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“Sir. Madam,” Tony said as he set orange-colored drinks in front of us.
We clinked our glasses, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. We sipped our mystery drinks, our eyes locked.
I couldn’t believe how much desire I had warming my womanhood already.
I wanted him.
Bruised knuckles. Bruised face.
All of it.
"So, Luca, what’s your story?" I inquired, my eyes lingering on his jaw and flashing to his knuckles.
He chuckled darkly, and I felt Tony’s eyes square in on us.
With a playful smile, he leaned in closer, his voice low and captivating. "Ah, that's the beauty of it,” he said. “You like the mystery of me not having a story.”
I shuddered again.
He was right.
I could make up my own fantasy of what happened to his knuckles and face.
I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile spreading across my face. "I think you may be right about that one.”
He matched my smile, his eyes still dark with lust. I smoldered under the intensity of the gaze.
There was nothing but desire dripping off of me every time I beheld his sexy body and perfect face.
* * *
That night wasa little different than the first.
There was a little more familiarity, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
There was a lot more talking.
Surface-level flirting.
Banter, really.
But a whole hell of a lot more talking.
Every sentence he uttered set me ablaze.
I was intoxicated by his piercing eyes and the sultry silk that dripped off his tongue every time he spoke to me. And by the end of the night, I was completely drunk on him.
The stolen glances.
The shared laughter.
The excitement of the unknown.
The anticipation of another pleasurable night.
As the night draws to a close, the sparks between us are undeniable.
There’s basically a fire at each of our feet.
