She tastes like candy, sweet and addictive. I drink her down and when she whimpers into my mouth, I want to take her right here, right now, up against this wall, and to hell with anyone who might see us.

When I lift my head again, her pupils are huge, her lips swollen. The image of them wrapped around my cock almost sends me over the edge. But that, delicious as it would be, is not my priority.

I need to be inside her, to feel her tight wet heat clench around me, welcome me, bring me home. Nothing else matters but claiming her, taking her, fucking her until she screams my name.

We’re standing near an exit door. It hasn’t got one of those “do not open or alarm will sound” signs posted, and I’m pretty sure I remember from my younger days that it’s safe to go through.

Only one way to find out. Sasha’s still wrapped around me; I move us over and give the crash bar one hard shove. The door swings open silently.

“Where are we going?” she says when I carry her outside into the sweltering summer night. Her voice has gotten all rough and smoky from our kiss, and the sound goes straight to my dick.

“My place.” I never take women home, but I can’t wait to get Sasha there. We’ve come out on one side of the building. I set her down, reluctantly, and immediately want her back in my arms, her curves pressed against me.

We reach the sidewalk and I wave down a cab. “Um,” she says, and the tentative sound pierces the lust clouding my brain.

I look down at her, her dark curls tumbling around her face, her black jeans and silky top hugging her form. She looks so young, and away from the heat and noise of the club it starts to hit me how crazy this all is.

It hasn’t even been ten minutes since I laid eyes on her. I’m on the verge of upending both our lives so I can fuck her. Have I lost my mind?

Maybe.

My gut doesn’t think so. Or the rest of my body. My instincts, my libido, my cock all agree: this woman belongs in my bed, and there’s nothing more important right now than getting her there.

There’s just this pesky corner of my brain saying, She doesn’t know you. You could be a serial killer.

I don’t want to give her an out; my caveman side is totally fine with more or less abducting her. But I can’t let myself be a total asshole, and scaring her is not on the agenda. So I force myself to ask, “You okay with this?”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. It’s all I can do to wait, not to kiss her again, give that full lip a nip with my own teeth, then suck on it.

“I just … I mean … I don’t really do this kind of thing. I don’t even know your last name.”

“Adamo.”

Her face lights up. “I went to school with some Adamos. Abri and Delfina.”

“Two of my many cousins. Like I said, big Italian family.”

She relaxes, obviously reassured, and my vague sense of guilt, already held at bay by my primitive urges, all but vanishes. I’m not forcing her; she wants this too.

The cab pulls up, and I open the back door for her, then climb in and give the cabbie my friends’ address. He makes good time, cutting across the city’s congested traffic in a controlled frenzy. I haven’t been here in a long time; I’m usually up on the mountain, working, or in my hometown just down the hill.

When he pulls up at our destination, I shove some money through the slot and help Sasha out of the cab. “This is your house?” she says as our ride pulls away.

“No, some friends of mine live here.” I gesture to my SUV. “This is my car.”

She climbs up into the passenger seat readily enough but as I start the engine she says, “Where do you live?”

“Up in the mountains.” Her eyes get big. “You can text your friends when we get there and give them the address.”

“Okay.” The way she says it tells me she’s getting nervous again. After a moment she adds, “Maybe I should text your cousins right now and tell them I’m with you.”

I pull out into the street, heading for the freeway. “That’s fine. Just know that if you do, my entire clan will be waiting at the house for us.”

“What?”

“Adamos are nosy. Especially the mamas. They tend to butt in.”

My eyes are on the road, but I can feel her watching me. Finally she says, “You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“Your whole family — sorry, clan — will drop whatever they’re doing and come visit you because you have a … guest?”

“It’s kind of a tradition.”

She laughs. “That’s whack.”

“That’s my family.”