Chapter 143

Aurora’s POV

I was a slut trapped in a virgin’s body. Yes, you read that correctly. I was a twenty-five-year-old virgin. And that wasn’t by choice. Mostly.

When all my friends were losing their virginity, I couldn’t because all the boys were running away from me, thanks to my twin brother. He’d declared me off-limits from day one, issuing a campus-wide hands-off order. Who wouldn’t listen to the captain of the lacrosse team, a guy with a knack for destruction, starting fires, and getting violent?

I figured things would improve once he joined the mafia, but rumors spread like wildfire. Nobody wanted to be associated with the “little sister” of a mafia don. Little sister, my foot.

Now, I was taking matters into my own hands. Little silver dress? Check. Two glasses of vodka down? Check. A club notorious for the wrong kind of VIP men? Double check.

I sat at the bar, mixing my drink. The bartender’s eyes gleamed whenever our gazes met, and after the fourth time, he abandoned another customer to chat me up.

“Why are you alone?” he asked, as if it were blasphemous. “A girl like you shouldn’t be alone.”

I shrugged. “I guess nobody wants to keep me company.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, chuckling. I stared at his blond hair, black shirt, and the silver chain peeking out from underneath, bearing an initial K.

“I was told this was supposed to be easy,” I muttered, my speech slightly slurred.

“What was?”

“You sit here looking pretty, a guy approaches, you talk a bit, flirt a bit, dance a bit, and then BOOM! Virginity gone.”

“Jesus Christ,” the man’s eyes widened, and then he laughed so hard it carried over the music. “You’re here for a hook-up?”

I nodded. “I’m a twenty-five-year-old virgin. Don’t judge me for wanting to finally lose it.” I pursed my lips. Newest addition to facts about myself: Vodka makes me talkative. Extremely talkative. I needed to shut up.

The bartender laughed again. “Is this your first time in a club?”

“It’s my first time alone,” I frowned. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. You’re good,” he said, the shine returning to his eyes. “Kai, by the way.”

“Hi, Kai,” I smiled. “I’m Aurora. Does the K on your necklace stand for your name?”

“No,” he chuckled. “It stands for Kevin. My boyfriend.”

“Wow, you have a boyfriend,” I blinked. “How does one get that?” I muttered sarcastically, “I’ve never dated anyone.”

“Really? Girl, look at you,” he fanned himself as if I were hot, and I blushed. “Come on, I’m going to set you up with a great guy who’ll… you know.”

I grinned. “I like you, Kai.”

“And remember, if a guy makes you uncomfortable, call for me and order an ‘angel drink.’ I’ll get you out of the situation, cool?” He grinned, and I nodded like a child. “Okay, wait. You’ve got incoming.”

Before I could process his words, a man approached. He would be my height in heels, which was fine, because I’m pretty tall. He had brown hair and blue eyes, a soft-featured face. While it didn’t make my stomach flip, I didn’t mind his company.

His name was Ethan, and he worked in the IT department of a big company. After six minutes of uselessly ranting about himself and questioning me, he offered his hand with a Cheshire grin. “So, how about a dance?”

He wasn’t exactly stellar company, and I was hesitant, but before I could decide, a hand wrapped around his neck from behind. Tattooed knuckles came into view, followed by the man they belonged to. A white shirt clung to his tall, broad frame, showcasing his muscles. He had black, ruffled hair and piercing green eyes fixed on Ethan.

“Fuck off. Now.” The Italian accent was strong, and my heart flipped. I have some weaknesses: muscles, Italian accents, tattoos. And this man was all of them combined.

I watched in a daze as Ethan scrambled away, and the stranger sat on the now-empty stool in front of me.

I gulped, unable to take my eyes off his face. His features were familiar, but I couldn’t place them.

“What are you doing?” He practically hissed.

I blinked. “Whatever I want to?” I frowned. “Who are you?”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to laugh out loud.

“Luca,” he said. “Luca R.” His last name died on his tongue as if he’d changed his mind.

“And who are you to ask me what I’m doing, Luca R?” I batted my lashes.

“What I am,” a smirk played on his lips, “is better than that sorry excuse for a man you were entertaining.”

“Is that so?” I bit my lower lip.

“Cazzo,” he muttered. That’s Italian for “fuck.” What? I’d taken an Italian course on Duolingo, and apparently the wrong things stuck with me.

“Stella,” I introduced myself, using a fake name I’d just invented.

“Stella, huh?” he repeated in the same knowing, amused voice. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing as you,” my brows furrowed. “It’s a club; I’m enjoying myself.”

“I was here on business,” he replied.

“Then not the same thing,” I shrugged. “I’m here to dance.”

“Then let’s dance,” he offered his hand.

My eyes locked with his. “What about your business?”

One corner of his lips rose. “Change of plans.”

Luca “R” hovered over me in the crowd. He was taller than most, and his hands caged me in to ensure nobody accidentally brushed against us. I froze when his hands trailed the bare skin of my back, settling just above my hip, his green eyes boring into mine. I gulped.

“You don’t really want to dance, do you?” he whispered in my ear.

Goosebumps rose on my skin. Now or never. Fucking now or never. “No,” I shook my head.

“I have a room upstairs,” he offered.

My heart thumped loudly. “Let’s go,” My voice was raspy, and desire burned in his eyes at my answer.

He grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the crowd and toward the elevators.

“Security check,” one of the men at the entrance looked me up and down.

“She’s with me,” my hot stranger announced, his hand moving from my wrist to entwine our fingers. The man nodded, granting us entrance. Why was this so hot?

I shut off my brain, courtesy of the vodka, and let him lead me into an elevator. He pressed the top button after swiping a keycard, then took his hands off me.

“Why did you leave my hand?” I pouted. Fuck, I was tipsy. Really tipsy.

Luca’s eyes didn’t leave the closing elevator doors. “Because if I don’t, I will rip your dress off right now, right here.”

My stomach flipped, and my core throbbed. I don’t know where I found the courage, but I looked at him with absolute “fuck-me” eyes. “And why is that a problem?”

“Cazzo.” He cursed again. He said that a lot. “You see that?” He pointed to a red dot in the upper right corner of the elevator.

“It’s a camera.”

He nodded at my fifth-grade-level answer. “If someone watches me rip your dress off, I will have to rip their eyes out. Messy situation, don’t you think?”

My stomach flipped again, my cheeks heated, and I quickly looked away.

The elevator dinged and opened into a suite, and before I could even straighten up, I was pinned against the wall.

“It’s about fucking time I got you out of my head,” Luca murmured, and then his lips were on mine.