Plain Jane and the Mafia Beast

He never brought it home.

She winced.

There it was again. When did she start thinking of this place as home? This was not her home. She’d have to go back to her apartment soon.

Rent was due.

She had to go to work.

Vincenzo would be a thing of the past.

Gripping the railing, she started down into the basement. She didn’t want to sit on her own upstairs while he worked out, so she’d asked if she could come and sit with him.

She liked being in his company … a lot.

With each step she took down to his basement, she saw more of his home gym. There was lots of equipment, from weights to running machines. In the far corner she saw a mannequin set up with points on it, and knives lined up on the walls. Clearly target practice.

The gym screamed danger, violence, and control.

“Take a seat.”

“You’re not going to make me work out.”

“Not in your condition.”

She nibbled her lip, feeling guilty. “About that, I need to tell you something.”

“It’s not hurting as much for you to get around.”

She took a seat in the corner, watching as he stretched out on the mat. His clothes were skin-tight. His muscles seemed to bulge, and they looked so tempting, so hot, so sexy. She couldn’t look away as he held his arm across his body, then the other way. He bent down, touching his toes, and then he grabbed a skipping rope. Who could have thought that a man jumping up and down, never once missing a beat, could be sexy?

The control.

The energy.

Just every single part of him turned her on. With him counting, she glanced down his body, and with the clothes being really tight, she caught sight of his … bulge.

What was happening to her? Since coming to know him, she’d found herself more and more obsessed with sex.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware of desire and needs and wants. She had them. There was no denying her own needs, but this was more than that. Between work, school, and just living life, she’d never given it much thought. The only time she allowed herself to think about those kinds of possibilities were in the few moments before sleep took her. When her body seemed to want something.

Vincenzo was a large man.

There were times she imagined his arms around her, holding her in place as he took her. More than anything she wanted to know what it would be like to have him between her legs, taking her, wanting her, showing her exactly what it was like to be a woman.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on his words.

“Yeah, it’s not taking me as long. The pain is minimal. I’ll be able to go back to work. You know, get on my own two feet again.”

“I already figured that.” He put the skipping rope down, and she watched him sit back on a bench that had weights above him and start to push them up into the air.

His arms thickened, veins popping out.

He looked so fucking hot.

“Would you like me to walk home?”

“I’ll take you back to your place, Arika. You don’t need to worry about that. You’re not ready yet, but in a day or so, you’ll be fit and ready to go back home.”

She didn’t like that but didn’t say anything. Pushing some hair behind her ear, she watched him continue to pump up the weights. After she counted to twenty, he placed them back on the pole above him.

He got up and added more weights, then did exactly the same.

After he’d done that, he moved toward the running machine. He didn’t hold onto the bars. He clicked in whatever he needed and the conveyor belt thingy started moving, and he ran.

She watched his feet then his body as moved.

He wasn’t going anywhere, but watching him turned her on.

As she pressed her hands together, he stayed running for about ten minutes. He moved to a bench, sat down, and lifted up some large barbells, his elbow resting on his thigh as he pulled them up.

“You do this regularly.”

“I’ve got no choice. I have to be at the peak of fitness.”

“No room for error.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you go to a shooting range as well?” she asked.

He looked up at her. “Not for a long time. I no longer need practice. My aim is impeccable.”

Pressing her thighs together, she watched him change arms and repeat the exercise. Again, his routine wasn’t over as he picked up a set of knives and stood back. She watched as he threw them, hitting every single cross on the mannequin.

“You ever thrown them at a person before?” she asked.

“Yes, and moving targets. I’m a good shot.”

“That thing’s not alive so it doesn’t really count.”

“Want to stand in?”

“Excuse me?”

“Stand in place of the mannequin. I won’t hit you, I promise.”

“No, that’s fine.”