Chapter 15
15
Damien knocks on my door at 7:58.
Nervously tugging at my sleeves, I walk to the door. I spent an hour deciding which dress to wear, trying on each one three times before choosing a linen-silk corset dress with long, wispy sleeves.
A chill runs up my spine when I answer to find him standing in front of me.
“Baby.” He swipes his thumb along the edge of his mouth. His dark eyes roam down my figure before returning to mine. He runs his tongue across his lips. “You look gorgeous.”
If any other man gave me that kind of stare down, I’d call him a disrespectful ass. But with Damien, it feels romantic and makes me feel beautiful.
I have no shame in doing the same with him. Even though he’s shaved, his familiar five-o’clock shadow is still etched on his jawline and cheeks. Fallen strands of hair brush his thick eyebrows. I appreciate his black suit and crisp navy button-up that hug his body just right.
“Thank you,” I say softly .
“You ready to go?” He offers me his hand. “The car is waiting.”
He clasps mine tightly, escorting me downstairs. The sun casts a graceful orange hue across the sky when we walk outside.
“New wheels?” I ask when he stops us at a black Escalade and opens the door.
“We have a driver tonight.” He assists me in the back seat, and I settle against the leather.
An older man in the driver’s seat peers over his shoulder at me and smiles. “Hi, Pippa. I’m Augusto.”
I return the smile and wave. “Hey, Augusto.”
Damien ducks into the back seat with me, sliding over until our thighs are pressed together. Our closeness steals my breath, and I rest my hand on my leg to calm myself. He always gets a reaction out of me.
“L’ultima Cena,” he instructs Augusto.
Augusto salutes him. “You got it.”
Damien reaches forward and pushes a button. A black panel rises, creating a privacy barrier between us and Augusto.
“Is it weird for me to say I’ve missed you even though we don’t know each other that well?” I ask.
“Not weird at all since I missed you like fucking crazy.” He turns to face me, and I close my eyes as he runs his hand over my face. “You’re like my goddamn Xanax when I’m having a stressful day.”
“Hmm, I think it’s time I refill that script for you.”
If there’s a scale for cheesy lines, that might proclaim the top spot.
He runs his fingers along the necklace, sliding beneath it, and traces my collarbone. “Do you like it?”
A rush of tingles cascades through my veins.
I slip my hand under the necklace, pressing it against his and intertwining our fingers. “I love it and how it represents us both, making us come as one together. ”
He spreads his fingers open, running them along my chest. “I love when we come as one together.”
My breathing quickens, and I’m rubbing my thighs together when he leans in and whispers, “Your pussy is wet, isn’t it?” His hand slowly travels under my dress, brushing my thigh. “It wants my mouth on it, doesn’t it, baby?”
Oh my freaking Godddd.
This man and his mouth.
He’s really driving that mouth point hard.
It’s a struggle to hide my smile as I nod.
He leans in close, his mouth only inches from mine. “We’ll have a nice dinner, and then I’ll have you for dessert.”
My throat tightens as I gulp, and I nod again.
It’s the only reaction I can manage at the moment.
Otherwise, we won’t make it to dinner. I’m tempted to straddle him right now.
Who is this woman?
I’ve never been so desperate for a man’s touch.
Never thought about riding his cock in a back seat.
“I can tell Augusto to take a trip around the block,” Damien says, flicking his tongue along the seam of my lips, reading my mind. “I’ll finger-fuck you until you come on my hand, and then we’ll enjoy a nice dinner.” He turns my head and sucks on my neck.
I shudder, blowing out a series of breaths.
I do want that.
Gripping his shoulders, I crawl onto his lap. Just as I settle myself, the Escalade stops. I peer out the tinted window, seeing we’ve arrived at L’ultima Cena. A large body of people is crowded around the door.
Damien caresses my cheek with his knuckle. “I can tell him to keep going.”
“No, it’s fine.” I tip my head forward. “We’re here, and people are staring.”
“They can’t see in.”
He pushes my panties to the side and plunges his fingers inside me. I rise some on my knees, allowing him a better angle, and shove my face into his neck to cover my moans.
I pull back when the door opens, and Damien yanks it back closed with his free hand. After locking it, he cracks the window.
“Give us a minute,” he snaps.
“But, sir—” a man starts.
Damien raises his voice. “Give us a minute, or you’ll lose your job.”
“Apologies, sir,” the man stutters.
I hear voices coming from the other side of the door, but no one is speaking to us any longer.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whisper.
