Filthy: A Bad Boy Romance (25 page)

What the hell is he up to?

The restaurant he takes me to is pretty upscale, so I’m glad I erred on the site of fancier clothes. I see several familiar cars in the parking lot—dark sedans, which are thoroughly stereotypical but still practical for the mob types Sal hangs with. I can’t imagine he’s invited a bunch of his colleagues for my birthday party. He doesn’t like me enough for that.

When we go inside, the maître d’ greets Sal with a wide grin. “Everything’s ready, Mr. de Luca.” He turns to me. “And you must be the birthday girl.”

“Um, yeah, I guess I am.” I’m starting to get nervous now, and even more so when the maître d’ loops his arm through my elbow.

“This way, then,” he says, and leads us both toward the back part of the restaurant.

The whole back section is a separate room, and as Sal and I enter the door, everyone at the tables stands and starts to applaud. “Oh, my God,” I whisper. He really
has
invited all his colleagues for a birthday party. I recognize several faces from the party, and of course I recognize Phil Spada, Sal’s boss.

And there’s Nick Angelino. His gaze catches mine and he gives me a smile that’s just a shade too warm for plain courtesy, but I don’t think anybody sees it but me. Sal certainly doesn’t; he’s too busy shaking people’s hands as he moves after the maître d’ to our seats near the middle of the big table.

Once we’re seated, I try to focus on what’s going on around me. I’m getting birthday greetings left and right, from people I know and even more people I don’t. It’s overwhelming, especially since I’m still nervous about what Sal’s ulterior motives might be.

Maybe it’s just a birthday party.
My conscience nags me with this, but I know better. There’s never a “just” anything with Sal. Or with any of these men, for that matter. It would behoove me to remember that.

I forget it again, though, when I catch sight of Nick again. He’s sitting next to a pretty girl in a dark blue dress with an incredibly low neckline. He seems to be chatting her up, but I don’t get the sense from their body language that they’re a couple. Certainly not a long-term couple, by any means. There’s a certain distance between them that tells me they were probably thrown together specifically for this party. That’s fine. He might be expected to take her home after dinner, but that doesn’t mean he will.

He meets my gaze again, as if he senses I’m looking at him. I look quickly away, but then I can’t keep from glancing back not even a second later. Nick grins, and my whole body goes hot. I’m so happy to see him I can barely contain it, but at the same time I’m so acutely aware of Sal next to me and what his reaction would be if he knew what I was thinking. If he knew what Nick and I did the other day in the back rooms of the bakery.

I can feel the warmth of Nick’s mouth on mine, the shape of his hand burned onto my breast. My nipples go hard and start to tingle as if he’s actually touching them. I have to make myself switch my attention or surely someone will realize I’m paying way too much attention to Nick and not enough to Sal.

The food arrives along with wine, and it’s enough of a distraction that I’m able to keep my eyes to myself for a few minutes. It’s wonderful food—fork-tender steak, pasta cooked perfectly al dente, fresh vegetables grilled and seasoned so they taste like summer. My stomach’s twisting around itself, not sure if it’s terrified or elated, but I still manage to eat because the food’s just that good. And from time to time I feel Nick’s eyes on me, and sometimes I shift just a little so I can meet his gaze.

The surreptitious glances start to feel like a love affair all on their own. I lay a hand on my lap, my fingers idly brushing the inside of my thigh. What if it were his hand? What if he could come right under the table, climb up under my dress and bury his face between my legs? My whole body goes weak just thinking about it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it. I should focus on Sal. But I can’t help it. After a few seconds it’s like I can actually feel Nick’s tongue on me, stroking, stabbing, teasing. My clit starts to throb, and the pulsing spreads up inside my body. My pussy feels hot and swollen. I squeeze my legs tight together, trying to get the sensations back under control, but the action only turns the heat up higher.

Finally I resolve not to look at Nick again for the rest of the evening. That doesn’t last long, but the next time I glance up, he’s paying attention to the woman who’s probably his date, and he doesn’t look back.

