by Soraya Naomi
“I don’t know anything about the South. Are there small drug dealers operating there? I’ll have to send Alessandro or John to investigate. We can easily regulate uncharted territory. Smalltime drug dealers can either be pushed out within weeks or added to our payroll,” I advise.
James nods his head in acknowledgement and asks Salvatore, “What do you think?”
“I say let John do some digging around. But we’ll need new offshore bank accounts to discreetly manage the cash flow,” Salvatore answers.
“Then let’s put it in motion, gentlemen,” James instructs.
CHAPTER 12
Fallon
Luca calls me every night until our date. Sometimes we talk for half an hour, sometimes we talk for only five minutes, but I’ve come to anticipate the evening calls.
Promptly at six on Friday night, he knocks on my door.
Opening the door, I say jokingly, “Did you just stand outside until it was six and then knock?”
Luca’s lips curve up into a crooked grin. “No, I’m simply punctual.”
“Well, it’s creepy,” I throw back.
Luca’s dashing as always in his black jeans and silver grey button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his handsome features strengthened by the gleam in his eyes.
I motion to him in full length and state in a sarcastic tone, “This is casual?” He texted me last night to dress casual.
“It is for me.”
I consider my appearance – dark jeans and a turquoise shirt that hangs over one shoulder with my hair contained in a low side-knot – and frown.
Luca places his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You look beautiful, dolcezza. Don’t frown like that. I come bearing gifts.”
“Dolcezza?” I question.
“It’s an endearment.”
“Not baby, I hope?” I grimace, genuinely hoping he did not just call me baby.
Thankfully, Luca laughs. “No, more like sweetheart.”
“I like that. Sounds sweet...” My words trail off when he stoops down beside the door to pick something up and holds out a square white box.
I eagerly peek inside to discover an entire dark chocolate cake, dessert from our first date. “Do we have to go out? I’d rather stay here and eat this.” And I lick my lips ever so slowly, causing him to chuckle.
“You can eat it tomorrow”—he pecks me on the lips and grasps my hips with both hands—“since it’s still a workday. Although I think you can eat carbs any day. And you are eating carbs tonight for dinner.”
“Fine. Come inside,” I welcome him in and put the cake on the kitchen table.
Without preamble, Luca walks over to me and frames my cheeks with his hands, tracing my lips with his tongue, every brush igniting that familiar surge of excitement, making me breathe heavily and practically sway on my feet.
But unfortunately, just as things are starting to heat up, he pulls back a fraction and says in a low voice, “I’m taking you to my place. Pack some clothes.”
***
At Luca’s penthouse, I change into a comfortable dress while he runs down the street for some groceries. Eager to explore just a bit, I wander around barefooted on the hardwood floors, admiring the magnificent view of the Loop from the floor-to-ceiling windows and his beautiful modern bedroom. His penthouse is decorated in warm off-white and brown colors that must’ve been done by interior designers because everything matches perfectly.
As I head back to the living room, Luca’s returned with a grocery bag and is setting it on the solid black granite-top kitchen island, so I join him in the kitchen and look inside the bag.
“What did you get?” I ask.
I’m tenderly pushed aside as he rests his hands on my shoulders and guides me to the bar stool on the opposite side of the island. “No peeking. You sit while I busy myself with dinner.” Then he takes out the groceries one by one: eggs, parsley, bread, and wine.
“What are we eating?”
“Pasta, of course.”
“You forgot the pasta.” I lean my elbows on the island.
Luca shoots me a feigned scowl, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. Next to the refrigerator is a chrome-coated steel pasta machine. “We’re making fresh pasta. None of that store-bought stuff in my house. You and I are making tagliatelle.”
“I thought you were making dinner and I only had to sit here?” I tease him.
“You are only permitted to help with the pasta. Then you need to sit back down.” Luca gets a cutting board and flour from the cabinet behind him.
