Lovely Beast: Chapter 1

“Angelo keeps looking at you like you’re the only person in here,” Robyn says as we stand outside the venue and sip champagne. She’s another one of Brice’s closest friends and she’s also wearing a lavender-colored dress that’s the wrong shade for her skin. Music pulses inside, and Brice and Carmine are on the dance floor, a happy bride and groom on one of the best days of their lives. “Are you going to sleep with him or what?”

“I’m definitely not going to sleep with him,” I say and glance over my shoulder. I can feel Angelo’s eyes on my body even from a distance and he doesn’t bother looking away. He’s one of Carmine’s business associates, which is barely concealed code for straight-up gangster. He’s standing with a couple other men in dark suits, all of them drinking whiskey. A slight smile quirks his lips as he tilts his head and doesn’t look away when our eyes meet, and I have to remind myself that law-abiding citizens and mobsters don’t mix.

And this wedding is filled with guys just begging to get thrown in prison.

It’s not every day the Don gets hitched, and the Scavo Famiglia went all out when their young leader decided to marry my best friend, Brice. Normally, I’d run far, far away from Angelo, but there’s something about him tonight—maybe it’s the music, the alcohol, the atmosphere, but every time he’s around me, I can’t help but want to get a little bit closer than I should.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s tall, built like an athlete, and walks with the swagger of a man that knows how to get things done.

“Bullshit,” Robyn says and prods me in the side with two fingers. I’ve known her since college and she’s basically like my second brain, but I don’t love the drunken poking. “You’ve been dancing with him for hours. I swear, if you keep it up, he’s going to get you pregnant through your freaking dress.”

“That’s gross,” I say and scowl at her. “It’s not like that. He’s just—”

“Tall? Handsome?”

“He’s just nice.”

She rolls her eyes. “Nice. That’s what I call all the gorgeous criminals in my life.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to admit that you’re going to sleep with him.”

I take a deep breath, finish off my champagne, and level my best ice-queen glare at Robyn. “Under no circumstances will I have sex with that man,” I say, and her eyes go wide. “Do you hear me? Are you even listening? God, you’re looking over my shoulder right now. Robyn, I’m not fucking Angelo, okay? I don’t care if he’s good looking, he’s not my type, not remotely, and I swear—”

Robyn tries to cut me off by gesturing at her neck but it’s too late. A man clears his throat behind me and I feel a dark flush run into my core.

Slowly, I turn around, and Angelo’s standing right there.

Oh, shit.

That explains what Robyn was looking at.

“I’m most definitely your type,” he says, staring down at me with an amused smirk. “But I never said you were mine.”

Heat builds in my chest, and I’m so embarrassed I could melt into the ground. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Probably not, but I did.” He leans a touch closer. “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“I’m flexible and my tastes are always changing.”

“Okay!” Robyn says and slips away. “That’s my cue!”

“Wait,” I say but she’s already gone, hustling back inside, and Angelo’s standing between me and the doorway. I take a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm myself down, but I feel like such an idiot. I don’t normally drink this much, and I definitely don’t let my guard down and dance with strange guys, and I absolutely, positively never, ever flirt with mobsters.

Not even handsome mobsters.

That’s basically my one rule in life: don’t make eyes at criminals.

“You know, it’s adorable you think you’re the one in control here,” Angelo says as he holds his drink up to his full lips. He’s got dark eyes, dark hair, smooth skin, and a touch of stubble on his cheeks and chin. His tie’s loose, his top button is open, and it’s showing just enough of his muscular chest to know that he’s covered in tattoos.

“I’ve never met someone as arrogant as you are,” I say and tilt my chin up. “You do realize that, right? If you had a shot, that’s gone now.”

He barks a single laugh. “Please, princess. If I wanted to fuck you, I’d fuck you.”

A tingle of excitement shoots down my legs, but I clench my jaw. “I’d rather fall off a roof.”

“I’d rather stick my dick in an oven.”

“I’d love to watch that.”

“I bet you would. You’d sit there touching yourself, pretending you were half as hot.”

“God, you’re repulsive.”

“And you’re a chilly and stuck-up.”

“Don’t you have a liquor store to rob?”

“I only steal from bigger targets these days, but thanks for the suggestion.”

“Asshole.”

“Frigid princess.”

