by Brook Wilder
Sharon couldn’t help the fresh blood that rushed to her flushed cheeks. She shifted in her seat, trying to suck her stomach in, hyper-aware of her bare body.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Vittorio told her. “You really are sexy. I’m not lying about that?”
“Oh, whatever,” Sharon scoffed self-consciously. “Look at you. I’m sure you have beautiful women just throwing themselves at you.”
Vittorio nodded. “I do.”
“Must be why you’re so cocky.”
“No, you’ll find out the reason for that a little later.”
Sharon squeezed her thighs together as she felt another little pulse between her legs. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she was actually going to be having sex with this man, and not having much success.
Chapter 19
Sharon
Vittorio merged over on the interstate and headed towards the exit lane. It was then that Sharon noticed a car shadowing them across the spotted white lines.
“Is there supposed to be someone tailing us?” Sharon asked nervously.
“Yeah.” Vittorio said, watching the other car’s headlights in his rearview mirror. “I pretty much take a tail wherever I go. Always better to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Sharon wondered.
“Anything,” Vittorio said, broadly. “A lot of people in this city don’t like me. I’d rather have guys I don’t need around than need guys I don’t have.”
“So, they just follow you around all day?” Sharon’s curious eyes stayed on the reflection of the car behind them. “Doesn’t that get boring if nothing ever happens?”
“They work in shifts,” Vittorio explained. “But either way, I pay them more than enough to compensate their boredom, trust me.”
Again, Sharon was baffled by this enigma of a man. Maybe not as much by him as the idea of being rich enough to just throw cash at some people to follow him around all day. It was insane. If he could pay them to do that, how much money did he have exactly?
As if reading her mind, Vittorio said, “I have a lot of money, and most of it is dirty. It’s easier for me to give it to them than it is to try to launder it. Fronts are harder to come by these days; no one uses cash-only services anymore. May as well let it be their problem.”
“Huh,” Sharon said aloud, pondering complexities of organized crime that she hadn’t ever considered before.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” Vittorio teased.
Sharon rolled her eyes. He was right, his life was certainly more exciting than hers, but she didn’t want to fluff his already overinflated ego. Apparently, she was going to have to give him plenty as it was.
Vittorio turned off onto Broadway. From there, the city started to look a little more familiar again. Sharon had ventured out this way with one of her classmates to visit the girl’s parents. Her classmate was a native New Yorker from an affluent family and Sharon immediately began to wonder what Vittorio’s place was going to be like.
How does a Mafia Don really live? She pondered. Or was he taking her to a warehouse or something? He did just say that they were going to one of his places, Sharon realized. That was a pretty broad statement when you apparently owned a decent chunk of the city.
He snaked his car through the neverending snake of traffic that was so characteristic of New York regardless of the hour. Sharon sat, silently enjoying the feeling of the fancy car’s heaters on her skin and the plush, soft leather of its seats as they drove.
“Ever been to a Broadway show?” Vittorio asked as they coasted down the namesake road.
“No, not yet,” Sharon said. “I definitely want to see one someday, though.” She gazed out the windows at the dazzling, flashing lights on the busy street. The neon was muted by the heavy tint of the windshield, but it was beautiful nonetheless. She would never get over just how alive New York City was. It didn’t matter what time a day it was or where in the city you were, there was always something happening, something to take in.
“Maybe I’ll take you to one.”
“You’d do that?” Sharon asked, surprised.
“I might have to get you a service vest or something; I don’t know what their pet policy is.” Vittorio winked.
Sharon almost laughed despite herself. She hated the way he threw around the reminder that he technically owned her like a dog. But the longer she sat in his car, the more palatable—almost comforting—the idea of belonging to him became.
“You’re an ass,” she told him.
“I know. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear… Who knew a virgin like you had such dirty lips.”
“Fuckin’... nobody,” Sharon dissolved into a fit of giggles, totally unable to maintain seriousness while she forced herself to swear. “Cussing just isn’t really my thing,” she explained.
“Adorable,” Vittorio said endearingly. “A virgin that can’t swear. Way to beat the stereotype, Miss Kansas.”
“Hey, I actually went to high school with Miss Kansas, thank you very much,” Sharon countered. “And I happen to know that she is very much not a virgin. And if she ever worked as hard as me, it would be just for some pictures to put on Instagram.”
Vittorio let out a low chuckle. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”
“Thank you,” Sharon stammered awkwardly. No one had ever told her that she was funny before, except for her dad, which hardly counted.
Vittorio turned down 61st Street and away from the worst of the traffic. Sharon watched him as he drove, still wrestling inside with the idea that this man had every intention of deflowering her. As the light filtered through the windshield, she couldn’t help but admire the sharp contrast of the bluish glow on the harsh, intense lines of his face. His beard looked rough but not uncomfortably so, like it scratch and tickle her a little when she kissed him.
