𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 -
Intricate and witty, her life has twisted upside down after her father's past scarred his family. At the young age of twenty, Violet is informed that eight years ago, she was promised to marry a Mafia Don's son by h...
GHOST IN THE MACHINE - SZA "distract me from all the disaster."
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Throughout the ride to my place, I thought the stranger beside be couldn't be less interested in me; but the way his eyes lingered on mine and the way his hand gripped the top of his knee every time I so much as looked his way confirmed the opposite.
Now, I had taken the man's phone and dialled for Mae, only hoping she'd pick up.
Our eyes met as his phone rang, the tension hanging like thick smoke, and it was so obvious what we both wanted. I couldn't seem to keep my eyes off of him. He looked even better than he did in the club. His hair wild, and his shirt soaked. Tattoos were visible on his chest from the see-through fabric of his shirt, and my eyes roamed his body.
Then Mae answered the phone, in her usual chirpy and half drunk voice.
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After abruptly ending the call with Mae, whose waning attention span was evident, I returned his phone to him. She informed me that she would arrive at my place in thirty minutes via cab, armed with my spare keys, and insisted that I stay put.
"Thank you, again," I expressed to the man, the words carrying a weight beyond mere politeness.
"Wait in the car; it's cold," he suggested, and I readily agreed. He walked beside me, a silent companion in the tempest, and as we reached the passenger side, he moved ahead to open the door for me. His fingers closed around the handle, a simple gesture that spoke volumes.
Just as the door opened, I hesitated, feeling a gap in our shared understanding. "I never got your name," I confessed, breaking the tension with a touch of vulnerability.
"Angelo," he replied, the syllables carrying a hint of mystery that seemed to echo the complexities of the night.
Within the past month or so, my sex life was pretty much non existent; so what was the point of passing up the perfect opportunity with one of the sexiest men I had ever interacted with. Besides, what was the harm?
"I have thirty minutes."
His mouth practically crashed into mine as soon as the words broke free, the urgency evident in the forceful meeting of our lips. His skin was warm and soft, a tender contrast to the need of the moment, and he tasted like whiskey and peppermint—a strange yet intoxicating combination that left me craving more.
As the kiss deepened, his firm and inked hand found its way into the curve of my neck. The touch was possessive, a silent claim that sent shivers down my spine. In the midst of the heated exchange, he seamlessly pulled the backseat's car door open.
