11. Alina
11
ALINA
O n Wednesday, Tomas loses the suit jacket and the tie and comes into the gym with his shirt sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms. Sara and River are not the only two members to stare as he strides into the foyer as if he owns the space.
“Here.” I hand him a cup of coffee. I’m in a fantastic mood this morning. True to his word, Marcelo was done by the time I opened. The new showers look amazing. They painted the foyer and even brought in heavy-duty fans to ventilate the space so the smell of new paint wouldn’t be overwhelming. I’m so happy that I’m even feeling civil toward Tomas. The paint fumes must be going to my head. “I didn’t know how you take it, so I got it black. Like your soul, probably.”
“Good morning to you too, Alina,” he says with a grin. “I hate to disappoint you, but I drink my coffee disgustingly sweet. Not just sugar but sweetened condensed milk levels of sweet.”
“Sweetened condensed milk?”
“It’s a Valencian thing,” he says. “It’s called café bombon. Sadly, I can’t find a single coffee shop in Venice that makes it.”
“Because it sounds awful,” I tell him with a shudder. “Still, that much sugar will make it easier to hide the taste of rat poison. Valencia is home then?”
“Google didn’t satisfy your curiosity? Yes, I grew up there. I moved to Venice five years ago.”
“Your Italian is very good.” I’m not being nosy, I tell myself. I’m just learning about my new partner.
His lips twitch. “You make it sound like an accusation, Alina. My mother is Italian, my father Spanish. I speak both languages. What else do you want to know?”
Too much. I want to know everything about Tomas Aguilar, and that’s a big problem. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in shirtsleeves. What happened to your suit today?” Another stray thought strikes me. “Doesn’t your boss care that you’ve been here instead of at work every day this week, by the way?”
“Do you think that working for the mafia is a nine-to-five job?” He’s laughing at me again; I know it. What I don’t understand is why I like it. “That I dutifully show up every morning, clock in, and then leave at the stroke of five?” He shakes his head. “The padrino doesn’t care as long as the work’s getting done.”
I notice he ducked the question about his suit. “And the jacket?” I prompt. “Casual day at the office?”
For the first time, he looks faintly discomfited, and my curiosity only deepens. Tomas didn’t even blink when I mentioned lacing his coffee with rat poison, but I ask him about his suit and he’s avoiding answering? I have to know.
“Would you rather I guessed?” I fold my arms across my chest, and his gaze locks onto my breasts. For a moment, a hot, male expression fills his face before he blinks it away. Despite all my good intentions, a thrill shoots through me. “Let me see. You slept with your dry cleaner and never called her again, so she slashed all your jackets in revenge.”
“Not a terrible theory, all things considered.” He takes a sip of coffee. “But no, I didn’t sleep with Signora Milici. For one, she’s sixty-seven and happily married. Also, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Try again.”
Tomas is my partner, so it should relieve me that he doesn’t plan on sleeping with me, even if I was interested. Which I’m definitely not because he’s not my type. There’s no reason I should feel… disappointed. No reason at all.
“I don’t know,” I say, turning away from him and opening my laptop. “Just tell me. Or not, I don’t care.”
“I forgot to hang up my jacket, and my cat decided it would make a perfect bed. Freccia sheds like the devil.” He makes a face. “By the time I rescued it, it was covered with her hair.”
Whatever I thought he was going to say, it’s not this. “You have a pet?” I pivot around and stare at him in disbelief. “No way, it’s got to be the dry cleaner thing. You’re too much of a control freak for a cat. What’s next? You’re going to tell me you have a wife and three children?” Fine, I admit it. I’m snooping. Tomas doesn’t wear a ring, but a lot of men don’t. The Internet hasn’t revealed anything about his personal life, and yes, it’s none of my business, but I’m dying to know.
Besides, it’ll be a lot easier for me to keep my thoughts about him professional if I know he’s married.
He gives me an amused look. “If you want to know if I’m single, Alina, you could just ask.”
Are you? “I don’t care about your relationship status,” I reply. “You’re not my type.”
He tilts his head. “No wife, no children, not seeing anyone. What is your type?”
