We say nothing for the next few minutes, nor do we look at each other. Only when the limo stops outside the club’s glittering red façade do I walk around to her side of the car and offer my hand to help her out.
She brushes it away with a toss of the head. “Thanks but no thanks. I think I can manage the six-inch drop-off. I’m not a—what’d you call me?—a helpless maiden.”
I nod solemnly. “You have a lot to say, Hazel. More than most.”
She tilts her head. “Would you prefer to be drinking with a woman too scared to tell you to go fuck yourself?”
“No,” I say. “No, I would not.”
I lead her into the private entrance, down past the dance floor, up a flight of stairs and, finally, to my private booth in the uppermost corner. We are completely isolated, a private place of red lights and plush purple seats, locked away with a door that closes with a loud click. The music quiets to background noise.
Of course, there is champagne waiting on ice for us.
“Look at you, Mr. Prepared,” she jokes. “Why don’t you be a gentleman and pour us a glass?”
I sit easily. “I think I will leave that honor to you.”
She eyes me for a moment like she might decline, but then, with a shrug, starts opening the bottle. It bursts with a loud popping noise and the cork goes flying, crashing into a red bulb and smashing it into pieces. Hazel puts her hand over her mouth as champagne gushes everywhere.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to—”
“It is nothing,” I say. “Pour. Relax.”
We shift down the booth, away from the glass. Neither of us have mentioned yet that my hand has found her thigh once more. The heat radiating from her legs is damn near burning. It consumes me, like a moth to the flame. She tightens her hand around my wrist, giving me a look halfway between begging me to continue and pleading with me—or herself—to stop.
“Carlo.”
The way she says my name almost makes me explode. A moan. A demand.
I recognize it for what it is—a cry for relief.
She sits back with a flustered sigh when I remove my hand. “Tell me about yourself, Hazel.”
“Well, I was born in a convent in the deep wilds of Alaska. More of a cult, really. We were told we had to worship the Great Mother. She’s a giant nun with ten tits and a vagina that produces holy wine. One day, she’ll come down to earth and rescue us from all the evils in the world, but right now she’s in a spaceship orbiting Mars, awaiting fuel to make the return trip.”
We meet eyes. Her smile dances in the dim light.
“So I’m not going to get a straight answer from you, then?” I say, raising my glass. We clink them together.
“You don’t deserve an answer,” she says, wiping the smile from her face. She sips the champagne. She’s constantly trying to convince herself she dislikes me, I can see. I can read her. And it’s not working. “We’re strangers to each other. Let’s keep it that way—”
I can’t stop myself anymore. Grabbing her shoulders, I pull her in for a kiss. Her champagne clatters to the floor, spilling, as our lips barely brush.
But before I can delve deeper, she pushes a hand into my chest, reeling back, lips red, cheeks flushed. “What are you doing?” she moans.
“Not such strangers anymore,” I comment.
“Carlo…” Again, my cock tightens at the way she says my name.
“Tell me to stop.”
A moment passes, then another. Her green eyes are all I can see.
“You’re an asshole,” she whispers. “Thinking you can take whatever you want, isn’t that right? Has anybody ever said no to you?”
I smile, my hand creeping up her shirt. One by one, I undo her buttons. The skin of her belly is soft, yet there is a tautness to her that makes me wonder how bouncy she is, how agile, how tight.
“Tell me to stop,” I repeat.
“Jerk,” she sighs, and then grabs the back of my head and pulls me toward her.
Our lips caress each other in angry, electric union. I can tell right away she doesn’t want to take it slow. I can tell she’s taking out some of her rage on me. Fine, let her have it. I want to give that to her—that release. I undo the last few of her buttons and pull her shirt off. She gasps through the kiss as I slide my hand beneath her bra, stroking the hard nub of her nipple.
She bites my lip, pulling back. I smooth my hand down her belly and tug at her jeans. Working together, we help her wriggle out of them so that they’re trapped around her ankles.
“I want you like that,” I whisper in her ear. Her sex is hot. “So you can grip me tightly. I want to fill you.”
She gasps, tugging on my clothes. I place my hand on hers, shaking my head.
“Just you,” I tell her.
She pouts. “That’s not fair—oh, oh!”
Moving her underwear aside, I push my finger inside of her. She’s ready for me. I go deep, finding a place within her that produces musical moans. I play her as she writhes against me. Her quick orgasm comes with a sudden shock. Warm breath washes over me, sending tingles that ripple all the way down to the base of my cock. She sits back, gasping.
“I need to feel you,” I tell her.
“Do it, then,” she says, hand at my zipper. When she strokes, I’m gone. Everything in me empties and all I know is the heat of her body, and the hot liquid in her green eyes. “Do it fast,” she goes on, rubbing quicker. “Do it hard. Do it like you mean it.”
She bends over, offering herself. Her panties are clinging wetly to her. She still has her boots on. Her jeans trap her. She’s driving me wild.
I can’t get my cock out of my pants quickly enough. I slide it through the zipper and bring all of me to her entrance.
We both groan as I slide the tip into her pussy. I arch my back and push deep. She reaches back with her hand and seizes onto my hip.
“Hard,” she cries. “Fast.”
I fuck her like my life depends on it, her pussy so tight it’s like a flaming fist gripping me. Her ponytail comes loose, hair flailing, wild. I can’t stop. I keep pulsing and then she’s biting down on her knuckles, her whole body quivering.
“I can feel you coming,” I tell her.
Her pussy gets even tighter. I push in deeper, harder, a tight coil around the base of my cock.
“I can’t hold it any longer.”
“Don’t!” she cries—whether to me or to herself, I am not sure.
I roar and collapse on top of her, tasting her shoulder for one brief moment before she slinks away.
Already, she’s pulling up her jeans, grabbing for her shirt. “You broke my buttons,” she says somewhat abruptly.
I harden myself. It was just sex. And we’re done now. Yet I find myself taking off my jacket and handing it to her. “Here. Keep this.”
She shrugs it on, unwilling to look at me. How is it possible that only a minute ago we were desperate for each other? Now, she looks like she wants nothing to do with me.
“That’s never happening again, Carlo,” she says. “Carlo what, by the way?”
I laugh. “Why do you care?”
She shrugs. “I don’t.”
With a shrug of my own, I say, “De Maggio.”