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But I can’t.
I have to keep alert, my eyes, and ears – all my senses on high alert.
An unarmed Martinelli is in a room full of Portello’s, who are armed to the teeth. Definitely not a good situation.
But who is she, and why is she here?
The tension in the air is starting to match the strain I feel still growing in the front of my jeans.
But I can’t take it.
I can’t just stand here, not look at her and watch her walk away when it’s too late.
Our eyes meet. Or should I say, our eyes lock.
Like keys to a safe, they click, revealing a flood of feelings, all of them gold.
Fuck. She’s perfect.
Her crystal clear blue eyes widen, and her rounded cheeks flush.
Her button nose has a pair of glasses sliding a little, fogging up by the second, and I can tell she’s fighting the urge to push them back up.
Her flowing blond hair has dried some but has a frizz to it, and once it registers she’s been crying, I feel my awe and amazement turn into something else.
Like I want her out of this place, away from these people.
It’s clear she doesn’t belong here. Nobody this beautiful, this perfect could be with or hang around a Portello.
But my own needs include taking in more of her, indulging my senses with her front, which, although giving her behind a run for its money, is doing something new for my thoughts on getting hard in public.
I hope shecansee.
See what she’s doing to me already.
It really does feel like the whole room disappears when I look at her. As corny as that sounds, it’s something I think that when it finally happens, you know you’re staring your future right in the eye.
Looking at someone, it suddenly feels like I’ve been waiting for my whole life.
It’s clear to me that Portello told her to beat it, but as I make my way over to his table, I make sure to broadcast everything I’ve got to let her know that my eyes are on her right at this moment, and as soon as I can find out who she is and where she lives, they’ll be seeing a lot more of her.
I already know that much, and I don’t care about the consequences.
As quickly as it all happens, she’s gone again.
The door is bolted behind her as she leaves. But I make sure every one of her features is etched in my mind.
A half-smile threatens to play on my lips as I already play the guessing game. Which part of her figure is gonna make me explode once I get a chance with this newfound beauty? My arousal is already aching for her.
But Don Portello isn’t thinking along those lines.
He’s a businessman and gets straight down to it.
Standing in a rare show of respect, he moves over to me, taking my big mitt in his.
He’s unmoved by my size compared to him, and his forced sympathy makes me cringe.
“Rocco, it’s good of you to come,” he murmurs, motioning for me to sit down in the seat he’s just stood up from.
