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Christian
2 1/2 Years Ago
Another day of trying to keep things in fucking order, men don’t fucking listen, and now I have to come down here to my office to make sure they don’t fuck anything else up. How fucking hard is it to run a fucking casino?
Is it really that fucking hard? Is it too much to fucking ask for them to keep things in line for at least a few hours so I can get high and fuck a chick? They can’t even watch my fucking casino correctly.
I grip my coffee tightly in my hand as I force myself to leave the coffee shop. I have been coming to this shop since I was a teenager and they know what I like and who I am. They show me respect, and they get extra money and protection from me.
Most of these older businesses are under my protection and have been since before I was in charge. My Padre and I made good relationships with these people. They respect and fear me and my family name, which I enjoy, but also need to rule correctly. I push open the door, and a girl runs right into me, spilling my coffee.
“Fanculo.” The word slips out my mouth before I can stop it.
“I am so sorry,” I hear a voice say. A beautiful fucking voice.
I look down and lock eyes with a Bellissima beautiful young girl. She can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, but holy fucking shit. Her eyes are dark green, and her red hair flows down in waves to her shoulders; she is petite but fit. My dick hardens in my pants as she wipes the coffee from my black buttoned-up shirt with her hand. She didn’t even think twice about touching me. Either she has no idea who I am, or she doesn’t care. She has my full fucking attention now.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry for spilling your coffee on your nice shirt. I’m feeling so out of control today, and I’m not even watching where I am going,” she says softly. There is anxiety in her voice, and this beautiful shade of crimson creeps up her neck to her cheeks, which tells me that she is embarrassed. I find it interesting that she needs to apologize for being out of control. She should never apologize for how she is feeling.
Interesting, very fucking interesting.
My heart starts to race with her words, touch, and stare. My thoughts begin to go fucking wild, wondering what it would feel like to have her actually touch my scarred tattooed skin. What it would feel like to fill her pussy with my hard dick. What it would feel like to hear her scream and moan my name. Would she turn away from me? Would she allow me to touch her? Or would she not even care?
“Bellissima,” I whisper more to myself than to her.
“What?” She asks, confused.
“Don’t ever apologize for feeling out of control. This is your world, Bellissima,” I reply softly. My heart continues to race as the need to fucking touch her face, to feel any fucking part of her, starts to become overwhelming. The urge, the fucking desire, for someone I don’t even fucking know.
She looks at me, confused but curious. Holy fuck, her words, her eyes, she is so close her scent fills my nose. She smells like fucking cupcakes, and her fucking touch, she touched my chest. My dick hardens more as the thought of her touching me floods my mind. People are afraid of me; they fear me, but not her. She touched me without giving it a second thought, brave fucking girl.
Who the fuck is this girl?
“You’re fine,” I say calmly. She continues to stare into my eyes, searching them. I wonder what she sees when she looks into my eyes. Does she see the monster? Does she not care?
She stops moving while we stand looking into each other’s eyes. People typically only have one reaction when they look into my eyes, and that is fear, but there is no fear in her eyes. There is curiosity, desire, and passion, which honestly fucking confuses me but also draws me in.
Without thinking about it, I lift my free hand and rest it against hers on my chest. She stiffens with my touch but doesn’t pull away. “I can buy you a new shirt, sir,” she says softly. I turn and toss the empty coffee cup in the trash, and when I turn back to her, I gently brush the back of my fingers down her cheek.
A gentle laugh escapes me when what she called me processes through my head. Sir, nobody fucking calls me that.
“Christian,” I say calmly as I lower my hand from her face, but my other hand stays on top of hers against my chest. I am not ready to lose her warmth. The only fucking time she will call me Sir is when I am fucking her, but when we are in public, she will be my equal. This sweet girl has no idea what is about to happen. She has no idea that her touch, her stare, and her voice have completely made me fucking obsessed with her. My sights are now only fucking set on her.
“What?” She asks in a nervous innocent voice, making my dick throb.
“My name is Christian,” I confirm, looking into her deep green eyes.
“Nicole,” she says with a smile.
I reluctantly release her hand, and she lowers hers from my chest, letting her arm fall to her side. The loss of her touch makes me feel empty and cold. She slowly steps aside, giving me room to continue to leave, but now I don’t want to go anywhere. But I need to.
“It is nice to meet you, Nicolette,” I say softly.
She continues to search my eyes, and she slowly nods. “You too,” she whispers.
A smile forms across my lips as I lean in and gently kiss her cheek, but all too quickly, I pull back and walk around her. The urge to fucking turn around is strong, and the desire to look at her again is fucking crippling. I can feel her eyes on me, but my men are waiting for me. They follow me wherever I go, and they insist on driving me, but that is not who I am. I will drive my damn self.
I get to my car, open the door, and slide inside. I sit back and look out the window toward the coffee shop. She is still standing where I left her, holding the door open and her eyes locked on me.
