Page 125 of Thorns of Love
I averted my gaze to his fingers to check for a wedding band. No wedding band. Silent relief washed over me. It’d never get involved with a married man. It was a hard pass for me.
He cocked his head to the side. “Did I pass the test?” he mused, the accent alone sending tremors through me. I was a sad case if the accent alone was turning me on.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I quipped, lying through my teeth.
He jerked his arm, allowing the sleeve of his blazer slide up as he glanced at his vintage Rolex.
“Better hurry up, little one,” he mused, confident that he could make any woman’s dreams come true. He probably could. “The sooner we get started, the sooner we both get pleasure.”
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
This man was all business and serious about pleasure. That was an Italian man for you. God, I needed to get laid. My first boyfriend was a disaster. I swore he almost shoved his penis in the wrong hole and scarred me forever. Obviously since then, I didn’t venture to second or third base with a boy. I’d been busy with shit and trying not to make the same mistake again.
Either way, I’d bet my violin - my most precious possession - that this man knew exactly how to give and take pleasure.
My eyes darted around him to where the blonde bombshell stood. “Aren’t you on a date?” I asked him, narrowing my eyes. “The last thing I need is a scene with a scorned woman screaming at me. God forbid, it’s in Italian. I wouldn’t even know how to respond.”
He offered me his hand. His poise unnerved and fascinated me at the same time. “She didn’t come with me, and she won’t leave with me,” he responded.
Fuck it. I wasn’t the impulsive type but tonight, the stars were aligning. This was meant to be, I was certain.
So I slid my hand into his, his warmth instantly seeping into me and spreading all the way down to my toes. He leaned toward me, entering my personal space and brushed his thumb along the column of my throat. A simple touch, yet it sent my body into overdrive. Shudders rolled through me and my entire body broke out in goosebumps.
His smile was predatory, my insides clenching on nothing and my panties dampening between my thighs. He leaned forward, his lips close to my ear, and whispered, “I’ll make it good for you.”
Without a single doubt in my mind, I knew he would.
Ten minutes later, we entered a fancy home. No, not a home. A mansion in the middle of Paris. Knowing the real estate of this city, I couldn’t believe anyone aside from the government could afford something like this in the heart of Paris.
“What do you do exactly?” I asked as my heels clicked against the marble. The whole house was dimly lit and soft Italian music drifted through the air.
The moon glimmered in the sky, probably witnessing many one-night stands and laughing at the ridiculous people looking for pleasure. Well, let the moon laugh. I’d be laughing in the morning when the sun came up.
We climbed the stairs silently while my heart screamed, nearly bursting from my chest. My phone buzzed, or maybe it was his, but neither one of us paid it any mind. My knees trembled under my flirty yellow dress that Reina had designed for me.
Last night she handed it to me with the words, “I think it’ll bring you good luck.”
Oh my gosh, I was doing this. I was really having a one-night stand. I was twenty-three, and there was nothing unusual about a twenty-three year old having a one-night stand at least once in her lifetime.
We entered the large dimly lit bedroom with accents of black and white everywhere. The door glided shut with a soft click and before my next breath, the man stalked towards me, his eyes cool and detached.
He cornered me against the wall, every step more eager than the last. My back pressed against the wall and a thought pushed through my desire.
“Hold on,” I breathed nervously. He instantly stilled and somehow that assured me. He wouldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to. My pulse wrestled inside my throat, while he watched me with that dark gaze that made me feel like I was drowning in deep waters. “I-I don’t know your name,” I murmured.
He considered me with those eyes. “Enrico.”
Was he–
No, it couldn’t be. Enrico was a very common Italian name.
“Any other questions before we get started?” he asked in that deep, accented voice.
My nostrils flared. He probably considered me a chick that flirted and had sex with strangers all the time. I wasn’t but it didn’t really matter. I’d probably never see him again.
“No more questions,” I answered. “You may proceed, Enrico.”
Dark amusement flashed in his eyes and something about seeing his mouth curved into a half-smile made my insides clench. Maybe I waited way too long to give sex another try and now everything about this man made me want to orgasm.