My face feels too warm. He’s too close. He’s staring at me with an intense look, like my answer matters to him, and I need to shut this down. I’ve fought for my gym. I’ve worked my ass off for the last two years to make it successful. I’ve already jeopardized it once by going into business with someone I was sleeping with. I will not make the same mistake again.
“Someone who can handle themselves in a brawl. Someone who doesn’t think that fighting is a waste of time.”
He chuckles. “I stand by my opinion. I guess we won’t be having dirty, sweaty sex anytime soon, then.”
He doesn’t lower his voice. He’s not trying to be seductive. He doesn’t purr the words; his tone is matter-of-fact.
And yet, when he talks about dirty, sweaty sex, I’m imagining it. I’m imagining Tomas braced over me, naked, hard, his strong arms on either side of my shoulders, his hips weighing me down, and his thick cock grinding into me.
Ugh.
Wednesday night, I press my vibrator down on my clit and pretend it’s Tomas’s fingers and mouth instead. I bring myself to a wrenching orgasm, but my subconscious isn’t done, not even close, because when I fall asleep, I dream of Tomas.
We’re in a room with a high vaulted ceiling. Sunlight pours in through the many tall, arched windows. There’s no furniture except for a bed that is smack dab in the middle of the expansive space.
A massive four-poster bed with hooks on the posts.
Perfect for tying someone up.
Someone like me.
I’m standing in front of one of the windows, wearing a silk V-neck dress that hugs my body, giving me more curves than I possess. Tomas leans against the door, dressed in a bespoke suit as usual, smiling that maddening half-smile of his. A pair of fur-lined handcuffs dangle from his fingers. “Want to play, Alina?”
A thrill goes through my body. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, and my nipples harden into bullets. “Control freak,” I accuse, keeping my voice steady with effort.
His lips curl up in a smile. “Guilty.” He takes a step into the room and crooks two fingers at me. “Come here.”
A thousand responses hover on the tip of my tongue. Go to hell. Make me. Fuck you, you don’t get to order me around. Instead, I look at him through my eyelashes and take an unwitting step closer. “Why?”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he says. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll spread you open, tie you up, and let you come.”
“And if I’m a bad girl?” I ask, taking another step forward.
“I’ll spread you open and tie you up. The orgasm, however?” He shakes his head, another smile ghosting across his face. “Only good girls get to come.”
“If you put it that way…” I move so I’m standing in front of him.
He laughs. “It’s all about the right incentive, isn’t it?” He turns me around and cuffs my hands behind my back. It’s only after he secures my wrists that he seems to realize I’m still fully clothed.
“Ha,” I gloat. “Should have planned ahead, Mr. Attention-to-Detail. What are you going to do now?”
He kisses me hard and spanks my ass, and I like it. “Every time you sass off,” he says, “I’m going to punish you.” He spanks me again, and warmth blooms at the spot of impact. “Just like that.” He grips the vee of the neck and stares me in the eyes. “As for your dress…” His forearms flex, and in one fluid motion, the fabric rips. Metal buttons go flying everywhere, each one hitting the concrete floor with a little ping.
I’m naked under the dress. His gaze turns predatory and intensely male. “No bra, Alina?” he says, squeezing my breast. “No panties either. Admit it. You wanted me to do that.”
I wake up at that moment, hot and sweaty, my entire body poised on the brink of an orgasm.
Damn it. It’s irrational, yes, but I’m angry at Tomas for invading my dreams and furious with myself for letting him. He’s spent a couple of hours a day all week at the gym. By this time, the initial shine should be off. I shouldn’t still be fantasizing about him.
But I am.
I don’t even bother reaching for my vibrator—my fingers will do. I bring myself to a shuddering climax that rips through me with the force of a tsunami, yet barely takes the edge off. I’m just wondering if I have time to come again when there’s a knock on my door.
Weird. My apartment is above the gym, and the only way to access my stairwell is through the door tucked just inside the foyer. It’s a quarter to six, and the gym isn’t open yet. Simon has a key to the front entrance, but he’s hiding in the UK. The only other person with a key is?—
I jump out of bed and grab my dressing gown off its hook. Tying the belt firmly, I wrench open my door.
It’s Tomas.