Super Godfather: My Ex Begs Me on Her Knees novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Above the Garage

Her apartment was one long room over the garage with a bed under the slanted ceiling and a desk buried in ledgers.

The only light came from a lamp on the desk.

Rosalia locked the door behind us and pushed me into the single kitchen chair.

"Sit."

"My hand's fine."

"Your hand is a mess."

She came back from the bathroom with a first aid kit, knelt between my knees and took my wrist.

The alcohol stung.

I hissed, and she looked up at me through her fringe without a trace of sympathy.

"Say it hurts."

"It hurts."

"Good."

She wrapped gauze around my knuckles with quick, neat turns.

Her hands were small and sure.

I watched the top of her head, the straight black part in her hair, and thought about how she had walked into a room with a gun in it and spoken.

When she finished, she didn't let go.

She laid my bandaged hand flat against her cheek and shut her eyes.

"Do you know what I thought," she said, "when he swung that bat at you?"

"What?"

"That I'd have to take the body home to my father."

"I'm hard to kill."

"I noticed."

She opened her eyes.

They were black in that light.

"I haven't wanted anyone in two years," she said. "I don't want to want you. You're my father's project and a mechanic and the most stubborn man I've met."

"You've met a lot of stubborn men."

"That's what I'm saying."

I laughed, and she kissed me before I'd finished.

It wasn't like the window.

There was nobody to see us now, and she didn't pretend.

She climbed into my lap, a knee on either side of the chair, and took my face in both hands.

Her mouth opened under mine.

She tasted like coffee and the lemon stuff she put in her hair.

I got my good hand under her coat and shoved it off her shoulders, and it hit the floor.

"Slowly," she said.

"I don't do slowly."

"You will."

She caught my wrist and pinned my hand to the back of the chair.

I let her.

God help me, I liked it.

She pulled my shirt up and over my head, and her nails scraped slowly down my chest to my belt.

"Look at you," she whispered. "Eleven years under boats."

"Rosalia."

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