30
Liv
Alessio carries me into the locker room, and I melt into his bare, inked muscles.
That was the biggest workout of my life.
The place is a horror movies version of clean, white tile everywhere, the kind of sterile that makes me think of hospitals and crime scenes.
I can smell disinfectant, like it’s trying to mask the smell of sweat and bad decisions.
Rows of lockers streak past as he turns a corner, and one giant, wide-open shower space.
No curtains, no privacy, just a lineup of showerheads like a prison block setup, at least what I’ve seen on TV.
My arms cling around his neck with my face half-buried against his throat because if someone decides now is the time to hit the gym for a bit of cardio or take a post-workout rinse, I might actually combust on the spot.
“So, are you planning on putting me down anytime soon?” I ask, trying to sound casual, even if mortification is creeping up my spine.
“I must be getting heavy.”
His chest vibrates against me, a deep rumble that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
I feel it more than I hear it.
“Not a chance. You don’t want to walk barefoot on these floors.”
I shift, squirming against him, and yep, that’s definitely his thunder-log pressing into my ass.
My stomach clenches, heat pooling low, and suddenly I really need him to put me down before my slippery thighs rat me out.
But instead of mercy, his grip tightens, and his palm gives my ass a solid squeeze.
“You’re not heavy at all.”
Alessio full-on manhandles me into the shower.
One hand is under my thighs, the other gripping my ass like it’s his personal stress ball.
I’m clinging to his shoulders, still squirming, but he doesn’t even flinch.
The second the water blasts us, the icy blast and the freezing tile against my back knock the breath right out of me.
My body jerks from the shock, and my legs tighten around his waist.
Then Alessio slides inside me, stretching me to the edge of sanity.
The steam curls up, fogging up the air around us, swallowing every sound except for the slap of skin on skin and the water hitting tile.
Every nerve in my body locks onto the slow drag of his cock, each thrust making me cling harder to him, boneless and wrecked.
He’s much gentler now, not like he was when he pounded me into the mat.
This is slower and deeper, which my sore pussy happily thanks him for.
Who knew the men’s locker room would be such a damn thrill?
I didn’t even realize getting railed against a questionable tile wall was on my bucket list, but here we are, checking this off in permanent marker.
By the time he’s done with me, I’m a useless puddle against his chest; my body is buzzing, but my limbs feel like jelly.
His hands glide over my skin so slowly, washing every inch of my body, paying close attention to the area between my legs.
He’s so delicate and tender right now, not like the big, bad wolf he usually is.
Next thing I know, I’m slumped in Alessio’s car, wearing nothing but a T-shirt that reads, ‘Property of Big Tony’s Gym.
’ I’m pretty sure he stole it from behind the counter, but after everything we just did, a minor theft is the least of my sins.
Desperation for clothes outweighed my morals ten orgasms ago.
I tug at the hem, praying it will cover more than it does, hoping to somehow salvage my dignity, but we both know that’s a lost cause.
Alessio’s cruising like we’re on a Sunday drive, completely unbothered that my wardrobe is now in the gym trash.
He’s in nothing but gray sweatpants, thanks to our, uh, vigorous sparring session.
If I weren’t still recovering, I’d climb onto his lap right now.
At least I have one hell of a view on the drive home.
I shoot him a sideways glance, but he’s focused on the road with a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
I roll my eyes, trying to hide a smile of my own.
“Could you at least pretend this isn’t a normal situation?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but the flutter in my stomach gives me away.
He turns to me, his gaze sharp and teasing.
“And miss out on watching you squirm? Not a chance.”
I groan, sinking deeper into the seat.
“Do you always shred a girl’s wardrobe as a finishing touch?” I ask, using air quotes before pulling the shirt down for the umpteenth time, but it barely helps.
He glances at me again, a smug grin stretching over his face.
His hand lands on my thigh, and my heart does that annoying flip thing again.
“Good thing it’s my gym, Sirena .” He squeezes my leg, sliding his hand further between my thighs, using them like his own personal handwarmer.
“A few of my men use it from time to time, but I made sure it was cleared and locked, so I wouldn’t have to stop fucking you to kill any bastard who saw you naked. ”
My cheeks burn as a rush of heat coils low in my belly.
“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” I quip, ignoring how his touch has me practically purring.
“Also, who the hell is Big Tony?”
“Just looking out for you, spitfire,” he says, playfully with his hand still on me.