Instead of answering, Damien returns to thrusting his fingers inside me. I’ve never felt so inside out. His fingers feel so good, and I tell him that around a moan.
As I grow closer, I ride his hand, throwing my head back and pushing myself against his lap. I can feel his cock growing harder underneath me.
“Yes, baby,” Damien groans. “Come for me.”
And that’s exactly what I do.
I’m catching my breath, and as I lean back, he gently pulls his fingers from my pussy. With his other hand, he fixes my hair and wipes away my smudged makeup.
“Do you want to clean your fingers?” I ask him.
He raises a brow. “Fuck no. I want this shit to soak into my skin like a goddamn moisturizer.” He sucks on them, making a slurping sound.
I shyly look away and cast a glance at the door.
“Take all the time you need,” he says.
“People are behind us, waiting.”
“And? They’re of no importance to me. You’re my only concern. ”
When I’m finished fixing myself the best I can, he smiles up at me. “The way your cheeks blush after you orgasm is gorgeous. If I could find that shade of pink, I’d ink it onto my skin.”
He smacks a kiss on my lips and helps me off his lap.
When he finally opens the door, we step out. Augusto is waiting, as if he was standing guard.
We’re the center of attention as Damien leads me from the SUV to the entrance. I avoid making eye contact with people. I'm nervous they’re furious we held up the line. No one says anything when he cuts in line to the hostess stand.
“Mr. Bellini,” the hostess greets. “Welcome! We’re so happy you could join us. I’ll show you to your table.”
L’ultima Cena is far from your typical Italian restaurant. To get reservations, you either have to be someone important or have Mafia connections. There’s always been speculation about its close ties to mob families and how they dine in the private rooms in the back. They turn a blind eye to crimes committed here. The translation of the name even means last supper .
We follow the hostess to the table as the scent of fresh garlic and pasta lingers in the air. A white cloth is draped over our table in the corner of the room. Damien blocks the hostess from pulling out my chair, doing it himself. He lightly touches my shoulder and plants a kiss on my hair as I sit.
“I wasn’t sure if we’d go into a back room,” I comment before immediately regretting it. It’s what I do when I’m nervous—say things I shouldn’t.
Those are only rumors, right?
Probably not, but I don’t want to give him any ideas to take me to the private rooms where people are supposedly murdered while others eat lasagna.
Damien, unfazed by my comment, unrolls his silverware. “I thought I’d go gentle on our first date.”
Gentle.
Finger-fucking me in the car sure as heck wasn’t gentle .
Blame it on my environment and how he can’t go gentle or rough with me at the moment, I grow a little ballsy.
“What if I don’t want gentle?” I ask, that ballsy-ness turning a little shyer.
He raises a brow. “I’ll gladly arrange that … after we leave here. As much as I’d love to fuck you on this table, I can’t have other men seeing your beautiful body. I’d have to slit their throats with my steak knife.”
So romantic. So violent. So dreamy.
So something is ridiculously wrong with my head .
“Welcome to L’ultima Cena.”
I jump at the server’s masculine voice.
He’s a tall, middle-aged man wearing a white button-down shirt with L’ultima Cena stitched into the left corner of his chest.
“Hello, I’m Tony, your server for tonight.” He smiles, his teeth an overbleached bright white. “Have you dined with us before?”
Damien nods.
I shake my head. “First-timer.”
“Welcome.” Tony bows his head in my direction. “May I interest you in our wine selection?” He hands the booklet to Damien without waiting for a response.
Damien takes it from him and passes it to me. “We’ll have a bottle of whatever she orders.”
My eyes widen at being put on the spot. I nervously flip through the wine list, pretending to know what I’m looking for.
I have no freaking idea.
I don’t drink fancy wines.
I drink stuff I can buy in the grocery aisle or in small bars during girls’ nights.
Tony taps his pen against his notepad.
Swear to God, I’m so close to just blurting out I’ll take a bottle of Capri-Sun when I think to ask, “What are your recommendations? ”
He pauses his tapping. “I recommend our Petrus 2018 or Dom Pérignon Magnum.”
Dom Pérignon.
I’ve heard about that in enough songs and episodes of Cribs .
But I don’t want to order it and sound cliché either.
“We’ll take the Petrus 2018.” I hand him the wine list, feeling more self-assured.
Tony’s gaze whips to Damien, his mustache furrowing. “Is that okay, sir? It’s one of our highest-priced bottles on the menu.”
My stomach sinks.
