Chapter 74: Chapter 74

ANGELIC...

Today, Margot's driver was fired. That doesn't surprise me, since Elliot's campaign is taking all of the family's money. What surprises me is that she didn't panic. I remember one day, five years ago, when Margot wanted to trade in her car simply because she had found one of the most beautiful color. Elliot refused and she panicked, filed for divorce and was away from home for twenty days. Of course, he chased her like a puppy and bought that damn car.

I once nursed the Donneli family. It was my mother's last name, and I wanted it taken care of. Now I know everything that was good about that last name died with it.

I get in the car, throw my coat and my cell phone on the passenger seat and drive out of the mansion. Marcos is at Margot's today. Of course, it's better for me to leave with no security than the first lady. My head is still pounding after last night, but I refuse to believe the memories. I barely recognize the attitudes I had, like a cheap whore. I remember everything I thought, everything I said and everything I did. Who was this woman rubbing up against a man like they had the privacy to do so? Oh yes, it was me!

I drive to college, downtown. I promise to keep myself as busy as possible today. I don't want to remember the smell of her which is still on the clothes I wore yesterday, nor the looks, the touching, nor my ass against hers... well, I don't want to remember.

I pull into the parking lot, look in the backseat and realize I forgot my purse. Excellent! What am I going to do without the material?

I pull out my cell phone, planning to call Skyla. If I borrow materials, she may buy stationery on the way. When I turn on the device for the first time that day, I notice a message from Vicenzo. I've been ignoring him for a few days, I admit, but I don't feel bad for deleting his message notification. He's a politician now, he can have a better wife than me.

I look around the parking lot. It's the end of the semester, so there are few cars. I do not hesitate to leave the university by car. I'm graduating in a few weeks, and an absence won't change that.

I drive unpretentiously. I weighed in while stopping at my favorite cafe and having a coffee before going to church. However, I see the car being guided towards the Bronx. I was so focused on not remembering the night before that it stuck in my head.

Yes, I know that I have been against every principle I have been taught in church since I was five years old. No, I can't regret it.

For one night, I was free. I allowed myself to do what my head told me was right. There were no rules, a priest reading the Bible, a teacher of etiquette or a controlling parent. It was the purest version of myself, the one I hid to be perfect in the eyes of others.

And because of that freedom, I drive to the old fabric factory in the Bronx. It's too early to start a race, too late to finish it. I stop in front of the closed doors of the factory and go out. I straighten my little round dress. I never looked like the Bronx, but today I look even less.

I knock on the steel door a few times, wait, then knock again. Nobody answers me. I smooth the dress again. If LeBlanc isn't in the Bronx, does that mean he's in Italy?

I judged Elliot for always chasing after Margot, and here I am, chasing after a man who wouldn't even tell me his first name. LeBlanc once asked me who taught me the way to him. I would also like to know.

I bang on the door again. Having no answer, I return to the car. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I should be like Margot, using men as a ladder for my growth. I shouldn't be obsessed with LeBlanc. I shouldn't have come to see him last night. You shouldn't be here right now, like a puppy.

I look at myself in the rear view mirror.

- Last chance - I say - You are chasing him for the last time. After that, never again - I guarantee it.

I start the car and drive to the warehouse, a few blocks away.

My obsession isn't so surprising, is it? I never had a life of my own. I've always been an extension of the people around me. Suddenly, a man like him appears, and he shows me the whole world. The good side, the bad side, the very bad side and the LeBlanc side.

When I get out of the car, the only thing that worries me is the cocky little smile that will be on his face as soon as he sees me. He'll know I'm here for him because I don't belong in the Bronx. Damn it.

The warehouse door is half open, so I lean over and step under it. The interior is dark, with no windows, just a yellowed light bulb in the ceiling. As I walk up the stairs, the click of my heels is the only noise that accompanies my thoughts. Is it weird that I'm here? Should I wait for him to look for me again? Would he look for me again?

I come to the first rung of the ladder. My heart is racing, more than when I accelerated last night. I was so used to men like Vicenzo kissing my feet without even being asked that I didn't know what to do with a man like LeBlanc.

I lean against the banister to concentrate, but the tight bodice of the dress makes even a frustrated sigh impossible. While absolutely glamorous, this damn dress should have come with a warning: breathing is optional!

Determined, I climb the stairs. That's how women like Margot act, isn't it? They take what they want, when they want. That's what he did last night, and that's what I'm doing now.