“But I hate cooking, seriously,” I confess in all honesty. I. Never. Cook. Some people might find this romantic, but I loathe cooking.
He studies me as if I’ve suddenly sprouted a second head. “Hate cooking...? Well, you at least need to know how to make one dish, so you’re making pasta.”
“Yes, boss.” I salute.
Luca winces for a split second. I catch it and stare at him, yet he disregards my inquisitive expression. “Come here.”
I stand next to Luca, but he tugs me in front of him, his body heat warming my back as his hand skims down my arm, removing the beige elastic band I always wear – in case I want to put my long hair up – from my wrist.
“I never thought a beautiful woman would be prancing around my home, barefooted.” He then pulls my hair into a ponytail and presses his lips to my neck.
Sighing, I rest my head back on his shoulder. “I don’t believe that. Plenty of women have been here, I’m sure.”
“That’s not what I said or meant.” Luca takes my chin between his forefinger and thumb and forces me to face him. “Don’t belittle this moment. The thought of you waiting for me here turned me on, but my fantasy wasn’t as promising as the real thing. You in this white dress without shoes and make-up, just the real you, is enough to make me hard.” To drive his point home, he rubs his stiffening length against my backside, and when I bow into him, he takes it as an invitation to run his fingertips along my neckline.
“I want you so badly it hurts.” Luca groans as his breath caresses my cheek and his hands slither to my cleavage, capturing a breast in his warm grip while his lips search for bare skin on my shoulder. “What do you want, Fallon? Do I need to feed you first?” he asks while kissing my shoulder and trailing his hand down over my hips and thighs. He cups me forcefully between my legs, which open wider on their own volition, and circles two fingers over my center.
I push back against him. “No,” I answer with conviction because I want him and don’t care one bit about the food. I want to feel all of him.
Lightning fast, I’m spun around and smothered with a claiming kiss before he pulls my dress over my head and flings it across the kitchen as if he can’t get me naked fast enough. His look is feral as he gazes hungrily at my bare breasts while I place both my palms on his chest and into the V of his shirt and smile teasingly. He cocks his head right before I rip open his dress shirt, making the buttons fly around the room and clank on the floor.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” I say around a smile.
My arms twine around Luca’s neck when he suddenly picks me up and situates me on the cold counter. Hastily, he unfastens his belt, and I slide his boxers off with my feet as I pump his erection in my hand. Growling against my mouth, he lifts my behind slightly to hook his thumbs into my panties, discarding the last of my clothes, and I continue to stroke him as he bites his way down my throat. Then passion overtakes him and he grips my knees to spread my legs apart and slices his tongue along my core, twice, as I grab his hair while he commences to devour me. When I’m writhing on the counter from the sensual onslaught he evokes, he swiftly positions me on the edge, gets a condom from his pants on the floor, and rolls it on.
Luca hisses as I center him at my entrance, rubbing the head of his erection up and down, and our hooded eyes lock right before he enters me, stretching me inch by inch, slowly and deliberately, giving me time to adjust to his thick length
.
He groans, feeling the way I open up to him. “Fuck, Fallon, you’re so tight. I want to fuck you hard.” And his eyes close while he attempts to compose himself.
“I want you to fuck me hard, Luca,” I admit and lie back on the counter as he rests my legs against his toned chest, kissing my ankle.
He makes a low, guttural sound, barely holding his control, and eases in and out unhurriedly while he watches me, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation once he’s all the way inside. His movement increases when he hooks my legs over his arms, pressing my knees toward my chest, and starts to ride me. Raw lust breaks free as he kisses me hard on my mouth, jawline, and then nips my shoulder, his powerful strokes enticing me even more. When he grazes a nipple with his teeth, I whimper and weave my fingers in his hair. There’s nothing tender about what we’re doing, but it still feels intimate to me, so I shut my eyes as he takes my body without mercy until, without warning, he slows his thrusts and hoarsely demands, “Look at me or I stop.”
