by SJ Molloy
I lay on top of her and cried. I heard nothing, felt nothing. I was numb and in shock. I remember only hours later sitting in the back of an ambulance being treated for shock while the wounds on my hands from beating her attacker were dressed by a paramedic.
It was her ex-boyfriend. He knew where she would be and he waited for her. He wanted revenge because she left him. CCTV footage showed the full thing. His attack … her running from me … me attacking him … the devastating car accident. It was all on camera.
The bastard was sentenced to eight years in custody, six for good behaviour. I was charged with an assault fine, not that I could give a flying fuck. He was lucky I did not murder him with my bare hands.
The woman that was driving the car was rushing to get to work and had music on loudly. There is no way she would have been able to break; the ramp was too short and steep, and the sharp bend obstructed her view. She was charged and lost her licence but never went to prison as technically it was a freak accident.
Jasmine should not have been running down a ramp, but she was distressed and hysterical. I found out later that the woman driving the car could not live with the guilt of accidently taking someone’s life and later killed herself. A complete mindfuck and torturous time. For me, for Jasmine’s family, and for the driver’s family.
After the tragic event, I wanted to do something for Jasmine to honour the life that was taken too early. I named one of my cancer charities after her: The Jasmine Foundation. I designed a logo for the brand, a diamond sitting in an open palm. It was my way of dedicating it all to her. It was my last memory.
The diamond in my palm reminds me she gave me light, hope, and encouraged me to be bright about my future. It reminds me of those little earrings she wore that illuminated her face on that one nice night we shared. A special time of losing our inhibitions and rediscovering ourselves just hours before she was tragically taken. The diamond, I found lying next to her that I held in my palm while I prayed and cursed is represented in my logo.
Her funeral was hard, real hard. I thought I would not get through it. It brought back too many painful memories of my papa’s brother’s funeral, my uncle Genaro. But it made me stronger, and in a sense it prepared me. It prepared me for the death of my stillborn son. Another death later to come that tore my life apart and ripped out my fucking soul. But I was a stronger man. In a way, Jasmine prepared me for it.
A few months after Jasmine died, I went back to Tuscany and spent time with Fran. I eventually opened up to her, told her everything. About the cancer, meeting Jasmine, losing Jasmine. We rekindled our relationship and that is when I decided that life was too short, that I wanted someone in my life because you never know the minute life will be taken away from you.
Fran agreed to move back to Scotland with me. She fell pregnant, but I just was not ready to be a father. I did not even think it would be possible for me to father a child. They had said that radiotherapy could reduce my fertility. And if the cancer was ever to spread, I would need chemotherapy and then chances of me being fertile would be even less if not impossible.
They had offered me the chance to freeze my sperm. It was the last thing on my mind. I was in my mid-twenties and busy building my empire. They did suggest that if I ever needed chemotherapy treatment, then it would be highly recommended. A must. I thought I would cross that bridge if it ever came to that.
When Fran lost the baby, I felt as if I had been dealt the worst unimaginable twisted hand of fate. I felt it was probably my one and only chance of fathering a child and it was taken away from me. It was almost as if my dismissal of ever having a child and my negative thoughts were contradictory and my bluff was called.
Fucking jeopardy.
Story of my life.
I always thought because I was irresponsible and reluctant to consider fertility at the time of my treatment, and my initial response was apprehension when Fran said she was pregnant, the big man up there decided it was not for me. He made the decision for me. I vowed to never tempt fate again and be a little wiser in the choices I make. I grew up.
Papa convinced me to propose to Fran and make an honest woman of her when she was pregnant. Fuck, I did not know if it was what I really wanted, but I was nervous not to. I had so many regrets about Jasmine, the cancer, Uncle Genaro, and it seemed like the right thing to do. I was under a lot of pressure.
