Sinners Anonymous : Chapter 18

FRIDAY NIGHT. DINNER IS winding down, and with a final glance over my shoulder into the foyer, I scurry down the steps and make a beeline for Tor’s car. “Wait,” I hiss, my heels bucking against the pebbles as I half-run, half-trot toward him. “Wait for me!”

Tor’s leaning against the passenger door, tapping away on his cell. He looks up from the screen and squints into the darkness. He stills. Runs an eye over my body, then pushes himself off the car. “Oh, hell no, girl.”

I hurry after him, slamming my back against the driver’s door before he can reach it. “I’m coming with you.”

“Like fuck you are. Not tonight, and not dressed like that. Move.” But when I don’t, his eyes thin. “You have a death wish?”

“Aw, come on, Tor. Alberto won’t even notice I’m gone. He’s got all those old men from the country club over and they are playing bridge.”

“And when he does notice, I’m fucked. Now, move.”

“All right,” I huff. “What do you want?”

He pauses, cocks a brow, then his eyes shift to my chest. He lets out a little laugh, like he’s just stopped himself from saying something he shouldn’t. “Don’t tempt me, little girl. Get out of my way.”

As he reaches to grab my arm, I catch his wrist. I stare at the colorful tattoos poking out from his sleeve, stopping just before his watch strap, and my heart thumps a little harder.

“Tayce did these.”

Irritation flickers through his irises. “Obviously. I don’t let anyone else ink me. What’s your point?”

I can feel a grin spreading across my face. “Even you can’t skip the waiting list.”

“God himself couldn’t skip her fucking waiting list.”

“But I can.”

He hitches a shoulder. Purses his lips. “You have half a second to get to the point.”

“Tayce is my best friend. I can get you an appointment like that,” I snap my fingers for emphasis, and he looks down at them like he wants to bite them off.

He’s still glaring at me, but he’s suddenly still. He’s weakening. “No waiting list?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Never again?”

I pause. Swan, Tayce might kill me for this. “Never again.”

His eyes narrow. Then he takes a step back. “Get in the fucking car.” Jabbing a finger in my direction, he adds, “No talking to men that don’t have the “Visconti” last name. In fact, don’t even look at them. No more than three drinks. And I’ll have Amelia take you home at midnight.” He slides into the driver’s seat, muttering under his breath. “Otherwise you’ll turn back into Cinderella.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, tapping out an email as he peels out of the circular drive. “You don’t think I’ve done you enough favors this week?”

My stomach drops a few inches. I came downstairs on Wednesday morning to find Tor waiting for me instead of Angelo. He was pacing, irritated. Said Angelo was out of town, and that he’d asked him to take me to Dip instead. Of course, I was happy that I still got to see my father, but ever since, I haven’t been able to shake the unsettling feeling crawling underneath my skin.

One day, Angelo will leave for good without warning and he won’t come back. And that thought shouldn’t make me feel so sick.

As we speed down the Coastal highway, I unzip my purse and fish out a box of Nerds. Tor side-eyes me in disgust, but then holds out his hand for the carton. “Fucking hell, haven’t had these in years,” he mutters, tossing them into his mouth. “You get these trick-or-treating? You’re still young enough for that, right?”

I laugh. “Shut up.”

A few seconds pass. As we slow to meet a red light, I feel the heat of his gaze on my dress. “I’m sure I’ll have a few spare shirts lying around in my office,” he mutters. “You’ll have to put one on.”

“Not a chance.”

“Aurora, don’t push your luck. You’re not walking into my club dressed like that. It’s opening night, and it’s Halloween. I’ll be too busy mingling with sexy nurses and slutty Lara Crofts to be fighting men off you. What are you meant to be, anyways?”

I look down at my black leather dress. It’s strapless and plain, bar the large, silver zip that runs down the middle, all the way from the hem to the neckline. I’ve accessorized with a pair of chunky velvet boots and a small pointed hat pinned onto my curls. “Isn’t it obvious?” He pins me with a blank stare. I sigh, pull out the wrinkly rubber nose from my purse and slip it onto my own. “What about now?”

A beat passes. Then he bursts out laughing. “All right, fine. Keep that nose on all night, and I’ll let you forgo the shirt.”

Smiling triumphantly, I settle back into the seat, watching the ocean pass in a navy blur. As we pull onto the boulevard, butterflies start to flap their wings against the lining of my stomach and nervous energy buzzes through my veins.

