by Margot Scott
I arrive at the party an hour later, smiling, putting my best foot forward. “Hello!” Sandra greets me warmly. We exchange hugs and quick pecks on each cheek. “You look great,” she says.
“Thank you, so do you,” I reply.
“Katherine, this is Harry,” Sandra says, pulling Harry towards her.
“Hello, so nice to meet you,” I say to him, extending my hand.
“And you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Harry replies, smiling broadly, shaking my hand. Harry has an easy smile, and a warm likeableness to him, much like Sandra. They make a nice couple, and I can see that Harry adores her.
“Would you like a drink?” Sandra asks after introducing me to a few people.
“Sure,” I reply. We walk to the bar, and Sandra pours me a glass of white wine. “There’s Dean,” she whispers, nodding towards him. I look over my shoulder and see a nicely dressed man, average height and built, light brown hair, conversing with another party goer. He looks nice.
“Dean,” Sandra calls out to him. “Come over here, I want you to meet someone.” Dean obliges and walks towards me.
“Dean, this is Katherine,” Sandra says, introducing us, loving every minute of this. I make a mental note to later tell Sandra she should reconsider her career choice and perhaps go into the matchmaking business.
“Hello, Katherine,” Dean replies, smiling. He looks to be around thirty, nice smile, cute dimples.
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” I respond, smiling politely.
Dean and I chat for the next hour, with Dean chatting mostly about himself. I learn more than I ever thought I would about the fascinating world of computer programming. I nod and sigh inwardly, letting my mind drift. Thoughts of Alex enter my mind, images of last night flashing in vivid color. Who am I kidding? I think to myself. Meeting new people?? Please. Try as I might to tell myself otherwise, I’m not interested in meeting anyone else. I’ve never met anyone like Alex. I’ve never met any man that makes me feel the way he does. I can still feel his hands all over my body, his smell, the way his cock feels deep inside my pussy. I can feel myself getting wet just thinking about him.
“Katherine?” Sandra’s voice interrupts my sexy thoughts, and I snap to attention.
“Yeah?” I respond, pushing any thoughts of Alex away for the moment.
“Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted,” she says, frowning.
“I’m fine.” I pause. “Well, actually, I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’ll be going soon, if you don’t mind.”
Sandra raises an eyebrow. “Oh, okay.” She eyes me suspiciously.
“Thank you for everything, it was a wonderful party,” I tell her, giving her a warm hug. I gather my things, wave goodbye to Harry, and make my exit. I feel kind of guilty for not enjoying Sandra’s party as much as I should.
Still, a rush of relief washes over me as I climb into a cab, heading for home, my thoughts instantly returning to Alex.
Naples, Italy, Present day
Sergio Rossi lay on his back, looking up at the woman bouncing up and down on him, her beautiful breasts in front of his face. He pulls her down to suck on one of her delicious nipples, while pinching the other. This causes her to moan with pleasure, sending her over the edge, screaming as she finds sweet release. Sergio liked it when women screamed during orgasm, it made him feel like he had total control over them. Sergio liked having control in all things.
“Get on your knees,” he commanded to the woman, in his thick Italian accent. She did as she was told, still catching her breath.
Sergio stood in front of her, his ten-inch cock rock hard and ready. Sergio held his cock and begin caressing the woman’s face with it, slowly, painting his sticky white pre-come all over her face. Sergio then took his cock and slapped her face with it, hard, on each side of her cheek. He enjoyed this immensely – the sound of flesh smacking against flesh - it was his version of foreplay. Without warning, he grabs the back of her head, stuffing his huge cock into her mouth, slamming it all the way to the back, causing her to gag. Firmly holding her head, he pulls back, and does this a couple more times, each time causing her to gag.
“Yessss,” he hissed through clenched teeth. The sound of the woman gagging on him was like music to his ears. “Suck it, mia bella,” he said, fucking her mouth, fast and hard. He explodes in her mouth, his fingers digging into her scalp.
