Possessive Valentine (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 95)

by Flora Ferrari

  It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. Never.

  And it’s because I haven’t seen her, since she became a woman.

  Those breasts. Those curves. The way she carries herself, even when she’s sitting.

  But she shouldn’t be sitting in that chair. She should be sitting on my face, every part of that glorious pussy of hers plastered to my grill.

  I imagine my face buried in her, my tongue diving deep inside her as she screams out. My dick jerks in my trousers, and I know the crown is already covered in precome.

  My nostrils flare and I exhale hard, my heart racing.

  I want to slide my dick so deep inside her, jam it in there so tight, it never comes out.

  She’s like a drug, one sight of her smooth skin addicting me…and I’ve never used a drug in my entire life, but now I know what that feels like.

  Scratch that. She’s not a drug. A drug provides a temporary high and then a fall from the peak. This is the kind of high, both mental and physical, that would last a lifetime.

  Do I want to fuck her like a wild man right now? Damn right.

  Do I want to fill her with my seed forever, getting the high of having a house full of our own beautiful babies running around until the end of time? Even more so, if that’s possible, my need for her extreme in every way.

  I put the espresso cup down on my desk, knowing the last thing I need right now is to be woken up. If I add more caffeine to the stimulant that she is in her own right, my heart might explode right out of my chest.

  I keep my eyes locked on her, but through my peripheral vision I see her nipples harden underneath that virginal white blouse.

  Is she wearing a bra?

  Has she…ever been touched before?

  My hands grab the top of the chair so hard I hear the bottom slide across the floor and the solid oak used to make it start to creak.

  That blouse is practically a second skin when she sits down, the material pulling tight, and my balls pulling up along with it.

  Fuck, am I about to cream my pants like a teenage boy right now?

  She’s more than five feet from me and I feel like I could come right now if I don’t keep pulling in on my groin muscles, keeping them tense so I don’t explode like Mount Vesuvius.

  And just like that volcano that lies in the Gulf of Naples, I’ve been dormant just as long.

  Yeah, I’m the stereotypical guy who owns a business that excels in helping people with one part of their lives, in an area I fail in completely on my own.

  It’s not that I don’t have interest from women, anything but actually. But as a man who spends his entire day matching people up and watching them fall in love, it’s the last thing I want to do when I get home after a long day. It’s like working at an Italian restaurant and then going home to order pizza.

  Not for me, too focused on growing my business.

  Until now, as the growth in my pants is making very obvious.

  Plus I’ve matched hundreds of people, and I know when I get it right. And I know I’ve never met the right one for me, so I waited and waited…until now.

  This is too perfect, and too wrong at the same time.

  I try and count backwards, think about football, anything to calm myself down.

  But it’s not working.

  Valentina and Valentino. Even our names, side-by-side, sound like something out of a Disney movie.

  But the thoughts in my mind are anything but G-rated…if anything they’re very, very R…approaching X.

  And X marks the spot when it comes to her.

  She’s the treasure on the map…the one and only, exactly like her purpose here on earth…to be mine, my one and only.

  If only it were that simple.

  CHAPTER 3

  Valentina

  Valentino stares at me, saying nothing as the clock on the wall audibly ticks the seconds away until finally he opens with a, “What brings you here, Valentina?”

  If he can’t decipher my outfit, the likes of which I’ve never wore before, or the looks I’m giving him, which I’ve never given another man, then we’re off to a bad start.

  Or are we?

  Valentino earns his living reading people, so it’s hard to believe he doesn’t know exactly why I’m here.

  “I want to come to this year’s Love is Lame party,” I state as confidently as I can.

  I watch his Adam’s apple move up and down his throat, his eyes narrowing.

  “Most of the guys that attend probably wouldn’t be…your type.”

  “What is my type?” I shoot back.

  If he hasn’t noticed me before, yet he seems to know what my type is, then I’m all ears. I want to hear just what he thinks of me and who he thinks might be right for me, especially considering I already know who’s right for me…and he’s standing smack dab in front of me.

  Not to mention since when did Valentino ever care about what my type was and who I was seeing, or not? He never reached out to me while I was at college working my tail off to graduate a full three semesters early. He never gave me a “good job” or anything of that nature, when I was so focused on finishing school so I could show him that I was an adult, that I was grown up, and that I was ready…for him.

  And now that I graduated at winter break and came right back home to San Diego I’m here to claim what’s mine, what I really was working for that entire time.

