Page 86 of A New Days Don

I grab the key, flipping it over, and my jaw drops.

A metallic Jaguar symbol glints back at me. He did not.

As if the building is on fire, I run as fast as I can to the back lot. A sleek, black Jaguar F-Type is staring back at me, with strong, clean lines and an engine ready to tear up this city, as if it understands and is as angry as I am with the police department.

Tears burn my eyes, my hair—still pulled back in a ponytail—whips in the wind. My knees land on the warm pavement, the heat burning through my pants and kissing my knees.

My phone begins to ring in my back pocket, startling me. I swipe to answer, knowing exactly who it is without having to check—nobody else calls me randomly in the middle of a workday, “Everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” The hiccup in my voice gives me away instantly.

“What’s going on?” Massimo’s voice is lethally calm. Cold. The same voice he spoke with to his victim.

“What isn’t going on?” I growl back, “Sorry… My anger isn’t directed at you.”

“Don’t apologize for being fucking sexy.” Massimo muses, his flirting, makes more emotions bubble to the surface, but I force them down with a short chuckle.

“Something’s wrong with you,” I mutter and this time Massimo chuckles.

“Yeah, that’s what they say.” He purrs, making me flush. How does he make everything sound sexy?

Massimo claps his hands on the other side of the phone, as he says, “Okay, get in your Jaguar, and meet me at the gelato shop. You still remember where it is?”

“What are you talking about? Mas, this can’t be mine.” Massimo groans on the other side as I call him ‘Mas.’ My core tightens at the breathy sound, and liquid pools in my panties when I hear the deep, sensual rasp in his voice.

“I lo… love the way you sound when you say my nickname.” He sounds almost pained, cutting himself short before continuing, “This is your car. The registration is in your name. No loans, and the tank is full. Meet me for gelato. I need to see you.”

With every desperate word, I make my way closer to the luxury car. Something that is way too fancy for me, yet, when Massimo talks to me in this way, I feel like I am deserving of this and so much more.

“This is crazy. We are talking about this when we get there.” I tell him, slipping into the car. The embroidered leather is warm from baking in the sun. The car turns over smoothly, its engine purring to life.

“Whatever you want,” Massimo responds, his own keys jingling on the other side of the speaker.

He remains on the line, somehow giving me the directions to the gelato shop even though he isn’t in the car with me. I follow blindly, my heart hammering for a whole other reason now, the pain from the lack of care with my rape case left in the dust of the Jag as I speed down the empty street.

The feeling is freeing, watching the city zip past as the Jaguar and I become one, her an extension of me.

I park the car in the same lot as the other night we were here, my heart swelling in the most catastrophic way when I see him leaning on his Audi, “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, his phone to his ear as he stares at me through the Jag, “You don’t like it when I don’t follow traffic rules, though I see I may be rubbing off on you, little speed racer.”

My lip quirks, and I hang up on him as I park and hop out of the vehicle. I hesitate as I approach him, but Massimo pulls me in by my waist, his lips slamming on mine in an instant, and it feels like I can breathe again. His tongue dives into my mouth, claiming and brutal, and I drink up everything he gives me.

His cock presses against his pants, and I roll my hips in a motion that feels natural. Massimo’s grip becomes bruising as he bites gently down on my lower lip.

“Fuck,” He growls breathlessly.

Massimo taps his foot impatiently beside me. After I stopped him from telling everyone to get the fuck out, his words, not mine, he has been a bundle of agitated nerves. His eyes never leave the elderly couple in front of us, taste testing each and every possible flavour as they take their time choosing what flavour palate they are craving most.

The man behind the gelato bar, the same one from the other night, Vincenzo, I believe, flicks his gaze anxiously between the couple and us. I give him my best, most reassuring smile, but that doesn’t seem to quell his panic.

Massimo’s hand clenches beside me, and that is when I decide to elbow him. His ruthless glare swings to meet mine, and I cross my arms over my chest, “You are acting like a petulant child.”

I keep my voice low to keep this conversation between us.

“They are trying the whole fucking store.” He grumbles.

“Oh? Are you in a rush?” I feign hurt, and his tight expression softens as he fights the amusement, “And here I thought you wanted to spend time with me.”