He didn’t even bother to look confused. “What? I finally get your stubborn ass to stop avoiding me, you think I am going to sit across the table from you the entire date? No thanks.”
“Mr. Grassi will be over to greet you in just a moment,” the hostess said, still not having looked at me, but checking out Shane like she had never seen a man before.
“Thank you,” I said when Shane didn’t, tone a little sharp and dismissive, making her look my way. Where I expected to see a bit of embarrassment or guilt, all I saw was challenge. She turned and walked away and Shane chuckled. “What?” I asked, taking the menu he offered me.
“Baby, I swear every man in here got half hard from you just walking in. Didn’t see me staring daggers at any of them.”
“Looking is one thing,” I said with a shrug, though I was pretty sure no one had been looking at me that hard. “Eye-fucking is a complete other.”
“Eye-fucking,” he repeated, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to smile.
“Yeah, eye-fucking. It’s a thing. How can you not know you’ve just been eye-fucked?”
He let the smile loose then, shaking his head at me. “You’re a trip,” he said as another figure cast a shadow over our table.
“Shane,” a deep, smooth voice said. It was the kind of voice that could make a woman shiver just from hearing it, the kind of voice that could make a textbook on traffic patterns sound like a serenade. Looking up, I saw first an expensive and carefully tailored charcoal gray suit that fit the man’s long, lean, swimmer’s build perfectly. Further up, there was a face belonging to a statue, all jaw and strong brows. But the eyes, oh, the eyes were what did you in. They were dark, almost black, and framed with thick lashes that Fee had tried to create artificially on me with curlers and mascara. His black hair was pushed back, further accentuating his classically handsome features and perfect skin tone.
“Luca,” Shane said, standing and shaking the man’s hand. “How have you been?”
“No complaints,” he said, looking over at me, expecting Shane to remember his manners.
“Luca, this is Lea. Lea, this is Luca, one of the owners of this place,” he explained, leaving out the little nugget that Fee told me about him being some kind of mob member who ran the docks.
“Lea, a pleasure,” he said, taking my hand and giving it a little squeeze instead of kissing it. Thankfully, because I was sure I would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl if he tried that nonsense. “I am going to send your server over with some wine. And I’m sure my father will be dropping over at some point.” Shane sat back down as the man spoke. “I will leave you to your meal. Lea, welcome to Famiglia,” he said before walking away.
“Did you want me to leave you two alone?” Shane asked, sounding amused.
“Oh please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s too clean cut for my taste. Even if he is in the mob. He just has a nice voice.”
“How did you know he was in the mob?” Shane asked, not bothering to keep his tone low. But, then again, we were in a private booth and the closest table was at least six feet away.
“Fee told me while she picked out my dress today.”
“Fee picked that out?” he asked, eyes dipping toward my chest for the barest of seconds. “I owe her a pair of earrings or something.”
I felt my lips curl upward at the roundabout compliment and the way the words made my insides feel warmer. It had been so long since words from a man’s lips meant to bolster me up instead of trying to break me down. I had started to forget how nice it was.
Just then, the waiter came over and discreetly showed Shane the label of the wine bottle before pouring him a taste which he went through the motions of approving until both our glasses were filled. “I didn’t have you pegged for someone who knew their wine.”
“I swear to fuck it all tastes the same to me,” he said, making me laugh. “But if Luca is sending it over, there’s no doubt that it’s some of the best in the building.” I reached for my glass and took a sip and had to agree with Shane; it all tasted the same to me too. In general, I would take a beer or something hard any day. But there was something nice about a good meal with wine. It felt traditional, normal, so unlike anything I had ever known in my life before. “So, what’s your story, Lea?” he asked as I picked up my leather-bound menu.
I felt my stomach twist as I tried to pretend my hesitation was because of what I was reading, not the fact that I was worried my half-true story wouldn’t be convincing. I smiled, looking up at him from under my lashes, going for flirtatious, hoping to keep him off his game. “I moan and dirty talk men on phones all night. And then I sleep and run errands and hit the gym. That’s about it for my story.”
“What’s your story before Navesink Bank? You’re obviously not from around here.”
I took a slightly deeper breath and nodded. “I’m from California.”
“No shit?” he asked with a smile. “You don’t seem like the yoga-doing, electric car-driving, granola-eating, pacifist.”
“Really? State stereotypes, Shane? You do know what kind of reputation Jersey has across this country.”
“I’m cool with everyone thinking we’re all loud, rude, and in the mob. Keeps all those fuckers from coming here.”
“You really don’t give a damn what anyone thinks, huh?” I asked, envying that slightly. I used to feel that way. Back in the day, before my life got away from me. Even then, away from that situation, I worried. I worried people would see through me. I worried the badass bitch I was would be seen as a mask, that people would see the chinks in my armor instead of seeing the reinforced patches I welded over them, strengthening them. I was constantly terrified that someone would see me as weak, as less because of what I had been through. I cared what people thought, no matter how much I hated that.
