His lips find mine in a feverish clash of desire. As the kiss deepens, Matteo grinds himself into me as I wrap myself round him. He tugs at my dress, eventually yanking it from my body in his rush to feel my skin against his. He pulls his T-shirt over his head to reveal that toned, athletic torso that has tormented my dreams for weeks. When he flings it to the floor and reaches round to unsnap my bra, I’m left panting for more as he skilfully peels down my bra straps. His breath is coming quick and fast as his gaze travels to my breasts. Taking the bra between his fingers, he lifts it from my body and tosses it to the floor. My breasts tumble free, much to his delight, causing my pelvis to twang when I see his pupils grow large with desire.
‘Christ,’ he says, his voice thick with lust as he covers one breast with the palm of his hand, rolling the soft mound, his thumb finding my nipple to tease it to a peak. I trail my hand across the swell of his bicep, over the curve of his shoulder and the dip of his collarbone to grab his hair and pull him back to me, the feel of his hot lips on mine sending electric sparks to every nerve ending in my body. I tug at his jeans, and he helps me to shrug them off.
Within seconds, we are almost naked, except for my wig which is practically glued to my scalp, and the white stockings and suspender belt part of my Barbie costume. I fiddle with the tricky fastening.
Matteo drags his gaze down my body to the suspenders and stockings. ‘Leave them on,’ he instructs, a dark look in his eyes. His hand roams slowly down my leg and back up to the top, circling my inner thigh. He plucks at the strap holding the stockings. I hold my breath as his fingers move higher to trace the suspender belt across my stomach, before continuing down to my knickers, which conveniently – because I had the foresight to imagine this very scenario – have ribbon ties. Matteo pulls at one side, a lazy smile spreading across his face. ‘Clever,’ he says, pulling at the other side. He leans up on one elbow to gaze at me. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers softly, his words sending sweet shivers to my very core. His breathing slows, and suddenly the tempo changes.
My heart is in my mouth as his eyes roam my body. He slowly pulls at my loosened white lace knickers and tugs the material away from my body, leaving me exposed to him. He blinks slowly. He leans down to graze my lips softly with his. He places sweet, hot kisses down my throat and across my collarbone. My nerve ends are on fire as he bends to take my nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue to send shoots of lust through my entire body. His lips trail lazily down my stomach until I am arching under him, helpless with desire. When he shifts his weight further down the bed, and I feel his hands lifting my knees wide apart, I inhale sharply before I lose myself in the ecstasy of his expert tongue.
It isn’t until my body is shaking from top to toe as waves of pleasure flood my senses that I notice the ceiling mirror. My eyes are wide with desire, my firm breasts are fully exposed, my hands are wrapped in Matteo’s thick, shiny dark hair, his shoulder and back muscles moving lithely as he buries his face between my legs, the bed sheet only just covering his taut, round butt. It is incredibly erotic. I arch further into him as I reach a monumental climax and shudder against his mouth before collapsing back onto the mattress.
Matteo slides back up on the bed beside me, extremely pleased with himself. I have a ridiculous grin on my face. ‘Oh. My. God. That was incredible.’
I push him back onto the pillows to straddle him. I notice he does a double take when he sees the ceiling mirror, a wicked glimmer in his eye. He flings the sheet from the bed. ‘I am going to enjoy this so much.’ My wig hair tumbles onto his chest, and my breasts graze against him, causing a low groan to escape his lips. He deftly rolls a condom on himself before taking my waist and helping me ease onto him. I hear a whisper of a gasp, maybe him, maybe me, before he looks up at me in wonder, sexy as fuck, as I slowly begin to grind against him. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine. We’re lost in this moment until eventually we can take no more. Matteo flips me round so that he’s behind me, my hands flat against the headboard, his hands cupping my breasts, his body welded to mine, moving in perfect rhythm, growing like a wildfire in intensity, until we both shudder to a climax. We collapse, panting, back onto the pillows. Sparkles are shooting from our eyes.
He. Is. Magnificent.
He. Is. Incredible.
