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13
THIS CAR, THOUGH…
MICHELA
On the car dealership’s main floor, I flip through a magazine about sailing while the afternoon sun pierces the large window and tans my right side. Outside, Charlie pulls up with Corrado’s car, and from the corner of my eye, I catch Corrado and the man shaking hands.
We’re leaving. In a hurry. I rise and fling the magazine on top of the table. It hits the other five magazines, and every one of them slides right off the glass. Cursing under my breath, I start picking up the magazines. The sailing one is under the table, so I get down on my knees to fetch it.
I put it on the table, but just as I’m about to get up, a pair of legs appears on my right.
Corrado’s left boot nudges my knee.
I look up. “Was just… Never mind me. Did you buy the car?”
“Never mind the car when I have you on your knees.”
I laugh, and he offers me a hand.
I accept, and we leave the dealership. At the car, I say, “Congratulations. She is beautiful.”
From behind, Corrado presses into me, and I have no choice but to walk the few steps until my front is pressed against the car. His hardness throbs against my butt. “You want to take her home?”
While Charlie drew up the papers, Corrado must’ve showered off the dust and explosive material because his cologne smells like sandalwood with a dash of crushed vanilla, and under the burning New York sun, I briefly close my eyes and think about the beach, the sand, and strong hands gripping my bottom while he fucks me in the water.
Whoooo.
“Home.” I repeat the last thing I heard, hoping it’ll bring me back to reality and out of the delusions I’m having about vacations. And sex. Lots of delusions about sex. Particularly having sex with the man who smells sinfully hot and whose body I can’t unsee. Those strong thighs. The size of his dick. Can’t. Unsee.
He bites my earlobe.
“Corrado.” I swallow.
“Say my name like that again,” he growls in my ear.
“Corrado.”
“What’s it taste like?”
His name. He wants to know how his name tastes when I say it. Oh my God, who talks like this? Italian men, apparently.
“It tastes…” I try to think of the right comparison, but can’t quite find one. “Unfamiliar.”
“And you’re afraid of what you don’t know. Is that it?”
“I’m afraid I do know.”
Corrado slaps my bottom. “Get in the car.”
Something I said must have upset him, because he didn’t open the door for me. To be clear, no one has ever opened doors for me. That’s how I know his effect on me is already showing. The way he treats me will leave scars. I’m already wondering if the next man I meet will open the door for me. Not once or twice, but for the rest of his life. Corrado is the kind of man who does this for life. And the kind of man who takes it away when displeased.
Since Corrado is in the passenger seat, I get in the back. The moment I sit down, he turns in his seat and gives me a strange look.
“What are you doing back there?” he asks.
“Um, waiting for Hank, I think.”
Corrado’s brows draw down. “Hank’s at the apartment. You’re driving. Come on.”
