Yes, I’m a day late, I know. Let’s all just save the criticism for the newfound love between October’s Very Own and the Queen of Tennis, eh? No? (sigh) Instead of yelling at Nikki, how about we read an excerpt of “Until the End of Time”? Unbeknownst to me, apparently quite a few of you have been waiting for the heavens to crack open and rain down a bit of Sansone once again. Well…anyone recall THIS blogpost from a few short months ago when I hinted that a favorite couple would be returning? You guessed it! Blackwell & Sultana are back again!
His Nyssa wasn’t that volatile. She was a thinker, slow in action, fast in reason. The first time that they had sat on the opposite side of that door had been different; very, very different…
“Luuucccy! I’m hooome!” Sansone called in the midst of pushing open the front door while attempting to balance an extremely hot paper bag full of Cuban food from a local eatery in one hand while the other held his leather work satchel. Luciano, his brother, kept referring to the bag as his purse. He’d taken said purse and beat the big bastard with it until he’d grown tired.
Silence greeted him. Nyssa’s eco-friendly sedan had been in the garage when he’d pulled up and her keys were in their usual place—thrown onto the accent table in the foyer, where they would more than likely be knocked behind and she’d complain later about losing them. Words like, “goddamn,” “bastard,” “fucking,” and “large-headed,” would be tossed at him because he still hadn’t found the time to put up the sleek—yet entirely too feminine for his liking—key holder near the front door.
Sansone shrugged and kept walking, stopping in the kitchen to unload the food from his now red palm and place down his satchel. He briefly thought about moving it to the hall closet where his wife had asked him to put the bag time and time again. But his wife also didn’t seem to understand the convenience of leaving it in the kitchen so he could enjoy the comfort of having it on hand during breakfast. Resigned to ignoring her annoyance later, he stuffed it into one of the informal dining chairs and went about washing his hands.
He couldn’t hear the shower going from upstairs and since he was expecting to be called names later for the loss of her keys, he knew Nyssa hadn’t gone for a run or a walk around the neighborhood.
“Look for the tiny woman who yells at me about things or take a bite of the cubano?” Cracking open the lid to the container in his hands, he took a peek at the griddled bread, slow roasted pork shoulder, Swiss cheese, and pickles. “Oh sweetheart,” he whispered. “Don’t you look absolutely beautiful?” Sansone stared for a moment longer before growling, “I want you in my mouth. I want to feel you on my face.”
“Firstly,” Nyssa said from just over his shoulder, causing him to jump at least two feet in the air. “As twisted as this ideology may seem, I think I would’ve preferred to have walked in on you saying that to someone with actual tits or, at the very least, something adjacent to tits. And secondly, how many times have I asked you to put your man-purse in the hall closet?”
The container buckled slightly in his hands as he turned around. His voice was higher pitched than he would have liked when he responded due to the fact that she had almost sent his young, virile body into early cardiac arrest. “It is not a purse. It’s an extremely beautiful piece of Italian craftsmanship formed from the finest of bull’s hide to be stylishly worn by me on any and every occasion because of its versatile design.”
Curling lashes fanned twice. “So…a purse.”
The container rumpled for a second time. “Why can’t you leave me in peace?” Sansone demanded. “Why can’t you let me have my moment?”
“Mainly because I have the feeling that if I leave you in peace, it’ll lead to you touching yourself while you eat that sandwich and I really don’t think our marriage would survive that.”
He leered. “It would if you watched…”
Nyssa’s lips twitched a bit. “You’re getting to be such a strange man.”
Moving towards the cabinets, he took out plates and glasses. “Save your concern for when I begin to call hats chapeaus while keeping a calorie index for daily meals.” Sansone turned back and leaned down slightly, meeting his wife’s upturned face. His mouth brushed across hers in what should have been an easy “Hello” but her lips parted and he found himself curling his palm around her nape and pulling her in.
After a day of absent-minded meetings and whining phone calls from clients, this was such a simple pleasure; one that he’d come to enjoy greatly. The lazy movement of tongues made the muscles in his forearms twitch. He walked forward, backing her up into the island.
Nyssa placed her hands against his chest and nudged until he released her. “Hey, hey, hey André Leon Talley, calm yourself.”
He waggled his brows and dipped his head, murmuring against her ear, “I want you in my mouth. I want to feel you on my face.”
She gave an open palm slap to his middle of his back and smirked at his yelp. “Really?”
“What?” he questioned, frowning. “You said to deliver the line to someone with tits and,”—he glanced purposefully down at her braless state—“you’re just swinging them around.”
Nyssa shoved him aside and went for the food. “The choice was taken out of my hands. My bra became a device of hellish torment today.”
“Oh?” Sansone stepped behind her and put his chin atop of her shoulder. He crooked one finger into the neckline of her V-neck and stared down at her bare chest. “I’d be more than willing to help with this sudden discomfort. Allow me to offer my therapy services. Twenty bucks gets you fifteen minutes of undivided nipple attention, but only on the right one. To do the left one would be another twenty.”
She barked out a laugh, swatting him away. “You perverted bastard. Like I’m really going to pay you to do what I could get for free?”
He grunted, splaying a hand against her belly. “I’m very much so capable of getting rid of a body efficiently, cara,” Sansone nipped the shell of her ear. “Don’t play with someone’s fate that way.”
“And risk having my living Ken doll placed behind bars?” Nyssa mocked. “Never.”
He popped her on the ass for that smart remark and moved away. “I’m anatomically correct, as you well know.”
She came to join him at the table and took up an opposite chair, scooting so that she could rest her feet in his lap. “Oh, I know. I know very much.” Getting through half of her sandwich, she suddenly informed him, “I also know I’m starting to hate that new aftershave you’ve been using lately—the same one I complained about—and yet, what did I find under the double sinks pushed behind your astronomical amount of hair products?”
“Er…a bridge to Terebithia?” Sansone tried.
His wife brought her heel down on his thigh. “It makes me nauseous, Sunny!”
“Everything makes you nauseous lately! And moody! You’ve been really goddamn moody!”
Her pretty mouth formed a moue. “I think shark week is approaching.”
Wincing, he sat back. “Am I allowed to run away from home and not return until it’s over?”
“Absolutely not,” she instantly replied. “If I must suffer, all must suffer.”
He sighed. “Tyranny at it’s greatest.”
Nyssa suddenly looked off. “Although, it is a bit late if I’m counting the days correctly.” Her eyes narrowed. “About ten days late to be exact. It could just be my lack of tolerance for that rat-faced kid we recently signed on. He and all his Aryan privilege.”
Sansone immediately skimmed over her annoyance for the soccer player as his mind began to unravel what she’d said. “Your nipples have turned mutinous—”
“I could argue…but that sounds about right.”
“—my insanely expensive aftershave set is causing all this uncharacteristic tummy sadness,” he placed his sandwich down. “And shark week, that frightening stretch of days when I’m not particularly sure if I’ll leave this home outside of a body bag, is late.”
“I feel like you’re doing math right now,” his wife told him, swiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “Is that why you have that pained look on your face? Are you trying to think again?”
“Yes. Yes I am.” Sansone stood abruptly. “And what I think is that you need to pee on a stick and soon.”
Are we squared away? Yes? Excellent! Look for UTEOT this September!!!