of his bed, has scared off every other doctor in the place. He refuses to believe that it’s over. That I’ve freed the girls and shut down the business in a week.”
“You have?” I say, scrutinizing her face with disbelief.
She smiles shyly, stacks the napkin pieces in a neat pile.
“I told you I was busy.”
Now she directs her curious gaze to me, asks, “But what about you? I’ve heard… some strange things.”
I smile.
“Some strange true things. I’ve stepped down as leader of the Rebel Saints.”
Now it’s Toni gaping at me with disbelief.
“So, it’s really true then?”
I nod. “It’s really true.”
She scans my face, as if expecting some leftover uncertainty, a sad smile, anything.
Unsatisfied by what she finds, Toni asks, “But what about your men, the business, everything?”
I shrug.
“Pip and Jaws quit when I did. And with the men there’s no hard feelings either. They’ll miss me, but they respect me enough to honor my decision. As far as the business is concerned, before it was successful and whatever I choose to do next with be successful too; I just need a little time to figure it out, that’s all.”
I say it all with an easy tone. After the last month’s events the decision was easy; it was something I had to do.
Toni, however, still can’t quite believe it.
“So…” she says slowly, “What exactly are you thinking of doing now?”
I turn to gaze out the window, to the glittering expanse of city, as wide and open as the possibilities before me.
“I don’t know. I have enough money to never work again, but I don’t want that. I’ll figure it out.”
Toni takes another drink of wine, then, with a wistful smile says, “You make it sound so easy.”
I laugh.
“That’s probably because I haven’t actually started exploring what I like, looking into what I want to do. Give it some time and I’ll find it as hard as anyone else.”
Toni, however, still looks unconvinced, and I take her hand, squeeze it.
“Hey, Toni, you’re going to be able to make the business legitimate. You’re the most determined person I know,” I lean in and declare “If anyone can do it, you can.”
But all she can do is give a sad smile to my warm clasp, ask, “But what if no one can?”
I shake my head firmly.
“I don’t believe that, and I don’t think you do either. Anyway, you told me your family is backing you, right?”
“Yes, but…”
I shake my head again.
“No ‘yes, but,’ that in itself is a guarantee. I mean, one Piccolo may fail, sure, but a whole bunch of Piccolos at once? No way, it’s not possible. I mean, look at all the grief you guys have given me and the Rebel Saints over the years.”
We chuckle together. Then, with a grateful smile, she kisses me.
“Thanks Gabe.”
“Only telling the truth,” I say.
“Are you ready to order?” a boy’s voice responds.
I direct my glare at the little bulging-eyed boy of a waiter who’s just arrived at our table.
“Yes, actually,” Toni says, “We’d like the two courses: the Pine Meadow Farm’s Beef Tartar for the appetizer, and the Maple Tarragon Brined Supreme of Chicken for the main course.”
And, before I can say a word, the waiter has swept away.
When I direct my glare to Toni, she shrugs. “Thought this dinner was my choice for everything.”
“Fine,” I say.
I take a drink of my wine, and something taps my foot.
Toni’s gazing at me under lowered lids. “Don’t worry,” she murmurs as what I now know is her foot taps mine again, “You’ll have your way tonight.”
I lean over, take her face in my hands, tell it, “You bet I will.”
The rest of the dinner is a restless wait.
Toni’s got me in the palm of her hand, and she knows it.
We chat idly, about nothing in particular, while her foot makes its way up my leg, its taps progressing into full-on strokes before long.
By the time the plate with the mound of beef tartar and the rods of pickles arrives, her foot has reached my thigh.
“Oh, thank you,” Toni gushes.
She takes a pickle and slips it between her lips slowly, her gaze flicking from the waiter to me, before settling back on the waiter again.
It takes the mesmerized boy a few seconds to respond.
“Um… is there… anything else?”
Toni bites down on the green rod, then closes her eyes to swallow.
Then, throwing me a cheeky grin, she says innocently, “Oh no, that will be all. For now.”
His face falling, the boy shuffles off.
I grab Toni’s face again.
“You’re going to pay for that one,” I growl.
Her foot taps my dick then retreats.
“You like it and you know it,” she purrs back.
Then she scoops up some of the beef tartar with her fork, puts it in her mouth and swallows. As I grab a fork to do the same, she shakes her head.
“Feed me first. I’m so hungry.”
She lifts her chin, and I scoop some beef tartar up.
She parts her lips, and, slowly, I slip it in.
She bites down, smiles.
