5. Cassandra
Cassandra
Ipull a makeup wipe from its package and lean toward the mirror on my vanity while a flutter of dancers undresses around me.
My friend, and the girl who originally got me the role in Il Palazzo’s headlining show, Whitney, slips a halter top on over her newly dyed and straightened black hair.
She’s in her vixen era. That’s what she told me anyway.
Caked foundation dirties the wipe as I rub it across my forehead. I grimace at the thought of what years of stage makeup will do to my skin. I’m blessed not to get breakouts, but what damage will I have at fifty with all these chemicals seeping into my pores?
“Can you believe it’s Marisa’s last show?” Whitney asks, fluttering her fake lashes in the mirror.
I swipe at my cherry-red lips. “It’s going to be weird without her.” I glance at the aforementioned dancer—a woman my age who, once upon a time, I thought Dominic was interested in. That was before I found out he was my not-so-secret admirer, and hers was a balding man with a family in the suburbs.
“LA,” Whitney sighs. “I’ve always thought about heading out there, you know? Trying my hand at acting.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Fear of failure.” She laughs. “Whatever. Marisa said she might have found an agent already.”
I toss my makeup wipe into the trash can and pull out another for my eyelids. “Good for her.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna miss her, though.” Whitey blinks away tears as she pulls on a pair of skin-tight jeans, then hollers, “I’m going to miss you, Marisa!”
Marisa blows a kiss through her mirror, which Whitney pretends to catch midair.
I turn to my reflection, blinking the fake lashes framing my amber eyes. Remnants of lipstick stick to my lips, giving my pout a cheap appearance. My high cheekbones look like they still have blush from the force I used to take off the actual makeup.
As I peel off my lashes, my gut twists, and my gaze cuts to the group of girls hugging Marisa and wishing her well. An aching in my chest makes me pause.
I’m not close with Marisa. Sure, I liked dancing with her, but in reality, we’ll keep in touch on social media, and that’s enough.
So why does it feel like she’s taking something of mine as she walks out the dressing room door one final time?
I’m one of the last girls cleaning up, so I quickly finish with my makeup and step into a pair of knee-high boots that complement my skinny jeans and slinky black top. I refresh my mascara and add a little lip gloss before picking my bag up off my vanity and slinging it over my shoulder.
I hate dressing up after sweating through a full show, but I have to look presentable for my walk through the casino to the private Tariello elevator bank.
As I step through the doorway, a feeling of relief washes over me. I stumble in my heels and realize the only thought running through my head is, thank God, I’m off that stage.
Right in the middle of the employee hallway, I come to a complete stop. Never once in my life have I had that thought.
I love performing. It’s what I live for.
Except . . . it’s not. Not anymore.
Then I recognize the feeling in my chest, the twist in my gut at Marisa’s exit—jealousy.
When I first started dancing at Il Palazzo, it was like a consolation prize.
My career in ballet derailed, so I ended up in Vegas working as a showgirl.
But the money was good, and I still got to perform.
Then I befriended Sadie, and the two of us spent rehearsals together laughing and gossiping about our Romano-Tariello boyfriends.
A few months ago, when Sadie left on maternity leave, those rehearsals became boring.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Head snapping up, I spot Dominic walking down the hall, hazel gaze regarding me with suspicion.
“Sorry. I got caught up,” I say, forcing my feet to move.
“Really?” He wraps his arms around me as I melt against his form. “Because from what I saw, you were zoned out in the middle of the walkway.”
“I guess I’m a little preoccupied,” I say, starting toward the casino.
“Wedding planning?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. A nagging in my gut causes me to hold back from sharing my thoughts with Dominic.
He’s been working to get me off the stage for months.
He tells me that he hates sharing that side of me with the audience.
If I tell him I’m falling out of love with the position, he’ll probably have my two-week notice written and turned in before rehearsal tomorrow.
Dominic releases me to open the casino door and allows me to pass through into the commotion of Friday night at Il Palazzo.
The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling give a soft glow, accenting the Italian marble and the golden hue of the ivory walls and patterned carpet.
Slot machines ring out winnings, while murmurs emanate from an intense poker game near the Capri bar.
A group of security associates, in suits with earpieces, nod at Dominic and me as we pass. They’re young but professional, men who recently came on board, trained by Marco and Lorenzo at the Tariello facility hidden in the Nevada desert.
With his arm wrapped securely around my waist, Dominic steers me toward our private elevator bank. Retrieving his key card, he swipes it over the reader, and the door to the small lobby clicks open. We walk through, removing ourselves from the bustle of the casino.
“How about, when we get upstairs, I draw you a bath?” He leans down, placing a kiss on my crown.
My mouth ticks upward as I melt into his firm body. “Do we have the lavender-vanilla bubble bath?”
“I’m pretty sure we do.” He strokes his fingers up my side, lifting my top so he’s touching the smallest sliver of my bare skin.
