AllFreeNovel
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Tommaso takes a step closer, his presence commanding the space now. "Oh! So, you do think I’m handsome! Come on. It doesn't have to be all work and no play. We could make quite the team."
I raise an eyebrow. "Team? I don't recall signing up for that."
He smirks, undeterred by my resistance. "You're a tough nut to crack, Miss Hart."
My eyes narrow. "Save your charm for the night ahead."
He tilts his head, studying me with an almost predatory curiosity. "You know, resisting only makes the chase more exhilarating."
Damn. He won’t give up. I’m not sure I want him to, anymore.
I scoff, pushing back against the rising tension. "I have an article to write and a strict deadline to follow."
Tommaso leans in, his proximity unsettling. "I’m not saying you won’t get your interview. All I want is for you to consider that the most captivating night might be just around the corner. I mean, life is meant to be experienced. But it’s your call."
He places his hand on mine and traces it back to the length of my arm. Holy Shit. Why do I want him so badly? It is so unprofessional.
“Well, you are very convincing, and I do want that interview…” I look him in the eyes. He got me, and he knows it.
He smirks again, lowering his voice. “Think you can stand the ritz for the night, Ella?”
I feel a shiver of anticipation rush through my spine.
“If the owner himself insists.” I smile, finally allowing myself to give into his charm.
Tommaso, with a lingering gaze that hints at both mystery and invitation, extends his arm. “Shall we?” he suggests. I take his hand, and he pulls me closer for a moment before turning to lead the way. He takes me to a dimly lit mechanical doorway. It looks like an elevator, but it has a lock on it. With his free hand, he takes a metallic key out of an inner pocket of his jacket.
He inserts the key into the lock, and the small screen on the wall beside the mechanical door lights up. The heavy metallic doors open and he enters the small space first.
I get in the private elevator after him. As soon as it closes, he suddenly sweeps me to the side, abruptly pushing me up against the cold metal. He grabs my face between his hands, forcing me to look up into his ardent, determined eyes. I gasp, and his mouth swoops down.
He's kissing me, violently. Oh God, I’m not supposed to like it so much, am I?
Briefly our teeth clash, then his tongue is in my mouth. Desire explodes like fireworks on the fourth of July throughout my body, and I'm kissing him back, matching his fervor, my hands knotting in his meticulously styled curls, pulling them, hard.
He groans, a low sexy sound in the back of his throat that reverberates through me, and his hand moves down my body to the top of my thigh, his fingers digging into my flesh through the dress.
He breaks off the kiss. He’s panting. His eyes are luminous with desire, firing the already heated blood that is pounding through my body. I lean against the wall, panting as well, trying to find my balance.
Right then, the doors open, revealing a luxurious penthouse adorned with plush furnishings, dimly lit to create an intimate ambiance. In the hall, there is a life-size portrait of someone with his child by his side. Both people look somewhat vaguely familiar, and I eventually realize that the child must be Tommaso, while the older man might be his father.
The place has floor-to-ceiling windows offering a spectacular view of the city. “Wow,” I warble. The skyline sparkles.
With a dominant touch, he guides me to his bedroom, the door closing behind us in a hushed whisper. He looks at me, eyes darkly amused, “Chocolate chip ice cream? One of our specialties. Good ones. Not the fancy overpriced things that taste like shit.”
We both laugh. He opens a drawer and grabs a spoon. When he looks up, his eyes are hooded, and his tongue skims his top teeth.
Oh, that tongue.
“We're going to have fun with food, Miss food-blogger.” His voice is deeper, sexier. “Hope you're warm,” he whispers. “I'm going to cool you down with this.” He holds out his hand, and I place mine in his.
He places the ice cream on the nightstand. My body practically convulses.
“I want to tie you up,” he says. I blink at him for a moment. “You can say no if you don’t feel comfortable, Ella. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Okay,” I whisper, already feeling myself getting wet.
“I’m serious Ella. I will check in with you regularly, and you will say green, if you’re good with what I’m doing, yellow when you want me to slow down and check up on you, and red to stop me.” He looks me dead in the eyes as he explains a safe word code that reminds me of a stoplight. “Understood?”
