signs I passed. The literal door in front of me that led to the booze bunker felt like a figurative one, as well. One that, once stepped through, couldn’t be locked shut again. Acting on these impulses meant I would be forced to face certain realities. To come to terms with certain feelings I’d been fighting.
Then again, nothing about this had to involve emotions.
Feelings, perhaps, but of a physical nature.
After all, our arrangement was nothing more than a business contract.
Steeling my resolve, I turned the knob with a trembling hand and pushed the door open.
Nico was sitting in one of the red leather armchairs, his signature glass of whiskey clutched in his hand, arm draped along the armrest. The soft, crooning strains of a violin came over the room’s speakers. He was staring into the crackling fire in front of him, looking like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. His suit jacket had been tossed onto the empty chair. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie undone and dangling around his neck. All of his buttons were free, leaving his shirt splayed wide open, exposing his brawny chest.
I wanted to run my nails over those muscles.
Wanted to pull on the strands of his short beard.
Wanted to yank the rubber band free of his hair and let my fingers sift through the light brown strands that looked auburn in the firelight.
His head turned at my footsteps as I approached him, jaw muscles popping. “What are you doing down here?”
“Don’t ask a question you already know the answer to.” My voice came out husky, seductive.
His nostrils flared. “Maybe I just want to hear the answer come from your mouth. Maybe I want an admission.”
I stopped in front of the fireplace, facing him. “Or maybe you’d rather see the answer for yourself.”
He canted his head to the side. Then waved me on. “You want to show instead of tell? Be my guest.”
Don’t lose your nerve. You wanted this. Buck up.
“I’m waiting.”
Gripping the hem of my sweater, I pulled it over my head in one swift move, revealing the satin cami beneath. Since my small breasts didn’t always require a bra, I liked to wear silky camisoles underneath my tops when I could get away with it instead of itchy bras.
Nico’s darkened gaze told me he was appreciative. Especially when my nipples puckered under his observation. He slowly lifted his glass to his lips and took a long pull of the amber liquid, his gaze remaining trained on my body. The movement of his Adam’s apple had me hypnotized.
My hips started swaying to the violin music before I’d made the conscious decision to move.
His upper lip curled in approval.
Then he scooted down in the chair, leaning back. “You want to dance for me, legs? You want to wiggle that tight ass in my face? Shake those pretty tits while I watch? Then make it count”—his grin was devilish—“and give me everything you’ve fucking got.”
Take my mind off the bullshit, baby.
God, she was a fucking vision.
Outlined by orange and yellow radiance.
Silhouetted by fire.
Burnished in flames.
My plan to relieve the tension in my neck had been to guzzle down about three glasses of whiskey, followed by some self-love in the shower later.
Lexi’s idea was exponentially better.
With pink-tinted cheeks, courtesy of her lingering buzz, she gifted me with the most subtly seductive, wildly erotic dance in the history of the world.
If her willowy, feminine figure was carved into marble, like the Venus de Milo, people would come from all over the world just to behold its beauty. The way her curves rolled provocatively brought to mind the ivy that had wrapped itself around the columns at our Rovinj villa. Her petite nipples were clearly outlined through her thin cami, creating a salacious image.
Those will be in my mouth tonight.
She tipped her head back, letting all that shiny blond hair fall around her slender shoulders, a sultry grin gracing her sinful mouth. She swayed to the sounds of violin strings. The melody was maudlin—almost haunting—which only served to heighten the sexual charge energizing the space between us.
“Lose the jeans,” I grated.
I needed to see what delicate material was covering that ass. What had been in contact with her pussy all day, and what now shielded her femininity from me. What would become sodden with her juices, soaked in her scent, if I sucked those distended tips into my mouth. And what I would rip to fucking pieces if I decided to impale