Then up. She bounces and rocks on my face, murmuring and moaning as her juices brim and spill onto my shameless tongue. I suck and pull and drink her, writhing my tongue deep inside her. Pulling her down, farther into my wet mouth.

  She jolts when I twist my tongue, push up to explore her, high between her folds. I work my lips into her, while I knead and massage the sensitive tops of her thighs and the cracks and crevices of her ass.

  Trickling, tripping sighs and moans escape from her lips, carried on the halting, heaving tremors of her breath. Her juice runs hot and fresh in overflowing spills, and I feel her body clench and shake.

  She grinds her pussy into my face. Rolling, shoving and scraping her sex into my face, my mouth, she trembles and shudders, howling and finally calling out my name.

  With a long, desperate sigh, she folds forward, slumps over my head.

  Staying like that for a minute or two, she strokes my head and shivers in erratic spasms.

  Her voice is soft. “Now can we go to the suite?”

  I press the button to start the car rising and slip her delicately to her feet. I’m hesitant about kissing her, but she grabs my face and our bodies twist together as we lock in a kiss, breathing each other the whole way up.

  Inside the luxurious suite, as soon as I kick the doors shut behind us, she grabs at my clothes. I reach around to unhook the back of her dress. We kiss and grab and lock our limbs together, tugging sleeves, peeling fabric, unwrapping each other. Our mouths descend as we discover fresh flesh to feast on.

  I taste her throat. Nibble her ears and her neck.

  Her teeth graze my ribs and she licks my pecs. Her lips kiss and caress over my spiral tatts and jagged scars.

  She murmurs, “Your body is a storybook.”

  We roll on the thick rug and slide the last of our outer clothes off each other.

  She’s wearing nothing but the sheer and lace panties and a thin bra. Her breasts are fabulous.

  “Now,” she almost snarls, tugging at my boxers, “Give me it all. Don’t stop. Whatever I say. Don’t hold back.”

  I grab her hair. “You need to give me a safe word.”

  “For such a bad man, you’re too good to be true.” She lunges to bite my side. You might need to give me a safe word.”

  “Freno,” I tell her. She frowns. “It’s Italian. It means a brake.”

  She says, “I’ll use the same word.”

  “Pronounce it.”

  “No need. You’re never going to hear it.”

  I could easily go too far with this woman. I grip her hair tighter.

  “Pronounce it.”

  She growls. “Okay. ‘Freno.’ but I don’t mean it. You can pull all you want.”

  I pull her face to mine and kiss her hard.

  She shimmies her tits against my chest, moaning and tugging hard on one of her nipples.

  Kissing my neck, stroking my face, she snarls, “I need you inside me,”

  And, through my silky boxers, her small hand finds my cock. She gasps and her eyebrows wrinkle as she reaches inside for me.

  “You’re so fucking huge.”

  I reach down. Press between her swollen lips. “Good thing you’re so fucking wet.”

  “Give it to me. Give it to me now.”

  She drags her panties aside and pulls me out, pointing the tip of my cock at her opening. I roll her onto her back and grip her wrists.

  “I want all of you. I want you naked.”

  Advancing with my knee between her legs, I lift her shoulders and meticulously unhook her bra at the back. As I slide the straps down over her arms, her soft tits spill out so beautifully, she makes me moan.

  I scoop her breasts to kiss and suck them.

  Holding my head and shaking, she says, “Fuck me, Lucas.”

  I kiss her stomach and slide her panties over her thighs and, finally, off.

  I tell her, “There’s a lovely soft bed in the next room.”

  “There’s a huge, hard man right here. I’ve got all I need.”

  “It’s big. Made for bouncing.”

  “You’re big. And the next room is such a long way.”

  “Not by air.”

  She squeals as I scoop her up.

  While I carry her into the bedroom, her thighs wrap around my waist.

  “Fuck me now, Lucas.” The wet heat of her pussy rubs along the length of my cock. “Now. Standing here.”

