But I’m on empty.
My eyes close as my head finds the steering wheel. It’s too hot in here, even in the month of February, so my left hand fumbles for the window handle and I crank it down before dropping my hand to the seat lever, pressing it as I lean back, taking the seat with it.
Oh my god, what just happened?
In college most guys couldn’t even stand up to professors when they asked them to simply defend their arguments or thesis in air-conditioned college classrooms.
Here’s a man who just stood up to four semi-hoodlums, thugs, or whatever in the hell they thought they were only to find out they weren’t.
I caught the first three ass beatings before I literally felt drool hit my lap. Then I turned the key over and took off, watching the final beat down in my rear view mirror.
Valentino did that for me, to let them know they can’t make those kinds of gesture, noises, and comments about me. It was definitely for my benefit. But little did I know at the time there was a whole other kind of benefit involved…a physical kind that has me sprung as hell.
I still haven’t caught my breath and my little session in this run down strip mall has me wishing I was back at his office, getting stripped and thrown against his wall as he roughed me up a little…in a much different way.
I’m not interested in getting head butted, but I damn sure am interested in giving him the best head of his life and maybe, just maybe letting him violate my back door…if it turns me on just like watching him dish out pain like that just did.
Holy shit!
I bring my hands to my chest. My knees are wobbling as my heels shake back and forth on the floorboard. I’m in no condition to drive yet.
I replay the events over and over again in my mind, trying to block them out and failing miserably.
My nipples are still taut, pressing through the thin lacy bra I bought just for today. I look down, seeing them trying to cut right through the most expensive bra I’ve ever purchased, and the super fine cotton blouse that I wore with it.
My pussy aches, ready to go another round, but I can’t. It’s not right. None of these shallow victories will do.
I’m getting invited to that damn party or I’m showing up and entering on my own.
He may have stopped those boys dead in their tracks, but he’s not stopping me from getting what I want.
Him.
CHAPTER 6
Valentino
All I can think about is pulling Valentina into my arms and letting her know everything’s going to be okay…that nobody will ever disrespect her like that again.
I imagine her tiny body melting into mine, running my hand through her hair, and inhaling that soft trace of vanilla I smelled coming from her earlier in my office. I don’t even think it was some kind of perfume. It was her natural scent, unlike anything I’ve ever smelled.
Damn, how I want to hold her.
Kiss her.
Fuck her.
Make her mine for good.
And all of this from just one hour together. Maybe all that bullshit they feed women in romance novels is true…maybe it does take your entire lifetime to find the one, but once you do, only a second to realize it.
Fuck! What’s wrong with me? Why are these thoughts going through my mind? I feel like a commercial for my company’s own services and I can’t believe it.
But there’s no denying it’s true.
I re-enter the building and see Bamber staring into her phone, laughing, completely oblivious to what just went on outside. Good.
“I’m out of here for the day. You’re welcome to go home too.” I grab my things from my desk and walk back through the reception area and towards the door.
“Do you want to grab some fish tacos maybe? It’s still early and it could be fun to unwind a bit.”
“No thank you. I’ve got some things to attend to at home.”
“Sure?” she pleads.
“Yeah, I really have to run. Have a great afternoon.” I push the door open and make my way towards my Ferrari thinking of how I’m going to have to let go of Bamber now. No way am I going to have one of my team members hitting on me, especially now that I know what’s going to happen between Valentina and I…it’s only a matter of time.
I maneuver through traffic, driving assertively, but not aggressively. I love this car. How could I not? I’m Italian after all.
But what I’d love more is showing off my lady everywhere we went in it. I know when I roll up, head’s turn because of my possession. But a car is just an engine underneath some well-formed aluminum and other parts.
What I really want to own, need to possess, is her.
Imagine hitting the gas on the open road in that stretch between Barstow and Las Vegas while she sucked me off, or even better rode me, as the speedometer went higher than it should.
No way would I ever put her in danger, but a little well-controlled fantasy ride could certainly be fun.
Who am I fooling? No way would I be able to keep myself under control in that situation. Her body is too perfect, her mannerisms too powerful and sexy as fuck, and how can I ignore the taboo of her being Vincenzo’s little sister.
A few minutes later I pull up to my place, park my car in the garage and grab a Pacifico from the fridge.
I loosen my tie, toss my jacket on the couch, and step out onto the deck taking in the sight of the waves rolling in from the Pacific as the crisp Mexican pilsner slides across my lips.
Damn how I wish it was her tongue instead, tasting my mouth as I tasted hers as we sat in the hot tub on my roof watching the stars as we sipped champagne while we drank each other in.