Instantly, my eyes fly open to obey him as he stands upright, gripping my waist, and slams me back onto him, and as I continue to focus on him, Luca adjusts my body slightly under his strong grip, arranging me into a position where I can only concentrate on the pleasures of his strokes. Then in a flood, my orgasm rips through me, the heat burning at my core, fiercely traveling through my entire body. My inner walls clench around his erection, my back arches, and I feel him going in deeper, prolonging my bliss.
“Luca!” I moan his name before I gradually drift back from my high.
He then pulls up my legs again, letting them rest against his chest, and his throaty grunt through clenched teeth warns me of his impending release. As Luca’s groin is pressed between my legs, all I can do is take what he gives me. I feel his erection growing and twitching as he thrusts a few more times while gripping my hips.
“Fuck!” he growls and falls on top of me, his hand on my hip skimming upward to cover my breast, and we lie there panting, gratifyingly exhausted.
After several quiet minutes, Luca lifts himself off me, and we merely look at one another; a shared look of contented souls is reflected in our stare.
“I was planning to feed you first,” he confesses with a mock smile, but I’m still floating back from this unexpected and extremely satisfying momentum that temporarily blocked any thoughts of food from my mind.
Luca ghosts his lips over mine, covering my body again with his, letting our flushed skin touch. “If you want to lie here while I’m cooking, I’m not complaining since I’m just getting started with you, dolcezza.” Luca’s eyes cut to my breasts, and his hand wanders down my stomach.
But I shove him away affectionately. “I’ll get up, chef. I’m suddenly famished.” Before he can make a crude remark, I add, “For food. But I promise you more...action if I don’t have to make the pasta...”
Luca rubs his chin as he considers my offer. “And by action, you mean sex?”
I laugh loudly. “Yes.”
“I just had to verify,” he jokes. “Deal. Let me help you up.” Gallantly, he holds out his hand to assist me.
I’m stuck to the counter from our sweaty activity and stand up slowly, allowing my stiff limbs to begin working again. Luca helps me get back into my dress, constantly touching my bare skin before he pours me a glass of red. And after cleaning the counter, he starts chopping the garlic and parsley.
“Who taught you to cook?” I ask while he’s preparing supper.
“Mi zio. My first night with him, we made pasta together. I was sad that my parents had just died and didn’t want to talk. He understood and just let me make a mess with dough.”
“He sounds so nice. Does he have any children of his own?”
“No. He had one love, but her family didn’t want her marrying my uncle. This was back in Italy. He never married, and as far as I know, he never had a serious relationship while living here.”
“He lives alone in Venice?”
“Yes, but he has many friends and some family members, so he isn’t lonely over there.”
I hear a vibrating sound, and disapproval paints Luca’s face as he checks his phone and types a short message.
I’ve already topped off my third glass of wine, and a warm and lazy sensation is filling me. As Luca starts to bake or fry or whatever, I roam around his living room.
Only now, I see that he has the dinner table set up with candles, and everything is ready much quicker than I expected. Luca plates up the food and holds out my chair for me.
“You make a mean shrimp pasta,” I say after my first bite.
“I don’t cook often, so I’m glad you’re liking it.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but no dessert for me tonight.” This pasta is filling.
“I never thought you’d say that either. Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. I’m stuffed,” I reply around a smile. “By the way, are you busy this week?”
“A little. Why?”
“Well, when you’re not busy, you can come to my place after work, if you want. And you can stop by unannounced.”
“Well, well, I’ve earned the unannounced-visits privileges!” he teases, and then he grins wickedly at me. “I will. I’d rather be busy with you than work anyway.”
CHAPTER 13
Fallon
By spring, I’ve become very attached to Luca and we’ve established a comfortable routine. After dating for three months, our relationship has progressed into serious territory and we’re committed to each other. We have planned dates and see one another at least every weekend, but I think that I should also surprise him once in a while since he always lavishes me with gifts, most of which are delivered to my apartment. I’ve received designer dresses and earrings, but my favorite gift is an Italian necklace with a silver charm, a cornicello, a little horn that’s an Italian amulet of good luck. It’s supposed to protect me from the evil-eye.
