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Victor, who is just as terrible as Pavone. Vanessa had said it, hadn’t she? Victor was a worse monster. That this is all “Stockholm Syndrome.”
Vanessa also wanted “her sister” back, whoever that person is. Apparently the old Lucia is a slut who would definitely have joined a handsome stranger for a quick fuck. I’m just acting in character.
I don’t lock the door to the single-stall restroom, and a few seconds later Victor slips inside.
“We aren’t fucking,” I tell him immediately. “We’re just talking.”
He kisses my forehead gently. “Of course, love. Whatever you want.” But he places his hands on my shoulders too, and massages them gently.
“You said you had questions about logistics,” I say, but it’s hard to focus on that when he uses one hand to flip the lock on the bathroom door before returning it to my shoulder. I shudder, reminded of all the times we’ve snuck moments in public places. I shouldn’t be so excited, shouldn’t be feeling this jolt of adrenaline, at the idea of being alone with him.
“Did you plant the toys Santino gave you?” he asks, pushing a lock of my hair over my ear.
I don’t expect an actual question about logistics, but the tone leaves me shivering. I clench my hands a few times before I give in and grip Victor’s suit jacket. “I couldn’t get into his office, but I put them in the main meeting areas.”
He leans in close enough that his breath ghosts over my ear. “And who’s going to be at the wedding rehearsal?”
“About twenty people,” I answer, and Victor kisses the skin underneath my ear. “My family. Pavone’s family—he has a son…”
“Giulio Pavone,” Victor answers as he trails kisses along my neck. “He’s in charge of their sex trafficking operations.”
As if I need another reminder of how terrible Pavone’s organization is. I know the Rosa di Sangue has cam girls and strip clubs, but from Angelo and Saint’s explanations, their workers are all people who signed up at least semi-willingly.
“Who else?” Victor prods. He cups my breast and teases my nipple through the fabric.
“A few…” I shiver, and my hand comes up to cover his. “Stop. We aren’t doing this,” I say feebly, but when he pinches my nipple, I have to fight back a moan.
“If we aren’t doing this, why are you here?” Victor asks me, pulling me closer. I can feel the beginnings of his erection through his slacks.
“It’s business,” I answer. I might have sounded more convincing if I didn’t start untucking his shirt. “Logistics… planning.”
“Do you want my cock in your mouth or your cunt?” He smirks at me when I shoot him a glare. “I’m simply planning the logistics.”
“You aren’t funny, Victor,” I say, yanking at the cloth so I can feel the skin beneath his shirt. “Neither.”
“Then how do you want it?” Victor slides his hand down my torso and plays with the hem of my short dress, teasing me by lifting it only a fraction. I groan in frustration and guide his hand higher up my thighs.
“Hands only,” I say. “I can’t risk Pavone finding out.”
He chuckles darkly and kisses my jaw again. “Will that satisfy you? Something fumbling and quick, secret. Very, very clandestine. Just our little secret—well, and Angelo’s. Should we invite him to join us?”
“Shut up, or I’ll uninviteyou,” I mutter, my cheeks flushing. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t wantVictor. Yet it seems silly to deny myself something I’ll enjoy much more than the date with Pavone. “Just touch me without the commentary, Victor. And I’m only doing that for myself. Not for you.”
Victor runs his fingers over the fabric of my panties, another teasing touch. “Anything for you,love.”
The nickname sends another jolt through me, and I muffle a very embarrassing whimper against his shoulder.
I want to give some clever retort, something biting and acidic, but I’m too distracted by the way his fingertips are trailing closer to my clit. Even through the panties, I can feel the warmth of his hand, the familiarity of his touch, and I moan softly. “There will be… be… some of his more loyal guards,” I say, as though this really is a meeting aboutlogisticsand not something driven by lust and feral need.
“You’ll have to pass the names along to Angelo,” Victor murmurs, but his voice no longer sounds as steady as it had a few minutes ago. I get some satisfaction out of knowing I can fluster the great, emotionless Victor.
Those thoughts quickly scatter as Victor snakes his fingers underneath the fabric of my panties. I gasp at the first direct touch of his fingers against my clit, and I’m almost mad at howgoodhe is at this.
“When—when did you get practice—” I complain. “You never…”
Victor begins kissing my lips, and I want to tell him to stop, that he’ll smear the lipstick, but instead I kiss back, opening my mouth to him while he drives me wild with just a few touches.
When he breaks the kiss, he leaves his forehead against mine. I can see the faint wrinkles along the corners of his eyes. I can also see the twitch in his lips, but I’m too desperate with arousal to care what he’s amused by.