As much as my thoughts are about the physical right now I know there’s so much more to them than that. This is also about keeping her close, keeping her safe like I did earlier. I can protect her better than any man who’s ever lived…because I care about her more than anyone ever has and ever will. That’s no slight to her father and brother. It’s the damn truth.
I know she’s had it tough too, and I want that to end. That needs to end. She doesn’t deserve the shitty hand she’s been dealt.
Her father is tough as nails, but that rough and tumble way of life is what got him locked up for running drugs from Cabo to San Diego. The worst part is he never even touched the stuff. He was just the muscle when the Italian mafia moved in and tried to take over some territory from the Mexican cartels.
I don’t know if that makes him crazy as hell for thinking he could, or the best dad ever for doing whatever it took to feed his family. I’m sure there were better ways, but the man is a loose canon, which probably describes why his daughter is a bit of a wildcat too.
Her mother tried to keep it together, but eventually she remarried and took off with some guy to live in Italy once Valentina started college. I guess they were both technically adults at that point, but I’ll never see her mother the same way again. C’est la vie.
I’m the man who can show Valentina she’s not all alone, although from what I saw today she’s a fighter and seems to have the world by the balls at the moment…and all by herself no less.
Damn that’s attractive when a woman knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go for it.
But what was it that she really wanted today…showing up at my office unannounced like that thinking she could just get a meeting with me?
I tip back the beer and smile. Well, she sure did, didn’t she?
I walk back into the house, setting the beer down on the island in the kitchen and making my way towards the shower.
I was sweating earlier, and not from dismantling those boys.
She had me feeling the heat the minute I saw her until the minute she disappeared…and I’m still burning up.
I slide out of my clothes and into the shower, turning on only the cold but it does little to bring down my body’s temperature.
Tipping my head back I let the cool water hit me in the face, closing my eyes and imaging I’m out in front of
my house catching a few waves. I’m trying to calm my thoughts, but it’s nowhere near working.
My hand slides down, grabbing my cock and I immediately stroke myself from root to tip.
I can’t remember the last time I did this, not to mention it was never to anyone in particular.
Not this time.
The picture in my mind is very vivid and very personal. It’s her, and it can only be her.
My forearm clenches as my other hand reaches for the Spanish tiles in front of me.
My head drops down and I really start sliding my other hand along my shaft quickly, imagining my tight grip is the walls of her pussy as I force my way in, opening their tightness.
My mind wanders as I picture her laid out on my bed, legs spread wide and that pretty pink virginal pussy on full display. As much as I want to think about putting my mouth on her hole, and tasting everything that’s good in the world, there’s no time for that.
Right now I only want to think about claiming her, as this singular thought has claimed me.
I can’t be satisfied until I explode inside her, filling her with my seed and making her mine forever.
I can’t resist this anymore, not even pretending to.
My chest heaves as my chin touches my chest just before my head shoots back and I bathe the wall in my warm spooge, wishing it was her womb instead.
I try and catch my breath as the water washes over me, but I can’t.
I fight for air until finally the darkness in my mind clears and I’m only left with the picture this journey began with…her.
Damn, I want her so fucking bad no matter the consequences.
There’s no way I can stay away. No way I can deny what I feel for her. And no way she’s not coming to that party…as my guest. Fuck that. She’s not my guest. She’s mine.
Mine in every way.
CHAPTER 7
Valentina
The next day
“Did you get that company return finished?” my boss asks with a lusty look.
“Yes, Mr. Jones. I uploaded the completed 1120 Form and supporting documents through the software and the IRS confirmed receipt. I also read online that the IRS will be paying out refunds despite the government shutdown.”
“Very good, Ms. Venturi. So you’re ahead a bit when it comes to your workload.”
“Running about a week ahead. Yes, sir,” I say. I’m trying my best to make a good impression at this firm. They’re one of the biggest CPA firms in Southern California and there are bonuses tied to how many returns I correctly complete, not to mention they often select a few members for advanced promotion and guide them through the licensing phase and then offer them partnership. That’s my five to ten year plan, but it doesn’t hurt to start now.
“Excellent. So I guess that means you’ll be able to go out on Valentine’s Day, maybe have a few drinks…ya know…come in late the next day…or not at all.”
What the…?
Mr. Jones moves closer, I feel his hand running along my seats back and my body freezes.
“I already have plans,” I say, thinking back to the Love is Lame party. I need to follow up with Valentino and now, after what my boss is doing, it’s really imperative that I get invited.
