Chapter 3 - ALS

Lilianna

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A furrow appeared between his brows, his gaze searching mine. "What is it, beautiful?"

My cheeks flushed even hotter, the heat spreading down my body as I whispered, "I'm a virgin..."

Pure, unadulterated horror danced across his face, a spectacle to behold as my words sank in.

His eyes stretched wider, as though I'd just revealed I was a time-traveling cyborg from the future.

He stumbled back, his movements resembling a startled deer, and hastily snatched his boxers from the floor, muttering a string of colorful expletives under his breath.

My virginity proved to be the ultimate cockblock, sending his once-proud erection into hiding faster than a scared turtle retreating into its shell.

I sat there, a cocktail of emotions swirling within me—hurt, confusion, embarrassment—all topped off with a generous sprinkling of speechlessness.

It was like the universe had decided to play the cruelest joke on me, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden camera crew somewhere, ready to reveal this embarrassing moment to the world.

"God fucking damn it! Why didn't you tell me that before?! I should have asked, I should have fucking asked before I even laid a finger on you," his annoyed and agitated tone grated on my nerves.

I mean, come on, I'm a virgin, not a ticking time bomb.

I grabbed a pillow and wrapped it around myself, shielding my body as much as possible. "Well, forgive me for not having 'virgin' stamped across my forehead," I retorted, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

He gritted his teeth as he turned away from me, his frustration palpable. "I'm not talking about that! How old are you, for fuck's sake?!"

I scanned him from head to toe, taking in every inch. He wasn't just some boy; he was a man through and through, in every sense of the word – and that's even before I sized up his package.

Ma che spettacolo! (What a sight!)

I threw the pillow aside, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I'm sorry I didn't bring my birth certificate to the party. And for your information, I'm twenty-four, okay?!"

"Twenty-four? I'm twenty-eight," he snapped as if the four-year age gap was some insurmountable obstacle.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Sure, if I had revealed the whole truth, maybe it would've felt like a bigger deal. But hey, my dad was fifteen years older than my mom, so what was a measly nine years between adults? It's not like I was underage or anything.

The age of consent here in Naples is fourteen, and I turned nineteen today, so legally, I'm in the clear. As for him, with that strong American accent, he's probably not from around here but still even in the States that makes me a consenting adult. I know because I completed my high school in Miami.

"So?" I asked incredulously.

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his frustration palpable. "I prefer women my own age, and you being a virgin... It's just not my thing. You should be with someone who can take care of you properly, not me."

Cazzo!

I blew out a breath, "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Not my fucking problem. I'll call you a cab, get dressed, and get out!" he snapped, his words dripping with disdain as he stormed towards the door, slamming it behind him on his way out.

I was left alone in the dimly lit room, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment wash over me.

I sat there, dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open like a goldfish in a bowl. Hastily, I scrambled out of bed, snagging his shirt from the floor like a lifeline. With clumsy fingers, I buttoned it up.

As I tiptoed towards the door, I couldn't help but wonder if he'd vanished into thin air or was lurking around like a disgruntled ghost. Well, there was only one way to find out. Time to embark on a mission to hunt down Mr. Mood Swing.

I tiptoed my way out and found him standing hunched over his home bar, a lone bottle of bourbon his only companion.

The scene looked straight out of a brooding cowboy movie. I half-expected him to spit out some rough-hewn wisdom about life and love, or maybe just chug the entire bottle in one go. Either way, I was about to find out.

"What's your name?" I asked, making my way over to him.

I had a knack for being irritating; my friends often joked that I was the ALS (annoying little shit) of the group.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and let out a dry breath. "Why aren't you dressed in your own clothes?" he asked, his tone tinged with irritation.

I shrugged, "I've seen it in movies. The heroine always wears the hero's shirt after a steamy night together, so I figured, this is like the perfect opportunity to pull that off?" I did a little twirl, "How do I look? Ready for my close-up?"

He looked at me as if I had grown two heads, a deep frown etched on his forehead. "I'm not a hero," he muttered.

I sauntered closer to him, batting my eyelashes playfully. "You could be, you've got the looks for it."

He tilted his head to the side, a bemused expression on his face. "And you're no heroine either, so quit playing pretend and take off my shirt."

I clicked my tongue, giving him a sassy look. "That's where you're wrong. I plan on becoming an actress, so in my mind, I'm always the heroine of my own story, whether you like it or not."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Well, in that case, I suggest you start with the role of 'girl who knows when to leave.'"

