Page 9 of Let it Breathe
4
Chai
Iwoke up, gasped for breath, and surveyed the room.
Where am I?
I reached to my left and the back of my hand connected with a solid muscular frame of ...
"Ohhhhh," I groaned and pushed off the bed. I didn't want to turn around, but I had to. I had to confirm. Even though the soreness in my body told me what I already knew.
I had sex with him last night.
Memories of last night flooded my brain all at once. The way he touched me, so soft and then so rough. The dirty things he whispered in my ear as he pressed his rather large member into me.
Oh God, you feel so good,he had said.
More than once.
He laid flat on his back; the sheet covered his bottom half. His upper body was long and lean, but his chest was broad. I remembered the taste of his skin. His body felt so good on my tongue. I licked my lips. His taste lingered on them.
I got to run my hand over his bald head, too.Take that, little bar groupie. I had touched it, caressed it, kissed it. I shook the image out of my head.
He rolled over, and I jumped back from the bed. The sheet had fallen a little, and his member was on full display. My core clinched as I stared at it.
While he was inside me, he moved so slowly, in and out, torturing me in the most delicious way. Every time I closed my eyes, he would stop. He said he needed to feel I was with him. He wanted to see my eyes when I came. I wasn't sure why, but at that point, I was in no position to argue. And I was so glad I didn't. The orgasm rocked me hard. His gaze had that kind of power over me. It was addictive, and I craved it again.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I have to get out of here.
When I opened them, my mind was clear, and my conscience was right. I needed to get out of here.
I gathered my clothes and pulled them on as I headed toward the door. I should leave a note, but what would be the point.
This was a one-time thing. Besides, what are the odds that I’ll ever see him again?
* * *
"Bella, what is this?" my father asked and pointed. His Italian accent more pronounced since he returned from Italy a few weeks ago.
"What's wrong?" I smoothed my green wrap dress down and made sure my cleavage didn't show too much.
"No, you look lovely." His eyes narrowed. "It's a little revealing, but that might be a good thing."
"Pappi." I rolled my eyes. He chuckled. He was such a sweet man. He didn't deserve to inherit the disastrous business my grandfather had gifted to him. Our vineyard and winery in Sonoma, California had been in our family for over one hundred years. The wine won awards and was respected in the industry, a good and a bad thing. My grandfather had a vision for Darielle Wines. Year after year, he sank all the vineyard's profits into taking the brand national. It was too much too soon, which led to my grandfather dying too young and my father tasked with saving our family business. The stress would lead him to an early grave too, and I couldn't watch that happen.
"But I'm not talking about that. Your face." He gripped my chin. "You are absolutely radiant today."
"Yeah, where is the sad, sulking, little pissy look you've been sporting for the last year," my brother, CJ, chimed in. I ignored him.
I grabbed my father's hand, kissed it, and squeezed.
"I just have a good feeling about today, that's all." I pulled out my compact. My face had a strange glow. I couldn't admit where it came from—nothing like amazing sex to clear your skin and your head.
I was nervous.
"Ms. Darielle." I turned toward a short redhead with a headset over her ears. "We're ready for you at the stage."
