Hey, all!
I'm posting this from the app for the first time ever because my computer is being horrendous, so hopefully the formatting is right.
BPOV
My deadbolt latches shut, and I lean my forehead against the cool wood of my door, trying to make sense of the unexpected visit and toe-curling kiss from Edward Cullen.
Or Edward Masoni?
I'm full of conflicting information, overloaded with the news articles I spent all night reading. At first, when I typed the name Cullen into Google, I found story after story about Edward and his father, Carlisle, entrepreneurs and philanthropists. I was shocked to find that an entire pediatric wing of the local hospital was built due to the family's generosity. On paper, they are upstanding citizens, men to admire.
I would have let it go, except Angela's comment from our interaction in the theater nagged at the back of my brain.
She's seeing a Masoni associate.
I'm not stupid. I've heard terms like associate before. Mainly from my father, a federal agent who worked his way up the ranks by taking down numerous organized crime syndicates operating along the Pacific Coast.
He warned me when I told him I was moving to Las Vegas. He said that the mob founded the city and that I needed to be careful about who I trusted. I thought he was crazy.
According to articles dating as far back as the fifties, my father is not crazy.
Eduardo Masoni was one of the first men to come to Nevada and open a resort-style hotel with an attached casino. Masoni had known links to organized crime in New York and Sicily. Rumors were that he played a part in underground gambling, murders, and racketeering. The treasury department came close to arresting him for tax fraud at one point, but not shockingly, the case was thrown out when their star witness mysteriously disappeared.
When Eduardo passed away, he left his empire of resort casinos to his son-in-law and grandson. Carlisle and Edward Cullen. This is where the Masoni family links begin to get sketchy.
Two years ago, Carlisle was questioned regarding an arms deal with the Russian mafia, but in the end, his lawyer stated that the entire thing was a misunderstanding. The claim was that Carlisle was an avid collector of antique firearms and was looking at making a purchase, unaware the man he spoke to was involved in criminal activity.
Then there's Edward, whose record is squeaky clean: no arrests, suspicion of wrongdoing, or links to organized crime stretching further than his deceased grandfather.
But Angela said…
Jesus, Bella. Stop being an idiot.
Why does it matter what Edward Cullen is involved in? Sure, he's handsome and handed me multiple extraordinary orgasms, but getting involved would be an epic mistake—mafia links or not.
Shaking my head, I push away from the door and walk into my kitchen to boil a pot of water. My nerves are shot. Cinnamon tea is my go-to when I'm this unsettled. The strong spice mixed with a little sugar reminds me of cold, rainy days back home. The days when life wasn't so complicated.
The Advil I took when I got home last night… or early this morning, if you want to be a stickler, is wearing off. Despite the constant physical exertion of my job, tiny muscles in my hips and abs ache from the workout I got from the extracurricular activities I partook in. The area between my thighs protests when I move after being stretched to accommodate him.
My tea kettle whistles, and I sigh as I pour the hot water over the spice-filled bag. The image of Edward's taut body, writhing over mine remains in my head on a loop. Logically, I know I need to let him go, but I can't help the disappointment that washes over me as I realize no future sexual experience will be as gratifying as my night with him.
It's just sex.
Right. That's what I told myself last night.
It's fine. I'm fine.
I blow into my mug before I allow the sweet spice to hit my tongue. Forcing my shoulders to drop, I urge my body to release tension.
When I see Edward again, I'll make it clear to him that we're through.
Let's just hope he doesn't kiss me. I'm bound to make stupid choices the next time his lips touch mine.
oOo
My hips swing to the pulse of the bass, and the glitter in my red body suit glistens in the lights as I prepare to turn and face the audience. I force my eyes onto the front rows and away from the mezzanine, where an aggravatingly persistent man sits watching me. In the first number, when I noticed him, his deep emerald eyes were boring into me, and I slipped, nearly tripping over myself. Luckily, I didn't take another dancer down this time, and I made it to my next move without anyone noticing.