I’m not the type of girl who dresses all sexy for Halloween, and I know the only reason I’m doing so tonight is just in case Angelo turns up. I’ll avoid him of course—I’m too mortified about my confession last week to actually speak to him yet—but still. I have visions of him seeing me from across the club. Seeing me dancing and drinking with Tacye, having a good time. For just one last time, I want to feel his eyes follow my every move. I know it’s wrong and I’m playing a dangerous game, but I want him to see I’m not the silly little girl he thinks I am. The one who wears fluffy, festive socks, gets worked up about stupid bad things I’ve done, and hasn’t said a real curse word in her life.

Just once. Just for tonight. Because tomorrow is my engagement party, which signals the beginning of the rest of my miserable life.

Tor pulls up in a parking space out front, one that has a sign with his name embossed in gold. I glance out the window at the entrance to the club, and my nerves intensify.

Jesus, it’s packed. Cats, Devils, Skeletons. Every Halloween cliché clambers to get in, while the heavy music thumping from the entrance sounds like it’s trying to get out.

“Here we fucking go,” Tor chimes excitedly, killing the engine and rubbing his hands together. He leers out the window at the girls in fishnet stockings and thigh-high boots. “Halloween is better than Christmas.”

“Hey, where’s your costume?”

“I’m wearing it.”

I take in his three-piece suit. The silk handkerchief folded elaborately in his top pocket. His little diamond nose ring. “Well, what are you supposed to be?”

“A made man,” he shoots back with a wink.

He rounds the car and helps me out, then pushes me toward the entrance of the club by the small of my back. Skipping the line, we stop at a wall of burly, suited men with earpieces. Tor slaps one on the chest and points at me.

“See this girl? It’s Big Al’s fiancee.” The man’s eyes grow wide. “You keep an eye on her at all times, got it? Anyone touches her, you take their hand.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. Jesus, by take their hand, I doubt he means “hold it.” He turns back around to me and cocks his head inside. “Let’s go.”

We walk down a small corridor, which opens up onto a large room.

Whoa. I halt in my tracks and recoil, my eyes trying to adjust to the sudden bright lights. It’s an enormous, round space with cavernous ceilings. The mirrored floor sparkles under the sweeping strobe lights, casting a silver shine on the black walls and velvet drapes that separate the main room from the private booths. Everything is centered around a raised dance floor in the middle—and when I squint, I realize it’s rotating. I blink, and then something above it catches my eye. Holy Crow. Dancers in black leather leotards twirl and fall from orange and green ribbons, coming so close to the top of the crowd’s heads that I physically flinch, before they sexily climb back up again.

Just under two weeks ago, I was standing here in the rubble and the dust and was convinced there wasn’t a chance in hell it’d be ready to open in time for Halloween.

Tor chucks me under the chin. “Sure you don’t wanna go home, little girl?” I manage a slight shake of my head. Feeling something behind me, I glance up, and notice one of the burly guards from outside lurking over my shoulder. “My man here will take you to VIP. Should be a few friendly faces there already.” He sweeps his hand up and around, pointing to a balcony that snakes the entire perimeter. Then his finger lands on me, along with a serious glare. “Remember what I said. No men. Three drinks.”

As he turns to leave, I grab his arm. “Wait—when Tayce turns up, can you get your men to send her up to me?”

He murmurs in the guard’s ear and nods. “Sorted.” Then he shouts over the music, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have…business to attend to.”

Flanked by two more guards who seem to have appeared out of nowhere, he disappears through a door off the main room.

I glance up at my own guard, as if to say, what now? He responds by wrapping his arm around me and bowling through the crowd, until we reach a glass elevator on the far side of the room. We ascend, high above the sea of party-goers, and emerge onto the balcony.

It’s only slightly quieter up here, but a hell of a lot less busy.

“This way, signora.”

I wince at the name, suddenly reminded of what Amelia said to me a few weeks ago. They’ll be calling you Signora Aurora Visconti soon.”

Very soon. As in, just two weeks from now. The thought swells in my chest and threatens to stop my lungs from working. But as Amelia herself and a handful of other Viscontis come into view behind a red rope and yet another guard, I push down the panic and force a smile.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Amelia laughs, flipping her long black wig over one shoulder and side-stepping the bouncer. She plants a flowery kiss on my cheek. “Cute costume,” she squeals, flicking my prosthetic nose. I grin, and nod down to her black vampy dress.