Is he going to kiss me? She wondered, feeling like some dumb love-struck teenager. She had almost gotten to the point of accepting that her virginity was about as good as gone, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that it would go romantically.
After all, just how romantic was he really going to be with a girl he just bought? He had already mentioned multiple times that he had no shortage of women to choose from. Did those women demand kisses? Did he give them willingly or not at all? What kind of lover was Vittorio going to be?
They rode in a fairly comfortable silence for just a little bit longer. Which was fine by Sharon, since her mind was racing a million miles a minute. Finally, they pulled up to a sleek building constructed of almost eerily smooth white marble, with a single black stripe of glass running right up the middle. The windows were probably tinted even darker than Vittorio’s Mercedes. The stark white stood out against the neighboring structures. It looked so clean, pristine and new, which contrasted with the weathered, ornate buildings on either side. Vittorio flipped on his blinker and turned into the parking garage beneath the tall building. The mechanical arm lifted to let him in and he exchanged waves with a man in a porter’s hat who manned the little booth near the entrance.
Sharon wondered self-consciously if the man could see her through the darkened glass but figured that, even if he could, he wasn’t about to judge Vittorio. Not if he had any idea who Vittorio really was, anyway.
Chapter 20
Sharon
Vittorio cruised around the parking garage, bypassing several empty spots as the Mercedes whispered over the smooth asphalt. The garage was well-lit but mostly empty. He circled up and around until they reached the third floor.
“So, is this where you live?” Sharon asked.
“One of the places I live.” Vittorio corrected her. “I’ve got places all over the city, but this place is one of my favorites.”
“I’ll bet,” Sharon said, eyeing the parked cars they rolled past. Even after she got her degree, there was only a slim chance she’d be able to afford a single car in this entire garage. She was intimidated by the luxury
that surrounded her. Nothing made her feel more like some dumpy, Middle American girl lost in the big city than the glitz and glamour of the New York elite. At the trendy comfort food fusion restaurant where she worked as a waitress, she had to deal with the likes of them all the time. Always well-coiffed and well-versed in their baubles and brands.
Vittorio parked and unlocked the car. Before he got out he turned to Sharon and asked, “Can I trust you to get out on your own?”
Sharon held up her bare feet and wiggled her pink-painted toenails. “If I did run, it’s not like I’d get far,” she replied.
“Fair enough,” Vittorio said, opened his door, and pulled his massive body out of the car.
Sharon awkwardly fumbled with the door handle. She never put much thought into just how tricky it would be to do something with her hands bound. Vittorio came around the car and opened the door for her.
She thanked him and awkwardly shuffled out of the car.
He parked in one of the rows of rolling shining testaments to wealth.
“Jeez,” Sharon breathed, recognizing the trademark winged logo on the hood of one such car, “Is that a Porsche?”
“One of my babies,” Vittorio said casually, as if owning a two hundred-thousand-dollar car was no big deal.
“Wow,” Sharon said, raising her eyebrows. Impressive was an understatement.
Vittorio shrugged. “I just realized something,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t exactly bring you up in the elevator that way,” he said, his eyes on her practically naked body.
“Oh, yeah, I guess we can’t,” Sharon agreed, abashed at her bound hands, near nudity, and cheap Target panties.
“Stairs it is,” Vittorio said, leading the way.
“Won’t anybody be using them?” Sharon asked.
“Don’t be naive, sweetheart,” he said, the sweetness in the pet name sending butterflies fluttering through her tummy. “This is New York.”
Sharon laughed. “Okay, you’re right.”
“Let’s go,” Vittorio said, startling Sharon as he playfully swept her up again and draped her over his shoulder.
She felt exposed with her butt basically hanging in his face, but Sharon couldn’t contain a delighted tiny shriek. “I can walk, you know!” she told him.
“Not as fast as I can,” he joked. “We’ve got a lot of stairs to climb, and you’re short.”
“Hey!” Sharon giggled as Vittorio carried her up the stairs.
Chapter 21
Vittorio
Vittorio was quickly warming to the melodic sound of Sharon’s laugh. He carried her up the several flights it took to get to his penthouse, her giggles echoing around the musty stairwell as she bounced on his shoulder. The rough concrete stairs felt out of place in a building as nice as this. But that was the nature of New York—beneath all the glimmer and glitz, uncaring dirt and grime.
When they reached the top floor, Vittorio set her back down on her feet. Her wispy blonde hair had begun to sneak free from her braids. She looked flustered but very alive with her flushed cheeks and bright, excited eyes.
