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I’m just finishing styling my hair when the door opens and Antonio’s face appears in the doorway. He doesn’t come in right away, only leans against the frame and watches me. He’s looking extremely hot in a black suit that fits him perfectly, tailored close across his shoulders and chest before falling cleanly down his body.
I fix the stray curl near my temple, then meet his eyes in the mirror and smile at him. Antonio straightens and starts toward me, and there’s something predatory in his eyes
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps when he stops in front of me, his eyes dragging over my face again. “I just want to ughhhh.”
Antonio cups my face in his freakishly large hands, his palms warm against my cheeks, green eyes locking on mine, and kisses me. I grab the lapels of his suit, needing something solid to hold on to as his lips move slowly against mine. The first brush of his mouth sends heat rushing through my entire body, starting somewhere in my chest and spreading lower until my knees feel weak.
I’m still not used to him kissing me like this. It’s heady and potent and it rips out a needy sound from my throat that disappears into his mouth. Antonio answers with a growl and pushes his tongue into my mouth. His hands leave my face, one grabbing my waist while the other slides behind my neck, fingers spreading beneath my hair as he angles my head.
The love of my life kisses me deeper, his tongue brushing mine, searching and tasting, I feel him everywhere, from the pressure of his palm at the base of my skull to the hard line of his body against mine and the faint scrape of stubble along my jaw.
My glasses shift, striking his cheek and Antonio removes them with one hand without breaking the kiss, folding them and placing them in his pockets. The room blurs and the world contracts to warmth and the distorted shape of Antonio’s face close to mine.
I move backwards and he follows, our mouth still fused together until the edge of the table in the corner presses into my lower back. Antonio turns his head and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my chin, his breath hot against my skin. His hand come around my waist and he lifts me effortlessly onto the table.
He drops to his knees in front of me, unbuckling my belt as he goes. He then drags down my zip, and pulls out my cock. He strokes me once from base to tip, his thumb passing over the sensitive head of my cock, and heat gather low in my gut.
“We’re so going to be late for diner,” I gasp, my hand fisting his hair.
He chuckles, then shifts closer and drags his tongue slowly along the underside of my cock.
My head falls back. “Antonio.”
He takes me into his mouth and my hips jerk when he goes deeper. His head bob up and down my shaft and I thrust shallowly into his warm mouth. I know I can’t last, and I am not surprised when my cock swells in his mouth all too soon, my balls drawing tight. I come hard, Antonio’s name breaking from my mouth, my body shuddering while he holds me through it and swallows my cum. We stay like that until the last pulse of my orgasm fades and my cock slips out of his mouth.
He rises and kisses me again, feeding me some of my cum, the salty taste blooming on my tongue. Antonio fixes my trousers and then takes my hand and leads me out of the room.
“Do you like your flowers?” He asks on the elevator ride down.
“I do!” I tell him. “But you do know they’re excessive right? Red roses are my favorite, not all of them.”
“I know red roses are your favorite,” he says.
Then he turns his right hand over and shows me the back of it.
At first, I don’t understand what I’m looking at, and then I see the fresh tattoo resting against his skin. A red rose sits on the same hand as the foxglove tattoo, and something inside my chest squeezes. The foxglove belongs to his mother, a piece of someone he loved so much and carries permanently on his skin, and now my rose beside it.
I take his hand and trace the rose with the tip of my finger, following the lines of the petals while trying to swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Like you, my little stripper.”
The elevator doors open before I can start crying all over his expensive suit. We step into the underground parking garage, still holding hands, but instead of walking to the BMW, Antonio leads me to the Aston Martin DBX waiting a few spaces away. Davide gives me a small nod before opening the back door.
“After you,” Antonio says.
I climb inside, and he follows right behind me, then takes my hand again. He doesn’t let go during the entire drive. His fingers stay wrapped around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a small absent motion.
When Davide pulls up outside the restaurant and comes around to open the door, Antonio gets out first and waits for me. I place my hand in his, and we walk toward the restaurant, still holding on to each other.
“Wait,” I say, slowing when I see the gold lettering above the entrance. I stare at the name for another second, trying to search my brain until it finally clicks. “This is the name on Mom’s offer letter.”
“Yes, it is one of the branches,” Antonio says as we enter. “There are thirteen of them across the country.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s great for a new company.”
The hostess greets us and leads us through the space to our table. The place is elegant, warm golden lighting spilling from modern chandeliers and reflecting off polished tables set with white linen. Deep green velvet booths line one side of the room, separated by brass screens and tall arrangements of fresh flowers, while the other side opens toward floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
