“I didn’t even kiss her, you know?” He sighs, and I try not to laugh. Though I'm uncertain if I really believe him, it's pretty hilarious if he actually didn't do anything with her.
“You brought a girl home and didn’t have sex with her? Is your,” I look down to his crotch implicitly. “Broken?” I whisper, and his face falls flat.
“No, Stella. I guess I'm just a good person.”
“Uh-huh. Mr. Morals,” I chide.
“Exactly.” He nods, and I place a hand on his upper thigh to test him. I hear him catch his breath, and surprisingly, I think I do the same.
“Whatcha doin?” He quietly asks, tilting his head to me. I graze further up his thigh, stopping only when he places his hand over mine.
“Stella.” He whispers.
“Antonio?” I mock back, and there’s a moment where I don't think anything more will happen. But then the look in his eyes changes. He closes them just as quickly as he kisses me– soft and immediate at first, then deeply passionate to the point where my head is spinning. His soft lips press to mine with an intoxicating persistence. His peppermint tongue swipes over mine, and I can tell he can do miracles with it because I’m fully immersed without thinking. The sexy scent of his musky cologne rises from his skin as he tilts his neck to kiss down mine. His large hands run down my back and stop at my hips, pulling me closer, and I don’t resist. I’m flooded with longing. Every nerve in my body is bending towards him, lit at the ends like the wick of a bomb, and now my brain is exploding with every touch of his full lips to my bare neck.
He trails further down my collar bone, and I know we’re nearing the beginning of the end of our deal, so I grip his head and pull it back. We meet eyes once more, and he cups his hand over my cheek, kissing me again with more passion than before (if that’s even possible).
His hand finds my breast over my robe, then slips inside, and I gasp at the touch. This is the first time his hand has cupped my bare breast. His fingers move as expertly over my skin as his tongue in my mouth, finding my stiffening nipple, teasing it until I moan against his lips. My hands find his chest, too, slipping under his soft cotton t-shirt. I scratch my nails over his rippling abs, up to his defined, flexed pecs, and Antonio groans, deepening the kiss.
I want him. I want him so badly it’s starting to feel like aneed, like our chemistry is out of control, and it pisses me off as much as it turns me on.The one fucking man in LA that I can’t seem to keep my hands off of no matter how determined I am, and it’s the one I agreed not to touch.Touching him will only get us into trouble. It will only complicate things when it comes time to part, as we’d decided we would, and I try to tell myself that I’ll regret this afterward if I let it go further,
But damnit, that part of my brain isn’t fucking thinking right now. All I can think about is the heat building between our lips, my skin tingling with longing everywhere he touches me–forbidden touches, making it that much hotter as his lips devour mine, slide to my jaw, my throat, his hands greedily squeezing and toying with my breasts until they feel swollen with pleasure and more attention than any man has ever given them before.
I want to fuck him right now, no matter how ill-advised it is. My senses feel as if they’re in hyperdrive. My body is frenzied with pleasure, my hands sliding back down his impressive abs towards the edge of his joggers and the hard cock that I know lies within. If I touch him there, if I wrap my hand around him, if we start to get naked–I don’t think we’ll stop. I don’t know if wecanstop.
We have to.
Surprisingly, we both jerk back at the same time, both of us glassy-eyed and panting, staring at each other. Antonio stands up at the same moment that I scoot back breathlessly, and it’s silent for a moment until he clears his throat, kicking nothing on the floor with his foot.
“So, are we good?” He finally breaks, putting the brick back into his wall.
“Yeah, San Giovani.” I sigh. Frustrated with us both, and bothered that he’s holding me at arm's length. I guess it shouldn’t matter— his indifference towards me. It’s just business, and that kiss was just another terrible misjudgment. I push past him to get breakfast, the smell of which has now filled my room with its delightful fragrances.
He follows me, flicking through his phone as he slides past me to sit at the table. Alk is cooking, which is a surprise because he rarely ever cooks. I don’t have bacon on the weekends, rarely ever at all, actually. Just poached egg and avocado toast– a classic staple for me. But today, being hungover, all I want is unhealthy. So, I accept the plate he sits in front of me gladly.
Most of our breakfast is quiet. Antonio could be part of that reason, but I think the worst thing about it is that I want the kitchen to be filled with his jokes and banter. So, I like his company? It doesn’t validate any point my family could make about that being enough to sustain any sort of union, not the kind they want.
It’s stupid because it could never really work anyway— him and me. He likes to party far too much, indulges in whatever pleases him on a whim, and has a bedded-women-tally so large it could cover the entire United States. People like him don’t work with girls like me, and girls like me don’t settle down until they’ve done something with their life.
And let’s be clear, he is not thatsomething.
“We should go to Gucci today, maybe out to eat with the whole group.” I take a bite of bacon, and he glances up at me from his phone.
“Willhebe there?”
“Who?” I blink innocently, though I have an idea of whom he means. After a second, he slides his phone across the table to me. On the screen is a picture of me at Nobu. The moment captured was fleeting, a touch on my thigh that I moved away from.
I may have let it linger for a moment too long, but it's old feelings that mean nothing now. Actions only memories are attached to. Jens' hand on me isn’t the first occurrence, but I’ll ensure it’s the last. It’s far too embarrassing to be caught like this again.
He pulls the phone back to him when I don’t say anything, I look back at my food and continue eating. He holds his phone close to his face, and I can tell he’s reading the article. It’s like a ticking time bomb; the more he reads, the greater the tension, and then in a second, he glances up, dropping the phone back to the table.
“I’m getting you a publicist,” he states casually.
“What? I don’t need one!” He purses his lips, blinking at me rapidly.
“Stella, you read this shit, right? How are we supposed to look like we’re going out when you’ve got some image of a man feeling up your leg at Nobu?”
I roll my eyes.