Chapter Twenty-Three
Lily
I groggily open my eyes and see that it is still—or again?—daytime. If I had to guess by the angle of the light streaming in through the window, it was late afternoon.
The man is seriously messing with my circadian rhythm. I groan and bury my face in the pillows.
He was relentless in the shower. After he came down my throat he went on his knees, threw my leg over his shoulder and ate me out like a starving man before he bent me over with my hands on the wall and pounded into me from behind.
Then he washed my hair and toweled me dry before throwing me on the bed and going for round two.
At some point, he brought in a tray with food that we shared, then he was inside me again and again, until I passed out.
I get up, wrap myself in the sheet and go to the bathroom.
When I come out, he is sitting on the bed, fully dressed in black jeans and a black tight-fitted T-shirt that wraps around his muscles like a second skin.
If I thought that suits made him look good, the jeans-and-T-shirt look takes my breath away.
I tear my eyes from his torso and drag them to his face, only to find him smirking at me. I frown.
“Get dressed. We are going out tonight.”
I gasp in excitement, my annoyance gone. “We are? Where are we going?”
“Having dinner, nothing fancy. Wear something comfortable.”
Despite myself, I let out an excited squeal and run into the closet to get ready. I am getting out at last!
* * * *
An hour later, we are sitting in his car. He is driving, and it oddly feels like a date. I am wearing slim-fit jeans with a cute short-sleeved blouse in deep red and a black leather jacket. My hair is hanging in loose waves down my back and I’ve put on minimal makeup.
He refused to tell me where we were going, so I sit back and enjoy the ride, gazing at the city lights through the window. My hand is clasped into his when he doesn’t need it to drive, and the silence is comfortable.
Half an hour later, he parks the car in front of a place I know well. I turn to him, not believing my eyes. “We are eating here?”
He nods and kills the engine then exits the car.
I giddily push my door open and jump on the sidewalk.
Before I can take a step farther, Damiano has caged me in with my back pushed against the car, his voice an angry growl against my ear.
“You will wait for me to come open your door, do you understand?”
I lean back and gape at him. “What?”
“You will let me open your door and help you in and out. Every damn time we go somewhere. Is that clear?” he snaps and leads me toward the entrance with his hand on the small of my back.
I send him a sideways glare. “Wow, calm down, macho man. You know that women have now mastered the challenging ability to open their own car doors, right?”
I yelp when he sharply smacks my ass. I splutter angrily as his hand stays there and massages my buttocks.
“Stop! People can see us!” I hiss.
He merely chuckles and opens the restaurant door for me. I glare and push past him to step inside. He is infuriating.
But soon excitement has me rocking on the balls of my feet while Damiano gives the employee his reservation name. I beam at the waiter, knowing full well he recognizes me. This has been my favorite Lebanese restaurant for as long as I can remember.
We are sitting facing each other at my favorite table and I smile. “I can’t believe it. How did you know that this is my favorite place?”
“Your bank statement shows that you come here almost every week.”
My jaw drops to the tabletop. “Wow, talk about anticlimactic,” I mutter. “Is there anything you don’t know about me?” I ask him.
“Yes, how you want to name our children,” he replies, deadpan. I sputter again, flustered.
Fortunately, the waiter saves me from any further embarrassment. “Lily, good to see you. It has been a while.”
“Sam, it’s good to see you too. How is your family? It’s almost summer break for Joshua, right?” We chatter along for a while before an angry throat clearing brings our attention back to a scowling Damiano.
Sam visibly withers under his glare. “Wh-what can I bring you?”
Damiano looks at me and I am happy to take the lead. “We can have mezze to share if it is all right for you?” He nods. “Then we should have a white wine to go with it,” I go on. “Sauvignon blanc is probably the best choice.”
Sam nods, takes the order and leaves us to our appetizers.
I peer up at Damiano, a bit uncertain. “This might not be the place you are used to going, but the food is really good. The people running the place have been doing so for two generations and you can feel that this place is their heart-blood. I really am grateful that you took me here and I hope that you will like the food…” I trail off and turn to look at the restaurant.
It is light-years away from the luxury he must be used to, and I feel self-conscious.
He covers my hand with his and squeezes lightly. “Little flower, anywhere you bloom is a place I will gladly worship.”
I gape at him, stunned. His gaze is burning. My face heats and I feel shy all of a sudden.
Sam brings us our wine and I look around, finally noticing that we are the only people inside.
“Huh? This place is unusually empty today. Where are the other patrons?”
Sam gives me an uneasy smile and his eyes flick to Damiano before he cheerily—too cheerily—says, “It is still early. They probably will arrive later!” Then he is gone before I can reply.
I have a nagging suspicion that a certain someone has ensured that no other diners were allowed in the restaurant for tonight. “Dark?” My cry of outrage earns me an innocent smile. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, just ensuring your safety.”
“You are taking this safety thing too far! Nothing will happen here.” I scoff. He looks unconvinced but remains silent.
Our mezze platters are served and I happily dig in, forgetting everything and enjoying the moment. As I eat and rave about every bite, I notice that Damiano is not eating, his intense eyes on me.
“Don’t you like it? Have you at least tasted it?”
He merely shakes his head.
I gasp dramatically. “Uh-uh, Mister Dark and Dangerous, you won’t be getting out of this. Here, try this, and tell me you don’t find it divine.”
I hold a piece of pita bread dipped in hummus to his mouth and he takes it from me, his gaze on mine.
He chews pensively. “Not bad. Maybe I could be swayed with more.”
I present him some more finger food and he obediently eats everything I offer while I explain every dish to him, and how much I like it and why. Damiano sometimes comments on what he just tasted but he mainly listens to my chatter. Things feel so…normal. A sense of contentment fills me.
When I hold an olive up to him, his lips wrap around my fingers and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes darken as his hand darts out to catch my wrist. He pulls my hand to him and he starts to lick my fingertips clean while his eyes hold mine in a searing gaze.
I gulp, feeling myself getting wet. I clench my thighs together.
I can’t help but be aware that this man is dangerous. Not because he is the Don of the mafia and controls the world, but because he is this man I see tonight, able to control my body.
And maybe my heart.