His pinky brushes dangerously close to a spot that begs for his attention, and I shift in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed I am.
“Tony is the original owner. I never bothered changing the name after I bought it.”
I blink and squeeze my thighs together.
“Wait… you planned this?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around his casual mention of murder over my nakedness.
The thought of it sends a shiver down my spine, but I ignore that and focus on the fact that his little finger has me almost in a puddle on his leather seats.
“Of course I did. Like you could keep your hands off me,” he says, shrugging as if organizing an empty gym for our little sexcapade is just part of his everyday routine.
“You’re seriously messed up, you know that?” I retort, but even as the words leave my mouth, I realize it’s a lie.
My body is betraying me, practically begging for more.
It takes everything in me not to spread my legs and perch them on the dash, giving him full access to the needy bitch between my legs .
“Maybe,” he replies, calmly, but that calmness makes my stomach flutter in ways I can’t quite explain.
“But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I want to argue, to remind him how crazy this is, but the heat radiating from his hand makes it impossible to think straight.
I can only focus on how much I want him, even though I’m still sore from our earlier gym session, and how hard I’m trying not to soak his leather seats.
Damn those piercings and that monster cock of his.
We aren’t far from the house, I sink deeper into my post-fuck haze, my mind blissfully blank, until reality hits me and my heart starts racing.
I’m about to do a real-life walk of shame.
“I can’t walk across your entire driveway like this,” I protest, eyeing the long stretch ahead.
“Ultimate walk of shame.” It’s not just any driveway, there’s always men and guards out front, circling his fortress.
He shoots me an unbothered look.
“That ring says nobody here, or anywhere else, for that matter, gets to have an opinion on anything you do, except me.” He brushes his fingers against the ring he slipped on my finger the second we got into the car.
A ring that means something I’m not entirely on board with.
When his hand touches mine, I jump a little .
Damn, this ring makes me jumpy, and the whole forced-nuptials situation has me on edge .
“You’ll have everything you need and be fully taken care of as my wife,” he assures me, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince me to accept this marriage or if he's pretending he cares.
“It’s not that,” I stammer.
“Then what is it?” he asks, glancing my way before focusing back on the road.
“I just…I haven’t had as many experiences as you have. I just—” What am I even trying to say?
“Experiences like what?” he cuts in.
Well, umm. My mind suddenly goes blank, and I blurt out, “A threesome. I’ve never done that.”
What the hell is wrong with me that my mind would jump straight to a threesome?
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I have no idea why I even said it. The only time I ever thought about a threesome was with Ryan Matthews, my high school lab partner, turned first boyfriend. The guy was a walking hormone and kept trying to convince me it was a great idea.
Eighteen-year-old me panicked and said no, obviously. Then Clover scared him off before we even made it to prom. So yeah, technically, I lost my virginity to a guy who nearly set the science building on fire trying to light a cigarette with a Bunsen burner, then ghosted me because my fake dad gave him the death stare in the school parking lot.
Memory lane comes to a screeching halt when Alessio clears his throat. I glance over at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “And that’s something you want?” he asks, trying not to punch the steering wheel.
Alessio has a weird thing about anyone else seeing me naked.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he says casually. I’m sure women like Nicole throw themselves at him, and he’s had a million threesomes. I hate how jealous that thought makes me feel. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Besides,” he adds, “you’re mine, and anyone who lays even a single finger on you, let alone sticks a dick in you, is a dead man walking. Why don’t you pick some extravagant trip instead, or something else you want? I can give you all those experiences.”
“Yeah, until you get bored, or the next flight attendant comes tits-first at you,” I fire back. The words slip out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret it .
He glances over, a smug smirk lighting up his face. “Well, I like your tits. And despite what you think, I’m not that kind of man.”
“And what kind of man is that?” I shoot back, my fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of his shirt in a futile attempt to steady myself. This conversation is spiraling out of control.
“I may cheat death,” he says, “but I’d never cheat on my wife.”
The word wife echoes in my head, leaving me staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. My mouth opens and closes, searching for a response, anything to counter the absurdity. He tosses that word around as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Wife,” I finally parrot, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. We stop at a red light, and he turns, gripping my chin so our gazes lock.
“You’re wearing my ring, aren’t you?”