That’s fine. I need to chill the hell out before I draw any attention to myself. I feel like I’m so aroused Sal must be able to smell it. That’s ridiculous, of course, but still. I clear my throat, dab wine from my lips with my napkin, and focus resolutely on the last few bites of my steak.

That’s when Sal pushes up from his seat, wineglass in hand. He taps the glass with his spoon. He’s going to make a toast, obviously. Toast to the birthday girl, I assume, and my face goes hot. I blush too easily, I know, especially when I’ve had a bit to drink.

“Attention, everybody!” Sal calls, and the chatter and general hubbub around the table fades. “I’d like to make a toast to Sarah, the birthday girl, who’s been by my side now for…” He glances at his watch, which garners a few laughs. “Several months now.” More soft laughter. I know exactly how long it’s been, practically to the minute. I’m sure he actually doesn’t, unless he’s been counting down the minutes until he can fuck me over by yanking my business out from under me. I struggle to make myself watch him with a smile on my face. I hope I look like an adoring girlfriend and not like I’m nauseated.

“Happy birthday, Sarah,” he says, “and many happy, healthy returns.” He turns toward me and I have no real choice but to stand and touch my glass to his. As I sip the wine, I want more than anything to see what Nick’s doing, but I know I can’t. I keep my focus on Sal.

“Now,” Sal goes on. “I also have an announcement to make, and I hope you’ll indulge me for a few more minutes.”

An announcement? I wonder what that’s about. Everyone at the table is listening raptly. Out of curiosity, I search out Phil Spada, just to judge his reaction. His face is set in a slight smile, completely appropriate for the situation. There’s nothing to read from his expression at all, except that maybe he’s pleased I’ve made it to another birthday.

“Like I said,” Sal is saying, “Sarah and I have been together now for a while, and it’s becoming more and more clear to me that she’s, well…” He trails off, turns to let his eyes meet mine. There’s warmth in them, which surprises me, but a second later I realize it’s just put on for the crowd. The corners of his mouth are still tight, no matter what kind of smile he’s managing, no matter how adoring he’s trying to make himself look. “Well,” he starts up again, “she’s the girl for me. So I’m very happy to announce tonight that Sarah and I have decided to tie the knot.”

He turns toward the others at the table and lifts his glass. “As of yesterday afternoon, we’re officially engaged.”

###

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The Bad Boy Arrangement

By Nora Flite

Chapter One

Abell

It had been three days and five hours since my last fuck.

Well, give or take.

I could be wrong about the hour.

Either way, I was antsy as hell. Going this long was like keeping water from a man in the desert. I could survive for awhile, sure, but I knew myself. If I didn't find a nice pair of thighs to dive between, I'd be useless to the world.

So, really, it was for everyone's benefit that I got laid.

I had a few places I liked to roam when I was scouting for a playmate. Bars are stereotypical, but they work—especially if you like the college crowd. Clubs? They were too sweaty for my mood.

Tonight, I'd gone a little out of the way.

The rock concert was in a park that had been strung up with Christmas lights along the fringes. An invigorating chill infused the night air. All in all, it wasn't a bad scene.
I just wish the damn speakers weren't numbing my ears,
I thought with a chuckle.

The band had been playing for twenty minutes, but I couldn't have repeated any of their lyrics. My attention was devoted to scouring the rolling bodies for my next prize.

There were women everywhere, thank fucking goodness. Skinny types in painted on jeans, curvy girls with their tits fluffing out... you name it, they were here in droves.

I was in Heaven.

As I swayed casually to the music, I moved with grace through the packed bodies. The smell of spilled beer weighed the air down, making me glad the venue was outdoors. The space—like every event in this city—was too small to hold everyone comfortably.

Speaking of too small.
To my left, a woman in a skirt that barely hid her ass was grinding at the air. Her hair was slicked back in a high tail, makeup clinging around her eyes like she was auditioning for a movie about Egypt.

She was trying way too hard.

I
love
the Try-Hards.

They were the kind of girl you knew was looking to get some cock. Their actions said, 'I'm right here, just insert tab A into slot B and let's go!' My type, entirely; women who knew what they wanted never failed to get my pants tight.

