Their Sweet Desire

By: Dixie Lynn Dwyer


Antoinette “Toni” DeLuca hadn’t expected Vince to be here when she arrived home from work. But there the fucker was, sitting at her Goddamn kitchen table, drinking an espresso.

“Hey, baby, I was waiting for you.”

She was instantly frustrated, and a bit on edge. She didn’t trust him. She actually felt her body tighten and her heart race. In fact, she hated the man for numerous reasons.

“What the hell are you doing here, Vince? Breaking and entering is a crime.” She threw her small backpack onto the couch. She had to be careful about giving him an attitude. He was a gangster wannabe. But his family was a different story. No matter what he did, his family never seemed to be impressed with his actions. He wasn’t good enough, and then she had come along. The family saw her as an asset. Vince saw her as his chance to prove himself to his family, and gain a profitable business. But the business was hers. She started it, along with her grandfather, and turned it into the great store it was today. Not Vince Saggaretti.

She gave him the evil eye.

He raised his eyebrow at her. He appeared almost about to strike with his tongue, but thought better of it. He knew things were over. His persistence was becoming a serious problem. Why didn’t he get it? Why was he forcing the issue? I’m not getting back together with you, you jerk. Your family murdered my grandfather. Like I would forget that? Never. I’ll never forget it.

He trailed his finger along the small ring on the little red demitasse cup. Her favorite color, her favorite piece. It had tiny gold specks along the bottom, and the little saucer was red with gold specks as well. It had been her grandfather’s. Vince knew that, yet he insisted on using it. She swore it was to piss her off and to let her know he was the man and she was the woman. I will not fear him and his family because they killed my grandfather. I may be intimidated, but my hatred runs deep.

“I wanted to talk to you, Toni. You haven’t answered any of my phone calls or text messages. You’ve never complained about me stopping in before. I thought we were still friends.”

She walked into her own kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door, with a shaking hand. She knew he was carrying. A gun, a knife, it didn’t matter. He was a thug, and he knew how to use it. Vince always was trying to impress his family. She grabbed a bottle of water as the headache began to form in her temples.

“Well, I didn’t answer your calls or text messages, because I have absolutely nothing to say to you. Nothing has changed in the last six months. I’ve told you this numerous times. I can only be friends with you and that’s all we are. It’s over, remember?”

“You don’t mean it. You were just pissed off about me hitting you. It was crazy. I was angry. I didn’t mean it. We’re good together. There isn’t anyone else for me.”

She locked gazes with him. Vince was a handsome man. He reminded her of the actor Tom Hardy, but Vince was mean and all Brooklyn tough. He was well built, had great big brown eyes, and a nice thick head of hair on him that he took time to style, but he was a liar.

“I don’t want to hear it. Please, just leave. I’ve had a long day.”

“I could be working right beside you. We would make a great team, baby, at work and in the bedroom,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her between his open thighs.

He was a brute, an overly aggressive man whose personality fed on the fear he put into those around him. He hit her when she accused him and his family of being behind her grandfather’s murder. The strike had come fast and hard. It was an evil side of Vince she never wanted to see again.

The sexual attraction was never a problem between them. It was his ulterior motives that put the wedge between them, and the halt to her libido.

“Don’t force the issue, Vince. I’m tired,” she whispered, as he slid his hands up and down her hips, then along her ass. She grabbed a hold of his wrists and stopped him. He gave her another squeeze. She rolled her eyes and exhaled in annoyance. There were times his touch, his attention toward her ruled her thoughts and her body. Not anymore.

“We’re good together, baby. You know we are. I miss you. I miss your perfume, the way your long brown hair flows across my pillow.”

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