Chapter 9 #3
"Leave it," I barked, putting my palm on his shoulder. My pulse thumped in my ears, so loudly the band was drowned out. I wasn't hungry anymore, I was nauseous. A burn of shame creeped steadily up the back of my neck and made my entire face warm and red.
"Mia, I can take care of that guy—" Angelo jabbed a thumb behind him to where Scott had disappeared.
"No, that's the fucking problem, isn't it?" I bit out. "He's right, this is my fault that I ever let it get this far. How dumb could I possibly be?"
Angelo's eyebrows stitched together. "Oh, c'mon, Mia, give it a rest. How would you have known that sleazeball would be here?"
"That's the point!" I nearly yelled. My anxiety was racing.
I needed air, or an out, or to be alone in my house.
"We can't be here," I said. "I do know better.
Scott is a nobody, but look at how easily he can ruin everything for me.
How quickly I'm reduced to less than because I'm here with you.
Have you any idea what type of misogynistic bullshit I had to deal with to even get to where I am, just for some burgers and a shitty fucking pilsner to ruin it in an instant? "
"You're not that fucking fragile," Angelo dished back. "Stop looking for an easy way out. Pick one: Are you a cold bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s shit, or are you helpless? You can’t have both based on what suits you best at any moment.”
My lip quivered. Nostrils flared, I was glaring daggers into the dark pools of his now-lidded eyes. I grabbed my bag and rucked it up on my shoulder as I hopped out of my chair. "Fuck you." Turning away, I beelined toward the exit without a look back.
I didn't need this.
I'd let my guard down for a whole hour of my life, and it ended up the same as last time—my heart feeling as broken as my ego, without a real reason for it. It was my own doing at this point. I was dragging the cracked pieces along in hopes the next bad decision might somehow glue it back together.
The parking lot was empty, a few cars littering the asphalt under the low street lamps. The deep bass of the band was muffled. I could hear the buzz of neon lights on the large sign for The Mackerel, a thousand gnats swarming around it.
My hair was stuck to my neck in the humidity before I even reached my car, and the band got louder as the door to the restaurant opened and heavy footsteps fell after me. I turned to look and Angelo was there.
"Go away," I groaned. "It's fucking useless."
His calloused hand wrapped around my wrist and tugged me back. One moment I was facing him, the next my spine was crushed against the driver's door of my BMW and his other hand was threading through my hair. My attention darted quickly around the empty parking lot.
"What are you doing?" I asked, more breathlessly than intended.
"Giving you a reason to hate me," he said, crashing his lips down onto mine.
The urge to fight melted away as quickly as I did.
Parting my mouth, I opened to Angelo’s kiss, letting myself fall into it.
My arms wrapped around his neck, and it only got deeper and more desperate as his tongue danced across mine and his fingers clutched pleasurably against my scalp.
I was kissing him, and unlike the first time, I wasn't worried about the people around us.
The looks, the guilt—I didn't have to pretend like I wasn't enjoying every second of his soft lips, his strong body holding me captive against my car.
Angelo's thigh pressed between mine, his knee catching at the apex of my jeans, and I let out a soft hum of approval.
Angelo's mouth crested into a wide smile against my lips.
"You're driving me crazy," he mumbled. His breath was sweet, and his lips skated down my jaw, to the skin beneath my ear. He pressed a kiss to my exposed collarbone and I dropped my head back against the roof of the car.
"We should stop," I gasped.
"No." He kissed me again. This time, his hand in my hair dragged down my throat to my chest. His thumb grazed the sensitive bud of my breast and kept going, finally stopping at the button on my jeans.
Protest lodged in my throat, my breaths were coming in bursts, and I realized I'd started to cant my hips against his leg all on my own. The feeling was unbelievable, pleasure pooling between my thighs.
The door to the bar opened again and two people filed out. I hid my face in the crook of Angelo's neck.
"They can't see us," he promised. His voice was low and the hint of his accent was entirely gone, replaced with the drawl of something more deep and tortured.
"That doesn't make it any better," I replied.
The button of my jeans popped open under Angelo's precise fingers.