I reach the second floor, and my eyes search the space ridiculously for him. I find him with his back to me, in front of the wooden table. I admit, I also looked for Yolanda, however, LeBlanc is alone.

He doesn't turn around, but he knows I'm there. It wouldn't be him if he didn't know.

I approach slowly. My heels touch the ground, and with each click I get closer. My heart races against the current as I try to control the nervousness rising in my throat. My breathing, rapid and shallow, echoes in my ears.

When I get close enough to see what he's doing, I notice he's cleaning gun parts. I had forgotten that in addition to being a complete stranger, he also shot a man in front of me. Shoot and kill.

- Isn't it too late for a committed woman to be after another man? - he asks, sarcastically.

Oh yes. I said I had a boyfriend. It may be too late to say that I lied. And besides, what pleasure would it be to do things well?

I stop next to him. I don't smell her scent right away, so I know I'm not close enough. I look at the board. There are still a few weapons to clean, and as silly as it sounds, I'm not afraid. He could hurt me today as much as he could at other times.

LeBlanc cleans the gun barrel with a soft cloth. His hands are dexterous and soft, like those of someone who has been doing this for many years. He places the grayish piece on the table, takes another weapon and begins to clean it.

I look, a little surprised. It's not about how much power a weapon gives you, it's about what you do with it. LeBlanc acts like this power is nothing.

Almost naturally, my hand goes to the gun he just left on the table. I expect a reproach, but it does not come. I take the gun. It's lighter than I thought. By observing the details of the room, my brain processes the information. LeBlanc never stops me from doing what I want or scolds me for doing it wrong. He just stays there, making sure I don't get hurt. It was like that on the run yesterday, it was like that on the ballad, and it's like that now.

"I'm mad at you these days," I said.

- Why was I absent?

- Nope. 'Cause I'm still mad at you

I point the gun at him. I did not lie. Sometimes I feel so angry that I could shoot, and maybe I won't regret it later. LeBlanc takes a step forward, then the tip of the gun lands in the middle of his chest.

I look up, quickly noticing the dark hair, tanned skin, and slightly stubble-shaded face. A strong electric current, almost palpable, hits me the moment I meet his gaze. Green and yellow irises, like those of a cat, watch me. He never looks at me, he burns me.

The intriguing and intense way he looks at me is irritating, despite my body's reaction to him. I shouldn't feel this. With just a look, desires that I've never had arise, and I don't know if it's because I've never felt so many emotions, or if it's because I live them with him.

I make the mistake of breaking eye contact and looking away at the full, sculpted lips that adorn his face as he watches me intently. His mouth curls into a cocky grin because he knows I admire him.

- It only works with my fingerprint - he informs, referring to the gun - But if you really want to shoot me - LeBlanc reaches out and takes one of the guns on the table - Use this one .

Down with the gun. I might shoot, just to see what happens. However, I don't want to end the day rushing to the hospital after stabbing you in the chest. Although, I have to say, sometimes I think it's made of steel.

"I was mad at you too," admits LeBlanc.

I look into his eyes again and see he's puzzled, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. I feel a blush spread across my cheeks, both from the situation and from the lustful thoughts that are invading my mind. I had been rubbing against him for less than twenty-four hours. If you needed to be ashamed, you should have been yesterday. I look away.

- Does this gun have a name? - I ask, so as not to fall into an uncomfortable silence.

I look at the four corners of the warehouse. Memories of last night wash over me and I can barely watch it without feeling like a whore. In fact, less than a prostitute, because I didn't even charge.

- You don't need a name, you just need to know how to use it - when his hoarse voice reaches my ears, I freeze.

He might as well have been talking about himself.

I look up, hoping he's joking, but his enigmatic expression doesn't reveal anything. He watches my reaction with hungry eyes, and I can tell because a lion would watch his prey the same way.

- I... - I stammer - I was in college, and I realized I forgot my bag - I mumble almost breathlessly as he looks at me, his jaw muscles flexing. tending. Why does this man make me so nervous that I feel like I have to justify myself?

- And even? - he asks, however, I'm sure he's not interested in the answer.

LeBlanc takes the gun from me and puts it on the table. We're so close now that I can feel the absurd warmth emanating from him. His eyes meet mine once more, and the proximity prevents me from looking away without seeming to run away.

- Why are you angry with me? - whisper - Why was I away? I joke, raising an eyebrow.

Slowly, he slides a hand down my neck, pushing my hair back. Her face draws closer and her lips come to my ear with a quiet, strong breath. My whole body shivers, especially when I feel my chest rise and fall, brushing against his chest.