His penthouse floor was only be accessible with a key that Vittorio took out of the front pocket of his pants. The shiny gold key caught the harsh fluorescent light and shone as he twisted it in the lock.
“Home sweet home,” he said as the door swung inward, directly into his living room.
Sharon took in a sharp breath. “Oh my god,” she said.
Vittorio tried to look at his home the way she would be seeing it; the sleek white walls, the ornate plush rugs that patterned the rich wood floors, the wall of silver marble that divided the living room and kitchen. He’d grown used to it all, even grown a little bored of it, but Sharon definitely seemed impressed.
“You live here?” she asked, tentatively stepping into the big, open space.
“Some days, yes.” Vittorio said nonchalantly.
He noticed the careful way Sharon walked, how her little feet trod ever so lightly on the floor. Her posture was significantly relaxed compared to when they first met, just an hour before, and he was happy that he’d been able to calm her down. He thought of what she’d told him in the car, about her going to school at NYU and her small-town roots. He decided he definitely made the right choice by buying her. His rare protective instincts had taken over and it had paid off.
Plus, there was something irresistible about the way her full curves swayed with each dainty step. He felt himself stiffening the longer he stared at her.
“Wow!” Sharon gasped. She walked into the living room, with its high ceilings, and openly gawked at the ornate chandelier. Tiny lights dripped from the ceiling on tiny silver strands. The different lengths of the strands created a rippling effect across the ceiling, and made the lights look almost like moving water.
“Where did you ever find something like this?” she asked.
“Came with the house.” He told her honestly.
“Wow,” she repeated. “It’s beautiful.”
But Vittorio was blown away by how beautiful she was, as she stood there, brilliantly lit by a thousand dots of light, gazing up in wonder. Without a bit of makeup on her face, her smooth, porcelain skin glowed and her eyes shone. Her pink lips were full and dewy, her smile revealed a perfect row of glimmering white teeth. He had noticed before how gentle and angelic she looked, but it was brought to a new vibrancy without the fear.
He dropped his eyes to her poor forearms. Still stuck together at waist level, they were crisscrossed with angry red tape burns and the stiff plastic tie pinched and puckered the fair skin. She hadn’t complained, but it looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Let’s get you out of that.” Vittorio kicked his shoes off and made his way to the kitchen.
“Wow, your kitchen looks like it’s made of diamonds!” Sharon commented as she followed him.
Vittorio considered the granite countertop, a sheeny slab of silvery stone that his cleaning lady had polished to a brilliant shine. The floors were done in a strikingly similar shade of silver marble.
Where did I put those dumb scissors? Vittorio thought as he pulled open sleek gray drawers and rooted around inside them.
“Jeez, how many stovetops do you need?” Sharon asked.
She had apparently found his eight burner cook top. “I don’t need all of them. I actually only use one of them when I cook. I think it’s more for the typical penthouse people that do a lot of entertaining.”
“So, you cook, huh?” Sharon said, pondering. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?”
“That smart little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble if you’re not careful,” Vittorio warned her flirtatiously as he traced a finger across her jaw.
He was starting to relish her sharp little intakes of breath each time he spoke to her provocatively or touched her flushed skin. Her naïveté and inexperience was even sexier than Vittorio imagined it would be.
After looking around in two drawers, Vittorio finally found his scissors on the third try.
“Come here,” he ordered.
Sharon shuffled over to him, extending her bound arms towards him. He slid one slender blade under the rigid tie and squeezed hard on the black plastic handles until the plastic snapped and broke. It clicked softly as it fell to the floor.
Sharon rubbed her forearms. “Thanks.” she said.
“That’s not the way I wanted you to be tied up.”
There it is, he thought as he watched her. As soon as he mentioned tying her up, she flinched and shifted a little, her perfect white teeth chewing gently on that full lower lip. She looked equal parts nervous and excited by his statement and she avoided his gaze like the coy little fox she didn’t know she was.
“You want to tie me up?” Sharon asked, peeking out at him shyly under her light lashes.
“Yes.” he assured her.
He returned her nervous gaze with his hungry one, an intense stare he knew made women weak in the
knees. He tossed her zip tie in the trash and the scissors back into the drawer, all without breaking eye contact.
Her chest heaved with a fluttery breath, drawing his focus back down to the homely cups of her sensible yet hideous bra. She filled them out pretty generously and he imagined the two pert, pink little nipples that hid under the oppressive fabric.
He couldn’t wait to free them from their confines, but he had always been one to draw out the tease.
“Would you like a tour of the place?” Vittorio asked her.
“Yeah, uh, sure,” Sharon nodded, still recovering from Vittorio’s vicious flirting.