I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, bouncing on him. He grabs my ass. He throws me around like a rag doll, up and down, his searing length grinding my lips.
“Throw me,” I pant. “Use me.” This is strictly a one-time-only hookup, and it’s been so long that I’ve had sex, that I’m throwing it all out there, no holds barred. After tonight, I’m never, ever going to see this man again. But for the next few minutes, I want to be his.
I bite his neck. He rasps in my ear, a deep, carnal sound that tells me he’s close. “I wanna feel you come on me, Dani,” he groans.
I’m about to tell him that it’s coming soon, but then soon comes—well, sooner than expected. The disco lights are pulsing against his bare chest, his eyes are consuming me, his cock is burning up inside of me. When my orgasm comes, it hits like a truck.
We stumble across the room, falling onto a couch, Angelo biting softly at my neck and shoulder as he thrusts even harder.
We finish together in a crescendo, like we’re making music. At the very peak of it, the moment when I’m completely and totally checked out of my head and I can barely keep myself from drooling all over his bare chest, I find his gaze and realize that he’s doing the exact same thing—staring back into my soul with an unreadable emotion in his eyes.
Then he rolls aside and I come to my senses.
We lay still for about a nanosecond before I push him off of me and scramble away to find my jeans. He’s already walking across the room as I jump back into them.
“Another drink?” he asks casually, as though we’re some faint mutual acquaintances here for social hour.
I feel cold and empty all of a sudden, but I don’t want him to see that, so I turn away as I button and zip my jeans back up. “I think we’re supposed to do that in reverse, right?” I laugh bitterly. “Drink, then have sex? But you’re not one to play by the rules now, are you, playboy? I think I’ll take you up on that champagne this time. The beer didn’t go where it was supposed to go, last time around. Turned into a little bit of a fiasco, if you ask me.”
He grins. “I suppose we will have to settle for a champagne fiasco instead.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I tell him as he swaggers over to me. I back up instinctively. It feels like I’m being cornered by a wild beast. His hair is mussed, but his cock is still hard and threatening. He looks like he was carved out of marble. And that smirk… it’s maddening, intoxicating.
I shiver and break eye contact as I reach forward to grab the glass of champagne he’s offering. It takes every ounce of self-control I have on tap to keep my hand from shaking.
This all feels so natural, so easy. That can only mean one thing—it’s very, very dangerous. Getting mixed up with a mysterious club owner with scars on his chest and a dark glint in his eyes is definitely not part of any plan I have for myself.
But I also feel like I’m not really here, like I’ve vacated my head for a little while. It’s a night away from being me, right? In here—this dark, private room—I don’t have to worry about tending to overdose victims or fretting about my little brother or mourning the death of my parents. In here, for this night only, I can take my foot off the gas and sink into the hot lava lust that’s bubbling up inside of me.
So I dip my fingers in the glass of champagne and hold them up to him.
“Your turn.”
He pauses, and I’m not sure whether it’s one second or one million seconds that pass us by. All I know is that Angelo is standing in front of me, buck naked and beautiful, with my champagne-drenched fingers just a few millimeters away from his lips. He’s eyeing me hungrily, possessively, and my body is reacting to his like I’m a star going nova, about to explode.
Then he leans forward just the slightest bit and closes his lips around my fingers.
Angelo
Two Days Later
The crown jewel of the De Maggio club empire, Sole Nero, is busy as usual. I sit far back in my private booth and sip on a glass of whiskey.