Tantalized at the contact, I sigh and nod, wishing for the elevator’s arrival.
With a ding, the lift opens, and we walk inside.
I rest my back against the cool mirrored side as Dominic steps close, pressing his chest into mine.
He nudges my legs open with his knee so that my core rests on his open thigh.
A thrill zaps through my body, and I lift my hands to curl around his firm biceps.
Since his shoulder healed from his bullet wound, he’s been fastidious about lifting multiple times a week. The cut muscles are a clear indication.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his breath whispers against my cheek, “I’ll join you in the tub.”
“Maybe,” I say, “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”
He catches my lips in a slow, sensual kiss. He lingers, just long enough that I’m yearning for more, before pulling away and dipping his head to my neck. With his fingers at my jaw, he lifts, tilting my head toward the ceiling, and latches onto my pulse point, gently sucking.
The breath I release is airy, shaky—filled with the lust that’s pulsating through my veins.
How is it that I can never get enough of this man?
My hips gyrate on instinct, and his hardened length digs against my pelvic bone. I want him filling me, making me cry out his name the way I know only he can.
The elevator opens, and we spill into the foyer of the penthouse floor. With urgency, Dominic tugs me by the wrist, past the round cherrywood table with a fresh bouquet in the center, and toward the door that will lead us home.
I don’t have time to blink before I’m stumbling into the penthouse, past the modern living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking The Strip.
Dominic throws his key card on the marble countertop of the island in the chef’s kitchen, unconcerned when it slides and falls to the floor on the other side.
In less than a minute, we’re turning into our bedroom, and Dominic’s lips are back on mine.
“Bellissima, do you have any idea how tempting you are in this silky top and those tight jeans?” He pants between words as he breaks our kiss.
“It’s all for you, Mr. Tariello.” I dip my head, looking through my lashes, playing the submissive role I know turns him on.
A low growl emanates from his chest before he tugs on the hem of my shirt and commands, “Off. Now.”
I lift my arms, allowing him to pull the slinky top over my head. The motion exposes my bare breasts as I forewent a bra because of the spaghetti straps and low back.
Without hesitation, Dominic’s lips are on my chest, sucking and nipping at one nipple and then the next.
I cry out in pleasure, my hands venturing to his belt buckle, desperate for more.
I should know better—know that in the bedroom, Dominic expects to have control.
Standing tall, he tuts and catches my wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice radiates desire. “Did I tell you it was okay to undress me?”
“Please, Dominic?” I beg, twisting my arm so that I can draw a finger along his length. “I need you.”
“And you’ll get me.” Letting go of my wrists, he grabs my hips and pushes me toward our bed. “But first, I’m going to lick you until you scream.”
It doesn’t take him much effort to lift me and toss me to the mattress.
I bounce, catching myself with my palms as his eyes lock in on the movement of my chest.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, before flicking at the jewel hanging from my belly button piercing. “You’re so goddamn sexy. Every time I see you, I ache to be inside of you.”
His hand travels lower, snapping the button on my jeans open, then pulling down the zipper. In a flash, my jeans and panties tangle at my ankles as Dominic works to free me from my boots. Giggling, I reach down to help him, and together we discard the remainder of my clothes.
Sprawled out on the bed, I part my legs and lean back on my elbows. Dominic stands at the edge, drinking me in. His erection presses against his slacks, giving me a hint at what’s to come.
With his hands on my knees, Dominic moves in, spreading me wide and dropping low enough to place a tender kiss against my clit.
My hips buck before I can stop them, and Dominic shoots me a warning glare. This is our game. I try to remain still while he pleasures me. He gets off on the control the rule gives him, and, well, I just get off.
I groan when his hot mouth latches onto me, and his velvety tongue swipes against the bundle of nerves that will make me come undone. His moan vibrates against me, making my head fall back.
As he slips two fingers inside my entrance, his tongue traces circles, building my anticipation. My thighs ache to squeeze together and trap him between them, but I fight the urge and force myself to remain open for his ministrations.
Inside me, he curls upward, placing pressure perfectly where I need it. My chest heaves with my heavy pants, and I call out his name.
“Oh, God, I’m so close.” My core tightens as tingles of pleasure ignite in my lower abdomen.
Determined, Dominic sucks and curls, his hooded hazel eyes finding my amber ones as he swipes a final time, and I cascade over the cliff I’m teetering on.
My entire body tenses before I fall, and wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
Dominic gives me lazy licks so I can ride out every ounce of my orgasm, before pulling back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fucking delicious.” He smirks, hands falling to his belt and the buckle snapping open with the flick of his wrist. “I’m going to come so hard inside you, bellissima. You’re going to feel me everywhere.”
I grin, grabbing his tie and tugging him toward me. “That’s a promise you better keep.”
As his mouth crashes against mine, I hold tight, ready to take him on.