  We’re reflected in the big mirrors all around the room. Reflections of me, crouched, holding her wonderful curvy bod, and her, clinging tight, wrapped around my trunk in the middle of the room, the vivid images of our flesh make me harden and ache.

  She leans her head. Her mouth is by my ear. “I’m never this dirty. You bring out something filthy. Something wild inside me.”

  I split her open and impale her, spear my hard pole in to stretch her tight wetness. She jolts and shouts. Her eyes widen.

  “You like that?”

  “I love it, you fucking beast.” She clenches around me.

  She groans as she bounces down, hard. Her ass cheeks slap against the tops of my thighs. The wet walls of her pussy tug and grip on my shaft. Holding her ass with one hand, I reach up to push my fingers through her hair and pull her face to me.

  I need her kiss, her wild wet mouth on mine as I feel the rolling squeeze of her tits against my chest. She tugs and drags on her nipple.

  I step up onto the big canopied bed and sink her back, deep into the covers. On her back, with her legs in the air, I can drill her deeper and harder. The underside of my cock scrapes the back of her opening. I haul her hips up, so my crown shoves high into her folds at the front.

  She shouts as she pulls my hair.

  When I slap her ass, she bucks harder and she yelps. Her fingers claw at my ass. I bend my head to take her nipple into my mouth as we rock. I nip her between my teeth.

  “Harder. Harder, you fucking brute. Bite me harder. Fuck me harder.”

  Sweat pools between us. I press my thumb above her clit and hammer deeper.

  Her chest and her throat redden. Her neck tightens and her pussy shudders and flutters, trying to grip me.

  I drive in and her wet lips kiss all the way up my cock to my pelvis as my balls beat against her ass.

  As she clenches, I slap her ass again. Hard. She twists and writhes, clawing and yelling.

  “Yes!” I tell her, “Come for me,” pressing on her mound, tugging her hood and pulling her clit, “Come now.”

  Her ass beats against my hips.

  “Come with me,” she shouts, arching her back. “Come inside me!”

  My cock swells and throbs, fattening, lengthening, and pulsating.

  My thighs tense up and tingle. My ass and my chest clench and a crackling white fire lights inside my whole body, expanding as all my senses burst. My ass rocks my cock hard and deep into her overflowing wetness. I pump thick, hot blasts of cum, deep into her, coating her. Filling her.

  Chapter Ten

  Poppy

  We lie on our backs next to each other, wet, hot, and panting.

  He tells me, “You’re fantastic.”

  I snuggle into his arm, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He kisses me. I hardly have the energy to move. He springs up and darts across to the sitting room. He comes back, bringing me a glass of champagne.

  He has his phone.

  I ask him, “Going somewhere? Calling a cab?”

  He smiles and kisses me. His lips are sweet and his kiss wakes up my senses all over again. “I’m just going to call Giovani. Make sure everything’s okay.”

  I sip the champagne. “Don’t you have to press flesh, glad hand and make politics with all the…” I hesitate, “whatever you call the other people in your… thing?”

  “What?”

  I’m fumbling for words. “Sorry. I don’t know how to say it. I heard you wouldn’t like the name most people use. But it’s like the name of the casino, right? The ‘Thing of Ours’? The Cosa Nostra. Anyway, whatever you call it, you’re one of those guys. And there are a lot more of you at the wedding reception. And you need to slap backs and stuff, right?”

  “Nobody needs it. I’ll just text Giovani.”

  I ask, “Is that a good idea? We can go down for a while and come back. Or I can wait here for you, if you want. I don’t mind. But aren’t you expected?”

  “I’m…” He looks like I’ve wrong-footed him. And I didn’t mean to do that.

  I say, “Listen, don’t worry. I’ll come, or I’ll wait for you here. Do what you need to do. Whatever you want. I’ll be where you want me to be.”

  He composes a text. Sends it. Tosses the phone onto a chair and smiles.

  “Come to Sicily with me.”