He straightened up once I was close enough and narrowed his eyes on me. I walked closer to his home bar and turned my back against it. Placing my palms flat across the counter, I hoisted myself up, swinging my legs casually. He simply watched me, his expression unreadable.

I reached for the bottle of bourbon and examined its label. It was an Old Rip Van Winkle, a brand I knew must cost a pretty penny. Carefully, I set it back down on the counter, not wanting to risk damaging such a valuable item.

"I don't like bourbon, I could taste it on your lips," I remarked, casually swinging my legs back and forth.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "And what am I supposed to do with that information?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe switch to something else if we're going to... engage in any more activities."

His lips twitched but he tried hard not to smile. "And what makes you think there will be any more activities?"

His gaze followed my finger as I traced the scar on his chest, a smirk playing on my lips. "Because whether you like it or not, you're going to help me check off that 'losing virginity' box."

He seized my hand, stopping its wandering path, and shot me a disbelieving glance. "Go find a nice guy who can give you what you're after."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You might look smart, but your words aren't exactly convincing me."

"What the fuck did you just say?" he demanded, his tone sharp.

I met his gaze squarely. "Let's be real. If I wanted a sweet, vanilla first time with roses and scented candles, I wouldn't be in a club giving a lap dance to a hot, tattooed stranger with a holster on his chest," I retorted, nodding towards the gun resting beside the bourbon bottle.

He followed my gaze and snatched the gun as if I were about to use it on him, then swiftly tucked it into the waistband of my boxers.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his swift action. "Well, that's one way to keep me from getting ideas," I remarked dryly.

"Are you dense?" he asked.

I frowned, "What made you say that?"

"The fact that you barely know me and aren't even a little bit fazed by the gun in my hand."

I shrugged casually. "Eh, I've seen worse. Plus, you strike me as the 'dangerous yet oddly trustworthy' type."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And what exactly gives you that impression?"

I flashed him a playful smirk. "Call it a hunch."

He looked at me wearily, nothing like the hungry beast that was about to devour me in the bedroom, "You remind me of someone."

I leaned in a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Oh? And who might that be?"

"Evangeline," he stated as if I was supposed to know who Evangeline was.

I gasped dramatically, "Why does she sound so hot and sexy? Is it your super hot ex that you can't seem to get over?"

He grimaced and raised a finger, "First of all, she is neither hot nor sexy for me. Second..." he gripped my chin with his forefinger and thumb, "She's more like an annoying little sister with a really whiny voice. You know, the kind that never stops complaining."

I grimaced too, feeling a sudden wave of repulsion at the thought of being compared to his whiny little sister. It was not exactly the kind of association I wanted after what had just transpired between us.

"Don't compare me to her, especially after what we just did," I said, scowling.

"I don't think anything happened between us," he answered casually, "And you need to get your virgin ass off my property."

My mouth was wide open, practically on the floor. "So, like, a ton happened between us. Your fingers? Oh my God, they were like, so deep inside me, I swear I can still feel them. And those boob-sucking skills? Unreal," I touched my breasts with both of my hands and squeezed them, "My girls are still like, tender from it. And then, oh boy, you went to town on my ass from behind, like, tongue-thrusting and all, and I was legit about to explode with pleasure—"

He cut me off by placing his palm over my mouth, "I know what I did. Do not remind me of my stupidity."

I don't know what got over me, but I couldn't resist the urge to lick his palm. He gave me an incredulous look and took his hand off my mouth, wiping it on the shirt that I was wearing. Well, he practically rubbed his hand all over my boob, but I guess that's one way to leave a mark.

"You need to leave," he pointed out again, his frustration evident.

But instead of complying, I made myself even more at home. I hoisted my legs up onto the counter, spreading them slightly for added comfort, and then sat crisscross applesauce, his shirt now acting as a makeshift barrier between the nakedness between my legs and his cold gaze. If he wanted me gone, he'd have to physically drag me out.

"I'm not leaving until you deflower me. I made a bet with my friends that I'd hunt down a smoking-hot stranger and screw him senseless tonight. And guess what? You're the lucky winner. So, unless you plan on disappointing a determined girl with a throbbing libido, you better get ready to make me a woman. I'm not backing down, so don't even think about it," I declared, my boldness ringing through the air.

He stared at me in disbelief, his jaw practically hitting the floor. "You're insane," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

I shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Maybe so, but I'm also persistent. So, what's it gonna be?"

"I could hurt you. Have you thought about that? What if I am a serial killer?" he asked, staring at me as if he was trying to decipher me.

"If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it already," I countered, meeting his gaze head-on. "And besides, I've seen enough crime shows to know how to handle myself in these situations."