They fall asleep on Sergio’s sumptuous, king-size bed. Later, he gets up, the woman still sound asleep, her breathing slow and steady. He looks at her, her long, dark curls spread around her face. Sergio enjoyed fucking Caprice Belmonte. She had the most gorgeous tits he’d ever laid eyes on, small waist, with long, dark curly hair. Very sexy. Not to mention incredible cock-sucking abilities. And she liked it rough. Of course, Caprice liked whatever Sergio told her to like. He was the man, after all. He took care of Caprice, paid her monthly expenses, as well as giving her a generous monthly allowance. As far as Sergio was concerned, he owned Caprice, and as such, he could do with her and to her as he pleased. Or so he thought.
He went to the bathroom, took a gulp of water from the sink, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Everyone said Sergio looked just like his father – jet black hair, dark complexion, with burning black eyes. Sergio wouldn’t know – he never knew his father, Vincent Rossi. Sergio only knew about him from the stories his mother told him, or tales from the older men who worked for his father many years ago. Sergio had only vague memories of his father, memories that would come back to him, and then suddenly drift away, like mist rising from water. He was three years old when his father left, abandoning him and his mother. Sergio’s mother assured him that his father did what he had to do in order to stay alive, and that one day, he would return to Naples, return home to his family. The years passed, and still no sign of his father. Until one day, Sergio and his mother were told of his father’s murder in London, England. His mother collapsed. Sergio felt nothing but rage.
He was twenty-four years old when he learned of his father’s murder. Sergio began planning and plotting to avenge his father’s death. Sergio, just like his father, had joined the ranks of the Mafia – the apple not falling far from the tree – and was just as ruthless and violent. Even more so than Vincent. Sergio stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. He was a feared man, the head boss of a Mafia gang with connections all over the world, politicians bought and paid for, and huge cash flows of money from an array of illegal activities.
But what Sergio wanted most, more than anything, was to kill Alex McCall - the man who killed his father. The man who had forced Sergio to grow up without a father. Alex McCall would pay dearly. Sergio would not rest until he was dead. He had hired someone who knew what he was doing – someone who had the special skills it required to take Alex McCall out. Now, he would sit back and wait. Wait until the son-of-a-bitch was dead.
Caprice Belmonte strolled along the streets of Naples, her skin-tight Versace dress leaving little to the imagination. Every man turned and stared as she walked along, knowing full well the impact she had on them. At 5’8”, with long, dark hair, beautiful brown almond-shaped eyes, and a killer body, Caprice was not a woman to overlook. She prowled, like a panther, in pursuit of her prey.
Caprice enjoyed the attention she received from men, and sometimes women. The looks, the stares – it made her feel confident. She learned at an early age that people were going to stare at her, whether she liked it or not, so she might as well like it. And she did.
By the time she was nineteen, Caprice had developed into devastatingly gorgeous woman, easily passing for twenty-five. She possessed a dark, smoldering beauty, full lips, and a pair of the most beautiful breasts that could give any man a heart attack. At twenty-one, Caprice realized she could capitalize on her beauty and earn quite a nice living by showing off her spectacular body. Armed with a mind for business and a body for sin, she began a career as a stripper. She started out in a sleazy back alley joint, Franco
’s, which was managed by a fat German man and his wife. Most of the patrons were manual labor-types or desperate losers. However sleazy and run-down the place was, she made a lot of money, more money than she knew what to do with. Caprice worked there for awhile, gaining experience, then eventually moved on to other, higher class strip clubs in Naples.
Now, at age twenty-three, Caprice worked at Bellisimo’s, the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in Naples, catering to wealthy, powerful businessmen. It was there that she caught the eye of Sergio Rossi, owner of the club. He was immediately entranced by Caprice and knew he had to have her. At first, Caprice rebuffed his advances, smiling coyly, tossing her long dark hair, while strutting her stuff on stage, but always refusing his offers of dates and trips to the Alps. Caprice, too, knew what she wanted, but also knew from experience to play it cool, and to always make them work for it. Especially with a man like Sergio who was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted. Her strategy paid off – after three months of refusing him, Caprice finally agreed to have dinner with Sergio. Two days later, she was living in his house. Well, some of the time. Caprice was smart enough to know that it was in her best interest to keep her own apartment, just in case.