After Fran and I split, I became the young reckless man I was before my cancer. I fucked any woman who threw herself on me without any strings. My old rule: I protected my heart. I drank, I fucked … I drank … and I fucked. Again, it was Casey, my therapist, who brought me back to focus and helped me gain perspective after my little sister, Orianna, begged me to get help.
“Lucca, are you alright, boss?” Ronan asks, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Yes, sorry, Ronan, I was just thinking.” My thumb rubs over my scratchy stubble.
Brunette. Brunette.
Memoria. Memories.
Abbandono. Abandonment.
“You look like you are in real pain. Do you want me to call upstairs to the clinic and get you an appointment with the brunette?”
Brunette!
I forgot all about my back pain for a moment. I was too busy thinking about my heart and my dick. It has been a while since they were looked after properly, since I felt loved or had a good piece of ass.
“No, it is okay.”
“Pity. I desperately want to get to know this beautiful broad that everyone’s talking about. Let me know how you get on,” he jokes. I will give the prick fooling around; he has a fucking job to do.
Now that I think about it, it has been a while since I had any piece of ass. I work too hard and do not play enough anymore. Maybe I should hook up with an old acquaintance in Tuscany on my trip. That is exactly what I need: a quick, mindless distraction. Works every time.
I cannot remember the last time I had a good fuck. No strings attached … good fuck … good times … good night … back to work. Everybody is happy. Fuck it! I must be losing my edge.
My New Year’s resolution was to find a nice girl and settle down this year. I am not getting any younger, and shit if my papa does not keep reminding me. I just do not have the time to meet a nice girl, so quick fuck from an old friend will have to do. Until I have time or meet the right person.
It is not as if I do not have many offers. Women seem to throw themselves at me, and while that was amazing when I was younger and getting over Jasmine, Fran, and my son dying, I do not find it appealing anymore. I envy what my parents, grandparents, and brothers have. That all-consuming love. It is something I have yet to experience.
Fuck … I am turning into an old man, thinking crazy shit like that.
The types of women who throw themselves at me are normally desperate. Many of them are desperate for my money or just plain whores. Not all, but some. A few of my no-strings-attached affairs are actually friends who wanted more … who wanted me and a serious relationship I would never commit to.
My brothers, Savio and Armando, cannot seem to comprehend how I can sleep with women, break their hearts, and still be friends with them afterwards. I do not see it like that. Sure, there have been a few cling-ons in the past … but no one that I have ended or parted ways with on bad terms.
I am always honest and put my cards on the table. I never give them hope or any slight notion that they will ever get a piece of my heart. I did not even promise that to Jasmine after our one nice night.
Hey, I am a sensitive man … my heart needs to be protected.
I think it is respectable and mature to be able to continue a mutual friendship or relationship with someone I have slept with. It is only sex. It is not as if I remember or feel anything afterwards, so there is no reason for me to phase out friends who I have been with. They are only ever going to be friends, and the sex … is always inconsequential. Well, it is to me, unfortunately sometimes not to them.
There have been many encounters I have experienc
ed which I am not proud to admit. I have found myself in bed with some piece of ass after a night of alcohol. Faces I will never remember. Drunken, mindless sex, which is good for a brief amount of time, but gives me nightmares the next day and makes me feel like a complete fucking asshole.
Which actually reminds me to give Ronan a stealth warning not to get involved with this chick upstairs. It is not professional and he better not get any ideas … not in my club.
“Well, do not do anything foolish. You have a reputation to uphold here and an example to set and a lovely wife at home. Keep your dick in your trousers,” I gently warn him, patting his shoulder.
“Relax, Lucca, she is out of bounds, or I think she is. Painfully shy … but easy on the eyes all the same.” He laughs, shaking his head, and opens the door for me. Thank fuck, there is hope for the poor girl yet. She may be saved from Ronan: the walking fucking hard-on.
“I will take your word for it. Okay, I will be upstairs in the gym if you need me. I might try and catch the physio before she leaves.” I switch the light off behind me. He gives me a roguish smirk before he leaves.
