2. Athena
TWO
ATHENA
T rying not to overthink it, I let him lead me back into the dim nightclub, the distinct aroma of beer and whiskey all around us. Once my vision adjusted, we made a beeline toward the corner of a long wooden bar rather than the dance floor.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked as he helped me onto a vacant high-backed stool and took the one nearest to me as he flagged the bartender.
“Freak shot,” I answered confidently. I’d need all the courage I could get.
His brows twitched upward, but he didn’t question it. “You heard the lady. And whiskey on the rocks for me.”
It took no time for our drinks to appear, and like a gentleman, he placed it in front of me.
“Shall we toast to something?”
I smiled. “To filthy sex?”
He bit back a grin and raised his glass before clinking mine. “Sex is only dirty if it’s done right. Salute .”
And we downed our drinks.
I had found the definition of tall, dark, and handsome in the form of an Italian daddy.
A single look from him stole the breath from my lungs. The smattering of silver at his temples gave me a rough idea of his age, which I only found more appealing. He had a strong, masculine jaw peppered with stubble, olive skin, and dark eyes lined with the thickest black lashes I’d ever seen. I would enjoy running my fingers through his dark brown hair while he handled me with those expert hands. He stood next to me at well over six feet tall, his white dress shirt rolled up, exposing tanned forearms.
And his voice. It was the kind of grumbly, accented voice that would melt the panties off a virgin saint. Fortunately, I sure as hell wasn’t one. My panties would be coming off in a more enjoyable way if I had my way.
I’d never seen a more beautiful specimen, and if he played his cards right, he’d have a front-and-center feature in my next book. Hell, I could take him on as my muse for the indefinite future.
The commotion in the nightclub was ongoing. The aroma of whiskey, bourbon, and leather with a hint of wood polish surrounded us as we watched each other under the low lights.
I’d lost my friends and my hair was sticking to the back of my neck with how humid it was in the club, but the only thing I could focus on was learning more about this hot Italian. His hand was wrapped around my waist, sheltering the tipsy crowds from bumping into me, and something about it cocooned me into our own world as if I were alone with this man.
When my eyes finally met his, he arched a brow, his lip twitching. “See something you like?”
I chuckled and arched a brow, but something about his brazen confidence struck me as refreshing. “Anyone with two functioning eyeballs would,” I murmured, sweeping my gaze over him appreciatively. “Although clothes can hide deficiencies, and that Brioni suit could make even Homer Simpson sexy.”
He chuckled as he reached for his tie, his fingers lingering on it. “I don’t know who Homer is, but I’d be more than happy to put that theory to the test.”
His movements were so smooth, so practiced—it went beyond our obvious age gap. No, this man was experienced . Irrational jealousy shot through me at the thought of another woman seeing what was underneath those clothes. I immediately squashed it. Jealousy was my mother’s style, not mine.
“Homer is…” I shook my head. Did they even play The Simpsons in Italy? “Never mind. And no need to take off your clothes,” I stated breezily. There was no mistaking his hotness, but I wasn’t about to come right out and say it. “However, first things first, let’s get some basics.” His eyebrows shot up. “Married?”
“No.”
My eyes instinctively fell to his hand, pleased to find it ringless and also devoid of any suspicious tan lines or indentations. “Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Gay?”
He threw his head back and his baritone laugh filled the small space between us.
“I wouldn’t be standing with the most beautiful woman on the continent if I was.”
Relief washed over me as my gaze flicked to the mirror behind the bar, catching my reflection. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes glimmering like diamonds. I wore my favorite sophisticated but sexy, white Dolce and Gabbana bustier minidress that showed off my curves the way I liked. Paired with my Louboutin pumps that always gave my legs extra length… Yeah, I knew I looked good.
“You’re not too shabby yourself,” I retorted, already wishing I could see more of him. It might be October, but the heat radiating from beneath his tailored three-piece suit was enough to set me on fire.
I turned to face him, his smoldering bedroom eyes pulling me into their depths. He smelled damn good, too.
“Do you have a name? Or should I call you Mr. Hot Daddy? Because another five minutes and it’ll stick forever.”
