Chapter 3
NINA
Two minutes ago, I was cornered prey. Now I’m being offered a way out that doesn’t involve bankruptcy or broken bones.
The catch? One night with a man who looks like he could break me in half without breaking a sweat.
But underneath the shock, a calmer voice whispers: You’ve survived worse with fewer options.
Foster care teaches you to read situations fast, to identify the least terrible choice from a lineup of shit options. And that’s what I’m doing right now: survival math. One night versus a lifetime of debt payments I can’t afford. One stranger versus Eric’s creditors making my life a living hell.
The stranger in question is still waiting, patient as death. Something about that patience tells me more than his crude proposition did.
Despite his words about keeping my end of the deal, he’s standing there with his hand extended like a gentleman asking for a dance, not grabbing me like those assholes in the alley did.
That tells me something important about what kind of man he is.
“Having second thoughts?” His voice is rough, gravelly. There’s no judgment in it, which somehow makes this worse. If he were being pushy or rude, this would be easier. I could hate him and get through it.
Instead, he’s giving me space to think. Space to choose.
The rage toward Eric flares again. Just when I think he’s sunk as low as possible, he outdoes himself by borrowing money he’ll never pay back and dragging me into the mess. He’s not showing up to save me. He never does.
But this man... he stepped in when he didn’t have to. Even if it comes with strings attached.
I push away thoughts of Eric, knowing they’ll only make me angrier. Instead, I study this dangerous stranger.
He’s obviously no hero, but he got those men to back down with just a few words. That kind of power doesn’t come from nowhere. And the way he’s looking at me carries heat, but there’s something else underneath it. Something that looks almost like genuine concern.
“I don’t even know your name,” I realize aloud.
“Alessio.”
I wait for more—a last name, something—but he doesn’t offer. I guess that sets the tone for what’s about to happen. It’s a transaction, nothing more.
But then I make the mistake of really looking at him.
He’s tall, easily over six feet, with the kind of lean, controlled build that speaks of contained violence.
His dark hair is perfectly styled, and his amber eyes seem to see straight through me.
There’s a dimple in his cheek when he almost-smirks, and despite everything, I find myself cataloguing these details like they matter.
Jesus, Nina. Are you actually attracted to him?
Yes. Fuck. I am.
But it’s not just his looks. It’s the way he’s handling this whole thing. No grabbing, no threats, no attempts to intimidate me into compliance. Just a proposition and the space to consider it.
When was the last time you had sex? The thought surfaces unbidden. Not since the divorce, that’s for sure. And the last few months with Eric weren’t exactly mind-blowing. He’d grown even more selfish as our marriage crumbled.
But this is dangerous thinking. This man is dangerous, period. The smart thing would be to walk away, figure out another solution to Eric’s mess.
The problem is, there isn’t another solution. Not one that doesn’t destroy what’s left of my life.
“I’d rather deal with one night and be done with this,” I hear myself say.
It’s the truth. Some people might find this decision unsavory, but at least it’s a decision I get to make for myself. And maybe... maybe I won’t hate every second of it.
I look at his outstretched hand again. Long fingers, scarred knuckles.
Before I can lose my nerve, I place my hand in his. “Okay, Alessio. Take me to bed.”
I expect him to lead me outside, to a car or somewhere else entirely. Instead, he guides me toward the bank of elevators that lead to the hotel rooms above. I dimly realize I just walked out on my shift, but that problem feels distant compared to what I'm about to do.
The elevator ride is torture. My nerves are firing like live wires as reality sets in. I’ve never been the type to have one-night stands. I’ve always been in relationships with the men I’ve slept with, always known them.
This is completely different.
As if sensing my thoughts, Alessio squeezes my hand. When I look at him, his amber eyes are already focused on my face.
“We should discuss limits,” he says quietly.
“Limits?”
“Boundaries. Hard lines you don’t want to cross.”
The fact that he’s asking catches me off guard. “Is that something I’m allowed to have?”
His mouth turns down in a frown, and I swear he looks offended. “Of course it is.”
I clear my throat. “Uh... I don’t want to be hurt. Physically, I mean.”
Not that I think I’m in danger of being hurt emotionally. We both know there are no feelings involved in this.
He nods. “Anything else?”
“I don’t... I don’t know.” God, I feel so awkward. I’m way out of my depth here.