“Morticia Adams, right? Which means…” I turn and lock eyes with Donatello. He raises a champagne flute in my direction, a grim smile underneath a thin faux mustache. “Donatello is Gomez. Nice. How’d you manage to convince him to play along?”

“He lost our yacht in a poker game the other evening,” she says tightly. “He didn’t really have a choice. Anyway, does Alberto know you’re here?”

I flash her a coy smile. “No, and he won’t unless you tell him.”

“Or I tell him.” The ice threading through a voice behind me makes me spin around. Dante. Swan, I forgot about him. He’s sitting on a cream couch, glaring at me. “You shouldn’t be here, Aurora.”

“Don’t be such a snitch, cugino.” Benny, one of the Hollow brothers, flops down next to him and picks up the bottle of Dom Perignon from the ice bucket. “In two weeks, she’ll be one of us. And we don’t snitch on our own.” He winks and hands me the glass of champagne. “Welcome to the family, bella.”

I smile, feeling my cheeks heat at the kindness of his words. I don’t hear them very often from any Visconti, and especially not from the scarier members, like Benedicto. Like Tor, he and his younger brother Nicolas are well-known to women up and down the coast. I don’t think they have the same mom as Castiel, because they are fairer in complexion, with chocolate brown hair and stormy gray eyes. Even so, they are known as the Hollow enforcers, carrying out hits on anyone who dares get in the way of the Smugglers Club’s expansion.

One glass of champagne turns to two. Then three. The bubbles go down easy and take the edge off the music; soften the harsh silver lights. Amelia and I laugh and dance to cheesy pop songs. Then we drift over to the balcony, pointing out our favorite costumes from the crowd below. When Donatello taps me on the back, holding out the bottle for a refill, I’m surprised to see how busy the area has become. It’s Viscontis only on this side of the red rope, but all the other booths snaking around the balcony are filling up with sharp suits and slutty outfits.

“Who are all these people?” I shout at Amelia over the music.

“Stupidly rich hotel and casino guests,” she calls back. “They are paying thirty-grand a booth.”

I balk at the amount, that familiar disgust swirling in my stomach. Devil’s Cove is swimming in wealth, yet forty minutes down the road, there are people in Devil’s Dip that work twelve-hour shifts doing hard labor, but can barely make ends meet.

Life will never be fair.

The thought leaves me the second I recognize a familiar figure strolling toward me, a guard looming behind her. Tayce. Grinning, I duck under the red rope to meet her.

“You made it!” She laughs in my ear, bringing me in for a big hug. “And you’ve hooked us up with VIP. Win-win!” Pushing me out to arm’s length, she runs an eye over my outfit. “What the hell, Rory? Last year, you dressed as a dinosaur. The year before, a giant tube of toothpaste. Why so sexy this year?”

I laugh off her question, but my cheeks grow hotter. “And you’ve gone for the less is more approach, as usual.”

She does a little twirl, flaunting her black corset, fishnet tights, and tiny tutu skirt. If she hadn’t scraped her long black hair into two pigtails and painted stitches on either side of her mouth, I’d have no idea she was meant to be a dead doll. As she comes to a stop, her eyes land on something over my shoulder, and then her gaze widens. “Holy shit, is that Vicious?”

Ice trickles down the length of my back. Between dancing with Amelia and seeing Tayce, I’d forgotten to keep an eye out for him. But at the sound of his nickname, the hairs on my arms stand to attention and I’m suddenly hyper aware of my surroundings.

I swallow and force my features to remain neutral. And I definitely don’t turn around. “How do you know Angelo?” I ask, as calmly as I can muster. She moved to the Coast three years ago, which was long after he left.

“Everyone knows Angelo,” she says with a little laugh, not taking her eyes off him, even when Benny brings her over a glass of champagne and hovers awkwardly next to her. “Christ, he’s definitely the hottest Visconti. And have you seen those muscles?”

“How have you seen those muscles?” I snap back, sounding angrier than I meant to.

Now, her gaze shifts back to me, accompanied by a frown. “I haven’t. He’s the only Visconti that has never stepped foot in my shop.”