“Whose opinion could possibly matter more than my own? If you try to bend yourself to fit other peoples’ molds, you realize real fast that it’s not possible to please everyone. So I do what I want; I talk how I want; I live how I want. I won’t ever fucking regret doing it my way.”
Well, he had a point there. “So you like being an enforcer?” I asked, deciding to be as blunt as he was.
His head tilted, but he didn’t seem surprised. “It was how I was raised. It’s what I know. I know violence isn’t a lifestyle that most people can…”
“I get it,” I said with a shrug. “I’m not naive. I get that there is a need for loan sharks. And where there are loan sharks, there are enforcers. That’s how it is. It’s not pretty, but it’s necessary.”
“See? That’s what I mean,” he said, pushing his menu to the side of the table, obviously familiar enough with it to not need to look. “Most normal people don’t see it that way.”
“I didn’t say I was normal.”
“Is it going to be butting heads with you all night?” he asked, lips tipped up like he was okay with it going either way.
“Do you really think it’s necessary to know about my past? That can’t possibly help you get into my pants which is obviously the whole purpose of this charade.”
“Baby,” he said, leaning across the table slightly and it took a lot of determination not to shrink back. “I’ve gotten in your pants. And I didn’t need to bring you to a fancy restaurant to do it. And I wouldn’t need to to get in there again. I brought you here so we could talk. If I wanted less talking, we’d be back at my or your place right now… not talking.”
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
“Because I find you interesting. You got something. I don’t know if it’s the ‘fuck you’ you have scrawled over your forehead or the fact that I know it’s there to cover up something else, or the fact that you get on with my family all but effortlessly, or that you’re the hottest piece I have seen in a long ass time. Or maybe it’s all that wrapped up. Whatever it is, I’m into it. And maybe, for once in my life, I’d like to get in your head before I get into your pants. That clear enough for you?”
Yes, well, okay then.
I liked that a little too much. I think I liked it especially because it was not the norm for him. I was the exception, not the rule. It was hard to feel special if you were just a chick a guy like him picked up in a bar, knowing you were just one of many and wholly interchangeable. It was a whole other thing to realize you, for God knew what reason, were the one to make him want more than that.
“Can I get you folks something to start with?” the waiter asked.
Oh, God yes. Anything, literally anything that I could shove into my mouth to make conversation more difficult.
With that, we got the antipasto and a caprese salad to share and I insisted I needed the time between ordering that and it arriving to look over the extensive menu. I didn’t, because the second I saw baked ziti, I was sold. But I made a show of looking it over and bouncing options off of him for opinions. From there, things went a little more smoothly, talking about the food, the restaurant, the other good places in town, and even his family.
By the time the check arrived, I was riding a warm wine buzz, was seriously wishing the material of my dress was a little more forgiving of a giant carb-filled meal, and really, really convinced that not only was Shane trouble because he was hot, he was trouble because he was just genuinely likable. Sure, he was a dick sometimes and a little blunt and hard-headed, but, well, that was my thing. I liked men who knew who they were and were that way unapologetically. And to find out that he wasn’t just a brute, but also very attached to his family, involved with the goings-on in the town, and not completely dim-witted, yeah, my panties were positively screaming for me to take them off already. Hell, right there in the restaurant would even do.
“So you have fun bullshitting me all night?” Shane asked with a disarming smile as he placed his hand at my lower back to steer me away from the table.
My step faltered and I scrunched my brows together at him. “We were talking! That was what you wanted.”
“Lea, we were two minutes from discussing the God damn weather.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong there. I really was starting to grasp for straws for tame topics. “I’m not great at small talk,” I said, and it was true.
“I didn’t say we had to talk small. You could have given me more. You didn’t. That’s on you, not me.”
“Maybe I don’t like to show my cards to someone who might use them against me.”
“Lea,” he said, grabbing my hips and turning me to face him, pressing my back against his truck. “What the fuck have I done to you? I mean, really. I’m doing shit pretty by the book here. You don’t like this, fine. Tell me that. You just want to fuck, I can give you that. Otherwise, what are we doing here? It’s one or the other, isn’t it?”
“One or the other, what?” I repeated, voice a little breathless. This was mainly because I was finding it hard to breathe properly with him so close.
“You’re either casual with someone or you’re working toward something more than that.”
“You want to work toward something more than that?”
“Jesus, alright, never mind. I’ll let it drop,” he said, releasing me, moving me to the side, and yanking open my door. He held out his hand and helped me up, but it lacked the sweetness that it had before, seeming to only be done because it was necessary to keep me from falling on my face.
“Where are we going?” I asked a couple tense, silent moments later as we drove in the wrong direction.
“Somewhere to figure this all out.”
“Um yeah, that’s not an answer.”
“It’s what I am giving you right now.”
“Shane…”
“Christ, you’re a pain in the ass. I’m taking you somewhere without distractions,” he told me, glancing my way because we were sitting at a red light. “You want to talk, get to know each other on more than a superficial level, great. You just want a good, solid fucking to get us out of the other’s system? Fine too. That’s up to you. But no more bullshit.”
