Page 35 of Wicked S.O.B.

Elly/Q/Lucky

Exposition

Iwake up blindingly happy on Wednesday morning. That probably should’ve been my first warning. After a leisurely hour doing laps in the private pool that comes with the penthouse, I blow-dry my hair, dress in shorts and a T-shirt, and head to the kitchen. I clean up the remainder of our meal from last night and confirm our appointment with Dr. Freeman before I head into the home office with my books and laptop. It doesn’t take long for me to bring myself up to speed on the segment I missed on Monday. I revise the rest of the course work until my growling stomach announces that it’s lunchtime.

I survey the contents of the fridge and vow to take a culinary class the moment I’m done with my real estate course. Not being able to make anything more than scrambled eggs or a grilled cheese sandwich sucks when I have a fridge full of yummy ingredients. The catering service is great but sometimes I just crave a home-cooked meal. I settle for the next best thing—Italian food from the restaurant across the street—and I’m throwing a cashmere sweater and scarf over my T-shirt to head out when my phone pings. My heart leaps when I see Quinn’s name on the screen.

Quinn: How’s your day going?

Me: About to head across the street to have lunch at Paolo’s. You?

Quinn: You’ve ruined lunch for me forever. I get hard as fuck just looking at my goddamn dining table, and I can’t eat without you here.

I’m almost ashamed at how giddily happy that makes me. I record a quick five-second video and send it.

Me: Does this help?

Quinn: You telling me you love me ALWAYS helps. But that mouth. Fuck. You just made me even harder, and I have a meeting in ten minutes.

I have to squeeze my thighs together to alleviate the sudden intense ache in my pussy. My fingers fly over the keyboard before I can stop myself.

Me: Show me.

I bite my inner lip and hold my breath, unable to stop the warm flush rising up my body into my face. By the time the message bubble begins to ripple, I can barely stand it.

The image of Quinn’s big, strong hand gripping the thick column of his cock through his pinstriped tailored pants is almost enough to make me come right there in the bedroom.

Me: God. That’s so hot. I’m counting the hours.

Quinn: Me too. Tell me you’re wet.

Me: I’m soaked. And I’m dying for you. Go eat something anyway. For me. Please. I need you firing on all cylinders when we get back home tonight. I fully intend to blow your mind.

Quinn: My cylinders work just fine, firecracker. But I look forward to having them thoroughly tested. X

I need a minute to get myself under control before I can grab my purse and head down. I’m not surprised to find Lionel waiting for me when I reach the foyer. We exchange greetings, and I let him walk me across the street to Paolo’s.

The short, balding owner of the fifty-year-old restaurant heads my way with arms wide open the moment I walk through the door.

“Bellissima, it has been too long.” After a kiss on both cheeks, he looks over my shoulder, to where Lionel is seated at one of the outside tables. “Will that handsome devil of yours be joining you today?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s just me today, Paolo.”

“Then it will be my honor to be your lunch companion. What does your beautiful heart desire today,bella?

My mouth waters at the glorious smells coming from the kitchen.

“Hmm, do you have any lasagna?”

He beams. “Fresh out of the oven. Paolo will be right back. Sit, sit.” He waves me to a table for two before he disappears into the kitchen. The size of the lunch crowd is healthy, and although a few people cast glances my way, I shrug off the self-consciousness and take a seat.

When Paolo brings my meal, he pulls up a chair and sits across from me. I sprinkle a large helping of grated Parmesan on top of my lasagna and take a bite of the rich food. My groan of appreciation produces another beaming smile from him.

We chat as I eat, and I laugh as he regales me with outrageous stories from his childhood in Palermo. When I leave an hour later, I’m full to bursting, and even happier.

Lionel escorts me back and waits until I’m crossing the foyer before he heads out. I’m almost at the elevator when I see the head concierge hurrying toward me.

“Good afternoon, Miss Gilbert. A pleasure to see you as always.”

---