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“What if I don’t break any rules?”
His eyes darken in delight. “You already have—you’re not wearing everything I asked you to.”
I gasp. “How do you know?”
He retrieves a small device from inside his suit pocket.
“What’s that for?”
“Did you bring it?” He ignores my question and nods toward the clutch I’m carrying. The vibrator and lipstick are the only two items inside, just in case this topic came up.
I nod.
He glances at his watch. “There’s a bathroom over there. You’ve ten minutes before my guests arrive.”
Oh my God. Ten minutes, to insert a vibrator.
It’s twisted, but I rise to my feet anyway, then quickly find the restroom. I enter a stall, withdraw the device, then, with one foot resting on the toilet, fit it inside my wetness. It’s a dual-stimulation vibrator so the thick part rests inside me while smaller forked fingers push against my clit.
I wash my hands thoroughly before returning to the man standing by my chair.
He offers me a wolfish look.
“Good girl.”
His praise pleases me. How? Why? Is it simply within my nature to feel this way? What does this say about me?
“My guests are here.”
Three Italian men approach the table.
“Buonasera. Stai bene, Alessandro.”
The older man pulls Sandro into a hug, but Sandro stiffens, then thrusts him away. “Come vanno gli affari, Antonio?”
Antonio switches to English. “Always so quick with the business questions, Alessandro Magno.”
Sandro’s expression darkens. “I’m no longer a kid, old man. Refrain from the childish nicknames.” The two men accompanying the older man tense. Even Sandro’s much older associates fear him, don’t they?
“No disrespect, eh? I’ve known you and your brother since you were tiny bambinos.”
Sandro pulls out my chair.
I sit and release a small squeak—the vibrator’s pushed deeper.
He slowly runs a thumb across my chin, and then it’s gone as he moves around the table to sit across from me. Antonio heads the table, and his associates settle in next to Sandro and me.
“Una bella rossa, Alessandro?” Antonio exclaims. “I’m surprised. No brunette tonight?”
I flinch. Brunette? Like the women he keeps on staff? Like the brazen woman who jumped into the pool with him? I feel Sandro’s eyes on me but pretend something on the horizon has captured my interest as an avalanche of disappointment crushes me. I’m not Sandro’s first or even second dinner partner, am I? And he has a type—brunettes. This is all a game to him. And once more, I allowed myself to be lured in by him.
If he’s sick, then I’m twisted.
God. I hate him.
“Are you going to introduce us to this beauty?” Antonio asks.
“No.”
