Chapter Three
Chiara
“Everyone, this is Mike,” I declare, as I give the two drinks over to my friends. “Mike, this is Bea, and Paula. We’re teachers.”
Neither of them knows that I’m engaged. I mean, if I wore the ring to a New York public school, I’d get mugged before I got to my classroom. And, I’m not announcing that I’m marrying Frankie Moretti. I don’t need people looking at me like I’m some kind of pariah, especially not the people I work with. I remember what it was like trying to date in high school, when everyone knew I was Nicola Rossi’s daughter. That’s right, I didn’t date. I don’t want to be a social outcast, again. Once was enough.
“You’re out late on a school night,” he scolds softly.
I can’t help but giggle at that. “We’re off tomorrow, because spring break is next week. I don’t have to be up early in the morning.” I say it with as much defiance as I can muster.
“Then what are your plans for the rest of the night?” His voice is a little uptight, very New York, but extremely warm. There’s also a hint of something else in his voice, a bit demanding, almost dominant. If he wasn’t so blonde haired and blue eyed, I’d swear he was in the mob. I hear the same tone when my dad speaks, as if he has the world on a string and he controls everything around him.
Maybe it’s because he’s so fucking good looking. And he’s so darn tall, which I didn’t realize until he stood up. He must be at least six and a half feet tall, he practically towers over me. And Mike’s body is long, and lean. I’m guessing anyway, not that I could tell under the loose fitting black shirt and heavy leather jacket. Not like Frankie, whose suits are tight because he seems to put on more muscle every day. But I’d really like to find out what Mike is hiding under his dark clothes.
Oh, God I want to find out so damn badly.
I saw him staring at me while he was sitting at the bar, and I was immediately drawn to him. He’s totally my type, the anti-Italian. He looks like the typical American boy, he’s so blonde and pretty he could be a surfer. He looks almost boyish, with a round face, cheekbones that are high but not hollow, and a jaw line that’s defined but not sharp. He has a softness about him that is so sexy to me. He’s not hard and tough like my dad, like Frankie.
“He’s cute.” Paula confirms my opinion.
“Totally hot,” Bea agrees.
“But can he dance?” Paula asks. All three of us girls turn toward him.
“Oh, I can dance,” he replies confidently. Then he offers me his hand. I’m afraid I might not get mine back if I take his. He held my hand earlier like it was a lifeline, like he’d sink without it. It was so sexy, maybe because my own fiancé doesn’t touch me like that. Frankie doesn’t look at me with half the passion in his eyes. If he did, maybe I wouldn’t have hit on Mike. Maybe I would have, I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want to give Frankie my virginity, like it’s some kind of prize he’s entitled to because my dad is forcing me to marry him.
Yes, I’m a virgin. No dates in high school, and my college sweetheart is gay. He always said he was saving himself for marriage. I should have known something was wrong, but I just never thought it was that.
Frankie says he wants to save it for marriage too. It kinda makes me wonder…
I give him my hand, and he twirls me once. My eyes go wide, and I gasp loudly. Of course he’s going to lead. He looks like a leader. Maybe he’s a politician, or the son of a politician.
Once we’re on the dance floor, the first thing he does is a body roll. He should be too tall to do something like that, but it looks amazing on his beautiful, long body. Next he spins, stomps both his feet, and moves his hips. Then he gives me a sly grin, showing me that he knows he looks good.
“Come on,” he says, and extends his hand again. Yes, I’m going to come with him, wherever he wants to go. He’s too damn sexy for words and he knows it.
I take his hand, and he pulls me into his body. He’s so much taller than me, and his body is rock hard. He begins to move his hips and his shoulders, and rolls his body again. My legs are slightly spread, and somehow he places one knee between them and rolls his hips against mine. I glance up his body, to find his blue eyes staring down at me. His hand that isn’t holding mine finds my shoulder, then slides downward. I feel his fingertips lightly trailing down my back. I shiver, as I feel goose bumps form down my arms. My nipples are hard, just from the slightest touch from him. I don’t feel any of this when Frankie touches me, or kisses me.
Why did I wear this stupid dress? It was in a box of clothes that Angelina gave me before her wedding, telling me they were no longer appropriate for a woman marrying a Moretti. I think that’s the reason I wanted to wear it tonight. When Paula asked me to come out with her and Bea, I told her no like I always do. But something about knowing that I would be meeting Frankie at the church made me change my mind. I decided to do it, Frankie be damned!
