Page 14 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
Before he can move back, I turn my face toward his and place a soft kiss on his cheek.
I don’t know why I do it, but I can’t find it in myself to regret it either.
5
LUCA
A virgin.Ford’s a…virgin.
The modern man in me wants to treat that as a neutral fact.
The mobster in me roars with satisfaction, flexing over the fact that my little bird is pristine, perfect, and waiting for me. I’m not exactly proud of that sentiment.
Fuck. I can hardly remember being a virgin. I remember the first night my father pushed one of his girls on me.
“Time to make a man outta you.”
Looking back, I can see how fucked up it was, introducing a kid to sex at that age. But that’s how I was raised—you gotta lay a lot of pipe,show ‘em you mean business. My father wasn’t exactly thrilled that I liked boys too, but he used it to his advantage. By the time I was sixteen, I was sleeping with every new trick he hired or bought.
Quality control is what he called it.
But I’ve never worked with a virgin. I have plenty of escorts on staff who will give a realistic virgin experience, but everyone involved knows the score. A real, live virgin though? I ain’t never seen such a thing.
Earth to Stefano.You’ve got the man in your arms right now.Focus.
I bring my hand to my face, where his lips have left a permanent imprint. I gaze into Ford’s eyes.
Which now hold concern and nerves.
“Ford? Everything alright?” I ask, chancing a graze of his jaw.
“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”
It’s a fair question and probably means my usually neutral expression has failed me. Seeing the uncertainty, I know I cannot lie to Ford. Not that I ever would.
Ford raises his brows, compelling me to provide a complete answer.
“Yes, I’m thinking about it,” I admit. “But that guy is still a shithead.”
His pretty green eyes skitter off, fixating on something in the distance, even as he allows me to hold him in a swaying embrace.
“Ford, can you look at me?”
His chin trembles and he scrapes his lower lip with his teeth before dragging his eyes to mine. I wonder how hard it was for him to do that and if he understands how brave he is.
“I’m not judging you. I am a little confused because, unless you don’t enjoy sex, I can’t imagine you not having your choice of men or anyone else you would choose to spend time with. But you don’t owe me an explanation. I can live with confusion.”
His breathing is a little unsteady. His eyes hold so many emotions: shame, embarrassment, anger. I may not be the picture of a modern man, but I know damn well he’s the last person I would ever want to feel any of those things.
“We don’t have to talk, Ford. We can just dance.”
His eyes drift to the side again, and he nods. He draws in a little closer, still swaying perfectly with the music, resting his cheek close to mine. From the outside, this might seem like an intimate embrace, but I think he’s trying to avoid eye contact. I don’t know what’s happening inside his head, but I wonder how many times his virginity has been used against him.
There’s probably a very good reason why he hasn’t had sex yet. And it’s none of my business until he makes it my business.
Not sure why I’m remembering this now, but I saw the Mr. Rogers documentary the other day, and there is much about Ford that reminds me of Fred Rogers. His trim almost-bird-like figure, his well-thought-out colorful outfits, his kind demeanor. If Ford told me he sang to puppets and children, I’d believe him.
Holding him, it’s hard to miss how delicate he feels. My mother would want to feed him pasta in an attempt to put a good twenty to thirty pounds on his frame. But I’ve seen firsthand how hard he fights for the little guy. How strong his convictions are. Ford is not some wilting lily. But somethingisup.