“Cancel them. We can, I mean the company can, rent a plane and fly us down to Mexico. I think it’s about time for a team building trip…don’t you?”
Now I know where the inspiration for these creepy, evil characters in movies and TV shows comes from. I thought that kind of stuff was cliché and overdone, but when I feel his fingers on my shoulders just before he “massages” me there, I realize those bad guys are anything but fiction.
He squeezes kind of hard, and I notice he’s made a point of maneuvering his fingers onto the part of my blouse where my bra straps are. When he moves his fingers it lifts up my breasts and I can imagine he must be looking down my top right about now.
The last thing I need is my boss making the workplace uncomfortable, and after what’s suddenly escalated out of nowhere just now, I know there’s no going back.
But I can’t really quit this job either. First job out of college at a top firm and I resign after just a few months working here? Talk about a negative mark on my resume that will likely be a deal killer for future employment. Plus who’s going to believe me when I tell them one of San Diego’s biggest charity donors is actually a sexual predator?
I bring my hand across my waist and breathe in, preparing to thrust my elbow back and into this jerk’s groin, hopefully ending this harassment, and ending my job here with it.
I flex my forearm and drive my elbow back, but instead of hitting him I hit air, my body slides on the arm of my chair as I practically fall out of it.
The seat spins one hundred and eighty degrees and as I’m flopped over the side of it like a limp fish my eyes rise, seeing…Valentino?
“How dare you put your hands on what’s mine,” he snarly in a voice that’s so deep and powerful the entire office from the cubicles across the other side of the room go completely silent.
The sound of typing, chatting with clients on headset, and that one crazy employee that insists on listening to music without headphones is all gone, replaced only by the grumble coming from Valentino’s chest, underneath another of his custom made Italian wool suits…different than yesterday, but just as panty melting.
“It’s just a company function, buddy. Let go of me.”
“You want me to let go of you?”
“I’ll call the cops you son of a bitch,” Mr. Jones says, his voice sounding higher pitched and I even hear a giggle from another cubicle at his feminine tone.
I straighten myself up in my chair and see that Valentino has one hand on the back of my boss’s sweaty shirt collar, and suddenly he takes another and grabs ahold of his Louis Vuitton monogrammed belt and lifts him straight up off the ground.
“If that’s what you want, asshole,” he says, as he heaves him straight over my desk and into the cubicle divider, which buckles right in half.
“Let’s go, Valentina. I came here to see if you could handle my taxes this year, but I can see now it’s better if you become my personal accountant full time.”
Mr. Jones tries to get to his feet, unsuccessfully, as Valentino lifts one of his Valentino lace-up shoes and puts it right on my handsy boss’s back.
“Whaddaya say?”
I hear the wheels of chairs sliding across the floor and my eyes scan the room, an alertness in me like I’ve never had before.
I look and see almost all my co-workers are standing, looking over the top of their cubicles, mouthing, “go.”
I turn back towards Valentino, then look at my boss, who is still mangled up in the snapped cubicle. Yeah, my days here are officially over.
“We’ll need to discuss my salary, benefits, and time-off first.”
“I double them all. Let’s go,” he says, extending his hand for me like I’m in the middle of some kind of romantic comedy movie.
But this isn’t a Friday night with a bucket of popcorn on my lap, wrapped up in a blanket on my couch. This is real…very real.
“You’re willing to put that in writing?” I ask, not wanting to appear to obvious.
“There’s a Mont Blanc and a pad of paper in my car. You’ll have it in writing before we’re out of the lot.”
“I want a bonus, too. Performance based of course. It’s only fair.”
“Whatever you want, Ms. Venturi. It’s yours.”
I appreciate that he addressed me in a professional way in front of my colleagues, or soon to be ex-colleagues.
“Very well, Mr. Valentine. I accept your offer of employment.”
He smirks and I take his hand, walking past the receptionist where I notice one of the other partners waving a teddy bear and box of chocolates in front of her.
Is this what always goes on here? I wouldn’t know as I always have my nose buried in my work all day and sometimes into the night. Some days I forget to ea
t lunch, or just down more coffee instead. When I do take a lunch it’s usually a soggy sandwich from the vending machine and right back to my desk.
I guess I had no idea what it was really like here. Now I know.
But what I don’t have a clue about is what in the heck is going on with Valentino.
CHAPTER 8
Valentina
“You need someone to keep an eye out for your safety,” Valentino growls as he slams down the stick shift of his Ferrari and I pull out of the lot for the last time…but in his car not mine.
Possessive Valentine (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 95) Page 3