Grinning, I slid beside her, my hips rocking with the tempo. Wordlessly, not even meeting my eyes, Skirt-Girl humped the air until she was inches away from me. Her hips twisted, towering heels barely moving off the grass—maybe so she wouldn't fall and break an ankle.

In seconds we were swaying together, her round ass touching my zipper. That long length of hair brushed her neck, tempting me to reach out and grab it.

I hoped she liked having her hair pulled, because once I got her alone, I planned to yank it back so I could nibble her pale neck.
Just thinking about that has me getting stiff.
Carefully, I adjusted myself in my pants, never missing a beat.

The music suddenly exploded, turning into applause. Skirt-Girl slowed down, acting like she was watching the stage, but I knew better. This game and I were old friends.

Running a hand through my hair, I smiled at her until she glanced my way. It's funny, we hadn't said hello, but I'd had my erection on her ass for several minutes. “Hey,” I said, nodding at the band. “I think they're finishing their set. Come take a break with me, get some air.”

Cocking her head, Skirt made a show of toying with the top of her halter. “How about you buy me a drink first?”

I wasn't surprised by her request. Try-Hards sometimes want you to buy them something before they'll sleep with you. It's an exhausting ritual, but what did I care? Cash was never a problem for me, I'd had it in spades my whole life.

“Sure, I'll be right back, Sugar. What do you want?”

Her eyes darted down, fixing on the front of my jeans for a long second. Oh, she was good. “A beer is fine. For now.”

For now.

Jeez. Try-Hards are seriously the best.

“Beer. Not a problem, you just hang here.” My smile touched my eyes, then I was off. I knew where the nearest vendor selling alcohol was, I'd already chugged a bottle down when I'd first arrived. The problem was that they were as far from the stage as you could get.

Shoving around dancing groups and chatting people, I beat a path towards the drink stand. It was past ten, the sky a rich blue-black that would never be truly dark, not with all of the city's light pollution.

The edge of the park had a few tall lamps, the people thinning until I didn't feel like I was being crushed in a tuna can. Most folks wanted to be near the stage, so the fringe was almost empty in comparison.

There,
I thought, walking towards the small table in the distance.
Buy some beer and hurry the fuck back before little miss Skirt finds another cock to ride.

“Get the fuck away from her!” A voice shouted out from my right. On instinct, I turned to look.

Just down the grassy hill, away from the crowds, there was a woman. Reddish hair, black pants, a surprisingly demure cream colored top and appropriate jacket for the weather. Pretty. Normal. But the situation she was in wasn't normal at all.

She had her hands on a man's arm, yanking at him to get him away from...

Oh, shit.

There was another girl, and she was kneeling on the grass at the guy's feet, doubled over like she'd taken a punch. Had that guy actually
hit
her?

“I said
get away from her!
” The red head was pulling at the man. There was no hint of fear, even though he could easily break her damn skull. Her short black heels dug into the ground. She meant business.

What was going on? And why was no one else doing anything?

Not my problem,
I told myself, glancing at the drink stand. Visions of Skirt-Girl danced in my head. Her plump lips, her perky ass, her—

“I'm calling the cops, you son of a—
Aaah!”

Red was a damn ghost to me, I had no clue who she was. Regardless, when I heard her scream, I bolted down that hill at breakneck-speed.

His fingers were crushing her forearms, turning the skin bloodless. Seconds before I careened into the group, I saw Red's face. Instead of terrified about how he was ready to split her in two, she was pissed this guy had dared to touch her.

Who
was
this woman?

Grabbing the man's shoulders, I yanked him to me, forcing him to release Red. Then, before he could get his balance, I shoved him away violently. He stumbled, catching himself at the last second.

“Hey, Fuck-Head!” I shouted, cracking my knuckles. “What the hell are you doing to these two?”

I wasn't some breed of hero; this was none of my business. But no one else had stepped up.

How could I sit back and watch?

The big guy stomped forward, eyeballing me—sizing me up. “This isn't your problem, buddy. Why don't you get out of here before you get hurt?”