Chapter 6
Wesley
The crowd shrieks as that stupid Italian guy goes stumbling across the stage.
"Hey man, what the hell? I'm tryin' to get some play over here!" He glowers at me as he straightens up, fixing his collar.
I push Sanaya behind me and get into his face. "Dude, that's my wife you're messing with!" I grab her left hand and hold up her gaudy ring in his face.
Sanaya's forehead crinkles up as she eyes the man. "Wait—you speak English?!"
He scrunches his eyebrows at her. "Of course I speak English. This is Illinois, not freakin' Catalonia! You can't even buy a bus pass around here if you don't speak English!"
Anger simmers in my belly. That asshole was trying to take advantage of her. Now, I want to rearrange his face.
But Sanaya doesn’t need saving. I should have known. Before I can smash my fist into that asshole’s nose, she leaps up with a shout, landing a nice karate kick in his groin.
Whoa!
“By the way, that was Chinese,” she growls as he crouches down, holding his crotch and groaning in pain.
Suddenly sober, she races back to our table and grabs her purse, sliding the strap across her chest. With the mistletoe clenched in my hand, I follow after her. She spins around as she shimmies into her tomato-stained jacket and tucks our half-empty wine bottle under her arm. I see her victim on stage is starting to regain his composure. The fire in his eyes says he’s very interested in the prospect of revenge.
She sees it too. "Let’s get the hell out of here!” Her fingers lock around my wrist and she pulls me through the crowd, ready to bulldoze her way through anyone who stands between her and the exit.
My cock is insanely hard right now. This girl is badass. I can’t wait one more second to feel my lips on hers.
I take a sudden detour, yanking her around the corner, behind the tall Christmas tree, and I squeeze her tight little body to mine. I pin her to the wall with my pelvis and she gasps when my erection twitches against her belly. "What are you doing?"
I circle an arm around her hips as I raise the mistletoe above her head. "Finally ready to get in the Christmas spirit."
We’ve come to kissing before only to get interrupted each time. This time, nothing’s going to stop. Not even the enraged lunatic who’s apparently out for blood.
Propelled by a sense of urgency, I crush my mouth to hers. She sucks in a hard breath and she moans as her lips part. I don’t waste a second sliding my tongue through the opening. I’ve been wanting to taste her. From the moment I saw her, I’ve had a craving for brown sugar. And cinnamon. And, well…sex.
The mistletoe slips from my fingers and my hands go to her thigh. I push up the velvet of her dress and trail my touch across her skin. I growl as I discover the curves and the dips I’ve had my eye on all night. She really is as smooth and sweet as she looks.
Now she’s grinding on my thigh. The friction is gonna drive me mad. Holy hell—I'm so damn hard.
She's kissing me like a mad woman. Groaning into my mouth, clawing at my arm with one hand while her other fist remains locked around the neck of that wine bottle. I need more. I need to lay her on the nearest flat surface and spread her thighs. Taste her pussy. Hear her scream for me. I need it now.
I peel her from the wall and we move blindly down the abandoned corridor. Yanking me by the fabric of my T-shirt, she pulls me into a room. Bright blinding lights. A row of gas stovetops. Heavy pans hanging from ceiling hooks. We're in the kitchen.
It's deserted. Not a soul in sight. The staff have gone home for the night. Perfect.
I slide my hands under that luscious ass and I lift her onto a cold stainless steel worktable. Her legs clamp tight around my hips and I cup her hefty tits in my hands, squeezing them and making her shudder. She finally lets go of the bottle, depositing it on the counter beside her. She rocks her pussy back and forth and now I can smell her arousal thick in the air.
This has got to be a health code violation but I don't give a fuck. And from the way she's moaning and ripping at my clothes, neither does she. She grabs the fabric of my shirt and tears it clear off my body. I grin to myself and bury my head at the curve of her neck as her fingers move up the expanse of my chest.
She grabs my hand and pulls it between her legs. "Touch me..."
Oh baby, you don't have to tell me twice.
The noise of the crowd down the hall is nothing but a distant hum, lost beneath the riot of the blood whooshing through my veins. My fingers play with her wet pussy. So soft. Smooth. She thrusts her hips into my touch.
"God, you’re sexy," I grit out as my mouth travels up the column of her throat, sucking and biting at her like a savage.
“Make me come,” she begs as my thumb swipes her clit again and again. “Make me come…”
I kiss her neck, palming her breast roughly. “Say my name, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”
“Fuck, Wesley. Make me come.”
“That’s right. I’m gonna make you come so hard.” It’s a promise.
Two fingers piston and curl inside of her. She writhes, her sweet pussy dripping onto the counter. Her walls are so tight, crushing my fingers with each hard pulsation. I kiss her mouth. Rough. Hard. She’s coming. I feel the constriction of her muscles. The ripple washes along her limbs.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Her eyes squeeze shut. Her thighs lock around my ribs. She throws her head back and she screams!
She clings to me, her pulse following an erratic pattern as she recovers. Her little fingers dance up and down my naked back. My lips move along her cheeks, her jaw, down her chest. I take my time enjoying this sexy woman.
By the time we hear the footsteps approaching, it’s too late. The old man appearing in the doorway, lets out a started roar. “Che cazzo è!” He flings his chubby arms up in the air.
I don’t speak the language, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a friendly greeting.
“Uh—hey man!” I say trying to act casual as I help Sanaya off the counter. The wine bottle is already tucked under her arm as she hastily adjusts her clothes.
The red dude’s face swells with anger. “I make my grandmother’s bucatini on that counter! What would Nonna Lucia say? Ay? What would Nonna Lucia say!”
Sanaya and I mutter our apologizes as we scramble out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the service exit.
There’s a Santa Claus jacket hanging on a hook by the door. I grab it and shrug it on as we dash by. Her ankle twists as we run. I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder as we burst into the dark alley behind the restaurant.
She’s giggling like crazy. "So, are we on Santa's naughty list or what?!"