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I’m here!
I quickly type a reply.
That’s good. Met the man of the house yet?
I wish I were still in my study to see her excited face as she types a reply.
Yeah. He seems ok.
Handsome?
Several minutes pass as I wait for her reply, and I towel dry my hair and get dressed in one of my immaculate suits. When I’m almost out the door for my meeting with Cara, my phone vibrates again and I laugh at her reply.
No. He’s old and boring. You’ve got nothing to worry about.
What a sweet little liar, I think to myself. Cara still thinks I’m Luca, her little Italian boyfriend she’s so excited to meet here. And the sadistic bastard in me can’t fucking wait to tell her Luca and I are the same fucking person.
CHAPTER THREE
CARA
I CAN'T STOP THINKING about the man who greeted me in the kitchen. Could he really be my father's old friend? He looks so much younger than him, and so very different. I feel almost guilty for my intense reaction to seeing him, but truth be told, I couldn't help it. As soon as I laid eyes on the man, my body went into sensory overload, my head pounding with his sheer force and masculinity, the way he held himself, the way he kissed my hand to greet me. I should be having second thoughts about lying to Luca about him, but I can't bring myself to do it. It feels deliciously forbidden to have this secret, and I've always been a bit of a brat.
Once I'm shown to my room by the man's assistant, I make myself comfortable. I'm still sulking about the fact that I have to spend my summer with a man I barely know, though him being ridiculously handsome is easing me into it a little.
I slip out of my dress and take a long shower, letting the cool water wash away the traces of my long journey and the hot Italian summer. I haven't really had a chance to see much, since I was practically falling asleep on the ride here, but now I'm too excited to go to bed, even though exhaustion was threatening to pull me under only half an hour earlier.
I get dressed again, this time in a sweet pink dress and sandals, and do my hair up, adorning it with pearly barrettes. I've always liked to dress this way - very feminine and pretty. It gives my father the impression that I'm still his little girl, and it makes me look less suspicious when I decide to play my favorite games and tricks on him.
It takes me about an hour to get ready, and I'm a few minutes late for meeting Mason downstairs. I'm still undecided if I should really call him that, as it seems a little weird to be addressing my father's friend by his first name. I didn't even know they were very close, though I do recall seeing the man at my sixteenth birthday party.
It would be hard to forget that moment... It was perhaps the first time I came in touch with my own sexuality, standing so close to him and feeling my pussy drip in anticipation as he held me up. He was gone the next second, and I was too embarrassed by my own body's reaction to ever bring up the incident again. But still, it happened, and it made me realize I wanted a man to hold me like that again. You could even say that day was the reason I wanted to find someone like Luca.
My mind drifts to the mysterious date I have in Italy, and I wonder when I'll finally get to see him. I'm anxious to meet him and to finally see his face, almost as scared as I am excited. I try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind as I leisurely walk down the intricately carved staircase to the lobby.
I see a figure looming before me. He's no longer wearing the simple, but expensive pajama pants he had on before. Now, he's in an expensive, incredibly well-cut suit that hugs his body in the best possible way. Mason turns to face me and I have to take a deep breath to focus on him in front of me.
"Hello," I finally manage to get out, my soft voice ringing out in the vast emptiness of the beautiful hall. I was too tired to notice when we walked in, but the whole room - well, the whole house, really - is filled with expensive artwork and furniture. The room itself is like a masterpiece.
"You're late," he tells me simply, his voice dark and delicious. I sidestep from one foot to another, giving him a strange look. God, he really is handsome, and my body is trying to do the same thing it did when I first met him at my birthday party. It's as if there's a pull between us, an invisible string he has in his hands to pull me closer. Of course, I don't expect Mason to see me that way. He probably thinks I'm just a dumb kid he's stuck with for the summer.
I wonder if he's fucking anyone.
My own though takes me by surprise and I find myself blushing lightly as I meet his gaze again. "You said to meet you here in an hour, didn't you?" I ask, feeling a little confused.
"I did," he nods. His dark eyes are like pools of something ominous, so clear but dangerous at the same time. "And you're ten minutes late."
I laugh nervously, thinking he must surely be joking. Why would he be pissed about me being ten minutes late? He's probably just trying to make a joke. A bad one, because now my body is shaking lightly in anticipation of his next words which never come.
"I didn't realize I was on such a strict schedule," I tell him, giggling a little.
With a single step, he has my back against the wall. I inhale sharply and it feels like I'll never take another breath again. The last remnants of oxygen in my lungs make my eyes widen and my heartrate pick up. "What are you doing?" I ask him, feeling panicked as hell.
He's not actually touching me.
He didn't push me against the wall, I did it myself. When he stepped closer I got scared, and he's not backing away. Several inches separate us, but it feels like he's... inside me. Inside my head, inside my pussy, his long fingers exploring my virgin holes for his own pleasure. It's invasive, it's insane and... it's all in my fucking imagination.
"This is my house, Cara," he tells me in a low, threatening voice. "Here, you play by my rules."
I exhale quickly, my heart feeling like it's going to burst right out of my chest. "God," I manage to get out. "I didn't know you’d be such a fucking nightmare.”
"Language!" His word is practically a slap across my face, and he looks pissed. This time, the crimson streaks coloring my cheeks are more intense. "I don't like a dirty mouth on a girl unless I'm fucking her, and she can't help herself."
I stare at him openly, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. I part my lips in shock, half expecting him to either kiss or slap me, but he does neither. He merely takes a step back and gives me a long, heated look that soon turns into complete disinterest. He reaches down and toys with the cufflinks on his suit while I try to catch my breath.
"You'll find I have some rules I like to stick to," he tells me lazily. "You're going to follow them, or you will be punished. Starting with being where I ask you to be on time. Is that clear?"
"What is this?" I ask him, feeling enraged. "Some kind of dictatorship? You can't expect me to... follow your directions like a child!" I almost curse on the spot, but his threatening look prevents me from doing so. I can't help but notice how handsome he is again, almost in a way that makes me scared to look at him. His face is so perfectly chiseled, covered with just the right amount of stubble, his lips full, his eyes dark. He's like a fucking god, and I bet he knows it, too. I bet he enjoys having this damn effect on me, which only makes me angrier.
"It's not a dictatorship," he says simply. "But it is my fucking house."
The fact that he deems it appropriate to curse himself drives me up the wall even more. "I'm not a kid," I spit out angrily, and he chuckles at my words, making me grit my teeth.