But when I returned to the dressing room, my hands shook, and my stomach twisted. I had Jessica fix my hairpiece because my fingers wouldn't cooperate. Edward Cullen has me frazzled, and that's not good.
With my leg up in a side split, I make the mistake of glancing toward Edward's booth.
He sips from his tumbler and licks the remaining alcohol from his lips before leaning his elbows on the tabletop. Hooded eyes give him away, and I flush as I remember the position he had me in when he entered me for the first time—my leg held overhead as he spread me wide.
I grit my teeth and go into a turn. How do I block these images from my head? No matter how hard I tried, memories of Edward have tortured me all day. From his chiseled features glowing in the candlelight of Mare Di Sicilia, his long fingers trailing over my body, to his parted lips as he found his release deep inside me.
The music ends, and the crowd breaks into applause. Well, most of the audience. Edward just lifts his glass toward me in a toast before taking another sip.
Dear God.
Rushing off the stage, I tug at the fabric of my costume as it suddenly feels far too restrictive.
I find Angela waiting for me at the top of the stairs. "Looks like you've got an admirer." She winks. I groan.
"I don't know why he's here." The seam of my bodysuit protests as I take my frustration out on the fabric.
"You must have made quite the impression."
Shaking my head, I push past another dancer on her way to the stage. "It was one night. We both agreed to the terms."
"I don't think he did agree, Bella." She stops me before we cross into the dressing room. "Why are you so opposed to seeing where this thing with him goes? He's hot, rich, and judging by your appearance last night, he's not half bad in bed."
"I just-" I sigh, racking my brain for a way to explain my hesitation. "It's a bad time. Plus, I don't know anything about him." Especially whether or not he's associated with organized crime.
"Isn't that the point of dating? Getting to know the other person?"
The dressing room door swings open, revealing Jessica, whose bright pink bra top shows far more of her than I particularly want to see. "Dating who?"
"Thanks, Angela." I roll my eyes and push through the doorway, finally tugging off my bodysuit.
She brushes Jessica aside and follows me to my mirror. "Bella, I know it's not my place, but I think you're shooting yourself in the foot here. You have a chance at a life most women would do anything for. Think about it, Ed-" She looks to her left, where a couple of busybodies are glancing our way. "This guy has the means to take care of you."
"I can take care of myself."
The raised eyebrow I get from Angela tells me she knows that's a lie as well as I do. Sighing, she shakes her head and walks to her mirror to prepare for our next number.
It's not like I can't take care of myself. I'm resourceful. I'm surviving. But that's just it. I'm surviving. Finally free of my body suit, I pull my next costume from the rack and think about the mess I've found myself in.
I'm working two jobs just to make ends meet, and if it weren't for Edward's generosity with our casino winnings, I would probably be stuck begging my landlord for another rent extension. I'm living off free food from the diner and cheap cereal until I get my first paycheck from La Bellissima. Next Friday can't come fast enough.
None of this means I should degrade myself to being some man's whore.
I zip the back of my short, black, sequined dress and pin the feathered headpiece to my hair. One night, Bella. It was one night. I'll just make an effort to be one of the first girls out of the building tonight, and I'll probably be able to avoid another run-in with temptation.
My next dance is a shit show from the second I walk on stage. I forget my placement in the first eight counts, ending up on the wrong side of the stage. Then I come within an inch of smacking Rachel across the face. The look she sends me could kill a man. But when I finally find my spot behind her and slightly to the right, I have to bite my tongue from laughing.
Rachel is going all out, swinging her hips and jutting her chest, her performance aimed at the center of the mezzanine. Jessica's done her best to convince Rachel that her bouquet from the last show is from the elusive Mr. Cullen, and Rachel has bought into the theory. To them, it must seem like he's watching her, but I know better—his eyes are glued to me.
Something twists in my gut.
What if he is watching Rachel?
What if she's his next conquest?
Fuck, no.
