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“Taking the long way to the club. Your man’s orders.”
I hate the small thrill that rocks me at those words from Diego’s deep voice.
“Everyone orders me about. This is no different than Gold Bay.” I pause. My hometown’s name is something I haven’t said in a while. “And he’s not my man.”
“Uh huh.”
I shift, leaning forward, hands on the leather seat in front of me. “Where did he go?”
And Diego stops talking. With a sigh, I settle back as we start to weave through some warehouses and past a flea-bitten motel, one of those old ones that seem to be relics of the past. Then it’s a few properties, and they give way to a strip of little restaurants and bars until he finally pulls into a lot attached to a bar or a club.
He takes me in through the back, that perfect distance of uncomfortable and respectful, a little too close and not touching me.
Diego’s stepped into Nicolo’s shoes, I realized with a start as each step pulled muscles in my upper thighs, and my pussy ached from all the sex.
Another big man opens a black door, and we step into a long, quiet hall. It takes a few blinks to adjust to the dim lighting.
“Wait with Mike a moment.”
Diego disappears up ahead, leaving me with the big, bald man who barely looks at me. He’s in all black too. He stands with folded hands, and I sigh.
Am I pissed off? I am, most definitely, but there’s a post-coital haze that softens it. The thrill of what I did all night with Nicolo hums through me, flaring up as the memory of him stretching me, making me come slams into me.
Not to mention the fact he didn’t come the first time we did it, and something tells me it wasn’t because he couldn’t. He held back. It makes me shiver, that thought.
Of course, it’s not post-sex sunshine and roses. There are thorns and clouds and unexpected cold breezes. Because I’m still crushing hard on Nicolo. If anything, the crush has bloomed, and with that comes the cold and pain.
He more than let me know what’s between us is sex and nothing more.
Unless, of course, you count him protecting me.
His self-appointed job.
That makes the anger spike. The indignation and frustration.
The door up ahead opens.
“This way,” Diego says.
I go forward and through into a club that’s clean and still sleeping. It’s black and red and gold and lush with a stage in the front and a bar.
Then I see the three women. A little one who’s about to give birth from the looks of her. I don’t know her.
But I know the other two.
And pieces fall into place.
* * *
The knock on the bathroom door won’t let up. I’m being a baby, I know, but the moment I saw them, I shook my head, backed away, right into the solid form of Diego, and then I just said, “Bathroom.”
The little pregnant one pointed it out, and here I am.
“Avah? You can’t stay in there forever.”
I run my hands down my jean-clad thighs as I sit on the velvet-red bench in the surprisingly beautiful bathroom. It’s something I’d expect from a high-end restaurant.
“Avah?”