“Really?” I almost spin around in surprise, but instead, clutch onto my flute glass a little tighter. “He doesn’t have any tattoos?” When suspicion narrows her eyes, I clear my throat and add, “Just weird, that’s all. Every Visconti is so inked.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, shooting Benny a sideways glare. “Not like this idiot, who doesn’t have an inch of flesh left on his body to tattoo. What do you want, Benny?”

He flashes her a dazzling grin. “Is that how you speak to all your customers?”

“Just the ones that hover uncomfortably close to me on my days off.” Before he can reply, she tiptoes and clamps her hand over his mouth. “I don’t talk shop outside of business hours. Those start on Monday, nine a.m.” Guess this isn’t the time to tell her what I promised Tor. Grabbing my arm, she leads me over to the balcony and rests against it. “Honestly, why are men so annoying?”

“You must be the only person who can speak to a Visconti like that and not get a bullet in your head.”

She laughs breezily. “They are all pussy cats masquerading as lions.” Her eyes darken as she takes a sip of her drink. “I’ve known worse.”

Her remark prickles on my skin. I’m desperate to ask her what she means by that, but I know Tayce. She’ll completely shut down if I pry.

Before I can bring up the subject of Tor’s new exception from her waiting list, something behind me catches her attention, making her brows shoot up. “Looks like we’ve got front row seats to some drama.”

I spin around to see Dante on his feet, glaring to the left. I follow his gaze and spot Angelo. He’s closer than I thought he was, cutting a sharp figure just a few feet past the red rope. He leans casually against the railing while next to him, a long-legged cat talks animatedly in his ear. As usual, his expression is indifferent, bored. He takes a lazy sip of whiskey and stares out into the crowd.

The sight of him winds me.

“Who is she?” I mutter more to myself than Tayce. But of course, she knows the answer.

“Lucy. One of the go-go girls at the Burlesque club. Everyone and their mama knows she’s been fucking Dante for over a year, because she’ll tell anyone who’ll listen.” She chuckles into her flute glass. “I suppose she’s finally set her sights on bigger and better things.”

My head swims, and not because of the champagne. This is not how the night was meant to go. I had this stupid, schoolgirl fantasy that he’d be watching me all night, while I pretended like I couldn’t feel the heat of his gaze on every inch of my body. Instead, I hadn’t even known he was here, and he hasn’t looked up at me once.

I feel hot. My dress is too tight and my stomach has tangled itself into knots. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

Before Tayce can insist on coming with me, I storm off toward the back of the VIP area. Donatello grabs my arm as I pass. “Where are you going all by yourself?”

“Just the bathroom! Jeez.”

He points to a velvet curtain. “There’s an en-suite in Tor’s office. Use that.”

Gritting my teeth, I force a nod and slip behind it. There’s a small corridor then a door with Tor’s name embossed on it in gold. He likes gold signs with his name on them, I’ve noticed. Inside, I take a moment to bask in the silence, realizing my head is spinning and my ears are ringing.

Damn him.

I quickly use the bathroom and run my wrists under cold water in an attempt to cool myself down. It does nothing. Sighing in frustration, I fling open the bathroom door.

And come to a crashing stop.

There’s a dark figure standing on the other side of Tor’s desk. He’s leaning on his knuckles against it, and when I open the door, he looks up at me through half-lidded eyes. They take their time scraping over every inch of my body, coming to rest on my face.

Angelo Visconti.

A barely audible puff of air escapes his lips.

“You wore your hair curly.”

My heart forgets to beat. After the initial shock, I suck in a lungful of air, steel my spine, and turn my attention to the door. Now, all I have to do is will my legs to walk toward it. One step. Two steps. I can feel Angelo’s heavy gaze following me. That’s what I wanted, right? But now, I don’t feel like basking in it, not after seeing him talk to that supermodel-esque blond.

When I pass him, I breathe a little easier. That’s the hard part, and now I’m so close to the door, I can hear the hum of music—

“No!”

But Angelo doesn’t listen to my weak-willed protest as he grabs my wrist and spins me around so fast the lights spin in a golden haze. When I blink and steady myself, my back is flush with the door, and Angelo’s heavy body is pushing me against it.

Gasping, I dare myself to look up at him. He’s not looking at me like a piece of meat anymore. No, something darker licks the walls of his irises. Something dangerous.

Hatred.

He lunges forward. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for the unknown, but all I hear is the click of the lock turning.