I head to my office on the ground floor next door to the admin office and throw my suit jacket over the chair. After listening to my voicemails, checking my emails, I grab my sports bag to change. If I can see this physio today, I do not want to wear my suit trousers and shirt. I want to be comfortable.
On the way to the changing rooms, I meet several of my club members and a few of my personal trainers who work there. I briefly talk and catch up with them. Many of the women purposely stop to catch my attention. I pride myself on my people skills and am always pleasant to them. I am not in the club that often as Osurac head office is my home base, but I like to make a point of getting to know the regulars and the staff on the floor.
It does take some restraint to be the “professional boss” when I have tits bouncing in my face everywhere I go. There is fucking flesh, curves, and tight little asses everywhere you look in clubs like these. And those shit hot sports bras they wear … fuck, they should be illegal. They might as well exercise in their lingerie.
The footballers’ wives are the worst for testing a man’s resolve. They come in all manicured, made-up, and look like centrefold models in their fitness gear. Definite eye-candy. Ah, the big man up there likes me after all it appears.
Part one: Lussuria ~ Lucca’s Words
“Lussuria ~ Chapter Two: Chemistry”
Chapter 1
Chance Encounters
I change into my running clothes and let out a deep, hearty groan as I bend over to tie my running shoes. I hope this ache passes because I would hate to be uncomfortable on the flight tomorrow, and I do not have the luxury of chartering a jet this week.
Eric and Claude, my preferred pilots, are on holiday, and the jet I commonly use has already been chartered and then is having interior renovations done inside the main cabin. I need to fly business class on an ordinary flight, which means fucking about in airports, hanging around, and minimal comfort and leg room. Not ideal.
I throw my gear into a locker and quickly look around to check that the place is being well-kept and is presentable. The changing rooms look good after a recent refurbish. I am glad I went with the aged oak, marble tops, and granite tiles. Good choice. The Osurac boys have done an excellent job in here.
Upstairs, passing through the gym, still quiet before the after-work rush fills every piece of equipment, and the queue for the fitness classes begin outside the studios, I reach the clinic door noticing it is ajar. I find a young woman sitting on the floor gasping for air and mumbling something.
The sexy brunette.
Fuck … she sounds like she is crying. I need to ask her if she is okay. I cannot leave her like this. She is a member of staff, and I should be looking after them and do not see anyone else around to comfort her. She looks so small and delicate, shoulders jerking, nose sniffling while she weeps.
Shit!
“Hey, is everything okay? Are you alright?” I say before tapping faintly on the door.
I must have startled her. She jumps up, slams her phone down, keeps her back to me, and says she is fine. She is not fine. Far from it.
“Can I help you? I’m sorry, it’s rude of me not to turn around, but I’m looking awful at the moment. If you can give me a minute, please, I’d appreciate that.”
Her voice quavers, but the accent is charming. Definitely Scottish, however I cannot place the mixed intonation. An influence from South Africa … Australia … or New Zealand. I just do not know.
But, I know this: It is sexy as fuck. I waste no time moving around to stand in front of her. I need to see her face. Perhaps I can help and I sure as hell am not talking to the back of her head.
I stand in front of her, but she looks down. I encourage her to look up towards me, and she slowly lifts her head. Shit … my breath leaves my lungs at rapid pace causing me to gasp. I fixate on her big, brown eyes. Those long, dark eyelashes flutter at the same time my heartbeat drums faster. Her enchanting eyes are wet with tears, and shit, if she does not look naturally stunning, yet vulnerable; it gives this girl an exquisite charm. An intriguing charm.
I am mesmerised, completely entranced by this beautiful woman standing in front of me. Drawing my attention from her eyes, I roam over her gorgeous and pretty heart-shaped face, neat, little nose, high cheek bones peach in colour, luscious and glossy lips, flawless dark skin tone … Wow.