Thankfully, the elevator stops then, the doors opening to reveal we’ve gone straight to the penthouse level.
We step out, and I’m immediately hit by the opulence.
The penthouse suite is at least three times the size of my apartment, all modern luxury and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Vegas in its neon glory.
Everything screams expensive, from the marble kitchen counters to the sleek furniture so fancy-looking I’m afraid to touch it.
“The bedroom is this way,” Alessio says, and suddenly it feels like the ground is sliding out from under me. This is happening too fast, but what’s the point in delaying?
I follow him, pulse hammering, trying to project confidence I don’t fully feel.
The space is lavish and expensive, dominated by a king-sized bed that makes my stomach flutter. Alessio touches a panel on the wall and the lighting warms, wrapping the room in a private glow. He turns back to me, and every nerve in my body tightens.
He cups my face, careful in a way that makes me feel breakable. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is demanding and deep, hungry without crossing into cruelty. I’d braced for fear, for regret, but what floods me instead is want.
Pure, reckless want. It blindsides me, sharp and undeniable, and I can’t bring myself to fight it.
When his tongue slides past my lips, I moan, the sound ripped from somewhere low and aching.
His hands move down my body, broad palms mapping my curves, and I feel the thick press of his cock against my stomach. The knowledge that I put that heat in him sends a sharp pulse between my thighs.
I shove his jacket off his shoulders. He lets it fall and opens his shirt, button by button, until ink and muscle fill my vision. Black tattoos of skulls, fire, and violence spread across his chest, turned into art by the body that carries them.
I should be afraid. My pussy tightens instead.
He pulls my shirt over my head. When he sees the red satin bra, his whiskey eyes ignite. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says, rough and reverent at once.
By the time we’re down to our last layers, my nerves have transformed into something else entirely. When he guides me back onto the bed, I don’t feel like a victim or even a reluctant participant.
I feel like a woman about to take what she wants.
His gaze drags down my body, greedy. He wraps his fist around his cock, and my breath stalls. There is a glint of silver through the flushed crown. A barbell piercing sits at the head, two small metal balls catching the light.
My mouth goes dry.
“Like what you see?” he asks, stroking himself in a slow, lazy pull.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, heat crawling over my skin.
He smiles like a sinner. “Wait until you feel it.”
My thighs part before I can think. His knuckles graze my soaked panties, then he drags the damp fabric aside and slides a finger through my slit. Teasing. Testing.
I tremble. “Quit messing around,” I quip, breathless.
He laughs softly, wickedly, as his hand skims up my inner thigh, light enough to spark goosebumps. “Messing around? I’m savoring. Maybe you’ve just never had a man who bothered to take his time, to revel in what he’s got spread out in front of him.”
Damn it, he’s not wrong. I can’t argue with that even if I wanted to.
“But since you’re so needy…” His voice drops, low and taunting. He yanks the fabric aside again and lowers his head. This time his tongue connects with my sensitive flesh, dipping into me while I jerk in shock at the jolt of raw pleasure.
“Alessio—fuck—oh my God,” I cry out, my hands clawing at the sheets.
He doesn’t stop.
His tongue circles my clit, his lips dragging over me, fingers thrusting deeper until I’m writhing, every nerve lit up. The pressure coils tight, my body arching as it snaps, the orgasm slamming into me in waves that leave me shaking and gasping, utterly undone.
He licks me clean and rises, cock flushed and heavy, piercing gleaming.
My body is still trembling, too sensitive, and the sight of him preparing to take me again sends a fresh rush of heat and urgency through me.
He rolls the condom on, his eyes never leaving mine, and heat races up my spine. Then he presses a hand to my shoulder and urges me forward, guiding me onto my stomach. The mattress dips beneath me as he takes my hips and positions me on all fours.
His grip is iron, grounding me even as anticipation spikes through my veins.
“Hands and knees, Temptress. I want to watch this tight pussy take me.”
The blunt head presses at my entrance. He pushes in slow, inch by thick inch.
The piercing drags deliciously as he sinks deeper, pressure sparking through me with every inch. My whole body jolts at the new friction, pleasure so sharp it has me gasping uncontrollably.
He bottoms out and I clench around him, dragging a groan from his throat. When he pulls back and drives in again, the metal rolls against that tender place inside me, forcing a gasp from my lips with every thrust.