“I need to know what the fuck you meant when you said you touched yourself in the sea thinking about me,” he growls. His hot whiskey breath grazes my nose, and my knees threaten to buckle underneath me. I can barely breathe, let alone reply. In response to my silence, he winds his hand through the roots of my hair and yanks my head back.

A moan escapes me before I can stop it.

He hisses something dark in Italian. “Fuck, you’re annoying.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

I pop a lid, catching his eyes trail hungrily down the length of my throat. Wet heat pools between my thighs, and the pulse in my clit is thumping harder than my heartbeat.

His hand tightens on the nape of my neck. I feel his grip as if it’s on the nerve endings down there.

Angelo grits out, “Tell me what you meant.”

I bite my lip, knowing I shouldn’t be entertaining this. But champagne and adrenaline flow through my body like a dangerous cocktail, making me feel reckless and wild.

Duck it. This is the last chance I’ll get to do something crazy. Because after tonight, wedding celebrations begin, and I’ll live the rest of my life tethered to an old man.

I swallow the thickness in my throat. Steel my jaw. “What I said. I fingered myself in the sea, thinking about you.”

His eyes squeeze shut. “Thinking what about me?”

“Thinking about your fingers inside of me. Wondering what they’d feel like.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “And?” he rasps.” What was your conclusion?”

A sly grin spreads across my face and I squirm as his gaze automatically drops to my lips. “That it would feel incredible.”

I gasp again as his fist slams the door just inches from my head. He pushes himself off me and turns around, running his hand through his hair. Then he stands there, glaring at the back wall.

Dizzy on the excitement, I take a few steps closer, clenching my hands into fists. “At first, I used just one finger, but then…” I trail off, flustering.

His shoulders hitch. “But then?”

“I realized one of your fingers is equal to two of mine.”

“Fuck, Aurora.” When he turns around, his eyes are as wild. Hungry. “You’re my uncle’s fiancee. I can’t touch you.”

“Who are you trying to convince—me or yourself?”

The vein in his temple ticks. His gaze mists over. In one, large step, he closes the gap between us.

“Do. Not. Tempt. Me.”

We stare at each other, the seconds feeling like minutes. I’m basking in every delicious moment of it, because it feels like we are standing on the edge of the cliff again. I can practically smell the smoke; taste the danger. Every nerve in body is buzzing with the desire to jump.

I know he feels it too. I can see it in the way he clamps his jaw shut. Hear it in the heavy breaths escaping his nostrils.

They say be careful what you wish for, and tonight, I got my wish. Angelo Visconti wants me as much as I want him.

His gaze carves a trail down to my collar bone. To the silver zip keeping my dress closed. And then, slowly, he reaches out and hooks his finger in the zip ring.

His eyes meet mine. “Show me.”

My breathing shallows. “What?”

“Show me what you did to yourself.”

My heart pounds against my rib cage, and my first thought is to run. My second, is that I’m about to explode with excitement.

I’ve never done that in front of anyone. In fact, only one guy has done it to me. It was rushed and felt more like a clinical experiment rather than sex.

My attention drops to his thick finger, knuckle white as it grips around the zip ring. A pink flush decorates my chest, and suddenly, I feel mortified. He’s probably been with a million women who’ve done this for him…what if I do it wrong? Or worse, what if he’s toying with me? What if I take off my dress, and then he regards me with that condescending smirk I hate so much? You’re a silly little girl, Aurora.

“You said you couldn’t touch me.”

“I won’t,” he says thickly. “I’m going to watch.”

And then he tugs. The zip opens inch by inch, revealing my breasts, stomach, panties. Then it falls to the floor at my feet.

Oh, goose. Swallowing hard, I let my eyes flutter closed. I can hear his sharp intake of breath, feel his gaze scorch every inch of my flesh.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you always wear pink panties?”

I pop a lid, my eye landing on his lips. No smirk. That’s good. When I look up, his gaze snatches my breath away. It’s clouded with desperation. Desire. For me.

A new-found confidence swirls through my veins, and without breaking eye contact, I sink to the leather couch behind me. Without blinking, I lift my heels up onto the seat and slowly slide my hands up the inside of my thighs.

Angelo hisses. Runs a hand over his jaw. “Take them off.”

With trembling fingers, I lift my hips and slide my panties off. He turns to look at the thin pink lace crumpled up on Tor’s rug. “Christ,” he mutters. Then his attention moves back to my face. My eyes and body follow him as he moves to the edge of the sofa and leans his palms on the armrest.