With that, the light changed and his eyes left me and we drove somewhere without distractions. It ended up being about a town over in a giant abandoned parking lot to what must have been some big box department store at one point, many years before.
“Wow. Romantic,” I said with a smile.
“You wanted romance, you picked the wrong brother.”
“Really? Which one is romantic?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Eli can be a sap, believe it or not. And Ryan.”
“Ryan? With his business suits and restrained personality?”
Shane snorted. “Yeah. He’s definitely the most likely to get pussy-whipped out of all of us.”
“Interesting,” I said, my head snapping over when I heard his door open. Before I could even ask what he was doing, his door slammed and I was left to sit in the truck like a sullen child or go out to him. So I opened my door to find him with his arms reached up to me.
“Come on.”
Come… where? There was literally nothing around. But before I could express that, his hands sank into my waist and dragged me down, shutting my door, and slamming me against it. His mouth crashed down on mine- hard, hungry, teetering on desperate. Just like I expected from him; just like I craved. I found my lips just as needy. My arms went around his neck and his went around my lower back, crushing him against me so hard that it was impossible to take a proper breath. His tongue moved out and claimed mine, my throaty whimper muffled by his mouth as my hands sank into his back hard and I pressed my suddenly heavy breasts further into his chest. Everything else in the world fell away in that moment. All there was was his lips, his tongue, his warm breath on me, his occasional deep growl, the possessive pressure of his hands on my body.
I felt myself start to writhe against him, my body demanding his stop denying it what it most wanted and needed. Then, as if sensing the decision on my part, Shane’s lips ripped from mine. Then I was moving. Meaning, I didn’t move myself; Shane did. One minute, I was plastered against him. The next, my front was pushed up against the side of his truck. His hands moved to my shoulders, sinking in for a second, making me genuinely wonder if he was actually about to give me a back rub. But then his hands whispered down my arms slowly until his palms closed around my wrists and pulled my arms upward until he planted each of my hands on either side of the glass to the passenger window.
“Shane…” I said, my voice slightly more uncertain than I was used to hearing it.
I could see him in the pane of glass, illuminated a bit by the moon and little else. Even in the dark, his light eyes seemed incredibly bright. Then his eyes focused downward.
I heard a zipper.
I heard the unmistakable crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened.
There was no going back.
He wanted it.
I wanted it.
There would be no more fighting.
Not a moment later, his hands went to my hips, pulling them outward toward him. His fingers slowly slid over my ass and down to my thighs, inching my skirt up. And I meant… inching. Tiny bit by tiny bit. Until I was wiggling. Until my hands had curled into fists on his truck. Until I was panting. His fingertips grazed over the exposed flesh and it gocsebumped under the attention. The material slid up and over the highest point of my thigh where it met my ass, then up and over until it bunched around my waist.
At that point, I was beyond turned on. My panties were drenched as he slowly pulled them down my legs. I stepped out of them without a thought. Every inch of me felt tense, anticipating fingers on flesh, mouth on flesh, anything, everything.
But what I got was completely unexpected.
What I got made me let out a strangled gasp of shock at the twinge of pain mixed with the rush of pleasure.
What I got was his cock slamming balls-deep into me with one long, impossibly thick thrust forward.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I gasped, my fist slamming hard into the side of his door.
His hand moved
up and into the hair at the base of my neck, slipping in, grabbing, and pulling back hard enough to smart. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growled into my ear, his warm breath making me do an involuntary full-body shiver. His cock was still inside me, giving my pussy a chance to stretch, to accommodate the invasion. “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard,” he demanded.
Oh, God.
I wanted.
“I want you to fuck me hard,” I admitted without hesitation.
Before I could even suck in a breath, he was slamming into me- hard, uncontrolled.
I’d had rough sex before, but it had never felt quite like this- so raw, primal.
His palm landed down hard on my ass cheek, the pain like a spark at the contact then a dull throbbing but before the throbbing even subsided, his hand was hitting another spot, over and over, building the pressure low in my belly, making my pussy clench hard around his cock.
“Oh my God,” I groaned, closing my eyes, focusing on the orgasm that threatened to rip me apart.
Suddenly the slapping stopped and his arm went around my lower belly, pressing in hard, making me feel him all the more intensely. Then he used that leverage to yank me backward hard as he slammed forward with what seemed like all the force in his body, making me take him as deep as my body would allow. So deep that I heard myself yelp at the pinching sensation that was part pain, but so hot that my moans quickly became more like screams and I did nothing to try to control them.
“Come,” he demanded, his voice pure gravel and barely contained. “Let me feel your tight cunt milking my cock.”
His cock slammed forward.
And I came.
Crashed.
So hard, my voice got caught on a strangled cry of his name.
So hard, my pussy felt like it was never going to stop spasming.
So hard, that every time he thrust forward through it, he brought on yet another wave of pleasure.
And my legs gave out.
Gave. The. Fuck. Out.
His arm tightened around my belly, holding up as he thrust into me a couple more times before his body stiffened and he came on a loud hiss, his forehead landing on my shoulder.
Shane (The Mallick Brothers Book 1) Page 10