92 - Suspicious Minds

Her hands slid from Tony’s shoulders to his ribcage, finally falling to the mattress as he rolled off her with a weary groan.  Sex with her was good.  Beyond good, actually.  It was turn-your-eyelids-inside-out, adrenaline-charged, roller-coaster-riding intense.

You’re just happy to be getting some, it’s been so long.

That wasn’t true.  This woman knew what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to take it.  That was sexy as hell and a major turn-on.   By the same token, her creepy witch powers let her know just how to set him off with maximum effect.  He’d never felt so connected with someone in bed.

He rolled his head to the left and squinted at her through the darkness.  Dorothea’s eyes were closed, and she had a tiny Mona Lisa smile.  She was the picture of contentment.

Just content?  What about satisfied?  Did Jon satisfy her in bed?

There was no point in playing those games.  Didn’t that kind of self-doubt just go to prove his mother’s patronizing claims that he was trying to live up to his brother’s greatness?

Dorothea divorced him.  She divorced him.

The sweat on his skin began to dry, giving Tony a chill.  At least that’s the excuse he was using for the shiver that made its way through his body.  No way in hell was he going to admit to being insecure about having his sexual performance assessed and potentially found lacking.

Head lolling back in place, he laced his fingers between the pillow and his head and fought the melancholy that wanted to steal over him.  Even after splintering apart in her arms only minutes ago, here he was in this funk.

Funny how love and romance seemed to billow into a giant, all-encompassing presence, like a hot air balloon.  It was big, beautiful and carried you away until somebody came along and started poking holes in it with the prickly barbs of reality.  Reality smothered the air in the balloon, forcing a robust, overwhelming beauty into an ugly, deflated mess.

The sheets rustled, and the woman in bed with him scooted close.  Lying on her side, she flipped the sable curtain of hair behind her shoulder and brought her fingers to twirl in his chest hair.  Wildflowers tickled his nose, and his previously spent erection began stirring to life. 

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna tell me why that felt like goodbye?”

God, Dorothea.  Put the crystal ball away. 

“I don’t know.  It didn’t feel that way to me.”

Consciously, he hadn’t intended for it to be, but his subconscious was taking over and knew something he had yet to realize.  And if it wasn’t goodbye, maybe it was ‘until later’. 

“You’ve either got one foot out the door, or you’re worried about something.  Which is it?” She scooted up in the bed, covering herself with the sheet as she went.  The mattress dipped and a soft ‘click’ brought them into a small circle of light, provided by her bedside lamp.

Tony had two choices at this point.  Option one was screwing this whole thing up by saying too much, when he really didn’t know what there was to say.  He hadn’t figured out whether his mother was being painfully truthful, or…  not.  His other option was to act like an insecure douche-bag.

He went with douche-bag.  He wasn’t ready to screw it up just yet.  It may be a foregone conclusion at some point, but not now.

“I bet it’s hard for you…” he said quietly, rolling onto his side and reaching for her hand.  “…not to compare me and Jon.  Since we’re brothers.”

Disgusted disbelief contorted her face into an ugly scowl.  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t compare you any more than I would if my ex were a complete stranger.  I don't compare you at all.”

“Not even in bed?”

As swift as a cobra, she backhanded him in the upper arm.  “NO!  My God, do you little boys always have to best one another?  Do you want to know if his dick is bigger?  Or if he tongued me better?”

That was exactly what he wanted, but there was no way in hell he was going to ask now.  Whoa.  She was pissed!

But …

“Just for the record, you wouldn’t tell me if I did want to know.  Right?”

 

“Oh for God’s sake,” she muttered, tossing back the covers and dropping her feet to the floor with a muffled ‘thump’.  Snatching up her robe, Dorothea wrapped it around herself and marched resolutely toward the bathroom with a disgruntled sigh.  “Stop living in his shadow already.”

The quiet closing of the door didn’t account for the loud crashing in his ears.  No.  That would be his heart free-falling to the floor and shattering around him.  So much for not screwing it up.  Mommy Dearest was evidently dead-on this time.  Dorothea had just confirmed it

He groped for his glasses and settled them on his face before mimicking Dorothea’s tossing back of the covers.  His feet were soundless as they connected with the carpet. 

This wasn’t the way he’d envisioned the end of this relationship going down.  Sneaking out of her house after being verbally bitch-slapped had never crossed his mind. 

Can’t imagine why.

The sound of his leg hair scraping against fine fabric filled the air as he crammed first one leg, then the other into his pants.  The zipper wouldn’t cooperate and he silently swore while trying to work the tab up the length of his fly.  It was as if he had five thumbs trying to complete the simple task.