His dark chuckle followed and he extended his hand. When I put mine into his, he lifted it to his lips, turned it over, and brushed a light kiss over my knuckles. It sent a tingle racing through me.
“I’m Manuel.”
“Manuel,” I repeated, staring at his lips, mesmerized by his smooth, deep voice.
“Now it’s only fair I get your name.”
“Athena.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “Goddess of wisdom, craft, and warfare.”
I pursed my lips. “I’d rather be Aphrodite, but nobody asked me.”
“She’s overrated.” He shrugged, and his eyes raked down my body. “Although, you’re certainly as tempting as Aphrodite.”
I knew Italians were renowned for their passion and charm, but this man took it a step further. The air crackled between us, tension weaving its invisible thread between us and pulling taut.
I licked my lips, my hands shaking with the sudden desire to touch him. But I didn’t move, resisting the spell. His body was coiled tight, jaw flexing and hands in fists at his sides, almost like he was fighting the same intense need to touch me.
I let my gaze travel the length of him and… holy fucking shit. There was an unmistakable bulge in his slacks.
My toes curled and my pussy throbbed as I teetered on the edge of what I wanted to do—jump his bones right now—and what I should do, which was get to know him.
Fuck that. I know him well enough.
“You’re packing,” I blurted.
A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “I am, yes.”
His dark eyes heated, and for once, I decided not to be cautious. For so long, I’d weighed my decisions and made sure to pick men who were safe and careful— boring —but all that left me with was disappointment.
It was probably the reason behind my current writer’s block. My inspiration of late was boring as hell. So, I was determined. I’d take my chances on the wild side, starting with this Italian.
He would be anything but a letdown, I was certain of it. From the way he carried himself, there wasn’t any doubt that he knew exactly what to do between the sheets.
I bit my bottom lip as all kinds of sensual images flashed through my mind. “Do you do this often?”
His brow arched. “Do what?”
“Pick up random girls at bars,” I deadpanned.
He threw his head back and laughed again. “I don’t pick up girls.”
“But you pick up women?”
His eyes gleamed. “You’re the first.”
I smiled. “I like you.”
He smiled wickedly and seemed to consider his next words. He leaned closer to me, his breath ghosting the shell of my ear. “That’s good, because I’m going to make you mine. I’m going to bury my face in your pussy tonight and make you come all over my tongue. And when you’re screaming my name, you’ll be begging me for my cock.”
My cheeks bloomed with heat. Apparently Italians didn’t waste any time.
“Begging, huh?”
He grasped a tendril of my hair, curling the lock around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. “What do you say, amorina ?”
Oh, God .
Was it normal for my body to react this way? It was a novelty, something I wanted to explore.
“ Amorina ?” I rasped, my voice trembling. “My name is Athena.”
His knuckles brushed against my cheek, then he traced one finger down the line of my neck, stopping at my racing pulse, before he whispered, “It’s a nickname. It fits you perfectly.”
Goose bumps scattered over my skin and slick arousal drenched my panties. My mouth was dry and my heart drummed against my ribs. I needed this. Needed him , and nothing would stand in my way.
Just as I opened my mouth to suggest we find the exit immediately, my phone buzzed and I let out a frustrated groan as I glanced down to check who it was.
Reina: Where the fuck are you all?
I loved my friends, every single one of them. But tonight, the only plans I had included this gorgeous man and everything I knew he could offer me.
I typed a quick reply in our group chat. They would know what it meant.
????????
Manuel leaned back as if to give me privacy. “Emergency?”
His gaze roved over me while he watched me from beneath those gorgeous, darkly lashed brown eyes.
“No emergency.”
Another message came through, but this time I didn’t bother opening it. I had more important things to do—such as sitting on this gorgeous Italian’s face.
I gripped my newly refilled shot glass off the bar, downed it in one go, then slipped off my stool.
“Should we get going or do you want to stand around and talk all night?”
A hint of a smile curled his lips and he put his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the exit.
“You waste no time, no?”
I flashed him a confident smile. “Not tonight.”
It wouldn’t be until the next day that I’d realize I never pressed the send button, leaving my friends’ messages unanswered.