Chapter Six
Starling
I struggle to get my body to join my brain in the land of reality, and I’m failing spectacularly. I still feel their touch, their lips, their hands. My skin still burns, my nerves continue to vibrate from my climax, and I can’t settle down.
“Who are you?” I squeak, confusion clear in my voice.
Oh, and I’m naked. That does the trick. Awkwardly, I reach for the bodice and hold it against my breasts—I can’t fasten it again; it took me an hour to get into it before, and I squeezed, tugged, and shimmed so much that I gave myself a stitch in my side.
I also pull my skirt back up again and zipping it while holding the bodice against me is a feat, but I get it done.
“You’re not Tony. This is Tony’s apartment. He lives here. Who are you? Where’s Tony?” Good, my words come out in a flurry now that my pussy, visible through the sheerness of the panties, is not on display anymore, nor my breasts with their red, still-damp-from-their-mouths nipples.
“All that was for Tony?” the brown-eyed one asks. I hate the way they look at each other, as if they’re sharing a private joke.
“Yes. Where is he? What have you done with him?” I’m ready to fight them now.
With my free hand, I pick up a very heavy vase and clumsily wave it at them—well, at the floor, since I can’t lift it higher, but the intent is clear.
“Where is Tony?”
“Put that down before you hurt yourself, principessa,” the hazel-eyed one says, unbothered by the potential damage I could do… to the floor. Ugh.
“Not until you tell me what you’re doing in his apartment,” I retort.
“Tony Amato is our nephew,” the brown-eyed one replies.
“What?” They’re Tony’s uncles? They hardly look old enough to be anyone’s uncle.
“And this apartment is ours. Tony is just visiting,” the green-eyed one adds. “My name is Marco Mancini. That’s Dario Ricci,” he gestures toward the brown-eyed man, “and that’s Enzo De Luca.” Enzo is the one with the hazel eyes. Now that I’ve assigned names to their eye colors... oh no.
Tony constantly spoke about his three uncles, how he admires them and wants to be like them. I expected them to be sixty, not in their thirties, for goodness' sake.
“Now that we’ve answered all your questions, you can answer ours. Who are you, and what exactly was this?” Enzo waves his hand to encompass the whole situation.
“Oh,” I say, my shoulders sagging. Well, fudge. “My name is Starling Williams, and I wanted to surprise Tony. I thought he would be here alone.”
“How well do you know our nephew?”
“A few months now. We’ve had coffee, and I wanted to take it to the next level.”
Kill me now. Make it quick. My cheeks are blood red. I can’t even seduce a guy without involving his uncles. Why is that the typical story of my life?
“And you didn’t know Tony is gay?”
Wait, what?
I bite my lip and frown so heavily that I bend my brain.
“You don’t mean gay as in happy, do you? Like, Tony is just a very happy guy.”
“No, principessa, not at all.”
Tony is gay?
Oh my god.
Tony is gay.
That’s why he hasn’t kissed me yet. Oh, Starling, this really takes the fruitcake right out of Christmas. How could I not have seen that? But then again, for me, it makes perfect sense. Only I would choose a gay man to un-virgin me while dressed in slutty Santa garb.
But no, Tony being gay right now is the very least of my problems. I just threw myself at three strangers—more precisely, Tony’s uncles, whose collective super hotness is just a cover for the dominance and dangerous power that lies beneath them.
“Umm….” I should apologize and leave. Yes, that’s what I need to do.
“Okay, so I’m terribly sorry for all that.
I was wearing a blindfold, and I thought you were Tony.
Then I thought my imagination was running away with me and I invented three Tonys.
Honestly, my brain breeds chaos, so again, my apologies.
I should take my leave before this gets any more awkward,” I say, pointing toward their door.
How much more awkward can it get than mistaking them for Tony, who happens to be gay? Oh, this is the quintessential hold-my-eggnog situation because I also had a very intense orgasm on their fingers. Yes, I did.
But even as I cringe my way to the door, my brain is determined to brew more ways to make this even more awkward for all of us.
I take two steps before I whirl around. What in the nutcracker am I doing? And it’s not to collect my stocking of sex goods or to get my coat. No, siree.
“Look, I’m getting engaged tomorrow.” The words spill from my mouth.
“It’s an arranged thing, so I’m not furiously in love with my future fiancée, nor is he with me.
Also, we’re not ridiculously attracted to each other either.
Umm, so ‘ridiculously’ may imply we have some attraction; just not a heck of a lot, but that’s not true.
We have zero attraction. Nothing. Nil. Long story short, I don’t want to marry still a virgin, so if you have some free time right now and you’re not particularly fussy, would you… do you think you could…”
New low unlocked. I just asked three excessively gorgeous men to sleep with me. Desperate times call for three gorgeous men to take my virginity, blow my mind so that it’s imprinted in my soul forever, and then I’ll be able to marry Jake, and that’s that.
Well, there’s also the chance they could tell me, sorry, but no, we don’t do V-card charity work on Christmas Eve.
The silence is so thick, I want to turn around and flee. I can’t help but notice the looks they exchange, as if they’re having a full-on, very serious silent conversation about me.
I should save myself and leave before they say no. Oh my gosh, what if they’re married or engaged, or I’m just not their type, and not even a brown bag over my head will work?
What have I done?