Caprice knew Sergio was the boss of a very powerful Mafia family and was aware of his various “business activities.” This didn’t bother Caprice in the slightest. In fact, it turned her on. Caprice loved bad boys, and Sergio was certainly a bad boy. Very bad. She had overheard conversations between Sergio and his men, secretly listened to their plots and schemes, and knew where a lot of the money came from and where it was hidden. You see, Caprice had brains underneath her beauty. She listened, gathered information, and filed it away – for a rainy day.
Chapter 15
“I missed you,” Alex says. He leans towards me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. It’s Monday morning, and we’re heading to the Cosmo Hotel site.
“I missed you, too,” I reply, thinking how happy I am to see him. I was actually glad the weekend was over, knowing I would see Alex on Monday morning.
We arrive to the site and see a structure that looks close to completion. Walls are up, windows are in place, stairs are in, and a concrete floor has been laid. Sam, the project manager, greets us as we walk towards the building. Alex and I don our hard hats and boots before we enter.
“You look sexy in your hard hat,” Alex whispers in my ear, his hand grazing my back. We follow behind Sam, trying to listen as he gives us tour.
“Thank you, Mr. McCall,” I whisper back, a slight grin playing on my lips.
Sam turns around, eyes us slightly, before turning back around and continuing with the tour.
Later, as we leave the site, I turn to Alex and ask, “Are you happy with progress, Mr. McCall?”
“Oh yes, Miss Harris, I’m very happy with progress,” Alex says, grinning.
“I have a surprise for you, Katherine.” Alex swivels around in his office chair, closing his laptop. It’s three o’clock Thursday afternoon. We’ve both been swamped with phone calls and paperwork for the hotel, which is typical. The closer the hotel gets to completion, the more intense the workload. Alex has spent much of the week at the actual site, overseeing the construction progress, and speaking with Sam. I’ve been mostly in the office, scheduling meetings with interior designers and finalizing choices for fixtures and fittings.
“A surprise?” I question, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, a surprise. I won’t be coming in tomorrow.” He pauses, and then says, “And I’d like you to leave work early, at noon.”
I was floored. “Wait, let me make sure I’m hearing you correctly. You won’t be coming to the office tomorrow, and you want me to leave at lunch? What about all the work we still have on the Cosmo?”
“It can wait. And yes, I want you to leave early tomorrow. You’re under strict orders,” he says, grinning. “I have something special planned.”
My heart skips a beat, and I walk over to the office windows, taking a moment to gather my thoughts.
Something special, he says. This should be interesting.
“Okay. But will you at least give me something, a hint?”
Alex shakes his head, still grinning, clearly enjoying this. “No. But, I will tell you this - I’ll collect you tomorrow at two o’clock, sharp. Pack a bag for the weekend. Oh, and bring a swimsuit.”
He walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Or not,” he whispers in my ear, nibbling on my earlobe. I giggle, leaning against him.
“Two o’clock sharp, you say?”
“Two o’clock sharp.”
“Alright. You’d better not be late,” I say, turning around to face him, playfully tugging on his tie.
“Oh, I can assure you, Miss Harris, I won’t be.”
The following morning flies by in a blur. I take care of everything I need to do, making sure to tie up all loose ends before I leave for the weekend.
I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve. The anticipation of what’s to come only fuels my desire for Alex.
I make my way to the front door, passing Sandra on the way out. “Have a nice weekend,” I call out, unable to keep from smiling.
“What? You’re leaving?” she asks, a note of surprise in her voice.