Of course. Leave it to me to choose the highest-priced bottle on the menu. I should’ve ordered a damn Capri-Sun at this point.
I gulp, crossing my legs and then uncrossing them.
“Why are you asking me?” Damien snarls at Tony, but his tone is relaxed. “I told you, we’ll have what she orders. That’s what she ordered, so that’s what we’ll have.” He leans back in his chair while fixing his harsh stare on Tony. “For the rest of the evening, if she orders it, you bring it. I don’t give a fuck if she asks for the entire menu. Understood?”
My eyes widen.
Just like with everything Damien-related, this behavior shouldn’t turn me on. But it does.
“Certainly, sir,” Tony says with a slight stutter before scurrying away from the table.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell Damien before taking a sip of water, hoping to wash down the excitement between my legs.
“Yes, I did.” Damien levels his stare at me as if he’s giving me life-changing advice. “Always demand respect, Pippa.”
“I didn’t mean to order the most expensive wine. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care how much anything is you order.” He skims his finger along the rim of his glass. “I wanted to know your drink of choice. ”
“Honestly, that isn’t it. I just didn’t know what else to say. I’m more of a cheap-wine girl.”
“You could be a chocolate-milk girl for all I care. I want to make sure my home is stocked with the things you like. I think it’s time we have some sleepovers at my place.”
My heart thuds. For a man considered so dangerous, Damien makes me feel safe, adored, special.
Tony returns with the wine and presents the bottle to me as if he were a game-show host revealing a prize. “Would you like a sampling first?”
I peer at Damien, but he only provides me with a you’re the boss expression.
“No, you can go ahead and pour.”
Tony fills my glass first, then Damien’s, and we order.
Once Tony is gone, Damien dips his fingers into his wine—the same digits that were inside me in the SUV—and swirls them in the glass. I watch the liquid swish around the rim and swallow his fingers.
He drags his fingers from the glass, sticks them in his mouth, sucks hard, and groans. “Now, this might be my favorite drink of all time. Pippa’s cum mixed with alcohol. A fucking delicacy.”
Blushing, I rub my thighs together, trying to alleviate the tingling between my legs. “Your dirty mouth …”
“Loves doing dirty things to your pussy,” he finishes for me before reaching forward and dragging those same fingers over my lips. “Open.”
I do as he said, too modest to look anywhere else but him. Everyone’s eyes could be on us, and I wouldn’t know. He slides his fingers into my mouth for only a brief second before pulling back.
He straightens himself in his chair, as if completing his goal of making me hornier for him. “How was your spa day?”
“Amazing,” I say, swallowing our taste and relaxing my shoulders .
“Schedule yourself for one monthly, then. Tell them to bill me.”
My mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
“Unless there’s another spa you’d like to go to? I can arrange that as well.”
“No, I mean, like, are you serious to paying for that again? That place is crazy expensive.”
He grabs his wineglass. “And?”
“And it’s crazy expensive .” I stress the last two words as if he’s not understanding.
“Did it make you feel spoiled?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then, I don’t care how crazy expensive it is. Schedule yourself a day. If you don’t, I’ll have Genesis and Darcy kidnap you again.” He takes a long swig of wine. “Besides the spa, did you do anything else?”
My body tightens.
Does he know about Cernach coming to my apartment?
There was no missing the disdain on Damien’s face when he found out our relation at the funeral.
I play with my napkin in my lap. “Work, dance, then home before the girls came and we went to the spa.” I smile and raise my fingers to the necklace, playing with it. “Another thank-you for making my day so special.”
“When can I watch you dance?”
A flush runs down my neck. “I think you already have.”
He cracks a smile, as if reliving the memory. “While I love that dancing, when can I watch you perform for an audience that isn’t only me? I want to see you in your natural environment.”
“I get too nervous when people I’m close with watch me.”
“Just act like I’m not there.”
“If I have any upcoming shows, I’ll let you know.”
“How did you start dancing?” He laces his fingers together and leans closer, resting his elbows on the table, giving me his full attention.
I’m thankful for the conversation change. “My mom was a dancer, and for as long as I can remember, I knew I wanted to follow in her footsteps.”
“Why are you working at the coffee shop instead of something dance-related?”
“Stalking me?” I tease.
“Doing my research.”
I sigh, a pang of sadness hitting me. “My mom had a studio I used to teach at. I loved working there, especially with the younger kids.” My shoulders slump. “She doesn’t have the studio anymore, hence why I’m at the coffee shop.”