  Him.

  “The guys that attend are…older.” he says.

  “Older or more mature? There’s a difference.” I’m not backing down.

  He breathes out. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding it in. “Good point.”

  I say nothing, still waiting to hear what my type is, according to him.

  “I just don’t think…you’re going to find the right guy for yourself there. Plus you’re young. Why don’t you just meet the guy naturally? A young woman as beautiful and smart as yourself doesn’t need to meet a guy like that.”

  “So desirable women don’t need dating services? I find that hard to believe, especially coming from the owner of a company who runs one. Maybe we, just like men, want to cast our net to the widest available school of fish that we can.”

  “Is that what you want? You’re looking to meet a lot of guys?”

  “You know what I mean,” I fire back. “This is 2019 in Southern California, not 1919 in Southern Italy. This isn’t the mob patriarchy, this is women taking over.”

  He moves around the side of his chair, pulling it back and then sitting down. “I’m not sure if a standoffish attitude will help you find the kind of man you’re looking for anyway.”

  “What? A guy who thinks I’m a pushover?”

  “No, a man who wants to start a family with the kind of woman who’s a teammate, not an adversary.”

  “Who says I’m looking to start a family?”

  “Why are you looking for a guy if you’re not?”

  I’m not sure if I’ve gone overboard trying to stand up to Valentino or if I’ve stepped foot into a world that psychologically, he controls.

  “A lot of people don’t have kids anymore. They’re very expensive and college tuition costs are through the roof. You know a lot of people are actually treating their pets almost as children these days, spoiling them and taking them on vacations and everything.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He leans forward, steepling his fingertips as he looks over the top of his hands at me.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m just saying that I want to attend the party and see what becomes of it.”

  “Why didn’t you apply online then? That’s what the form is for and how everyone else submitted their application.”

  “Because I don’t turn twenty-one until the fourteenth, so I didn’t meet the age requirement, although I will have met it on the day of the party.”

  He leans back in his seat, looking very authoritative yet curious about w
hat in the world I’m up to.

  He may be the expert on body language and all the things that go into interpersonal relationships, especially when it comes to finding a mate, but I could swear he’s undressing me with his eyes right now. And I swear that I wish it was his fingers that were doing the unbuttoning and unzipping, and not those pretty peepers of his.

  His dark hair plus light eye combination has me swooning, and the way he’s looking at me has me wondering if the attraction is switching from just one side of the desk…to both.

  CHAPTER 4

  Valentino

  I spend the next few minutes catching up with Valentina, trying to take the conversation from our annual party, which is the talk of the town, to how her time away at college was.

  At least I thought it was just a few minutes, when in reality an entire hour had passed. Time flies when ideas are flying through your head about what you want to do to the woman who, every time she opens her mouth, you imagine either kissing or sliding a finger, or better yet something longer and thicker, inside of.

  My mind feels like it’s running a marathon on a treadmill right now, racing to solve a dilemma that has suddenly presented itself.

  How do I make her mine without ruining my friendship with her brother?

  And he’s not just my best friend. He’s our CIO, and the guy who set up our entire online database and technically the brains behind the company. He’s the behind the scenes guy and I’m the face. We’re the perfect pairing when it comes to business, and I know without a doubt his sister is my perfect pairing, and equal, when it comes to life.

  She is a firecracker, feisty as hell even at times when it seems like she doesn’t need to be.

  Does she think I’m testing her?

  Her overeagerness, or even aggressiveness, would make it seem like she’s hiding something, or feels personally slighted by something.

  I’m treating her as an adult, as I can very clearly see, and equally as importantly hear, that she is.

  She speaks her mind in a clear and adult way, completely avoiding the California surf slang that seems to have taken over so much of everyday conversation these days, leaving people confused and needing to constantly check the online source called Urban Dictionary to understand what the heck someone is saying.

  Not her.

  She’s straight to the point, and showing me the point I’ve made of chasing money and business all these years was greatly overblown.

  I could have been chasing her, enjoying this verbal judo, this witty banter, and this bit of attitude that she brings along with it.

  But at the end of the day I’m still an animal, and the thoughts on the front of my mind are getting into the front of her pants.

  I want to spread those legs wide and slide my tongue so deep inside her she covers the top of my desk in her cream. A week later when I’m at my desk, daydreaming about her, I want to lean in and sniff my desk, knowing it smells like her. And then call her, tell her exactly what I just did, and listen to her moan into the phone, begging me to come back to my house, our home, while I give her what we both want as the waves wash over us at high tide.

