My Unexpected Surprise (The Chester Street Billionaires #6)

Prologue

LIVIA

Five years ago

Venice. Chester Street Society Masquerade.

"You are an embarrassment in pearls," my father says. "Smile less. You look desperate."

"I know," I bite back. "It runs in the family."

He ignores the remark, looking past me, over the heads of a hundred glittering strangers, searching for someone more useful.

That's what Dante De Luca does. He uses. His daughter is no different from the Murano chandelier above us or the canapés being carried past on silver trays.

In his world, I exist to be seen, briefly, and then placed back on the shelf.

I take a glass of prosecco from a passing tray. Then another. Then I stop counting.

The Chester Street Society masquerade is exactly what it sounds like if you already know what it is, and you’re never told if you don't.

Old money. Older secrets.

The Grand Palazzo Morosini has been hired for the night, and the Ca' d'Oro light falls gold across its water entrance. Every person here wears a mask, so rules are basically like sugar in hot water.

There are no names or titles. That's why everyone is here. Like hey, come party and do every kind of shit you want and no one's going to hold you accountable.

Yay.

I hate this.

I hate him.

I hate every single pot-bellied politician leering at me like I'm a piece of cake.

I hate this fucking dress.

I hate my ex.

I hate my life.

I’m wearing ivory. My mask is ivory too, threaded with tiny seed pearls, and it covers everything above my lips.

The dress is gorgeous. It clings to every curve of my body, dipping so low in front that the entire star of the dress is my cleavage.

It would make me feel sexy on any other occasion. But my father chose it, and now every inch of the fabric feels like a waving flag screaming: look at me. Come grab a bite.

My lips are bare. I wore lipstick when leaving the house, but to spite Dante, I got here and swiped it clean with the same animal instinct that makes certain creatures shed their color before something dangerous happens.

My heart is a badly healed thing.

Vito has been gone for three weeks, and the emotional wound he left is still bleeding.

He said I was too much, too needy. But more ridiculously, too monogamous.

I learned later that I was just one of six other leading ladies in the circus that was our relationship.

The mutual friend who broke the news looked too delighted to even act sorry for me. I thanked her, went home, and sat in the bath until the water went cold.

So, when my father says I look desperate, I think: you have no fucking idea. I’ve not yet begun.

I slip away the moment he starts moving toward Senator Alfieri who’s so fucking obvious under that eye mask with his fat stubby figure and that limp.

Dante already has his hand extended, exuding that fake charm he usually saves for powerful people.

I move through the crowd, through a curtained doorway, and then I’m outside.

The night air greets me, cooler and scented with salt water and distant flowers. Gondolas glide below, lanterns swaying.

I lean against the stone railing and breathe deeply, my heartbeat beginning to steady even though my body still feels charged with tension.

Alcohol used to blur this feeling. But tonight it's not working. I want hands on me. I want to lose myself completely.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a shadow. I turn to look more fully at it, and the silhouette slowly materializes into a man.

He leans against the far end of the balcony, half-swallowed by the dark where the torchlight doesn’t reach.

He's tall, that's the first thing I notice. With broad shoulders that strain the black of his tuxedo.

A sharp, severe mask of matte obsidian covers the upper half of his face, with only the hard line of his jaw and a mouth that looks like it was carved for sin.

He leans against the balustrade and looks out at the canal as if I’m not there, and the very quality of his silence is so complete that I find myself offended by it.

"You’re hiding," I start.

"So are you," he murmurs in a voice that immediately shifts my thoughts into dirty territory.

He has an accent I can’t place exactly. Italian but southern, or it was Italian and other things have happened to it since.

"I’m not hiding," I say, my voice coming out as a breath. "I’m escaping. That’s different."

"How so?”

"Hiding is passive. You wait for something to stop. Escaping is a decision."

He turns his head to look at me then, and even with most of his face concealed I feel the full weight of his attention land on me like a physical pressure.

"What are you escaping from?" he asks.

"My father. A room full of people trying to impress other people doing the same thing. And myself, a little. You?"

"Same," he says. "Minus the father."