I amp up my effort when the choreography has me spinning to the front of the stage. My following kick is a bit higher, and the hair flip accompanying my body roll is more seductive. I can't help it when my gaze locks onto Edward's as I emerge from the sensual move. He's fixated on me, his stare heated as he shifts in his seat.
My hips swing as I turn and jazz walk upstage. My hands trace my body before flicking above my head as I toss my hair. With my hip popped and my foot pointed to the side, I hit my final pose. Mr. Black will kill me if I break his aesthetic, so I wait until the lights dim to glance into the audience.
Edward's attention hasn't wavered from my body. He ignores Rachel as she runs off stage right and stays with me until I exit stage left.
Now I'm sure. He wants me. Not Rachel.
But do I want him?
Yes.
The realization unnerves me, so I push it to the back of my mind to be dealt with when I'm alone and able to better reason. Right now, I can't remember why I thought jumping in and taking his offer was a bad idea. I need time to process and rationalize away from him.
I have a quick change backstage, so I slip behind a partition before stripping down and putting on my final costume. The fabric sticks to my sweat-covered skin as I shimmy into the sequined briefs.
As I struggle with my bra top, a head peeks behind the partition, and Angela meets me with a sly smirk. "He watched you through the entire last number."
"Help me with this?" I twist so she can access the uncooperative hooks of my costume.
"What will you do if he approaches you after the show?" She asks, expertly working the clasps.
I roll my eyes with manufactured indignation. "I'm going to get out of here ASAP."
She hums, patting my shoulder to let me know she's done. I adjust the top so my cleavage shows just enough and point to my chest in question. She gives me a thumbs up.
"I'd say push 'em up more, give that man a taste of what he wants, but Mr. Black will make us condition like crazy if there's another costume malfunction."
"Another?" I follow her to the wings as the music for the current dance begins to wane.
"Ask Jessica." She nods to our friend, who's tugging her top down a dangerous amount. She huffs when Mr. Black appears from nowhere and pulls the fabric back up with an eye roll.
The first chords of our final song play out as the singer on stage begins his thank you to the audience. I slap a wide smile across my face, stretch my arms into position, and glide to center stage.
A tall figure in a fitted suit stands near the doorway at the back of the mezzanine. Even with the bright lights, I know Edward's still watching my every move. He waits until the show finishes, giving applause before escaping into the casino.
My heart pounds in anticipation as I wonder if he will come to track me down.
He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants.
And for some reason, he wants me.
I get trapped in the rush of dancers as we flood down the backstage stairs and into the dressing room. Pulling at my fake lashes, I follow the crowd blindly. When a yelp breaks free from in front of me, I stumble into Jessica, knocking her to the side.
"Oh my God, Bella!" She claps, ignoring my attempt to plow over her. "They're even bigger than Rachel's!"
"Huh?" With one lash on and one lash off, I blink, my gaze trailing from Jessica to my mirror, and my jaw drops.
To my horror, an enormous bouquet takes up most of my counter space. An ivory envelope with my name neatly scrawled across the front sticks to the vase.
"Open the card," Jessica squeals, pushing me forward. "We've got to find out who they're from."
"They're Bella's Jess, not yours," Angela quips, arriving at my side.
Swallowing hard, I step forward and lift the envelope. I twist my back to the other girls so they can't see the note on the card inside.
It was never going to be one night.
Meet me by the fountains in the lobby.
Relieved that Edward refrained from signing his name, I focus on the ridiculous display before me.
Deep red roses packed tightly together fill a crystal vase while white orchids drape down the sides. It's beautiful. In all my years of ballet, I received many bouquets, but never one as extravagant as this.
"There's gotta be like fifty roses in there." Jessica ignores all boundaries as she strokes her fingers across the flower petals.
"Looks like someone's gonna have to put out," Rachel scoffs from behind my shoulder, her jealousy seeping through.
"Looks like someone already did," Angela whispers, winking when I turn to gawk at her.
"All right, I have to know." Jessica's hand hovers as she fights the urge to rip the card from my hands. "Who are they from?"
