My Dirty Night Secret

Seven

ANGELA’S POV

Stepping out of the cab felt like crossing into an entirely different world.

I was immediately surrounded by quiet, polished luxury meant only for people of wealth and power.

Hanzo was both.

This was the kind of hotel that left chocolates on the pillows and charged more for one night than most people earned in months.

I felt painfully out of place.

My simple cherry-red dress looked cheap next to the silk gowns, glittering jewels, and fur coats worn by the women gliding through the lobby.

I adjusted my jacket with nervous fingers and started across the impressive marble floor.

“Miss Anderson?”

Before I could reach the front desk, a man in a black suit with a name tag reading Steve approached me.

“Y-yes?” I cleared my throat, startled that a complete stranger already knew my name.

Steve offered a picture-perfect, completely fake smile. His teeth looked whitened specifically for clients like this.

“Mr. Luca is expecting you. Please follow me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply turned and walked toward the elevators.

I hurried after him, my heels clicking sharply against the marble.

The elevator ride was stiff and silent. When the doors opened, he gave me that same plastic smile one last time.

“Room 405.” He gestured stiffly down the hallway.

The moment I stepped out, the smile vanished.

I let out a quiet breath and scanned the numbers on the doors until I found the right one.

My steps slowed. My fingers clenched the edge of my dress so tightly my knuckles ached.

This was it?.

But this was not how I had ever imagined my first time. Naively, I had hoped it would be romantic, shared with someone I actually cared about. Never in a million years had I pictured selling my virginity to a dangerous mob boss.

My lungs filled to brim with air.

I drew in a deep breath, held it, and knocked.

The pause that followed felt endless.

Doubt began to creep in.

wrong room? But he did say 405..

As confusion began to sip into my features, the door opened.

“7:57. Smart of you not to be late, Angel.”

Hanzo stood in the doorway, dressed more casually than I had ever seen him. A plain black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, and matching jeans sat low on his hips. His muscular, tattooed arms rested at his sides, somehow making him look even more dangerous and handsome at the same time.

“I don’t like being late,” I answered quietly.

Why the hell was it that every time i looked into those intense eyes, my knees feels weak?

Something close to a lopsided grin touched his mouth. Then, he stepped aside, silently inviting me in.

The suite was just as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. My eyes lingered on the massive king-sized bed. Everything in the room felt like it belonged to a king—the deep violet rug, the walls that seemed to glow with gold.

The familiar lump of fear returned to my throat as I heard his footsteps approach from behind, but couldn’t bring myself to turn around.

“Drink.”

A glass of whiskey appeared in front of me. He had circled around and now blocked the bed from my view.

“I don’t drink.” Still, I took the glass.

“Tonight you will,” he said simply. “It will help you relax.”

Maybe it would.

I raised the glass and took a small sip. The amber liquid burned a harsh path down my throat and left a sharp, bitter aftertaste.

I winced, one hand rising to my lips.

My father had always been the one who drank in our house. I had no experience with anything this strong.

“You’re so innocent,” Hanzo murmured, fingers sliding through my blonde hair.

“Is that a good thing?”

All my life I had wondered the same. Maybe I was too trusting, too soft for the world I had been forced into. If I had been harder, perhaps I wouldn’t be standing here now.

“I like it.” He stepped closer. His hand moved from my hair to my cheek, then down along my jaw. “Makes me want to have you all to myself.” His thumb brushed across my bottom lip. “You’re everything I’m not.”

I noticed the thickness of his accent for the first time, even though his English was fluent.

A shaky breath escaped me. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne—dark, expensive, and dangerous.

Then, he took the glass from my hand and set it aside.

“I’ve never met someone like you. You’re not dirty like the rest of them.” He moved behind me.

I felt his knuckles graze the bare skin of my back as he slowly unzipped my dress.

“Who is ‘them’?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

“Women.”

Something inside me bristled, but the part of me that was focused on survival made me stay silent.

My mind was quick to wander off to different matters when a firm tug of my dress followed. The fabric slid down my body, pooling at my feet, leaving me with only my underwear.

I gasped when with another expert flick of his fingers, my bra joined it on the floor.

“Don’t cover yourself,” he whispered against my ear, his warm breath ghosting over my skin.

His breathing had grown heavier. Low, rough sounds of desire escaped him as his hands closed over my bare breasts. His fingers toyed with my hardened n*****s, pinching, squeezing and circling the orbs with skillful motions.

My eyes fluttered shut, why an involuntary breath parted my lips.

His hands slid lower, over my waist and hips. Then his mouth found mine. The kiss was deep and claiming, his tongue invading past my lips, stroking seductively against my own.

It wasn’t my first kiss, but it felt like it.