  I want to tell her the party is full, and technically it is, but I also want her close to me. If I let her attend then I can keep a close eye on her for the night. The last thing I need is for her to be out on Valentine’s day running around the Gaslamp Quarter or somewhere else in the city that will be filled with horny drunk guys trying to take advantage of girls who are lonely or feeling down on the most romantic night of the year.

  Not only that I want to show her off to the world, let everyone know she’s mine. What better place to do that than in front of the titans of sports, music, and business in the city dubbed “America’s finest city”?

  I walk her to the exit, stepping outside with her and we say our goodbyes.

  She confidently walks to her car and I can’t help but keep my eyes glued to the swaying of her hips, and the curve of her lower back.

  If it was dark out I swear it would be tempting to whip my dick out right now and start beating it like it stole something, but she’s the thief because dammit if she didn’t walk right in here and steal my…. I let the thought hang in the air, not wanting to finish it in my mind, let alone say it out loud.

  I need some time to think. This is a tricky situation that I can’t jump into head first, no matter how bad I want to.

  “Hey!” I hear from the side followed by some loud whistling.

  I turn and see a group of boys pointing and making lewd gestures. One sticks a couple fingers in his mouth and whistles again while he thrusts his hips forward like a douchebag.

  You fucking assholes.

  My fists clench, my nostrils flare, and I feel a rumble in my chest as my abdominals tighten.

  My Italian shoes move quickly across the parking lot right towards these pricks. Yeah, my shoes may look like a million bucks, but they’re going to look better than that when I stick them up these rude jerks asses.

  “Hey!” I say, pointing at who appears to be the “leader” of this motley crew.

  “Best turn around unless you want trouble, old man.”

  Old man? Time to bend these little boys over my knee for a spanking.

  My pace quickens as I’m ten feet from the main boy.

  He takes a step back and assumes a fighting stance. Good, now I’ll have even less regret when I kick his ass, not that I felt any guilt about it in the first place.

  He takes a swing at me, wildly as expected. I roll my shoulder and keep moving in dropping the hard bone in my forehead right into his nose, sending blood spurting everywhere as his crumbles to the asphalt.

  Quickly I raise my right knee before driving it back, sending my heel into the stomach of the other boy who charged me the moment his friend hit the deck.

  These kids think I’ve never been in a street fight before because I’m dressed this way? I’m from Italy, motherfuckers. We respect our women and fight to the death for them.

  The boy on my left clumsily comes at me. I almost feel sorry for him as I literally catch his sorry excuse for a haymaker out of the air, crushing his knuckles in my grip as I twist his arm, snapping it at the elbow.

  One more, and just like in the movies he jumps on my back.

  Kids these days.

  I grab a hold of his arms and lean forward, sending him sliding over my back as he grabs for my suit coat, but fails miserably hitting the ground to join the rest of his crew. But at least this one is smart enough to take off running, which is the smartest thing he’s done all day.

  “Any of you bitches have anything else to say, you say it now…to my face.”

  Nothing, as expected.

  Just as I’m ready to turn and go, one of the boy’s heads turns up slightly and he tries to catch a glimpse of me as he mean mugs me.

  I lean in and drop an elbow right between the eyes, putting him on his back immediately for a little lights out time.

  “That’s because when you knuckleheads whine about this later, and he says he was about to kick my ass if I hadn’t walked away, you know he’s full of shit.” I pause. “Anybody else got anything to say, or any looks they want to give me?”

  Nothing.

  I pivot on the heel of my foot, turning towards Valentina’s car…but she’s gone.

  CHAPTER 5

  Valentina

  I drive a mile before pulling over at a strip mall that’s been decimated by e-commerce, but has yet to be used for anything else.

  I quickly look in my rear view mirror and then check the side mirrors. No one, thank god.

  I unhook my skirt, sliding my hands inside my panties and get right to rubbing my clit at the o’clock position.

  After watching the ass beatings that Valentino dished out I need to get off fast, and this can’t wait until I get home.

  I’m breathing so hard I double exhale then my breath catches as I slide in two fingers imagining it’s his dick…better make that three fingers if I want
to match what he’s got, I think, quickly sliding in another.

  My chest heaves as my body tenses and then my entire being quivers and quakes as I come right in the driver’s seat, the engine still running.