“Last chance for a private dance.”
He appears tempted for a moment, then regretful. It’s an act; I can tell. It still stings a bit.
“I gotta get my friend home. His fiancée’ll kill him if he’s too late getting home.”
Fucking hell.
I’m not as adept as I thought I could be. As I try to slip my business card into his trouser pocket, he grabs my wrist and pulls it away.
“You’re nearly sly enough to be a Venetian pickpocket.”
I force myself not to react, shocked he guessed I’m truly Italian. I’m not from Venice, but I am from that region. I know he didn’t pick that city at random from the way he stares at me. I’m positive it’s not my accent that gave me away. I can hide it entirely and sound like English is my first and only language.Tonight’s accent isn’t a Chicagoan one; it’s a mild Midwestern one. Neutral to keep it easy.
He stares at the card for a moment, then hands it back. I wonder if he was going to memorize the number, but he doesn’t look long enough.
“I’m heading back home in the morning, darling. I’ve got an early flight, but thank you for the dances tonight.”
I know he’s lying. I’m certain of it. Whatever he’s doing in Chicago isn’t just about this bachelor party. I strain to reach his neck, even in my high heels. I brush a kiss against it, ensuring I smudge lipstick on the collar of his shirt. It’s utterly cliché, but it’s a reminder of me.
Some of it’s personal, but some of it’s hoping I’ve created enough curiosity in him to inquire about me. It’s a mighty big hope, but I won’t rule it out as a possibility. And it certainly would make my life easier if he showed interest on his own.
We’re positioned near a wall where the others can’t see us. Not that it matters because most of the men are already on the outside deck. His hand glides over my waist and hip, down to my ass. He squeezes it mercilessly hard to where I struggle not to yelp. He tweaks my nipple through my dress, twisting and tugging.
“Chiquita, you’re asking for a spanking if you keep being naughty.”
Fucking hell.
That’s at least the third time I’ve thought that in five minutes.
I’d lay myself across his lap right now if he told me to. My cunt aches for a good fuck. It’s as though he reads my mind the next time he speaks.
“You know you got me hard, but you also admitted I got you wet. How empty does that pretty little pussy feel right now, wishing I was fucking you?”
“How much does your cock wish it were inside my cunt? We’d both enjoy it.”
He stares down at me and shakes his head. “I’ve had enough one-night stands in my life. I don’t need to have any more. Besides, I have a couple of standing arrangements for when I want to fuck.”
That didn’t sting or anything.
“Besides, little girl, my proclivities would surely shock you. I doubt you could handle the things I’m into.”
“Try me.”
It’s a challenge, an invitation, and on the verge of begging. Since we’re standing where others can’t see us easily, and his back is to the gangway, no one can tell when he rubs my clit under my dress. I press myself harder against him as he rubs slow circles. I feel his cock twitch. I want to grind on his thigh, but I’d leave a wet mark on his pants. He pinches my clit like he did my nipple a moment ago.
Then he pulls away and walks off without saying goodbye or even a backward glance.
Challenge accepted.
I’ll find a way to see him again.
Chapter Three
Alejandro
“What the hell was that, Alejandro? You’ve never been into strippers, and you’ve certainly never hired a hooker before.”
“You might not have paid attention, but she’s gorgeous.”