- Because you didn't get out of my head - his voice has the calmness of a hurricane.

As he places his hand behind my neck, pulling me closer and holding me still, I can't answer. The tip of his nose runs down my throat, sniffling me. I tilt my head to the side, giving him the freedom to kiss my skin.

I don't know how to describe the feeling erupting from within, but I press my thighs together as his kisses travel up my throat, down my jawline, then my chin and the corner of my mouth. .

My body registers the trail of sparks caused by the slightest touch of his lips on my face, as I become aware that his mouth is a breath away. If I just leaned...

As LeBlanc keeps his hand on the back of my neck and slides the fingers of his other hand over my face, as if painting me in a picture, my lips part and my breathing quickens. If he could imagine the things I would do to be closer, he would be amazed.

He places another kiss on the corner of my mouth, however, he doesn't pull away. His mouth stays on me for a few seconds.

- I can? - whispers.

I barely have time to register the mixture of confusion and desire that is spreading through my body. When I realized it, I already shook my head positively. I expect a kiss as sweet as the others, but I forget that I'm with LeBlanc. My lips are still half open when his mouth meets mine.

I succumb to the idea that I want this kiss. I want to feel everything I've been deprived of for so long, everything I intentionally deprived myself of. I want to be irresponsible and feel the kiss - that kiss the books are written from.

Between one breath and the other, he invades my mouth with his tongue. Survey. Enjoy. Demanding. Instinctively, I move my hands over his face, over the beard to the back of his neck, wrapping my fingers through the strands of hair, which was once perfectly combed.

Vicenzo would hate me if he knew how much better LeBlanc is a kisser.

A low whisper rises from the back of his throat, boosting my confidence and allowing me to part my lips and accept him completely. My tongue curls around hers and tastes the minty flavor I could only imagine before.

His fingers cup the back of his neck as his other hand moves to my hip, glinting with every touch. Then he places the palm of his hand on my lower back and presses me against his body. For the moment, even common sense could not prove to me that I did not belong to him.

I can feel his erection between my legs. Last night is still on my mind, not as a source of shame but as fuel for my fire. His leg moves slowly between mine, creating more pressure on my thighs and causing intense pain of pure pleasure.

LeBlanc has never touched me like this, and now I wonder what else is he capable of that he was holding back before? How much can he improve?

I move closer to her body, moaning softly. If my mouth was not occupied by your tongue, I would ask for more. I feel like I'm drowning in desire, yet I don't want to reach for the air I desperately need.

He chews on my bottom lip, sliding his hand up my ass. Pleasure spreads through my body as my fingernails brush the back of my neck.

When we're out of breath, he pulls his mouth away from mine, but only to press it against my throat. His kisses continue, now on my skin.

LeBlanc grabs the back of my thighs and lays me down on the table. Before I can register the moment, his lips are on mine again. We were here two months ago and stopped long before we got to this. Somehow we knew there would be no turning back. Once we knew our fire could set a city on fire, we would never stop burning.

His tongue moves so well that I can feel it in other parts of me. He places himself between my legs, but not enough to touch me, and his hands cup my hips.

We run out of oxygen again, this time more quickly. When we pull away, I'm grateful to be seated, because my whole body goes limp. An incredible mix of relaxation and tension. Open your eyes. LeBlanc presses his forehead against mine, and for the first time I see him affected. She's not in the center of the world right now, with her lips reddened and smeared with my lip gloss, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged.

- Please - he whispers - Give me a reason to stop now.

I take a long breath. Gradually, my consciousness returns. Maybe she'll go for a walk whenever LeBlanc is around. I think I'd give him a million reasons not to stop, but what's the fun? Would our game stop here?

Not. We still have a lot to play for.

- A pattern? - I ask.

- Yes - he opens his eyes. We looked at each other, no longer using our imaginations. We use memories.

"I have a boyfriend," I whisper.

LeBlanc smiled. It's not an arrogant smile. He is actually smiling, and I can see that his straight teeth are worthy of many smiles. Sigh. This game was easier when I didn't know your seduction skills.

- Well - he whispers - Your boyfriend is going to hate me when he finds out what I want to do with his girlfriend.

LeBlanc walks away. For the first time since my arrival, I really breathe. He runs his hands through his tousled hair, and knowing that my hands have made him less than perfect is a source of pride.

I bite my lower lip. I just know this is just the beginning. I know our attraction is strong enough to keep us from avoiding her next time. However, I can't help but wonder; if desiring this man is a sin, what will be my punishment?