Mafia and Maid (Marchiano Mafia)

by Isa Oliver

“Yeah, er, I know. Isn’t it great? You can really taste all the vitamin C and all the, um, sunshine, that went into growing it…”

What do I have to do to make her feel beautiful?

*** My labored breathing and trickling water fill the air as I brace my hand against the shower wall. Every one of my muscles is tense and pulled taught. An image of Rosa trapped beneath me against the wall of the gym, her eyes wide, fills my mind. It’s quickly replaced with the image of her pressed against the kitchen counter, the thought of her parted lips beneath my thumb sending a wave of electricity rushing through me. Attraction, need, hunger. This woman is an addiction I can’t quit. A problem that I shouldn’t be indulging in, but I’m helpless to stop myself. The way she looks at me. Like I’m something more, something reverent almost, beckons the beast inside me all the more. Even now, as the water runs ice cold over my body, I picture her soft smile and the feel of her lips against mine. My fist slams against the tiles of the shower as my release tenses every muscle in my body. This was supposed to clear my head, to make it so I didn’t spiral into madness. But all it’s done is wind me up further. Head bowed, I let the water drip down my hair, my panted breathing filling the air. Whatever spell Rosa has me under has sunk its claws into me hard and deep.