Franco
Halfway through a meeting with my father and the board of directors, I receive a cryptic text from Carine.
Can we talk later today? It’s about the wedding date.
The wedding date? No way. We agreed on the 30th. My father warned me about her parent’s phone call, but I insisted those were their feelings, not hers. This isn’t happening. I spent part of my morning at the tailors trying on my new suit and I’ve enlisted her neighbors, the twins, to take her to her final fitting.
Her mother declined to participate and I should have guessed early on that her parents wouldn’t see this arrangement through. Once they get my father’s contribution, they’ll fight hard to split us up.
I’ve dealt with that type all my life. That’s one of the things I love about Carine. She's not like that. She’s got a big heart in that big luscious chest. No one is beneath her. Everyone deserves a chance.
Even me.
I stare at her text again and my heart sting with rejection. She’s not getting away. I know she’s anxious about how quickly things have progressed. She needs time and perhaps, if I were marrying someone like me, I would be equally apprehensive.
But she’s wrong. I’m not the bad boy she’s read about. I’m different now.
With a nod to my Dad, I rush out of the meeting and head towards her apartment. If she wants to talk, we can talk now.
Boiling with anger and heartsick that she’s having second thoughts, I skip the crowded elevator and run up the stairs to her door. I can’t wait to move her out of here. She loves her place but it’s too small and not nearly good enough for my girl.
She swears this is all she can afford, but that’ll change.
As soon as we’re married, she’s quitting her low-paying job and coming to work for us. She’s a graphic artist. She should have better lighting, an office with a view, snack carts at her disposal and a willing husband down the hall itching for any chance to throw her over his desk and fuck the daylights out of her
If there aren’t any positions, I’ll create one.
It will be my pleasure.
As soon I bust through the front door with my spare key, her neighbors appear.
“She’s not home, Mr. Bianchi.” Angela Donatello waits at her door and extends her hand.
“Do you know where she went?” My chest tightens. I need to see her.
“She's gone to church.” She wants to laugh, and I don’t blame her. Who the hell goes to church on Saturday morning?
“Church?” I crease my brow with confusion.
“Confession.” She nods.
Confession! What the shit is she confessing? Me? Us? I’m not a sin to wash away. I’m going to kill that girl.
16
Carine
I slink through the opulent door, lift my sunglasses and creep down the steps to the sidewalk. My face feels warm. The breeze has died, but I tighten my shawl around my breasts and wipe my eye with a spare tissue in my hand.
I’ve never had such a penance. Nine Hail Marys? Five Our Fathers! This is scandalous. I deserved more for all things I left out, but I couldn’t confess it all. Every word out of my mouth felt like torture.
“Carine DuBois, did you just ask that priest to absolve you of our beautiful nights?”
Oh, my lord!
I clutch my grandmother’s pearls and turn to find Franco step out from behind a food truck. “Are you following me?”
“Answer me.” He steps closer and leans his face into mine.
I wring my hands and nod.
“And what was your penance?” He narrows his eyes and looms over me in judgement.
I could ask for privacy on the matter, but I doubt he’ll let me get away with it. Too ashamed to say it out loud, I wave him lower and whisper in his ear.
“That’s it? No acts of service? No fasting? You must have held out details.” He tsks.
I shake my head and lie. “I was very forthcoming.”
“Oh, really? Did you tell him how you continuously demand I give it to you faster and harder?”
I gasp. “Franco!”
“Did you tell him about every act? About how you asked to suck my cock because you’d never seen one so close? Did you?” He spins me around and pulls my back into his chest.
“Stop that.” I frown and swat him away.
He leans down and whispers in my ear. “You don’t get to erase me, Carine.” He takes my hand and charges down Fifth Avenue towards a waiting car.
“Where are we going?”
“Home. The home we’ll share. You’re not erasing me again. I’ll make sure this next round gets us excommunicated.”
I feign shock and follow close.
Excommunicated? What haven’t we done?
As soon as we arrive, he carries me over the threshold, rushes past a frightened housekeeper he sends home, and tosses me on his massive bed.
“Tell me you love me.” He demands as he pulls his belt off in one swipe. I shudder.