“What happened to her studio?”
“Someone burned it down.” I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory of the day we found out. The studio was reduced to nothing but ashes.
“Do you think your father had something to do with it?”
“He either did it for the insurance money or someone he’d pissed off did it.”
“Can you not work at another studio?”
“If I worked for a studio that wasn’t hers, she’d see me as a traitor. Even though she broke her loyalty to her family when she married my father, she still believes it should be held in other circumstances. She wants me to wait until she’s able to open another studio. Until that happens, I’ll stay at Brew Bliss.”
My mother grew up in a Mafia-ran home, and while she doesn’t follow everything to their code, loyalty is important to her.
You don’t work for another family’s business.
You tough it out with yours, no exceptions.
Sacrifices are always made in life. You must think about the good of your family before personal happiness. That’s why I sacrificed my dream of finishing school to support hers of running a successful dance studio.
He nods in understanding. “I get that. Family over everything. It’s been my way of life as well.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What have you been up to?”
He cradles his glass in his hand, gently tapping his fingers against it. “Working.”
“Working?” I repeat slowly.
He holds his glass with two fingers. “Yes, working.”
“In the city?”
“Here and there.”
“Are you finished working here and there ?”
“As much as I can. I prefer to work here. New York is and always will be my home.”
I nod, sipping my wine. It’s decent-tasting. Not the-most-expensive-wine-on-the-list quality—in my opinion—but still decent.
“Your uncle Cernach got in contact with me,” he says, straight-faced.
I recoil at the subject change.
I’d rather speak about anyone or anything. At this point, I’d have no problem going in detail about when I started my period at school. I was nicknamed Shark Week for the entire year.
“Samesies.” I frown. “He came to my apartment today.”
“According to him, you’d like me to propose to you?”
I spit my wine back into my glass. Sure, Cernach mentioned it to me, but I didn’t expect for it to go further after I said no.
“Excuse me?” I say after composing myself.
“I take it you don’t want me to propose, then?” He stares at me, skeptical, like maybe my goal was to reel him in for some business deal.
“Uh, negative,” I say.
Doubt is still on his face.
“If you were to get down on one knee and propose to me right now, no offense, but I would say no.”
“Should I test that theory?” He sets his glass on the table and starts to stand, gaining the attention of diners.
I dart my hand across the table to stop him. “Oh my God, no!”
He sits back down.
“You don’t trust me,” I mutter.
“I don’t know you enough to trust you.”
“Yet I’m supposed to trust you?”
“Yes.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
We’re interrupted by Tony and the food runner delivering our main course. I pick up my fork, waiting for Damien to do the same, but he doesn’t. My heart races at how intense his stare is.
Damien clears his throat when they’re gone. “If we’re being honest, I’d have no problem marrying you, Pippa.”
I blow out a breath, shocked I don’t fall out of my chair.
My heart pulsates in my chest at his declaration.
As good as it feels, all it means is one thing: If I ever marry Damien, there will always be the thought that Cernach is getting what he wants.
“That wasn’t to scare you,” he says. “I see that you’re clearly uncomfortable with the idea.”
I’ll always be uncomfortable with it. My mother has told me too many horror stories of arranged marriages for me to even think of agreeing to one. The family chooses your spouse, divorces aren’t allowed, and if the husband hurts you in any way, it’s your fault, not theirs.
My mother’s older sister’s husband was a monster, and eventually, she took her own life, seeing it as the only escape from him. When you enter an arranged marriage as a woman, you sign your freedom away.
It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let that happen .
I also refuse to give Cernach anything he wants. If he wants a marriage with Damien, I’ll never give that to him.
“Can we talk about something else?” I whisper.
“Yes, after I tell you this,” Damien replies. “We might not have a contract that puts a ring on your finger and marries us, but you’re mine.”
You’re mine .
Two simple words, but they make my heart swoon.
Three Hours Later
I moan when Damien slams my body against the wall, his hand up my dress. He slips my panties off, shoving his fingers inside with no warning.
My heart is racing.
My pulse wild.
My clit throbs for him.
It’s like my body has become completely dependent on this man’s touch.
This time, as if he came prepared, he pulls a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his hard cock. He shoves my dress aside, squats, and pushes inside me. My head bangs against the wall every time he thrusts inside me.
This man makes me feel good all the time, every time.
I went into this thinking it was a fling.
My time with the bad boy.
But this organ inside my chest is beginning to open up to him.
And I’m worried he’ll rip it apart.