This girl is painstakingly breathtaking. She is without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. She radiates natural beauty and her sweet little tears make her look even more attractive if it is possible. Divinely precious.
Moving my flitting gaze upwards, I notice she has shimmering chestnut-coloured hair piled on her head in that sexy, just fucked way. It is elegant, highlights her slim neck and striking contours of her face, but it also looks seriously tempting and sensual … those little waves hang down all messy … I could imagine running my fingers through those wavy locks. This woman is a sight for sore eyes. Ronan was not exaggerating after all.
Sexiest brunette I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.
My eyes travel south. A hint of olive, smooth-looking skin around her neck meets the plunging V neckline of the black blouse she wears. Christ … my heart rate accelerates and my skin is covered in goose bumps. My lips pucker and eyes widen.
Her breasts are round, high, and pretty damn impressive. It would be hard not to admire her generous set. I can see the hint of her lace bra underneath the sheer chiffon fabric of her blouse, completely tantalising, and shit, if it does not draw attention to her set, a perfect handful and some.
Her blouse is not meant to be daring; I do not get that impression from this woman. She appears to be more reserved, classy, and subtle. I do not think she has any idea how attractive the chiffon with a moderate amount of tasteful transparency is … how attractive she is. Shit, if that black lace bra is not a fucking cock tease and turns me on.
I take in her figure—slim, curves in the right places, small little waist, and long thin legs in tight jeans. I can only imagine how fucking sexy and luscious those legs will be going by the rest of her body. Those legs are meant to be wrapped around a man’s waist. Fuck, I need to give myself a shake.
She steps backwards and I get the impression I am intimidating her because I have been absorbed in her beauty, admiring her. My hand automatically reaches out, and before I know it I have gently lifted her chin up wiping away some sweet little tears glistening under her eyes. God, just touching her skin sends a surge of intense heat through me.
There is something very endearing about this woman … innocence I think. She seems pure and virtuous, goddess like. It is just an impression I get and I have never had thoughts like these before from someone I have just met.
She draws her head away, tilting it to the side, her cheeks blushing. I have either embarrassed her or she is feeling the chemistry and attraction too. I cannot quite
work it out yet, but shit, I am determined to try.
I apologise, but she fidgets with her fingers in front of her mouth, which leads my attention to stare at her left hand. No ring. Fucking marvellous, no husband … she is not taken. I need to find out if she has a boyfriend. Someone as beautiful as this surely cannot be single. Her looks are deadly and I would not be surprised if she belongs to someone. Not for long, I hope.
I have caught her off guard and at a bad moment. It is no wonder she seems restless. It causes her to try and push me away because she is flustered. Cute, but not happening, beautiful brunette. This just got interesting, and shit, if her sweetness does not make me want to get closer to her. I am a determined man. When I want something, I do not stop until I get it.
Oh, baby, you have no idea just how persuasive I can be, I silently think.
Her intoxicating musky and flowery perfume envelopes my senses making me feel heady, lured under her spell. Fuck! I have been bewitched. My balls ache at the thought. This woman … she has them in her fucking hands. Christ … she has me.
I have it bad … real bad. I dismiss her attempt to be rid of me because she is not fooling me. That sharpness in her tone is forced; her eyes just told me so. She likes me. At least I fucking hope she does.
I need to think … Brain, please work. Oh yeah, my back … that is why I am here. I ask her for a once over and she almost chokes. Looking adorable when her cheeks are heated, it is the nicest thing. The glow illuminates her, making her look fresh and radiant. The rosiness suits her, but she is offended and I sound like a prick. I must correct myself.
“I actually came in the hope you could give me the once over,” I say, watching her eyelashes flutter up and down. Fascinating and enchanting, I could never tire of looking at such a beautiful face. So intriguing.
“WHAT!” she yells. Oh fiery, I like this. A sweet little angel with looks as pure as silk and a voice as hot as fire.
I have to laugh and curl my lip in a playful grin. Can this girl get any sexier?