I shrug, slipping the card deep into my duffle to keep it out of her grasp. "There was no name."
She narrows her eyes, seeing right through my lie. "Mm hm. I guess you caught the eye of a high roller. Good for you, Bella."
My lips curve up. If only she knew. "I guess." Deciding to put an end to the conversation, I slip out of my top and fish around in my bag until I find my sports bra. I might need to start bringing nicer clothes for after work if I'm going to keep up this routine of meeting with a handsome, impeccably dressed man.
My hands pause as I reach for the buckles of my shoes.
Am I going to meet up with Edward?
I suck my lip between my teeth. The message on his card wasn't a request. It was a demand. He expects me to meet him in the lobby, and God knows what he'll do if I don't.
Maybe he'll spank me.
My breath catches. Do I want him to spank me?
Yes. Yes, I do.
The warning bells that should be going off in my head are nowhere to be found as my body flushes with heat in memory of what this man can do to me. I'm being stupid and reckless, and for once in my life, my self-control is nonexistent.
I hurry to finish changing into my sweats. Unsure what to do with the flowers, I move them to an unoccupied mirror and tell the girls we can share them. Rachel side-eyes me, and Jessica takes her phone out to snap pictures. I'm sure they'll be on her Instagram story within the hour.
I'm out of the dressing room ahead of everyone else, rushing down the hallways toward the casino so as not to be caught sneaking off by curious dancers.
I feel out of place when I cross the threshold into the swanky hotel. My black sweats and tennis shoes clash with the high heels and cocktail dresses of the other women. Combing my fingers through my hair, I work to undo the tangled mess made worse by mousse and hairspray. After I pass the roulette tables, I turn left toward the marble-tiled floors of the main lobby.
It's quieter once I enter a corridor filled with high-end boutiques and leave the excitement of the casino behind me. I spot the replica Italian fountains where I'm supposed to meet Edward and pick up my pace. To my disappointment, I find nothing but tourists posing for social media photos.
My shoulders fall as I pause at the fountain's edge, watching a couple toss in pennies before sharing a kiss.
But soon, a presence looms behind me, sending tingles creeping up my spine. I recognize the spice of Edward's cologne before his hand grips my waist.
"You didn't like your flowers?"
I don't turn to look at him. If I do, I'll lose all control, and I'm not ready to submit. "They're in the dressing room. The other girls were jealous. I told them we could share them."
"That's sweet of you." His lips brush against my temple as I melt into his side. "Are you hungry?"
It's endearing; he wants to care for me, but my stomach twists in anticipation, leaving the thought of food nonexistent. "No."
"Tired?" He tightens his grip, his chest pushing against my back.
"No." My voice is breathless, his touch intoxicating.
"Come upstairs with me." It's a command, and suddenly I'm spellbound.
"Lead the way."
Reckless, impulsive—that's what I am. But as my hand links with Edward's and his darkened gaze locks on my lips, I don't care.
Heads turn his way as he escorts me through his hotel. People recognize the owner of La Bellissima, the upstanding businessman he plays for the world. A skinny brunette with too-plump lips and mismatched foundation glares at me in envy. Her reaction shouldn't thrill me, but it does.
Edward Cullen chose me.
Once hidden inside his private lobby, it takes a millisecond for him to push his body into mine, pinning me against the wall. His frantic kisses demand obedience as he traps my bottom lip between his teeth and runs his tongue across the abused flesh.
His hands grab at my ass and my tits as a moan slips from my throat. My fingers trail upward, raking through his hair and tugging when he grinds his pelvis into me. He's hard and ready, insistent against me.
"Elevator," he rasps, slapping his key card over the reader. The doors open instantly as he pushes me backward into the lift.
Grunting in impatience, he reaches for the zipper of my sweatshirt, pulling it down and ripping the sleeves from my arms.
"Sorry," I mutter when he struggles to lift the tight black spandex of my sports bra.