Now, I’m not sure it was a good idea. I’m moving my hips and swaying with this sexy man, who is simply way too damn good looking. He’s touching me intimately, and looking at me like he wants to devour me. I want him to. I want him to do every dirty thing he can think of to me. I want to give myself, my virginity, to someone I want, not someone who my father has decided I should marry.
And I pick Mike, no last name, no address, and no phone number. Just Mike.
He leans his head down, to brush his lips against my cheek, before he whispers in my ear, “Do you have a boyfriend, Chi?”
Then he pulls away, and stares right into my eyes, waiting for me to answer. I’m not that good of a liar. I never have been. My lip quivers when I answer. “No.” Technically he’s my fiancé. It’s a lie by omission, but it’s not like I’ll ever have to see Mike again, right?
“Good. Come home with me tonight.” His fingers move upward over my spine, and I close my eyes. Then they move across my neck, to finally rest on my cheek. I sigh loudly, at the sensations stirring inside me from his soft touch.
Is this what happens at bars? If I’d known, I would have done this months ago.
“Is that a good idea? I mean, something bad could happen to me,” I murmur, as his thumb traces over my bottom lip.
“Everything bad could happen to you, my treasure.” His voice is sexy as hell when he says it. My eyes pop open. He might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen. And he’s rocking his hips against me. He’s calling me his, his treasure, like I’m something precious to be taken care of, which is so sexy my panties might melt.
Am I supposed to be afraid of him, or intimidated? I can’t be when he’s touching me so gently. And he’s looking at me like he wants to adore me, not hurt me. But still… “That’s not supposed to make me want to go home with you, is it?”
“Oh, I’ll make sure you want everything I do to you, treasure.” His voice somehow gets lower, deeper, as he leans forward and kisses my cheek. Frankie has kissed me, on my lips, but he doesn’t cause the thrill of pleasure to trail down my spine and make my shoulders shake. My ex from college just wanted quick make out sessions that sometimes ended with hand jobs for him. It didn’t send chills anywhere on my body, honestly.
But this huge hunk of man flesh, he’s just dancing with me and barely grazing my skin, and every nerve ending in my body is piqued. I think my nipples are harder than they’ve ever been.
He thrusts his hips against mine, and mutters, “Tell me you want to come home with me, treasure. Tell me you want me to worship every inch of your body.”
My body is saying, Yes! Oh yes! Please worship me!
But my brain is saying, No you are a good girl you do not go home with strange men!
Maybe that’s why I’m twenty-five, or nearly thirty as my dad says, and still a virgin. Maybe I should live a little, just this once! I’ll be a married woman in two months, and my chance to be spontaneous, to have a one night stand with a stranger, will be gone. I have to do it now. I have to do it tonight. I might not get another opportunity.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and while staring into his baby blue eyes, I answer. “Yes, I want it.”
He opens his mouth, as if to ask something, but he stops himself. Then he wraps one of his long arms around my waist and holds my body against his. He’s carrying me, but not like it’s obvious, off the dance floor. But he’s not carrying me toward my friends, he’s walking me to the door.
“Wait, I should get my sweater,” I murmur.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he answers me. He glances away for a moment, to make sure he doesn’t run us into anyone. Then his eyes are again on mine, as if trying to capture them. But it’s not like I’ll ever see him again for him to buy me one. My friends will get it, I’m sure.
He releases me, placing me on the ground before his big hand takes mine, and weaves our fingers together. Then he leads me out the door, and I shiver.
“Here, take this,” he says, and removes his leather jacket to wrap me up in it. It seems like he’s staring at something across the street. “I didn’t think this through,” he mutters. Then his hand moves to his back pocket. My eyes follow his movements, and I can’t help but notice his ass in his tight jeans. It’s perfect. I don’t even notice that he’s pulled his phone out, until he speaks. “We’ll have a ride here in three minutes.”
He takes my hand again, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll run off. The thought had crossed my mind. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“Where would you like to go?” he counters, and rubs the hand that’s not holding mine through my hair. It’s intimate and sexy at the same time.
“How about a hotel?” I offer. It’s probably safer. I don’t think he’ll chain me to the bed at a hotel, not for too long anyway. Although he looks like he might be in to that.
“Whatever my treasure wants,” he replies. He touches my cheek again, and tiny tingles cover my body.
This is going to be amazing. As I’m thinking about how excited I am, a car pulls up, and when I glance toward it I notice it’s a sleek, deep red Bentley Mulsanne, like the one Frankie’s dad has. And it’s stopping near us. This is definitely not an Uber. He must have a lot of money. I wouldn’t have guessed by the way he’s dressed, but I’m not complaining.