He looks down at the canal again and I look at his hands where they rest on the stone. Just below the cuff of his jacket on the left wrist, I notice a tattoo.

Three olive branches curling around something. I lean slightly closer and the something resolves into a key. The key is broken at its shaft, the teeth pointing upward on one half and down on the other.

"What's that?"

He looks down at his own wrist as if he’s forgotten it’s there. "A tattoo."

"I see that. I’m asking what it means."

He’s quiet for a moment. The canal shifts below us.

"It’s a map," he says, "to a place that doesn't exist anymore."

I look at him, waiting, but he doesn’t elaborate. Before I can stop myself, I reach out, fingertips brushing the inked skin.

He goes still, and I hear the sudden hitch in his breath.

My hand follows the curling olive branches, the broken key. Just then, his large palm closes over mine, trapping my fingers in.

When I look up, his eyes are molten through the mask. They're a piercing gray, almost silver in the torchlight, burning straight into me.

I’m breathing hard already, chest rising against the tight ivory bodice. As if drawn by the most powerful magnet, I rise onto my toes and brush my lips against his.

After a few seconds, I realize that he doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss me back.

Humiliation and want twist together in my belly as I pull away, searching that masked face. He still hasn’t let go of my hand.

He wants me. I know this. Or he wouldn't be looking at me like this.

I try again, hungrier this time, pressing my mouth to his with clear need. This time he responds, but what I get now is a soft brush of lips, a tease that leaves me aching worse than before.

Frustration spikes the desire in my blood, making me even wetter. But, more importantly, frustrated. What's his deal?

I yank back. “Let go of my hand. I misread this entire fucking situation.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me closer with that unbreakable grip, until my breasts press against his chest and I can feel the hard length of him through his trousers. My nipples harden into tight points against my dress.

I'm so turned on and he's barely even kissed me.

Those gray eyes pin me in place. “So impatient,” he grumbles. “Come with me.”

I don't even have it in me to say no.

Slickness coats my thighs as he leads me deeper into the shadows of the palazzo, down a narrow corridor, then into a small, moonlit room lined with ancient books and heavy velvet drapes. The door clicks shut behind us.

I'm on him immediately.

I want it fast. Dirty. Forgettable. The kind of fuck that erases Vito and my father and everything else for a few blinding minutes.

He doesn’t give me that.

Instead, he catches my wrists.

“Easy,” he murmurs, pinning them above my head with one hand as he backs me against the wall. The position arches my back, pushing my breasts higher.

His free hand traces the neckline of my dress with agonizing slowness. “You’re beautiful like this. Flushed. Needy. Look at you.”

A whimper leaves me as his knuckles graze lower down the swell of my breasts, making me shiver. “The way you tremble when I touch you.”

He dips his head and kisses the swell of my cleavage, open-mouthed. “So soft.” His voice is muffled against my chest. “So responsive.”

I squirm, heat flooding my face. “Just fuck me. I don’t need—”

He cuts me off with a kiss that’s deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine like he’s teaching me. His thigh presses between my legs, and I grind against it shamelessly, chasing friction. He chuckles against my mouth.

“Patience, tesoro.”

My protest dies in my mouth when he drags the bodice down until my breasts spill free.

Without warning, his mouth closes over one sensitive nipple, sucking like it's his job.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp as he draws it taut, then releases with a wet pop only to latch on again harder. His tongue swirls, flat and broad, then flicks sharply, sending electric jolts straight down to my clit.

The wet sucking sounds fill the room, his groans vibrating against my breast.

He switches to the other nipple, capturing it just as hungrily. His large hand comes up to knead the neglected breast, pinching and rolling the slick, throbbing peak he just left. My wrists, free now, fly to his hair, tugging desperately.

“Yes…god, just like that,” I moan, hips jerking against the hard muscle of his thigh. I’m soaking through my panties, pleasure swelling so much I feel like I might come just from his mouth on my tits.

When he pulls back, my nipples are swollen, shiny with his spit, aching and pulsing in time with my clit. I'm shaking, legs trembling, little moans slipping from my lips.

He drops to his knees then, the moonlight catching the sharp lines of his face as he looks up at me. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing the hem of my dress to my waist.

