The Perfect Intern

Chapter 45.

Maddie

"Oh god."

Donatello teased me as hips grinded against me in my bent over position. His hand gripped my hair roughly, causing pain in my scalp, his fingers tangled as he whispered dirty nothings in my ear. My core was soaking in my blue jeans. I felt his hardened bulge and I knew he wanted it just as much as I did.

But he continued to taunt me. So, ya girl is going to do the same.

I pushed back onto him and a teethy smile played out on my features when I heard his low, sexy growl in my ear.

"Keep testing me," he warned, his thick Italian accent making me more eager. His hand went underneath my loose tank top and his touch brushed over my chest and continued towards the path further down.

Better grab a fucking scantron, because the test begins now.

My skin tingled with desire and anxiousness as he then undid the button and slid the zipper down. I released a breathy moan at the thought of what I knew was coming.

Just as his hand was about to slide inside and discover what he had caused, his ring tone blared.

Oh no.

Who in the blue hell could that be?

His hand went from my hair to the back of the couch and he sat up to look at the source of the sound. He stood up from his kneed position on the couch and I plopped down in disappointment.

"Why now?" I groaned at the man upstairs as my head leaned back onto the red couch. Couldn't he have just let it go to voicemail. And he wondered why we argued.

"This isn't over," Donatello assured me with a point. My eyes caught a glimpse of his beautiful chest again before he made his way behind the couch and towards the kitchen Island where his phone laid.

I sighed in contentment at the sight.

He was shirtless, wearing only his suit pants.

I guess you really do win some and lose some.

My panties were still drenched, however, and I contemplated going to work on myself. It wasn't like whoever he was talking to could see me, but Donatello wouldn't be too happy about it with his possessive ass personality.

Fuck it, I shrugged.

After he spoke towards the phone in his native language, I heard a woman's voice in the small distance and my ears perked up as I stopped my hands' descent.

She sounded slightly panicked and by his tone I could tell he was reassuring her.

Why the fuck was he doing that?

I looked over my shoulder to him and it seemed he was on a FaceTime call. The call ended quickly and I couldn't help but feel suspicious, knowing his past with women.

He walked my way with a shake of his head and a disappointed expression, his hand going to the bridge of his nose.

"Who was that?" I asked, my eyes following his movements.

"A bartender at the club," he said, now standing in front of me. "It seems there's a problem."

I'd forgotten. Donatello wasn't a CEO like Dante, although they seemed like the type of friends to enter the same profession. Donatello is a club owner. One of the biggest clubs in Italy to be exact, although it had a few other locations in U.S. Fratellanza, he had said the name was. Or Fratell for short. He said it meant brotherhood in Italian.

"Did she see you like that?" My arms folded as I looked up at him.

"Dio mio," he started with his language again as his head leaned back with a swipe of his face. He knew where I was going with this. It would only be the 100th arguement this week. But it was only a question. It was his refusal to answer them that started it. "Like what!?"