Page 37 of Made to Sin

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After taunting Luciano, I realized I had no idea what people did at clubs or how to fit in. I hadn’t seen any recognizable faces since the cake was brought out a couple of hours ago when Sofia was blowing the candles out in the center of the dance floor.

My lonely night was spent at the bar, racking up the bill on my husband’s card. He was too wealthy for his own good, so what was a few hundred dollars worth of liquor going to dent?

My head was spinning when I decided to switch from fruity martinis to heavy tequila shots. It was a bad idea to let myself drink as much as I did, but I was finally somewhere where nobody seemed to recognize or expect anything from me. And if anyone did, they were probably also too drunk to remember.

Marco had no men to control me, and now that the leash was taken off, I went rabid.

I found myself on the color-changing dance floor with my hands in the air. A cute blonde became my partner as we moved with the music. His hands were on my hips to hold me close, and his mouth was near my ear to whisper how sexy he thought I looked. It was sweaty, dirty, and totally unhinged.

I loved it.

But somewhere in the middle of the song, Blondie’s hands were ripped from my hips, another pair replacing him. My new partner’s hands were bigger, firmer, and grasping me like I was something to be lost.

A familiar awareness ran down my neck, but I couldn’t pinpoint who. The grip around me prevented me from turning around to see the mysterious person, but with the alcohol prancing through my system, I didn’t care enough to keep wondering.

Continuing my movements, I danced to the fast-paced beat. The man’s rough hands glided along my hips as I swayed. Every inch between us was a live wire, the zaps of electricity leaked intomy bloodstream, and ignited the hidden flames.

I ran my hands down his neck as I ground lower on the sculpted body pressed against my slimmer one. His hand tightened, imprinting marks on my skin, but he didn’t stop me from doing it another time. And another time. And until however long this dance seemed to last.

It was invigorating. Similar to the high of cocaine, I was scared I would be addicted.

A needy want swirled from the top of my head down to my throbbing core. Like a gentleman, he respectfully never moved his hold from my hips. Yet, with how hot I was feeling, I wanted to be disrespected. I wanted him to touch me everywhere. I wanted to feel the full effect of this high.

I tugged on the short hairs at his nape, and like we were sharing the same thought, his hands started caressing my body. Although bold, he never crossed the invisible line of being inappropriate. His hands moved until they were right under my boobs, until they were lifting the hem of my dress an inch, until they were occasionally grazing the inside of my thighs. It made me so feverish, sowet, I couldn’t breathe.

The rest of the club was drowned out by lust, and it was only us at the moment. We were dancing a beat behind the music, more sensual and suggestive. I leaned against him, letting him guide my body as it sang to his every touch.

I softly moaned when his thick erection dug into my back. With a salacious need, I angled my ass so I would come down directly on his length and ground my hips. Another erotic sound left me at the pleasure as he let out a hiss, gripping me harder.

We danced in intimacy, dipping our toes across a few lines we shouldn’t have.

Regrettably, what I was scared of turned out true.

I was addicted.

IWOKEUPWITHAraging headache and remembered why I preferred to stay away from alcohol.

I didn’t remember how I got to the house or, more importantly, who brought me here. It surely wasn’t Marco. He would have already murdered me if he found me passed out drunk in a club— another family’s club at that.

My morning hangover heightened as Maria barged into my room, not caring about the loud sound of the door slamming as much as I did. “Stupid girl! You are lucky you came home beforeSenhorCamello did. He would have had your head, and I would have thanked him for it.”

I folded my pillow over my head to muffle my ears. “Ow, Maria, please, stop yelling.”

“That’s what you get for being irresponsible,” she scolded.

I swear, she deliberately started making more noises by shuffling my things around. Things she had never touched in her years of working suddenly needed to be rearranged.

I groaned, victim to her torture, but couldn’t do anything except wait for it to be over. After a few exhausting minutes, she finally relented and left to make her famous hangover drink. I didn’t care if she laced it with ten spoonfuls of poison, the ugly,green liquid was a magical relief for any headache imaginable. I asked her for the recipe once, but she said if she told me, she would have to kill me.

Like the other times I accidentally drank too much, she prepared the drink while I forced myself out of bed. The bland, beige walls spun as I got out from under the warm comforter and headed to the ensuite.

Being hungover made the morning process more time-consuming than necessary. I spilled toothpaste on the countertop, nearly slipped in the shower, and wore my shirt inside out.

Regardless, I safely made it downstairs. Maria had the tall glass waiting for me on the island while she cooked my breakfast. Holding my breath, I chugged every last green bit.

The bitterness made me scowl in disgust, but Maria brought some chocolate chip pancakes as a saving grace. I forked a piece of the fluffy dough, chewing slowly to savor the delight of my favorite meal.

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