He. Is. Everything. I. Ever. Dreamed. Of.
* * *
‘Where have you two been?’ asks Ged with a knowing smile an hour later as Matteo and I stroll casually back to the bar. Our cheeks are flushed. Our pupils are dilated. Our skin is glowing. And everyone is exactly where we left them.
‘Checking on things,’ I say quickly. I mean, technically ‘things’ were checked. And thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly. ‘Are we still on for eating at the restaurant here?’
‘Good to see that cream I gave you has given you such a glow.’ He winks. ‘By the way, Hank Junior has arranged a table for us at WAKUDA. It’s exclusive.’ He beams. ‘The chef hastwoMichelin stars.’
‘And it’s Japanese,’ adds Liam. ‘We lurve Japanese food.’ He gazes appreciatively at Hank Junior. I raise my eyebrows at Ged because, not so long ago, a drunk Liam famously threw some sushi at our living room wall in protest at the, and I quote, ‘bland, tasteless, culinary bandwagon culture that is rice wrapped in flavourless green paper’. To be fair, he thought Ged would order in Chinese food for his birthday, as was custom, and had not reacted well to the surprise.
Hank Junior is sat in the centre of the action, his Stetson hat removed, a whiskey in front of him, Liberty close enough to be his conjoined twin, the Dollz and Sister Kevin all hanging off his dreamy American accent. ‘I invite y’all to dine with me, if you care to.’
I’m just about to pull Big Sue to one side because I have a niggling feeling that Hank Junior’s name is not the only fake thing about him, but I’m drowned out by the cheering.
We follow Hank Junior through the Grand Colonnade and across The Venetian casino floor, weaving in and out along the right-hand walkway, until we reach Restaurant Row. We pass by the love sculpture in the waterfall atrium. My heart sinks slightly at the thought of Luke and his ridiculous midnight proposal. We walk around the outskirts of The Palazzo casino until finally we arrive at one of Las Vegas’s most critically acclaimed restaurants. What a highlight. Hank Junior approaches the maître d’ with a smile and is immediately shown to a large oblong table. Staff are quick to take our drinks orders and to plonk down wooden grids, each of the nine boxes filled with tiny appetisers, sashimi and all manner of colourful seafood delicacies.
Out of nowhere, Birdie slithers in front of Hank Junior. ‘I’m French,’ she says by way of introduction, hand on razor-sharp hip, brightly coloured luscious coral-pink hair swept to the side, eyes bright with mischief. ‘I do hope you haven’t started without me?’
Matteo tightens his grip on my hand and groans into my ear. ‘Fucking hell.’
‘Take a seat,’ invites Hank Junior, oblivious to the surrounding hostility. ‘What’s your poison?’
‘She’s not staying,’ says Matteo, getting out of his seat. ‘Birdie. This is a private celebration. We can talk work later.’
Birdie takes a long look at Matteo as she slides into the booth next to Hank, causing us all to shuffle up. ‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ she says, ignoring Matteo. She curls up her lips to flash her great big white horse teeth at Hank and flicks back her hair, before she lets out a rather goose-like laugh, even though no one has said anything. She keeps it going until a slightly bewildered Hank has no option but to join in.
Liberty’s jaw is on the floor. She must be fuming. She picks up a chopstick and all but stabs the table with it.
And just like that, the evening veers wildly off-track.
* * *
A few hours later, we have all eaten as much delicious and outrageously expensive Japanese food as we can manage. Hank Junior has become everyone’s new favourite American and kept us all entertained with his stories of back home. I notice that he’s never overly specific, but I seem to be the only one reserving judgement. Birdie, who is throwing flutes of plonk down her neck, has stalked Matteo with her eyeballs at every available opportunity. And as soon as she launches her charm offensive on Hank, it becomes abundantly clear that she is out to make Matteo jealous.
‘How is this happening?’ I hiss out of the side of my mouth to Matteo as Birdie becomes the centre of attention.
He mutters back, all shell-shocked, ‘She’s worse than Luke.’
