Bobby shifts his position against me and yanks my panties to the side to push the head of his sheathed cock against my entrance. I gasp as he shoves deeper, filling me. He holds my thighs and uses the wall to brace me as he pumps in and out, the sound of our bodies banging the drywall covering the noise of my cries. I nearly sob with need. Bobby’s aggression, the way he manhandles me, makes me feel more desirable than I ever felt in my life. As if he finds me so sexy he can hardly control himself, can’t make it the extra five feet to the bed, needs me as badly as I now need him.
“Oh God, oh yeah!” he shouts, coming.
I spasm around his cock, his orgasm the only excuse I need to come. I clutch his shoulders, digging my nails into his arms as my vision turns black with sparks of light.
“Bobby,” I pant, sounding hoarse. So far he’s three for three. So much for trouble getting off with a partner. With Bobby Manghini, it doesn’t seem to be an issue.
He remains pressed inside me, breathing against my neck, fingers gripping the flesh of my thighs.
“I’m pretty sure that messed up your hair,” he says when his breath slows.
I give a contented sigh, and he releases me, easing out as he gently lowers my legs.
“That was a very nice start to our date.” He pulls up his pants and zips them.
I lower my skirt and straighten the bustier. “Yes,” I agree.
“I will have to make sure to reward you properly.”
I have no idea what he means, but his words excite me, making me eager to win his approval during every encounter.
We freshen up and head out. He drives me to L’amore, a fancy Italian restaurant where the maitre d’ greets him by name.
“Sal, this is my girl, Lexi.”
The maitre d’ actually bows to me. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“If she comes here, with or without me, you take good care of her and put it on my tab,capisce?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Manghini.”
Um wow. I try to hide my pleasure at the idea of having free rein to dine on his dime. I have seriously been living on canned tuna and frozen burritos. This is a massive treat for me.
The waiter comes and Bobby looks over the top of the wine menu at me. “Do you prefer wine or a cocktail?”
“You decide.” I’m honestly a little overwhelmed by all the new luxuries coming at me at once.
Bobby seems to like that answer because his gaze turns warm. He orders a bottle of Shiraz. “And Anthony?” he calls our waiter back.
“Yes, Mr. Manghini?”
“This is Lexi, my girl. I want you to treat her like a princess, understand? If she says ‘jump’, you ask ‘how high?’ Got it?”
“Of course, Mr. Manghini.” Anthony gives me a deferential bow of his head. “Don’t hesitate to ask me for anything.”
Okay, now I really feel like a princess. No one has ever said anything like that for or about me before. I work a service-type job. I make the clients feel like queens, not the other way around. I’m the one fluffing people up–I don’t get fluffed. It’s almost too much, like I want to tell the waiter he doesn’t have to–that I’m a peasant too, and he shouldn’t worry about me. But screw that. I created this situation out of nothing. Two nights ago, I was literally almost on the street. I’m not going to refuse abundance when it knocks on my door–even if it’s only temporary. Or perhaps,especiallybecause it’s only temporary. I’m going to milk the hell out of this situation with Bobby while I’m in it.
The waiter leaves, and Bobby’s gaze dips to my breasts, and I realize my nipples are standing on end, pointing out my thrill to him, even through my strapless bra. “If you are trying to impress me, it worked,” I confide.
Bobby grins. “Glad to hear it,bambina. You take care of me, and I’ll take care of you, Lex. Speaking of which.” He reaches into his pocket. “I have a present for you.”
He hands me a new iPhone, the latest model.
I stare at it, slightly confused. I mean, I’m happy to receive any gift, but it’s not like I needed a new phone. I would’ve rather had the cash for it to pay off Arissa for my rent at Stylz.
“It’s untrackable and untappable,” he says.
Ah. Now I understand.