“Franco…” I watch mesmerized as he tugs off his shirt and tosses it on the floor. We’ve never made love in daylight. His broad, rippled chest is hotter than I remember. His sculpted washboard abs are so heavenly, my mouth waters. Moisture pools in my panties. Stunned by his beauty, my eyes follow the thin line of hair trailing below his waist while his rough, sinewy hands unzip his black trousers and let them fall to the floor.
“Get those clothes off, doll and tell me you love me. I know you do.” He waves his hand and reaches for my pumps.
“How do you know you love me?” I ask as he pulls my blouse over my head.
“It’s too soon. Stuff like this doesn’t happen. Does it?” I search his eyes for a sign. My heart aches to give into any and everything he wants but I feel foolish believing I can reform a bad boy.
“Because in you, I see my future. I see memories we’ve yet to make. It might feel like love at first sight, but I think my soul has loved you for hundreds of years. It’s silly… but.”
I stop him and cover my quivering bottom lip. “It’s not silly. I love you, Franco. I’ve loved you for years. I just didn’t know how much.”
His face lights up. “For years? How? Why?”
“I’ll tell you another day. For now, tell me how you’re getting me excommunicated.”
He growls, drops his boxers to the floor and hurls himself on the bed. I watch his huge stiff cock slap his chiseled abdomen and my heart beams with pride. All mine. With his hands on my waist, he drags his powerful body over me and guides his thick shaft into my dripping core. I lose my breath, find it and lose it again. His magnificence stuns me. His depth wrecks me. When he brings our lips together in an earth-shattering kiss, I feel my descent into madness commence.
Pain and pleasure mix into a building tension that forms a rhythm I can’t escape. Wild emotions consume me, swallow me whole and send my mind and body into another dimension. It’s an exquisite torture. His warm skin soothes me. The hunger in his voice incites my lust. His dark eyes tell me I’m home.
I never want it to end.
“Tell me you love me.” I demand.
“I fucking love you, Carine. I promise, I’m not a bad boy. I was just lost and lonely waiting for you. I’m not lost anymore.”
I kiss him gently and gaze into the eyes of a hundred fantasies. “I love you, Mr. Bianchi. You’re a dream come true.”
He gushes and curls me into his tight embrace. “Right back at you, baby.”
17
Epilogue- Six months later
Franco
“Oh Franco, this is silly. I don’t think you’re allowed to be a debutante when you’re six months pregnant.” She tiptoes into the bedroom wearing a white off-the-shoulder satin gown. It’s new, a surprise for her twenty-third birthday.
“Play along, angel. I’ve thought about this for a while.” Easing her nerves, I take her hands, kiss her sweet lips and lead her into the middle of the room.
Tonight, I make things right. I’m long overd
ue to correct this wrong, but with her help, we can put this behind us.
“I’m going to stand over there and pretend I’m talking to friends. You stay here and wait for me to see you.” I watch her eyes grow wide as the awkward sixteen-year-old living somewhere deep inside, climbs to the surface.
She plays her part. For a moment, her honey eyes take me in, before she looks away with the frightened demeanor of a teenage girl. She sways gently under my makeshift chandelier of Christmas lights and pretends to socialize while she sips a champagne flute of ginger ale.
I don’t remember seeing her the night of her debutante ball. It was less than six months after my mother’s passing and most of that year is a blur. It’s best that I didn’t. She was sixteen and if she looked anything like she does now, I might have wound up in jail.
With an eager step, I approach the most beautiful girl in the room. “Pardon me, miss. Are you here alone?”
Her lovely cheeks burn red. “Who are you?” She hides her overflowing cleavage with her hand and acts demure.
“My name is Franco Bianchi. I’m the man you’re going to marry.” I swipe my arm around her waist and curl her close.
She bats her eyelashes and bites her quivering lip. “That was beautiful, baby.”
“I’m not done yet.” I bring my mouth to hers and start slow, kissing her, licking her swollen lips and drawing out every sigh and moan while my hands search every curve on her delectable body. I could kick myself for not seeing the prettiest girl in New York, standing in front of me, waiting for me to give her a sign of things to come.
“Franco, I love you. I didn’t know I was waiting for you. I never knew why no one compared to the feelings I had that night. But here you are.”