So I decide to surprise Luca with an unplanned visit after I’ve had a meeting with a client four streets from his penthouse. I try persuading the receptionists to let me go on up, but they’re strict here and are unyielding in checking with Mr. DeMiliano first. Ultimately, I get clearance to go up where Luca meets me at the door.
“Hey, I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see you,” I greet him.
“Fallon, I wish you would’ve called; I’m actually working.” Displeasure is carved in his features.
Stunned by his rigid, unwelcome posture, I attempt to peek into the penthouse. Luca has never been anything but courteous, and his discontented manner makes me somewhat suspicious. Normally, he’s in tight control of his emotions to the point that it’s sometimes challenging for me to interpret his reactions.
“That’s fine. I just wanted to say hi, but I’m obviously interrupting.” My instinct is screaming at me to check out the apartment. “I’ll just grab a bottle of water and be on my way.”
A wrinkle appears between his brows – he knows I’m onto him and whatever business is going on in there.
I shoulder him out of the way and go straight to the kitchen. There, I’m greeted by the man who was waiting impatiently outside the coffee shop the second time I met Luca. He’s handsome with pitch black hair and dark brown eyes, but he has a kind, yet naughty, undercurrent about him. His hair is longer than Luca’s, curling over his ears. The guy rises from his seat at the kitchen island, and he’s dressed in a tailored grey suit, so he apparently shares Luca’s love for the finer Italian suits.
“Hey, I’m Adriano, Luca’s business partner. You must be Fallon. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Luca is actually busy with work. Adriano’s here, and I see the two laptops on the counter. “Hi, Adriano. I’ve heard significantly less about you.” And my eyes cut to Luca.
Adriano feigns a hurt expression as he says to Luca, who’s still not acting like himself, “Luca, stronzo, you don’t tell your girlfriend about the most important man in your life?” He points his thumb at himself.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Luca retorts.
Adriano disregards him and returns his attention to me. “Anyway, I’m his best and only friend.” He slaps Luca’s back. “I’m the only guy confident enough to be this Mr. Universe’s friend.”
Adriano’s comical attitude has eased the tension between Luca and me.
“If you’re my only friend, that means you’re my best friend by default,” Luca points out.
Adriano shrugs. “I’ll take that.”
Luca and Adriano seem to have an endearing brotherly bond. Smiling, I retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge and hold it up. “Anyone else?” However, when I crane my neck to address Luca and Adriano, I catch a strange look being exchanged between them.
“No, thanks,” Luca answers.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” Adriano informs and disappears down the hall to the guest room.
Screwing the cap off the bottle, I take a swig while keeping my stare on Luca. “What’s wrong, Luca?”
He cocks his head in question. “Why would anything be wrong?”
I close in on him standing next to the kitchen island. “You don’t like surprises? You haven’t even kissed me.”
A lazy smile pulls at his mouth. “You came here for a quickie, Ms. Michaels?”
“Maybe—”
Then, out of the blue, heels are clicking loudly on the floor, coming down the hall and several things happen that bother me. Luca takes a step back from me. Adriano exits the guest room, seemingly contrite. And a woman with a smug look on her face heads toward us.
Shocked, I ask, “Who’s that?”
The woman cozies up to Luca, effectively making me the outsider in this equation. Annoyance reflects behind his eyes.
Attempting to defuse the situation, Adriano responds tersely, “This is Gina, a friend of mine.”
His irritation deters her from speaking, although Gina – with her clearly fake breasts, painted face, acrylic nails, and plastic high heels – does glower at me, but my glare is pinned on Luca, and I completely ignore her. If she’s a friend of Adriano’s, why is she being possessive of Luca? Is his annoyance directed at me or at her?