  “What?” My mind flips over and lands in a heap. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  I make a smile but my in gut it’s raining. “I can’t.” I’m trying to take it in and I can’t. He can’t be serious. It’s like he asked me to sing when my mouth’s full of cream and maple syrup. I shake my head. “Wait. How long for? If it was like two or three days…”

  He says, “I don’t know how long. But it’s pretty much bound to be two weeks or more.” Like that’s nothing.

  “Yeah. I really can’t. I have fittings starting on Saturday. I could put them off a day or two, but no more than that. And it would be bad.” My mind is all in a mess, like a creamy cake someone sat in.

  “You have to come.” His eyes close, a cat smile. “Your business will survive. Anyway, you don’t need it. Not now.”

  I frown. “Do you remember the big store that you said looked like a white brothel?” I take a gulp of the champagne. It’s chilled, fizzy and fruity. It does nothing to steady the confusion inside me. “It’s a business. My business. I worked hard for it. And, however hard I try, I can never get it to run itself.”

  He frowns. “You can’t leave it for a couple of weeks?”

  “No. Not at the drop of a hat.” What does that even mean? My cheeks prickle. My insides feel hollow. “I have weddings coming up, new clients to meet with.”

  He smiles, “You have staff, don’t you?”

  I’m angry. What is he doing, questioning me like that? As though anything that I have going on must be unimportant, compared to what he wants. He wants. Oh, God, I’m melting inside. I’ve found the most perfect man, the most perfectly bad man, and I’m going to lose him again straight away.

  “I have a dressmaker. She’s in training.”

  “You can’t leave her in charge? Not even for a couple of weeks?”

  I’m imagining Stella dealing with Marina Tarrantella. I would be out of business by the next fitting.

  Mia might be able to take charge. When she helped out, she was good with the clients, and she understands the business. But I haven’t even asked her. And she settled into an awesomely happy marriage pretty recently.

  I sit up. “I’ve an idea. Don’t go to Sicily.”

  His head shakes. “I have to. It could be my whole business at stake.”

  I put out my hand and tell him, “Hear me out. Forget Sicily. Forget all of it. Come and work in my basement. I’ll teach you to sew. Who knows, maybe you’ll love it.”

  “Poppy…”

  “You said yourself, this thing with us, it may be nothing. It could just fizzle out. But it’s worth the risk. Right?”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Am I? Really, Lucas? It’s no more ridiculous than you telling me to give up my business.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. I don’t think they’re really the same, but I take your point.”

  “No? Yours means everything to you. And mine means everything to me.” My voice is shaking. I need to calm down. “What if I lose you and I lose my business? What would I do then?” I’m gripping the bedsheets. “You’d have me take Clint up on his offer?” I’d managed to forget all his ‘offers.’

  Lucas shakes his head. “I don’t know if Clint will be making any more offers.”

  “Oh, Clint will survive. He’s a fucking virus. Nothing will kill him. If you shot his balls right off, I bet they’ll grow straight back.”

  “Ten days, Poppy. Maybe a couple of weeks. I can’t say. Sicily is so beautiful. You’ll love it.” He’s offhand, like he’s making me a generous offer and not making too much of it.

  I feel like he’s yanked the tablecloth out from under a feast. “No. I can’t do it.”

  He’s climbing back onto the bed, handing me the tall crystal glass of champagne. Every part of him is huge. Huge and powerful.

  He’s annoyed. How fucking dare he? He says, “Take a chance. Why not?”

  He says, “You need to have something in place in your business, anyway. It’s no good if you can’t take time out. What happens if you get sick? That’s not a business. That’s an overgrown hobby.”

  “What?” Now he’s my business mentor? “I need to do that because it would suit you? Why can’t you put your trip to Sicily back a week or two?”

  “No,” his voice is grave. “It’s important business. It can’t wait.”

  “Oh, but you assume that my business is unimportant and it can wait.” I’m getting up. “Guess what? Calling a bride and asking her to delay a couple of weeks doesn’t go over well. Weddings come with dates attached. You said you wanted something serious. But you just mean something that’s seriously all about you.”