“Hold the dress up for me,” he orders, voice rough with hunger. “Higher. Let me see.”

My fingers tremble as I obey, bunching the fabric against my stomach. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs.

“Foot up.”

I lift one, then the other, and he tosses the scrap of lace aside. I’m completely bare to him now, slick and throbbing.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “Look at that pretty mess.”

I try to close my legs, suddenly shy under that intense stare, but he grips my hips and parts them wider, settling one of my trembling thighs over his broad shoulder.

“Lean back more, tesoro. Yes, like that. Arch your hips forward. Put that pretty pussy right against my mouth.” His hands slide down to cup my ass, tilting me exactly how he wants.

My legs part wider as I obey, knees shaking.

"Good girl," he praises, breath hot against my sensitive flesh.

I know exactly what obscene sight I make right now: dress rucked up, tits out, juices dripping down my thighs while a masked stranger kneels between my legs in a moonlit library. The shame only makes me wetter.

His mouth is on me in a heartbeat.

He flattens his tongue and drags it from my entrance up to my clit in one long stroke, gathering my wetness before he seals his lips around the throbbing bundle of nerves and sucks hard.

I cry out, hips jerking against his face.

He groans into my pussy like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted, the vibration shooting straight through me. His hands grip my ass, holding me steady as he works me with devastating skill.

"Oh god…fuck, please," I whimper, fingers digging into his hair. My thighs shake violently around his head.

He devours me like a man starved, sucking my folds, dipping his tongue inside me to fuck me with it, then returning to my clit with fresh hunger. My orgasm starts to build.

He pulls away then. Rises. He's towering over me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

My legs are jelly, but he catches me, lifting me effortlessly.

My back hits the heavy oak table in the center of the room, ancient tomes shoved aside as he spreads me open.

He frees his cock with one hand, and I stare, jaw slack.

It's thick and heavy, the head already slick with pre-cum. I reach for it, but he catches my wrists again, pinning them above my head.

He notches the fat head against my entrance and pushes in slowly, stretching me open inch by inch. The burn is delicious.

He’s big. Thicker and longer than I expected, and the slow roll of his hips has him sinking deep and nudging against places I didn't know existed.

“Oh fuck,” I cry softly, breaths hitching with each wet thrust.

“Look how well you take my cock,” he murmurs, groaning.

My inner walls involuntarily clench at the praise and he grunts. “Fuck. You were made for this. So fucking perfect.”

He bottoms out, hips flush against me, and holds there, grinding in deep circles that make me feel him everywhere.

“Harder,” I whimper, emotions swirling hot from his constant praise. I don't need this. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

He chuckles darkly, one hand sliding around to rub my clit in lazy circles. “No, bellissima. Feel this. Feel how deep I am. You’re clenching around me like you never want me to leave.”

Tears prick my eyes as pleasure builds impossibly higher. I want to be ruined. I want him to lose control.

His free hand grips my hip, angling me exactly how he wants, rolling and grinding so the head of his cock kisses my cervix with every thrust.

It's like something loosens in my brain and I can't think properly anymore.

My toes start to tingle, my head feels light, my eyes start to roll back.

“Ah, there it is.”

I let out a broken cry, my back arching clean off the table as pleasure crashes through me in a blinding wave.

My thighs lock around his waist, heels digging into his back while my whole body shakes with the force of it. Wetness floods between us, slick sounds filling the quiet library as he keeps thrusting through my orgasm, drawing it out until I’m sobbing, tears slipping onto the table.

He leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss, swallowing every moan and whimper while his hips piston harder, chasing his own release. The table creaks beneath us, ancient books tumbling to the floor.

“Fuck,” he hisses against my lips. “Milking me so perfectly. You’ll take every drop, won't you?”

I nod frantically, still dazed and fluttering around him.

One large hand slides under my ass, lifting me slightly so he can drive even harder. Then he buries himself to the hilt and stills, coming apart with a long groan.

A profound sense of loss courses through me when we kiss for the last time. I lock my arms around his neck, giving it all I have.

I'll never forget you, stranger.