I glare at him and he glares at me, and we’re standing inches apart, extremely alone in the outside courtyard. His eyes are burning into mine like coals and my lips part slightly open as my heart races in my chest. I’ve been dancing with this man all night and I hate him so much, but I also distinctly remember the feeling of his hands on my hips and his body swaying close, skin touching skin, the heat and the rhythm building and driving us forward—

“You want to kiss me right now,” he whispers.

“I’d rather kiss dirt.”

“How about I want to kiss you.” My jaw drops and suddenly all my witty comebacks disappear. “No more bullshit, frigid princess,” he says softly.

And when he pulls me against him, his hand on the small of my back, I tilt my head and part my lips and let him kiss me nice and deep.

Yep, this is a mistake.

An absolutely massive mistake.

And yet Angelo is beautiful, I’m a little drunk, and I want to do something stupid for once in my life.

The kiss is heaven, a delicious and painful heaven. His tongue invades my mouth as he pins me against him, and he treats me like he wants to break me, kissing hard and rough with a soft growl in the back of his throat. I’m not the kind of woman to let a big bastard like this intimidate me, but a soft whimper escapes my lips—a noise I’ve never made before in my life. But Angelo brings this strange, warm softness out of me, and it’s like I want to yield to him and let him use me however he wants.

Just maybe, I’ll like it.

My whimper spurs him on. He moves me back until I stumble against the iron railing ringing around the patio courtyard, and the kiss deepens. His drink falls from his fingers and tumbles behind me into the grass, and I toss my champagne glass into the bushes and we wrap our bodies tighter, making sure there are no gaps between us as the kiss heats up and my desire blows a hole straight through my head.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I say as I pull back from him, trying to catch my breath, but his eyes tell me he’s already making his plans.

“There’s a room,” he says and grabs my hand. “Coming?”

“We shouldn’t.”

“I didn’t ask if we should. I asked if you’re coming.”

I stare into his eyes. This is my chance, my last chance.

I barely know this guy and everything’s telling me to turn around and run away.

But I’ve spent my life doing the right things, over and over again, ever since I was a little girl. I thought the rules were there for a reason, and if I followed them, I’d get everything I wanted.

Now I’m beginning to think the rules were made by those in charge to keep the suckers in line.

“I’m coming,” I whisper and he leads me around the side of the building.

This is stupid. This is so, so stupid, and yet I like the way he smells and the way he smiles and the way he laughs, and most of all I love the way he looks at me.

Like I’m the only thing worth looking at in this entire building.

I don’t do things like kiss handsome gangsters, especially not ones with filthy mouths. All my life I’ve been careful: no boyfriends, no mistakes. I worked hard to graduate top of my class, to get good grades in law school, and to land a highly coveted associate position at a prestigious law firm in Dallas. Everything’s been by the book, never deviating, never once letting myself do something potentially disastrous.

And now it’s like all those years of hard work and sacrifice, those late nights studying while my friends went out drinking, those missed dates and ignored messages on Tinder and a thousand different social opportunities I straight up pushed to the side, suddenly it’s all pouring out of me.

All that missed opportunity. All that risk not taken.

I want to do something dumb, if at least for only tonight.

He finds a side entrance and we head inside. The sounds of the kitchen echo down the hall. He stops outside an unmarked door, pushes it open, and snaps a light on.

“Romantic,” I say and stare around at a storage area. Bags of beans and rice, paper plates and utensils, things the kitchen would need stacked on big iron racks.

“Did you want romance, or did you want to feel something?” He steps close, pulls the door shut, and pins me there. I’m starting to think I should’ve run away when I had the chance. He’s looking at me like he wants to crack me in half. The hunger in his eyes is intoxicating and terrifying as he reaches past me and turns the lock with a sharp click. “Because I’m not interested in romance tonight.”

“What are you interested in, Angelo?”

“You.”

His lips find mine, and I give in to the moment, no more resisting, no more playing. His hands explore my body and I’m losing control but that’s what I wanted. No more too-inside-my-head, no more second-guessing-everything, I can drift into this man’s mouth and tongue and hands and forget myself for a while.

He lifts my dress, the soft fabric sliding over my thighs until his fingers find the hem of my panties. I whimper onto his tongue as he slides them down to mid-thigh, enough to expose but also enough to keep me caught there. He teases me with his fingers and kisses my neck, and I purr and moan as his touch drives me crazy, splitting me open, rolling along my clit, making me shiver and groan.