That’s his big argument? My thoughts spiral, but I can’t form a witty retort to save my life. Clearing my throat, I attempt to regain some composure. “Just because I’m wearing a ring doesn’t mean I’m okay with being someone’s wife.”
He raises an eyebrow, amusement lighting his eyes. “Not just someone, my wife. ”
I keep tugging at the hem of the shirt, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Maybe you’re jumping the gun a little.”
“It needs to be done,” he counters, leaning back in his seat with an infuriating calm that makes me want to both strangle him and kiss him senseless. “Besides, you’ve been mine since the day you started looking into me, and now I’m just making it more permanent.”
Well damn, should I feel flattered or terrified? I bite my lip, struggling to formulate a response, but all I can manage is to stare at him like an idiot.
Thankfully, the car’s moving again, and we’re nearly at the gate. The guards open it without making him stop, it’s standard procedure for Alessio.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll go in through the garage.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, finally ready to get out of the car. But as soon as the garage door lifts, I’m hit with a sight I’m not prepared for. It’s like stepping into a billionaire’s personal showroom: a Bugatti Chiron, a Ferrari LaFerrari, a McLaren P1, and even a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Rows of gleaming motorcycles line the walls, looking like he’s running some exclusive dealership on the side .
We step out of the car, and Alessio’s phone ringing has him distracted. He starts barking orders in Italian over the phone like whoever’s on the other end owes him their soul.
But I can barely make out a word he’s saying because, oh my god, my eyes land on it. A vintage Triumph Bonneville. It’s the exact same model Clover rebuilt, the one he let me ride the summer I got my license.
My heart skips, the thud-thud-thud is racing through my body. God, it’s gorgeous. The sleek lines and chrome gleaming under the garage light, it’s perfect . My fingers itch at my sides. I want to touch it, but the thought of Alessio catching me earns a hands-off-the-goods mental warning. He’s still pacing around, locked into his phone call, so maybe he won’t notice. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t risk it.
I catch Alessio saying, “Fine, I’ll go,” which snaps me out of my gawking at the row of bikes. I turn back to him, biting back a smirk.
Overcompensating? Nah, this guy doesn’t have to prove anything. Not after the way his, uh, equipment practically rearranged my insides today.
Alessio’s watching me, and I do my best to act unimpressed by his massive display .
“Looks like I’ll have to cash in on my prize later,” he says.
“What prize?” I ask, acting innocent.
He steps closer, towering over me. “From our little bet. Don’t think I’ve forgotten, and when I get back, I will collect…”
The man has me like putty in his hands. “And when will this be?”
Ugh, since when did I become the girl who cares where he’s going or when he’ll be back? I should be glad I get some breathing room, maybe let my poor pussy recover from the pounding it took today. Now, I’m just acting needy.
His hand slides under my shirt, his fingers grazing up my thigh, moving dangerously close to something that would strip me of any respect I have left. I swallow hard, pressing my thighs together, but when I look up at him, I try to keep my face neutral.
“Thought I’d given you enough this afternoon,” he murmurs roughly while dragging his finger slowly up my pussy lips.
“Oh, I can wait.” I flash him a sweet, innocent smile. “Can you?” I tease, crossing my arms over my chest, looking down at his growing bulge.
Alessio steps even closer, grabbing my wrists and pulling them behind my back, and his leg nudges mine apart. His gaze pins me in place, promising something sinful, and maybe a little dangerous. “Careful, Liv. Keep pushing, and I’ll tie you to my bed and leave you there until I get back.”
Fuck, yes, please .
His fingers slide between my legs, teasing me until one pushes inside, and I almost lose it. My mouth goes dry at his touch, and the filthy promise hanging between us. “Uh-huh,” I squeak.
“When I get back,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting along my skin, “you’ll be waiting for me in my bed, naked. Understood?”
The part of me that’s still functional manages a shaky nod. “Y-yes, sir.”
His dark, knowing smirk wrecks me as he pulls his finger out, patting my throbbing pussy. “Good girl.”
I hate how my body shivers when he slips that finger into his mouth, licking off every drop. The sight alone sends heat rushing through me. Apparently, I’m really into this praise thing.
What the hell happened to my self-control ?
A sharp smack lands on my bare ass, the sting making me yelp. “Now go get dressed before I fuck you over the hood of my Bugatti.”
Against all better judgment, I dash up the stairs like the good little girl he wants me to be.
This man is seriously going to be the death of me.