REBECCA #3
"That's not a way to talk to a lady," Alessio growls, yes, growls, there is no other way to describe it. The temperature around us drops ten degrees.
The idiot actually smirks and pretends to look around the ballroom. "I don't see a lady."
Everything happens so fast. Alessio's hand shoots out and snatches the tray from my grip.
Crystal flutes tumble, shattering across the marble floor in a spray of champagne and glass.
Before the man can react, Alessio swings the empty tray like a weapon—crack—straight into his face.
Blood explodes from the guy's nose. He drops to his knees with a wet gurgle, clutching his ruined face.
The entire ballroom goes dead silent; hundreds of eyes turn on us. But Alessio isn't done. He drives a knee into the man's ribs for good measure, the sound sickeningly satisfying. Then his fingers wrap around my arm—firm, warm, electric—and he tugs me close.
"You got cut," he says loud enough for everyone to hear, his eyes scan me with something feral.
I glance down automatically. There's nothing. Not a scratch. But the way he says it, the raw possession in his voice, makes my knees weak.
"Let me help you."
He doesn't wait for an answer. He ushers me away from the mess, cutting through the staring crowd like a shark through water.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
His grip on my arm is possessive, burning through my short uniform sleeve, sending little shocks of need straight between my legs with every step.
He shoulders open a door at the end of a dimly lit hallway and pushes me into a marble and gold private bathroom—blessedly empty.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, he spins me around and kisses me. It's not soft. It's oblivion.
His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding, his tongue sweeps in like he owns me.
I moan into him, the tray long forgotten, along with the guy with the broken nose.
My hands fist into his expensive suit as electricity explodes between us.
He tastes like sin and bourbon and dark promises.
One big hand grips my hip, yanks me flush against the hard ridge of his cock straining in his pants.
The other tangles in my ponytail, tugging just hard enough to make me gasp.
"Fuck, Beccs," he rasps against my lips, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth down my throat. "Eight months I've been thinking about this mouth. This body. Tell me you're soaked for me already."
His hand slides under my skirt without warning, fingers shoving my panties aside. Two thick digits push inside me shamelessly, curling deep. I nearly collapse. A broken whimper escapes me as my walls clamp around him.
"Is that for me, babe?" he growls, pumping slowly, obscenely loud in the quiet bathroom. He pulls his fingers free and brings them to his mouth, licking my arousal off them with a filthy groan. His eyes never leave mine. "Tastes like you've been dripping for my cock since Idaho."
I can't speak. I can barely stand. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sits me on the marble counter. My skirt bunches around my waist. He rips my panties down my legs in one rough motion, dropping them carelessly to the floor.
I hear the sound of a condom wrapper tearing and watch as he opens his fly to release his thick cock.
He rolls it on his dick with practiced efficiency, giving me barely time to wonder if he's going to split me in two with that weapon.
Then he's there, pressing the wide head against my entrance, rubbing it over my swollen clit until I'm shaking.
"Been dreaming about this tight little pussy," he murmurs roughly as he notches at my entrance. "Gonna fuck you so deep you feel me for days. Say you want it, Beccs. Tell me you need this cock ruining you."
"Yes—fuck, Alessio, please—"
He thrusts in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, as he stretches me so perfectly it borders on pain.
He doesn't give me time to adjust. He fucks me like he's claiming me, deep, punishing strokes that rock the counter and make my tits bounce under my uniform top.
"That's it," he groans, one hand braced on the mirror behind me, the other gripping my ass hard enough to bruise. "Take every inch like a good little girl. This pussy was made for me. So fucking wet. So fucking tight. You gonna come all over my cock in this bathroom like a dirty little secret?"
I'm moaning too loudly, and my legs wrap around his waist as he pounds into me. Every thrust hits that perfect spot inside, sending stars exploding behind my eyes. The wet slap of skin, his low, filthy curses, the way he watches where we're joined—it's too much.
He leans in, biting my neck, sucking hard enough to mark me. "Come for me, babe. Let me feel this greedy cunt squeeze my cock."
The orgasm crashes through me so hard my vision whites out. I clamp down around him, crying his name as waves of pleasure rip me apart. He follows with a guttural groan, slamming deep one last time and pulsing inside the condom as he finds his own release.
We stay locked together, panting, foreheads pressed.
His thumb strokes my hip in a surprisingly gentle circle.
The air still crackles between us, thick with spent lust and the promise of more.
Alessio pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and satisfied.
A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips.
"Still think I'm just a rich boy who can't fix his own car? "
I laugh breathlessly, still trembling around him. God help me… I'm already addicted.
My body is still trembling, my thighs slick and shaking around his hips as the last ripples of my orgasm fade. Alessio stays buried deep inside me for one endless heartbeat; his chest heaves against mine, and his powerful frame cages me against the marble counter like he never wants to let go.
Then he kisses me again, hard, claiming, devouring.
His tongue strokes deep, possessive, stealing what little breath I have left.
It's not gentle. It's a promise. A brand.
My fingers curl into his suit jacket, holding on as fresh heat sparks low in my belly even though I just came harder than I have in years.
He pulls back slowly, his lips brushing mine once more before he steps away.
I feel the loss immediately, empty, aching, already craving more of him.
My uniform is a mess, my skirt bunched around my waist, my top askew.
I look thoroughly fucked, and the dark satisfaction in his crystal blue eyes says he likes it that way.
Alessio tucks himself away, zips up, then reaches down and plucks my ruined panties from the floor.
He holds the delicate black lace up between us, a wicked smirk curves his mouth.
Without breaking eye contact, he brings them to his face and inhales deeply, his eyes flutter half-closed like he's savoring the scent of my arousal.
A fresh wave of heat floods my cheeks. "You're disgusting," I whisper, but my voice is wrecked, breathless, and we both know I don't mean it.
"I'm keeping these," he declares, folding the lace neatly before slipping them into his pocket. "Until next time, Grease Monkey."
He steps close again, and one big hand cups my jaw with surprising gentleness. Then he boops the tip of my nose with his finger, playful, almost boyish, in complete contrast to the man who just fucked me senseless in a stranger's bathroom.
My heart stutters. The electricity is still there, crackling under my skin, making my nipples tighten and my core clench around nothing.
Alessio saunters toward the door like he didn't just ruin me for anyone else, broad shoulders straight, that lethal confidence wrapped around him like a second skin.
He glances back once, flashing me a slow, dangerous smile that promises this is nowhere near over.
The door clicks shut behind him.
I sit there on the counter, legs dangling, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath. My thighs are sticky. My neck throbs where he sucked a mark into my skin. And my panties… God, he took my panties.
What the hell just happened?
One minute, I was serving champagne and trying to avoid him. The next, I was sitting on a bathroom counter getting railed by the most dangerous, arrogant, stupidly hot man I've ever met. In public. At a fancy event. While my boss is probably looking for me.
I press my fingers to my swollen lips, still tasting him. My body hums with aftershocks, alive in a way it hasn't been in years. I should be furious. Mortified. Running in the opposite direction. Instead, a shaky laugh escapes me as I slide off the counter on wobbly legs and try to fix my uniform.
Alessio Vitali is trouble. The kind of trouble that could destroy me. I'd be better off staying as far away from him as possible.