“So much for hating me,” he whispers and bites my lower lip as his fingers slide inside and I gasp. “You don’t taste like you hate me. You taste like you want to fuck me.”

“How do you know what I taste like?”

He drops to his knees and pins my hands to my sides and disappears between my legs. I moan in shock and excitement as his tongue laps me up and sucks me and, fuck, I guess that’s how he knows, and I grind against his mouth as pleasure rips into my mind. Oh my god, I’ve never felt something like this before, and I’m buzzing and riding along that edge of pure intense joy and all I want is for him to keep going, but this man won’t let me have anything that easy. He stands and kisses me and I taste myself on his lips before he turns me around, peels my panties down to my ankles, and grips my ass.

“Look at you,” he whispers as his belt comes off. “God, you’re fucking beautiful, Sara. I hope you have someone telling you that every day of your life.”

“Only on weekends,” I say, looking over my shoulder as he takes his hard cock from his pants and strokes himself. Fuck, he’s big, and my heart starts to race, but the look on his face as he stares at my body drives into my chest like a spear. I love that look, I want to live in that look forever. It’s the expression of a man that wants something so badly he’s willing to do anything to have it, and I’m all he desires in the entire world. It’s incredible, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once.

He smirks as he spits into his palm and rubs it into his tip. “I’d tell you every morning,” he says softly and presses himself against my soaking entrance. “I’d tell you the second you wake up in the morning, still sore from me fucking you the night before, and I’d tell you again as I came between your lovely legs.”

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in romance?”

He laughs softly and slides himself inside of me.

I moan and throw my head back. “I’m not,” he whispers in my ear, filling me to the brim, and my brain’s exploding with bliss and I see black spots in the edges of my vision as he starts to fuck me. “I’m only interested in taking you, frigid princess.”

Everything’s sensation after that. It’s him between my legs and him slapping my ass and him pulling my hair and whispering in my ear and having me, having me, over and over and over, deeper and harder and faster, a frenzy of desire spilling between us and rolling around like a wild thunderstorm. I’m not Sara anymore, at least I’m not the old-Sara anymore, I’m something totally different, a girl that gets fucked at a wedding in some random storage room and loves it, a girl that doesn’t care if the man inside of her is a mobster, a gangster, a criminal bastard, so long as he feels and tastes good. That’s the new me, the me that lasts for a little while at least, the me that breathes new life into my body and builds deeper and deeper until the climax tears through my flesh and transports me somewhere else, somewhere better. I come in a blinding flash and, god, it’s heaven, it’s too much.

I come and whisper his name, Angelo, Angelo, over and over. I come in a cascade, in a wave. I come and moan and kiss him over my shoulder and let him fuck me and fuck me harder and take me until it hurts so fucking good, and I let him fuck me more until he stiffens and I feel him fill me deep between my legs, deep inside my tight and dripping pussy, and we collapse together against the wall, panting and holding each other, half-dressed and out of our minds.

“Can I admit something?” I whisper.

“You can tell me anything right now,” he murmurs. “After that, I’ll worship the ground you walk on.”

I can’t help but smile. “I’ve never done this before.”

He laughs softly. “Were you a virgin?”

“No, asshole, I mean—you know. A one-night stand.”

“Would you call this a one-night stand?”

“Don’t be a prick.”

He chuckles and kisses my neck. “Don’t worry. I think you’re incredible.”

I shiver and smile. “I’m not worried. Asshole.”

We stay like that for a while longer, but it can’t last forever. The old-me comes back, the Sara with the straight As, the Sara that only cares about making partner and being responsible. I pull up my panties—ruined and worthless, but better than nothing—and adjust my hair.

“You look incredible,” he says as he adjusts himself and studies me. “Nobody will ever guess you just fucked a made man in a supply closet.”

“I knew you were all about the romance.”

He laughs and comes closer. He leans in, but I put a hand against his chest. He pauses, lips inches from mine. “One last kiss,” I say. “And then we’re done.”

His eyes seem to sparkle in the low light. “One last kiss and then we pretend like we’re strangers again.”

“That’s right. One last kiss.”

He leans in and his lips touch mine so gently it kills me. He stays there, drinking me in, and the kiss lasts nearly forever before he finally breaks it off.

“A good kiss to end things on,” he whispers, unlocks the door, and steps out into the hall.

I stand there alone in the supply closet.

I never do things like this, and I’ll never do it again.

But he’s right.

That was one hell of a last kiss.