  “No, I…”

  “Never mind. It was fun.” I’m headed out into the sitting room, gathering my clothes and my things.

  He followed me into the room. I hate how he stands there, with a sheen on his dark golden skin, cut like a tattooed Roman god.

  I’m pulling my dress on, straightening as fast as I can. In the back of my mind, I have an image. I think of the Italian movie stars from the 1960s and 70s classics. The woman would be perfectly poised. Her chin would jut at the exact right angle. With her nostrils wide, she would take all the time she needed to straighten her skirt and her stockings.

  She would cut him with a look from under long, perfect eyelashes.

  He says, “It’s a great opportunity. We could get to know each other. In a place that’s far away.”

  “Oh? So your business there is not all that important. You’ll be able to spend all the time with me?”

  His voice is hardening. “It’s important. But it might not take up too much time.”

  “Oh, it ‘might not’? But if I was there, hanging around, waiting for when you had a free moment…”

  “You’re taking this the wrong way.”

  I’m straightening my dress. “I’ve taken all I need, thanks. It was great.” Damn. It was. I step into my shoes. The image of us tangoing pops up. Unbidden and unwanted.

  If I let myself remember the looks on the faces of the other guests, I’ll choke. I have to get out of here.

  “See you in another life,” I throw a look back over my shoulder as I open the double doors, “maybe.”

  I have to turn away before I can even see the look on his face.

  I can’t, I won’t let him see the effect this has on me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Poppy

  I’m empty inside. In a daze, I take an elevator to the lobby of the Cosa Nostra and take a cab home. I can’t face going back to the wedding celebrations.

  Before I’m back at my little salon, there’s a text on my phone.

  “Come back.”

  I assume it’s from him. My phone doesn’t know the number.

  I don’t reply.

  My closest friend I could call would be Giulietta. Over the last few months, I got pretty close to her sister Mia, too. And recently, I’ve gotten to know Lily. They’re all dancing, drinking, celebrating with their husbands now that all three are married. And they’re happy.

  The last thing they need on a day like today is the long, sour face of a miserable girl who let herself believe what a man told her to get in her pants. A girl who’s old enough and been around enough to know better.

  I’ll be fine. All I need to do is to chalk it up to experience. By the morning, I will get myself over it. I could really do with a friend right now, but I’m not going to ruin Giulietta’s day. Or Mia’s. Certainly not Lily’s.

  I choke back a tear because I want to feel happy for them. Celebrate with them. And I let myself be cheated out of it.

  I can’t sleep. I wake up and write a text to him.

  You can snap your fingers all you want. You don’t get me that way.

  I decide it’s bitchy and pouty. So I delete it.

  And I try to sleep.

  And I can’t. I write him a much longer text.

  I take a tub of ice-cream out of the fridge and slump at the kitchen table in the dark, eating by the light of the phone as I read it back.

  Just because you have power, doesn’t mean you can have me.

  You’re too used to getting everything you want, having everybody just fall in line with whatever you say. You make promises too easily. And you break them too easily. You don’t care about the people around you…

  I delete it before I read the rest. What’s wrong with me? Reluctantly, I have the sense to put the rest of the ice-cream back into the fridge and climb back into bed.

  I only tasted him for an hour and a half. Two hours at the outside. It’s ridiculous that my body misses him so much.

  A thought creeps around the back of my mind. He could be under pressure, too. You may have overreacted, Poppy.

  I shove it aside.

  I wake up with my head deep in a soaking wet pillow.

  I wonder what time he’s leaving.

  At six forty-three, my phone rings. I jump across the room to get it.

  The screen tells me that it’s Marina Tarrantella.

  A breakfast meeting with Marina does nothing to lift my spirits, but I have an armor, or at least a wrap of professional good humor.

  The regular texts are no help. And they’re all from him.

  “Go ahead and respond,” Marina tells me. “I have plenty of time.”