“Lie down,” he demands. “And. Show. Me.”

Biting my bottom lip, I slide my back down the sofa and part my knees, baring everything to him. When a groan rumbles deep in his chest, a wave of pleasure washes over me.

“Fucking hell, Aurora. You’re perfect. Of course you’d be perfect.”

My pussy throbs under his compliment, and I start circling my clit with two fingers.

“Is that what you did? In the ocean?” Angelo chokes out.

Biting back a whimper, I nod. “To begin with.”

His gaze flashes dark. “To begin with?”

Taking a deep breath, I nod again. “Yeah,” I rasp. “And then…” My fingers carve a path through my wet lips, from my clit down to my entrance. “And then I slipped a finger inside of myself.”

“Show me.”

I slide my finger in, heat flooding my insides. Holding his lustful stare, I say, “And then I put in two fingers.”

He drops his eyes back to my pussy expectantly. I slip a second finger in, moaning in pleasure as my walls stretch to accommodate the extra digit.

“Does it feel good, baby?”

Baby. Heat rises from my pounding clit. “Yeah,” I whimper, fingering myself faster. Then I catch his eye and smile coyly, “I bet it’d feel better if you did it.” Dark amusement flashes in his eyes, but his hands clawing over the curve of his arm rest tell me he’s restraining himself. Seeing him so worked up is driving me wild. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

His nostrils flare, and for a moment, I think he’s about to come to his senses and shut this down. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes himself off the armrest and lowers himself to his haunches by my hip.

Oh, goose. He’s so close now, I can smell his aftershave, feel the heat radiating off him. His sleeve brushes over the side of my bare thigh and my heart hitches. Please touch me. Please, for the love of God, touch me. But he clamps his hands together and rests his elbows on his thighs, turning to watch me intensely.

“First of all, I’d take that silly little bra off,” he growls.

Arching my back, I reach around and unhook it. With a mischievous grin, I toss it onto his lap. He groans, fisting the fabric and bringing it to his face. I pump my fingers into my pussy harder, faster, getting off on the sight of his big hands clawed around my lingerie.

“And then what?” I whisper.

His gaze falls to my chest, and he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “And then I’d take those perfect tits in my mouth, see if they taste as sweet as they look.”

“Mmm,” I moan, tugging at a nipple, hard.

His eyes glitter. “You like it rough, baby?”

I hitch a shoulder, drawing out my fingers and running my juices over my clit. “I don’t know,” I whisper shyly.

“Then I’d want to find out,” he growls, inching closer. I raise my hips up so he can get a better look at what’s going on between my legs. “I’d slap that tight little cunt just to hear you scream.”

Muffling a sob, I slap my pussy, bucking under the shockwave of pleasure that rolls from my clit and up to my lower stomach. Holy crow.

“Harder,” he demands.

I slap it again, an orgasm cresting inside me. “Oh, swan,” I mutter, turning my head and biting down on a cushion.

“Don’t you dare look away from me, Aurora. I want to see the look on your face when you come.” I turn back to him and he cocks his head, satisfied. “Good girl. Now, rub your clit as hard as you can.”

I nod frantically, rubbing my nub harder and harder, squirming under both the pleasure and Angelo’s heavy stare. My orgasm builds and builds, making me lightheaded and breathless.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” he snarls, leaning over my knee and not taking his eyes off my pussy. “I want to see your cum trickle out of that cunt and down your thigh.”

My clit beats like a drum, until every muscle in my body tightens, and pure, adulterated pleasure explodes inside of me.

“Oh, God!” I cry, my body taking over as I grind against my palm to release every last bit of my orgasm.

My eyes close and I try to catch my breath, as the fireworks inside my stomach and between my thighs come to a slow stop.

After a few seconds, the sofa dips. Through my lashes, I see Angelo stand to his full height. A huge bulge strains against the crotch of his slacks. Christ. He runs a final, hungry gaze over the length of my body and lands on my face, a dark smirk playing on his mouth.

“I was wrong about you, Magpie,” he says huskily, licking his lips. “You are a bad girl.”

With one last lingering stare, he turns toward the door and unlocks it. Just before he slips through it, I see something pink and lacy in his hand.

My bra.

He subtly slides it in his pocket and leaves me reclined on the sofa.

Fully naked and spent.