“Here I am, baby. And I’m not going anywhere.” I hold her close and for over an hour, we dance, laugh, kiss, repeat countless stories we’ve heard before, until we end the night exchanging phone numbers and promises of our future together.
For years, she tells me this is the most romantic night of her life.
18
Epilogue - Six Years Later
Carine
Every summer we bring the family to Tuscany to spend time with their grandfather. Lorenzo retired within a year after we married and manages the vineyards with his brothers. He loves the company and we love getting away from the city for a few weeks at a time.
Vincezo never married. Not yet. It turned out the man my dear sister was trying to trap was none other than my brother-in-law. Despite my parent’s best efforts, Clarisse’s shenanigans caused a bigger scandal than a simple surprise pregnancy.
Days before Vincenzo’s wedding, she ran off with the groom and became the talk of the town. They eventually broke up and today, a much reformed Vincezo helps run the company in New York. With his help, Franco and I have more time to ourselves, and the children see much more of their father.
Speaking of time to ourselves.
He hovers over me and gazes into my soul with his big brown eyes. I feel desperate. It’s been days since I’ve felt him slide his cock inside me and I don’t know how much more I can take.
“Are you going to behave?” His hungry voice drips with naughtiness.
“I always behave.” I run my fingers through his hair, down his back and use him body as leverage to twist him on his back.
The feel of his huge cock pressing against my cotton panties makes me grind into him like a wanton floozy. He always does this. One rejection due to exhaustion, and he makes me beg for it.
“Are you sorry?” He groans as his hands trail the curve of my breasts, kneading my flesh and tightening my nipples.
I nod. “So, sorry. You know I was up late with Dante and Teresa...”
He cuts me off. “I didn’t ask for excuses. And I was up with the baby. That didn’t stop me from being able to perform.”
I nod. He’s right. He’s always ready. I don’t know how he does it.
“Baby, look at how wet you got me?” I move my panties to the side and rub his shaft in my slick folds.
He smiles. It took him over a year to get me to initiate sex and he never tires of it.
“That’s disgraceful, Mrs. Bianchi. I may have to send you to confession in the morning.”
He lifts me up, and eases me down on his long, stiff, unbelievably thick cock. I tremble with every inch, shuddering at his touch, writhing helplessly until he lifts me off and eases me down again. He’s so thick, my pussy struggles with each pass but I work him in, rocking on his cock while he thrusts from below, always impatient and teetering on the limits of his self-control.
“Take over, Carine.” Easing off and on, grinding and rolling my hips, I show him no mercy. I grip his biceps, pant and bounce, impaling myself over and over, riding him hard, until he spanks my ass and demands I give him more.
“Are you confessing this, baby?” He purrs as he nears his climax.
“No, no. This is flagrant. I can’t show remorse for this.” He stifles a laugh and takes over, driving deeper in my depths, until the friction rips us apart and we fall into one another with muffled screams.
Basking in love and sticky afterglow, we kiss and cuddle until a knock on the door makes us jump out of our skin.
“Mama.”
“Who is it?” Franco asks, scrambling for his boxers.
I grab a robe and head for the door. “What difference does it make who it is? It’s a tiny person who can’t sleep until they kill our buzz.”
He grumbles and follows me out.
Later at night, when the rug rats are asleep, I climb into bed and slink into the arms of the only man I’ve ever loved. He’s still my bad boy and I’m still his good girl, but when we’re alone and the night is ours, lines always get blurred.
Deliciously, righteously blurred.
The End.
About the Author
I write sweet, steamy romance for nerdy girls-- because that's who I am.
My heroines are always smart and sassy. My heroes are always Alphas- Guys who know what they want and don't need to play games. Cause who has time for that?
I write A LOT of OMYW, cause that's just my bag, but no matter what kind of story it is, my ladies are always adored and my endings are always HEA.
I've transitioned shorter stories to my second pen name Mia Barrett. Take some time to check her out! Mia Barrett’s Amazon Page
Please head to my blog to learn what's in the final stages and will be coming out soon! I welcome feedback and I welcome suggestions, questions, and ideas.
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Bad Boy Page 5