Welcome to your life Tony Bongiovi, you’re a fucking loser.

He found his silk shirt and pushed his arms into the sleeves.  The first two buttons had been fastened when the bathroom doorknob turned and light silhouetted her form in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

He thought it was fairly obvious – running away with his tail tucked between his damn legs.  Maybe, if he could find a little self-respect somewhere, he would come back and try this again.  When he decided he was doing this for the right reasons.

Maybe.

“Getting dressed and going…”  Shit.  He had intended to say ‘home’, but  wasn’t staying with his parents at the moment.  There was no home.  That meant it was a middle of the night hotel check-in.  What-the-fuck-ever.  “Going.”

Her arms folded haughtily across her middle and confusion knit her eyebrows.  “Why?”

Finished with the buttons, Tony allowed his hands to fall and he stared at her silently.   Why?  Why?  Because she told him to stop living in Jon’s shadow where, evidently, he had been firmly ensconced for his entire life. 

Hell, now that he thought about it, the wedding day for his own brief marriage had been on Jon and Dorothea’s anniversary.  In the same Las Vegas chapel.  It had seemed like one of those quirky coincidences at the time, but maybe his subconscious was trying to re-create the ‘perfect’ marriage.

Could he explain that to her?  Not easily.  Not in any way that would make a bit of sense.

“I just need to go.”

He plopped down on the edge of the bed and pulled on one of his socks.

“No.”

Tony’s eyes flicked up to her only momentarily while he was putting on the other sock.

“Tony, if you think you get to run away when we have a disagreement, you’re sadly mistaken.  You’ll stay here and be as pissed as I am until we either come to terms or agree to disagree.  I didn’t like adolescent games when I was an adolescent, and I certainly don’t want to play them now.”

He stuffed his feet into the black dress shoes, and stood, smoothing his hands down his thighs. 

“I’m not pissed and I’m not running.  I just need to go.”  He was almost to the bedroom door when she clutched at his bicep, drawing him to a halt.

Dorothea looked at Tony’s clenched jaw and flat mouth, thinking at first that he was lying and he was pissed.  But her perusal continued to travel upward until reaching his eyes, where she stopped with concern.  There was pain and confusion there.  He was hurt, not pissed.

“Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” she asked softly, her free hand snaking up his body to cup his cheek.  Seeing him like this tied her stomach in knots, intensifying the notion that something was very, very wrong.

Dinner had been a little strained at first but, after he had a couple of beers, whatever had been bothering him seemed to ebb.  He’d become her Tony again – thoughtful, engaging, funny, sweet and sexy. 

His leg rubbed suggestively against hers on the banquette, and she let her hand sneak under the table to massage his thigh.  The sharply indrawn breath when she’d grazed the very stiff fly of his pants had been gratifying.  He wanted her.  He wanted her.  His mind wasn’t anyplace but right there, wrapped up in their little cocoon and she loved it.  She loved him.  Being the center of someone’s world, even for an evening, was intoxicating.  She had been drunk on him and the things he made her feel.

It had been everything she could do to wait until they got home to immerse herself in him.  The door had no more swung shut than she was plastered to his front, devouring him with hungry kisses while his hands freely roamed her ass.  Tipping her hips forward, she’d repetitively bumped against his erection until he groaned with surrender.  Dragging her upstairs, he set her on fire with his eyes and their clothes went up in flames, it seemed. 

They made spectacular, earth-shattering love.  There had been no wondering what he was thinking, because it was written plainly across his face – there was nothing more important than her and what they were doing.  He wasn’t multitasking, or planning what he was going to do when they were finished.  He was fully present and engaged.   

It gave Dorothea a sense of freedom that allowed her to let herself go more than she had in… forever.  She let go and let him transport her to the place she wanted to be.  The world blissfully tilted a little further on its axis, just the way it always did when they came together. 

Now though…  This incongruity was eating at her along with the turmoil swirling in his eyes.

“Sweetheart?”

Closed eyelids locked her out and he sighed, shaking his head.  “I’ve got to go, Babes.  I…  I’m sorry.”

Extracting himself from her grip, he made his escape, pausing only briefly when she said, “Tony, if you walk out that door, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

Did she imagine that the pain fell from his eyes like tears, trekking down his face?  The lines around his eyes and mouth grew more pronounced, and he muttered grimly, “I’m not the man I thought I was either.”

On that final, cryptic note, he disappeared into the hallway and down the stairs, leaving Dorothea to watch after him in confusion.  Her heart broke just a little, but it was for him, not herself.  She knew he loved her.  What she really needed to find out was why he was questioning it.

A chill swept through her, and she pulled the robe tighter.  The only good news was that she had an excellent idea of where to begin her search for answers.