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation. "Fine, have it your way," he conceded, resigned. "But don't expect me to hold your hand through it."

I smirked triumphantly. "Don't worry, I can handle myself," I replied confidently, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through me.

He took a step closer to me and I straightened up, ready to be devoured, "I don't know what I am doing..." he hissed under his breath.

I laughed, placing my hands on his shoulders and pulling him to me, closing the gap between us. "Relax, we're not reinventing the wheel here. It's just sex, not rocket science. Unless you're secretly a virgin too?"

He chuckled and nodded towards the bedroom, "Bed?"

I grinned mischievously, "Bed, couch, kitchen counter, I'm open to options."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed by my boldness. "Bed it is then," he decided, taking my hand as we made our way back to the bedroom.

As we walked, I couldn't help but notice the opulence of his penthouse, but something caught my eye.

I gasped in delight, and he immediately let go of my hand, looking puzzled. "Is that—is that a massage chair?" I exclaimed, pointing excitedly.

He nodded slowly, "Yes, it's my mother's—"

But before he could finish, I dashed towards it and settled into the chair, bouncing with anticipation. "Make it work!" I demanded eagerly, unable to contain my excitement.

He watched me with a mix of amusement and bewilderment as I eagerly fiddled with the controls, trying to activate the massage functions.

"Are you serious right now?" he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

I glanced back at him with a mischievous grin, "Of course! Why waste a perfectly good massage chair?"

With a triumphant grin, I settled back into the chair, ready to enjoy a luxurious massage.

As the chair started its gentle kneading motion, I let out a low "Aaaaaah..." My voice hitched slightly as the vibrations reverberated through my body, sending waves of relaxation cascading down my spine.

"This is amazing," I murmured, sinking deeper into the plush cushions, my eyes fluttering closed as the tension melted away.

"Enjoy your massage, I'm off to bed," he said before turning and walking to his bedroom.

My eyes widened, and I scrambled out of the massage chair before he could change his mind. As I rushed to my feet, I tripped over my own toes and face-planted into the ground with a loud thud.

"Fuck!" I heard him curse as he hurried back to where I lay.

I groaned and rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. "I think I have a concussion," I mumbled, feeling woozy.

The next thing I knew, I was perched on the kitchen counter, him holding an ice pack to my forehead.

He examined me with concern in his eyes, his fingers gentle as they pressed the ice pack against my forehead. "You should be more careful," he scolded softly.

I couldn't help but chuckle weakly. "Yeah, I'll try not to faceplant into the ground next time," I replied, trying to lighten the mood.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "You do that," he said, his lips twitching into a small smile.

I couldn't help but quip, "Well, at least now I have a memorable story to tell about my first time in a penthouse with a handsome stranger."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'm sure it'll be one for the books."

I grinned, feeling a bit more at ease despite the mishap. "Who knows, maybe it'll even make it into my memoirs someday."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I'll be sure to look out for that bestseller."

I laughed and I couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on my lips as he held the ice pack against my forehead.

I shifted closer to him, the heat from his body radiating against mine. "You know," I murmured, my voice low, "I'm starting to think that massage chair was a blessing in disguise."

He met my gaze, his eyes darkening with desire. "Is that so?" he replied, his voice rough.

I nodded, a coy smile playing on my lips. "Maybe we should find another way to work out these knots," I suggested, leaning in closer until our lips were mere inches apart.

A slow, simmering heat ignited between us as the anticipation of what was to come hung thick in the air.

"You're persistent, aren't you?" he commented, a touch of amusement in his tone.

I smiled, refusing to back down. "Persistence is my middle name," I replied, then guided his hand to my clothed chest, pressing it firmly against the fabric. "Feel me up. I want you to."

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking with mine before he gave in to the temptation. His fingers squeezed my breast through the fabric, sending shivers down my spine.

I let out a soft moan, arching into his touch, craving more. His thumb brushed over my nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

My breath hitched with each squeeze of his fingers. I leaned into him, my voice husky, my eyes closed with desire as I whispered, "Harder."

His fingers responded to my plea, applying more pressure as he teased and kneaded my flesh. I let out a low moan, craving more of his rough caress.

With a low, seductive chuckle, he tightened his grip on my breast, sending shudders of anticipation shooting through my veins. "I can't wait any longer," he growled, his voice dripping with primal desire. "Let's get you to that bed before I lose control and ravish you right here on this counter."

As he lifted me into his arms and carried me toward the bedroom, I knew that there was no turning back from the intoxicating desire that engulfed us both.