“Yeah, I thought I’d leave early today, you know, get an early start on the weekend.” I hope she doesn’t push for more information. I don’t want to lie to Sandra, but I was not going to tell her anything about Alex and me. I knew she would be concerned, and frankly, it’s no one’s business.
“Oh. Well, that’s great,” she says, clicking her pen. “You know, Dean asked about you the other night, wanted me to tell you he says hello.”
“Really? Tell him I said hi and I hope he’s doing well.”
“I’ll do that. So, big plans for the weekend?” Sandra asks.
“Not really,” I shrug, hoping I sound nonchalant. “Don’t stay too late, I’ll see you Monday.” I give her a hug goodbye, and hurry out the door.
Just as he said, Alex arrives at two o’clock sharp. I’m zipping up my bag, and my cell jingles with the sound of a text from Alex, letting me know he’s arrived. I punch in the code to the front lobby door, allowing him entrance into the building. A few moments later, a soft knock on the door. I stand on my tippy toes, looking through the peephole. It’s Alex. I open the door and come face to face with him, in all of his British gorgeousness. He’s dressed casually in dark jeans, a polo shirt, and aviator sunglasses. Sex radiates from him, hitting me in full force. I want to rip his shirt off right there and devour him.
He smiles seductively, removing his shades. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I respond. We lock eyes, both unable to tear our gaze away from one another. No other man has ever had this kind of effect on me.
“Please, come in,” I say, opening the door, trying to compose myself. Alex strides in, glancing around. He eyes are drawn to the windows, the view of the courtyard in full display.
Oh God. What am I doing bringing him here? He’s used to penthouse suites with views of the city, not a shabby little flat with a view of a courtyard.
“I know it’s not the penthouse, but its home,” I say self-consciously.
Alex turns towards me, immediately sensing my discomfort. “It’s lovely, Katherine. I know it’s not the penthouse – its better.” He draws me to him, embracing me in his arms. He pulls back, looking deep into my eyes, and says, “It’s better because it’s your home.”
I nod, realizing I have no reason to feel ashamed. “Thank you.”
“Okay, let’s go,” Alex says enthusiastically, bending down to pick up my bag.
We leave my flat, and I expect to see Antonio waiting patiently in a Range Rover or a Mercedes. Nope. Parked outside is a black convertible vintage Porsche. My jaw drops. Two words come to mind – vintage and amazing.
“You like it?” Alex asks, smiling, his eyes sparkling with amusem
ent.
“Do I like it? Are you kidding me?! I love it!” I squeal with delight. He opens the door for me, and I slide into the Porsche, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s a 356B Cabriolet,” Alex explains, as he expertly maneuvers the Porsche onto the A40, heading northwest. The car glides smoothly along, obviously in impeccable condition.
“This car is really something,” I remark, inspecting every inch of the gleaming, spotless interior. “My father and brothers would go crazy for this car.”
“Oh really? They have an interest in vintage cars?” Alex asks curiously.
“They have an interest in cars, period. Any and all cars. My dad used to repair cars on the side. Kind of a hobby, really.”
“Perhaps one day I’ll have the opportunity to meet your family,” Alex replies. He glances at me, smiling, wearing his aviator shades, the wind blowing in his hair.
“Perhaps,” I respond lightly, a small smile playing on my lips. I slide my hand into his, squeezing gently.
We continue to travel along the A40, driving farther away from London. The scenery gradually transitions from city life to countryside – quaint villages, green pastures, and wooden fences along the motorway. I lean back in my seat, inhale the sweet scent of fresh, clean air. It reminds me of home.
I think about asking Alex where exactly we’re going, but decide against it. I’m enjoying the drive, his company, and this moment. Wherever he’s taking me, I’ll gladly follow.
An hour later we decide to stop and grab a bite to eat. We find a restaurant just off the motorway, The Plough, a family style restaurant. We dine outdoors, enjoying the warm summer weather. Alex orders two plates of fish and chips, both of us starving. After polishing off the most delicious, freshest fish and crispy chips, Alex picks up the desert menu.
