Page 8 of Mafia King: Matteo
An older, attractive woman approaches and escorts me to the bar. She orders two Manhattans.
“Gio told me you’d be here. Nice to meet you,” she extends a gloved hand. I shake it and notice the white gloves extend to her elbows. “I’m Madame M. Safe sex, condoms in every room. Gio said your membership forms and fees will be arriving.”
“Yes, thank you.” I lift my glass, and we tap them together before we drink.
She’s smoking a thin cigarette at the end of a long cigarette holder. She looks like she stepped out of a silent film, but something tells me she dresses like this daily. She’s still beautiful, especially for a woman in her sixties, if I had to guess. Her hair is silver, not grey, and styled in a short straight bob. Her floor-length gown is made of white sequins and sparkles like she is dressed to take the stage and sing a solo. She’s classy and not at all dressed for sex.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Mr. Grey. Thank you for the imposition. I hate long flights.”
“Darling,” she purrs, “don’t we all?”
I chuckle. I take another sip of my cocktail. My eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and I notice that the walls are painted a deep teal, which highlights the cream-colored, leather-backed furniture.
“This is an incredible penthouse.”
“Thank you. It’s a hobby. We all need one. Sex is my vice.”
My eyes survey the crowd, which comprises mainly couples and a few single men and women. On my second sweep of the room, I see her.
The young, voluptuous woman is wearing a tight red and black bustier, with fishnet stockings up to her solid thighs and held in place by red garter belts. She’s nursing a dirty martini, judging from the stick filled with olives in her hand. She suggestively eats one at a time, and takes her time to savor them. She appears to be oblivious to how sexual this looks, and my cock is hard.
“Who’s the girl?”
“That’s Angelica to you. She’s a sweet girl. I think the two of you would have a wild time. Now that my job here is done, I’ll leave you to it,” she says before floating away like a butterfly.
I ask for another Manhattan and a dirty martini. I grab both and approach Angelica.
She’s a vision with her long brown hair with subtle highlights. Her cheeks are rounded, and her pouty, royal red lips curl into a smile as I hand her the drink.
“Hm. Mama always told me to be leery of strangers bearing gifts.”
“Oh, I hope I won’t be a stranger for long.”
“You must be new here,” she states as she sets her empty glass on a nearby table. She takes a sip of the martini I hand her.
“Very new.”
“I’m Angelica,” she offers her hand.
“I’m Mr. Grey.” I raise her soft hand to my lips and kiss it.
“Mr. 50 Shades, is it?”
“For the night, it appears so.”
“Kinda unoriginal, don’t you think?”
“Once you’ve been with me, I doubt you’d say I’m unoriginal.”
She glances at my crotch and gives me a look—the one between a smile and an invitation to fuck her. I’m ready to come in my pants.
Madam M was right. The sexual tension between us is electrifying. I move closer when I glimpse a tall man with massive shoulders heading our way. He recognizes the universal move that declares she is mine and politely veers off.
“Do you come here often?”
“No, but tonight I wanted to be a little demon,” she says, giving me a token smile.
“Funny, your name implies angel.”