Then the zipper fell with it. His eyes bore into mine, searching, waiting, and I was too overwhelmed to do anything but let it happen.
Once he realized I wasn't going to tell him to stop again, Angelo trailed his fingertips into the front of my jeans, and curled them in a way that made stars pass in my vision.
"Is this better?" he asked.
My eyes shuttered closed as he touched me, a long finger drawing circles around my clit. It was methodic, soft, the perfect amount of teasing to have me chasing the pressure every time he pulled away.
I hated how good it felt. I hated how much I didn't hate it at all.
"It’s pretty good," I managed.
Our lips came together again. This time, his hum of satisfaction was loud. I felt it in my chest—the vibration, the need. He was hard against my leg, the outline of his cock pressing firmly against his tight jeans.
"Is touching you here the only way to get you to be nice to me, Mia?"
His fingers moved faster, harder. A cloud of lust had overtaken me, and I was losing my ability to think about anything outside of the rush of pleasure reaching its peak, Angelo's dark voice in my ear, his small groans of satisfaction accompanying each of my soft whimpers.
“Maybe,” I breathed. “Yes.”
"That's it, Mia, girl. Soak me in all that hate." I clutched Angelo's forearm and my nails sank deep into his skin as he slid a finger inside of me.
"Ohmygod." The words came out bunched together as an orgasm crashed through me. My legs tightened; my core shook. I was in a trance and the only thing in my entire world was Angelo. Him and me and this euphoric moment.
We weren't at a bar together that we shouldn't be at, in a parking lot we shouldn't be in, doing a thing we definitely shouldn't be doing…until we were. Until reality came back into focus and my high softened, and Angelo was watching me with reverence as I learned how to breathe on my own again.
He slid his finger from inside me, and the ache of the loss made me sigh. Then he brought that same finger that had just worked me to a climax to his lips and made me watch as he licked it clean.
"That kiss went a lot better than the first one," he said. "Makes me want to try again."
"I…" I pulled my zipper up, buttoning my jeans. "That…"
"I know." Angelo brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "Can never happen again."
"Right." I swallowed, unhappy with that.
What is wrong with you, Mia?
Angelo adjusted himself very deliberately, and my cheeks flamed at the thought of him still erect, hurting, wanting for relief.
I imagined him going back home and getting himself off, and another wave of need punched into my lower belly.
He seemed very content with himself, though.
Like he’d done everything he’d set out to do. Like he’d won an invisible contest.
The sky was speckled with stars, and a cooler September breeze was gusting through the parking lot. I shivered as the cold air blanketed me and Angelo ran a hand down my goose-pebbled arm.
"Got your car back," he noted, pulling open the driver's door. I stepped around it. "Are you good to drive yourself home?"
"Where are you going to go?" I asked.
"Well, I still have a tab to settle inside. I went chasing a girl out the door without my credit card."
A laugh bubbled out of me. "That was stupid of you."
He leaned in, flashing a proud smile. "It’s not the first time."
I dropped into my car and Angelo closed the door behind me, leaning through the open window when I rolled it down.
"There's no fire hydrants in the immediate vicinity," he said.
"There is, however, a street lamp with a concrete base about twenty feet to your right, so try to cut the wheel sooner rather than later. "
"You're still an ass." I scrunched my nose at him. "Do me a favor, keep The Mackerel between us."
"This entire night," he said. "Our little secret."
“Don’t make me regret this.”
He saluted me, backing a safe distance away from my car. “Do you like me yet?”
“No,” I answered plainly. “But you definitely liked one of my Instagram posts from 107 weeks ago yesterday.”
Angelo’s smile caved. He slid his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and scratched it nervously. “Must have been a glitch.”
I didn’t believe him, but when I got home, I was in a lighter mood.
My soul was less exhausted, and the pressure that was perpetually at the back of my skull had subsided.
Maybe Bella deserved a phone call. Not to tell her that Angelo had done what needed to be done—God, no—but that I'd wielded her advice and hooked up with someone and now I was Dorothy in Oz, seeing in technicolor.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I could answer for my crimes. Right now, I was floating in them.