While I take a bite for myself, she takes another drink of her wine.
Then, her gaze slides back to me, and her lips part once more, say, “More.”
My fork starts for the beef tartar, but her hand slides it to the pickles.
Our eyes meet in understanding.
I fork one, bring it up to her. Her tongue comes down and I slide the tip of the pickle over to the side of her mouth, around it, and, finally, in it. In and out of her lips I slide it, while our gazes burn with passion.
Finally, she bites down, swallows, licks her lips.
“Mmmm.”
She picks up another pickle with her hand, gaze still on me.
“The brined chicken supreme,” the boy waiter says at just the wrong time.
He places the delicious-looking chicken dishes between us.
“Look at all that juice,” Toni says, gaze on me, dipping her finger in hers.
She rolls it around the liquid for a minute, then lifts it to her lips, in them then out with a loud smacking sound.
Then, finally tossing the waiter a look, she says, “Oh it’s just delicious, thank you.”
I stand up, grab her arm.
“Excuse us a minute,” I tell the waiter.
He mumbles some response, but already I’m yanking Toni along to the single room bathrooms I passed on the way.
It’s not far to the taupe doors with the “Restroom” label.
I fling her inside one, lock the door behind us.
Then, I turn to face her.
She’s standing there, lids at half-mast, lips parted. Waiting.
Well, I won’t keep her waiting long.
I shove her to the wall, rip down her dress zipper, growl, “Now you’re going to get it.”
Underneath she’s got a purple silk bralette and thong.
She presses herself into me, purrs, “Do your worst.”
That’s my cue to give her breast a squeeze, then twist her around so her back is to me.
Her dress slips to the ground, and her ass sticks out.
With the underside of my hand I whack her ass, the spank making a loud smacking sound, leaving a red handprint on her full tan butt cheeks.
“You just can’t listen, can you?”
She responds by shoving her ass into me further, declaring, “I’m not afraid of you.”
I grab her panties, and behind us there are knocks on the door.
“Hello, is everything all right in there?” a voice that sounds suspiciously like our waiter says.
Toni and I freeze.
“Hello?” the voice says again.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say.
A pause, then, “Your dinner’s getting cold.”
Toni twists her head around to face me, questioning in her face.
I smile, and yank down her panties, slip myself into her.
Goddamn, is she wet.
She claps a hand over her mouth to block the moan, and I shove myself in deeper.
I grab her hips for support, then jerk myself in then out. As we mash our bodies together, pleasure spiraling from my cock into the both of us, her muffled moans, mingle with my own satisfied grunts. Now the pace is building, and she’s sticking that ass out further, that fat-jiggling gorgeous ass. And now I’m grabbing her breasts and the door is reverberating with knocks and our waiter’s “Hello? Hello?”, but now it’s all part of the beat, the forward sweep, my cock inside of her pussy tremoring joy everywhere, the in-out pulse that cannot be stopped, that’s building unavoidably, and it’s when I grab both of her tits and slam myself in as far as I’ll go that the moan breaks free of her hand, her hands clawing at the wall as her body shudders with an orgasm that trembles into me, my cum pouring into her, both of us pressed into the wall with our joy.
The door doesn’t understand that the dance is over; it keeps on reverberating with knocks. The voice behind it has changed, isn’t a little boy drawl, but a grown man bark, “This is the manager. I have the key. I’m opening this door up.”
As it twists, Toni and I scramble into our clothes.
I’ve just buttoned up my jeans when the door swings wide.
The manager’s snarling, the boy waiter agape, and Toni is thankfully clothed, her panties thrust into my suit pocket.
“She was choking,” I say by way of explanation, striding past them, my hand in Toni’s.
I head for the elevator, and Toni offers no protest. Clearly, we both have a very different sort of hunger now.
Once we step on the metal thing, I console Toni.
“We can pick up chicken on the way.”
She’s leaning into me, smiling.
“It’s fine. The beef tartar and pickles were filling.”
Then, grabbing my dick, she declares, “I don’t regret a minute of it.”
I grin.
“You deserved it.”
She grins and, as the doors open to the lobby, I pat her ass.
We walk out and she turns to me, asks, “Do I get to know where you’re taking me?”
I shake my head, pat her ass again.
“Not a chance.”
As we walk through the crowd I slip my arm around her, enjoying the stares that trail us.
Damn, is she the sight to see.
That dress and those legs, those sky-high shoes. And her face, her glowing, beaming beacon of a face, smiling at me. I’m the luckiest man in the world.