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Nero cracks a smile. “C’mon, let’s go to dinner.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, surprised. “Don’t you need to work?”
He shakes his head. “What I need right now is to see my girl all dressed up, wine and dine her, and fuck all the stress away.”
“In any particular order?” I tease, relaxing.
He gives me a wicked look. “Go get ready. I’m taking you out. And no panties.” He slides his hands over my ass. “I want you wet and ready for me, whenever I choose.”
We havedinner at a cute bistro nearby, then go for drinks at the new hot club in town. It’s a million miles away from the vibe at Nero’s place, this one has a line around the block, and some trendy DJ playing loud music to the fashionable crowd. It’s not what I figured to be Nero’s scene, but I can tell, he wants a distraction, and I’m happy to play along.
We squeeze in by the bar, and get overpriced cocktails, Nero’s hand resting possessively on my back. I like it. Being out in the world with him, like we’re just a normal couple. Ignoring reality for a few precious moments.
I find myself hoping this is what our lives can be like, after the mole is revealed, and this deal with the Kovaks goes through. Not the trendy club, but the rest of it: Me and him having date nights, talking and laughing for hours, flirting and trading dirty talk before we go home and fall into bed together.
No more shady Mafia dealings or Feds on our tail. Just me and him, and maybe even a family, too, one day…
“You know I’m a lightweight,” I warn him, smiling, when the bartender brings a massive fruity drink for me.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his hand drifting down to my ass. He squeezes subtly, and I wonder just what he’s got in mind to take care of me. His hand searches, skimming lightly over my skintight dress. I dressed up for him, like he wanted: black bandage dress, with heels and a push-up bra.
“Good girl,” he adds, throaty, and I smile.
No panties.
“I can follow instructions, you know.” I reach up, to murmur in his ear.
“Damn right you can.” Nero’s eyes are hot on mine. He brings me closer, so I’m crushed against his body, the two of us in the crowd. “Maybe I’ll tell you to get on your knees later,” he growls, breath hot on my cheek. “Order you to open that sweet mouth and suck me off real good.”
Damn.
Heat rushes through me. I squeeze my thighs together. God, I love it when he talks like this. Nothing makes me hotter—especially now we’re in a crowded bar, surrounded by people. It feels dirty, illicit.
And oh so sexy.
“Then what?” I ask, breathless. “What will you tell me to do next?”
Nero’s grip on me tightens, and I feel his thick erection jut against my stomach. “Then I want you to strip,” he growls in my ear. “Give me a nice long lap dance, like those girls up on stage.” He nods to where some of the dancers are gyrating up on a platform. “Let me see what that beautiful body of yours can do. Show it off for me, get my cock good and ready for you.”
I shiver in anticipation. “I don’t think it needs any help,” I tease, rubbing up against his thick ridge.
Nero groans in my ear. “Look at you, making me pop wood in public.” He grips my waist harder. “Such a sexy little thing. I can’t wait to get you bouncing on it, fill you up and watch you play. You make the sweetest sounds when you’re coming all over my cock.”
I’m halfway there already at the thought of it. “Let’s go,” I say, breathless and flushed. I couldn’t care less about the bar or our drinks, not with the damp heat inside me curling, hungry for every filthy promise to be made real. “Let’s go now.”
But he pulls back, smirking. Lightly pats my ass. “No baby. I think we’ll stay for another drink.” Nero winks. “I love watching you get all wet and aching for me. See how long you can stand to squirm.”
Dammit.
I give him a pout. “We’ll see about that,” I say, taking the cherry from my cocktail and slowly swirling my tongue around it. I give him a seductive look. “You’re not the only one who can squirm.”
Nero throws back his head and laughs. But then he sees something behind me, and just as fast, his good humor fades.
I turn, bracing myself for bad news—or the Feds. But instead, it’s that imposing man from the ballet. Sebastian Wolfe. He’s making his way through the crowd, strolling like a VIP with a gorgeous woman on each arm.
“Barretti,” he says, greeting Nero in his crisp English accent. “And I believe this is your beautiful new bride. Congratulations. And to you,” he adds, giving me a smirk. “Best of luck.”
Nero scowls. “I thought you went back where you came from.”