"What the hell is this thing?" His growl reminds me of a feral animal as he takes hold of my breast under the fabric. He pinches the hard peak of my nipple until the sensation borders between pleasure and pain. Punishment for wearing something so restrictive.
"Sports bra," I mutter, grabbing the sides and pulling it over my head.
My nipple is in his mouth before the bra hits the floor, and my fingers are back in his hair. He sucks and licks, making me writhe against him.
"Christ, I'm gonna fuck you so hard tonight, Bellissima." Standing, he thrusts his pelvis and prominent erection against my belly, punctuating his promise.
"Please!" I should be mortified at the desperation in my voice, but I can't bring myself to care.
The elevator stops, and the doors slide open with a ding. Edward's empty foyer welcomes us as we rush out, eager to enter his penthouse. I vaguely register the door opposite his and pray it doesn't open while I'm standing here topless.
Edward opens his door in seconds, grabs my arm, and pulls me inside. The door slams shut, and he's on top of me, pinning me against the wood. "Do you feel what you did to me tonight?" He asks, rocking his hips into mine.
His clenched abs and flexed biceps showcase his strength, while the fire in his eyes hints at the passion burning within.
I want him inside me now.
"What did I do?" I ask, my jumbled mind barely able to process his words. He sucks on the pulse point in my neck as my leg lifts to wrap around his hip and pull him closer.
A rough chuckle rumbles in his chest as he reaches for my wrists and pins them above my head. "You teased me, Bambina. In those tight costumes…" With my wrists in one hand, he trails the other over my thigh to my ass. "With those dance moves…" He squeezes my cheek and thrusts against my core. "It took an unreal amount of self-restraint to keep from meeting you backstage and fucking you right there in the wings."
"Oh." My center rubs against his length as my back arches, pushing my breasts to the lapels of his jacket.
"Keep your arms up," he demands, the fierceness of his stare daring me to defy him. I consider dropping them, needing another spanking from him, but I'm more desperate to feel him inside me than to feel his palm against my bare ass. Leaning down, he frees me of my sweats, leaving me only in my purple thong. He hums, tracing his fingertip across the black bow on the waistband. "Were you wearing these under your costumes?"
"No." My lip tucks between my teeth because I'm not sure he'll like what I'm about to tell him. "We wear tights. Dancers don't wear panties with tights."
"What?" His jaw clenches as one hand returns to trap my wrists overhead. "You're up there teasing me, nude underneath those scraps of fabric?"
"Sometimes I have to change backstage." I don't know what possessed me to say this, but the glare I get in return makes my pulse accelerate, and my panties flood with moisture.
"Bella." Edward's voice drops as he breathes deep. "You get naked behind those curtains?"
"I have quick changes. I don't have a choice."
Aggressively, he presses against me. He's millimeters from my lips when he asks. "Do other men see you when you change? The directors, stage crew, the talent?"
I should tell him no and reassure him we have partitions, but aggravating the beast is so much fun.
So I shrug and smile.
Before I have time to process what's happening, I'm facing the wall next to the door, my hands bracing me as Edward pushes a palm against the small of my back, forcing me to arch my spine. My ass sticks out as he kicks my legs apart, spreading me wide.
"Wrong answer."
The sound of his palm slapping against my right glute surprises me more than the sting of pain. With the second spank placed against my left cheek, I groan, desperate for friction on my throbbing clit, but with my legs open, there's nothing I can do to relieve my arousal.
"This body is mine." Edward reaches around me to flick my nipple before he lays a third spank against my heated flesh. "Are you going to make me kill a man, Bella? Are you going to continue to undress in front of them?"
"It's my job," I taunt him, unconcerned over the threat of violence. I receive two more spanks.
"Then you're going to quit." I don't have a chance to respond before the fabric of my thong is pulled halfway down my thighs, and I hear the sound of his belt buckle unlatching. "Ass up, Bella. When I finish fucking you, you'll never consider another man."
His thick tip nudges my entrance.
I already know he's the only man I want.
A/N: Like these two could stay away from each other!
See you soon!
