Forbidden desires

Wrong decisions

Brianna

“Come back to my place.”

In all twenty-four years of my life, I’ve always prided myself on my self-control and values.

Older men were never my thing.

Whenever my friends started rambling about how attractive and dominant they were, I usually tuned them out.

But standing here beside this man—this ridiculously gorgeous stranger who looks like he was sculpted by Greek gods themselves, has me questioning every standard I’ve ever had.

Before leaving Italy and coming to New York a week ago, I had one goal:

Find my father’s family.

That was the mission.

Find them, tell them who I was, survive the awkward reunion, and hopefully drag my life from grass to grace afterward.

I’d spent years researching them online, so I already knew the family name, their billion-dollar empire, and practically everything else there was to know.

All I needed was the courage to finally face them.

I’ve always been the type of person who sets a goal and follows through with it no matter what. I hate distractions.

I hate unfinished plans even more.

Which is exactly why tonight feels so dangerous.

I only came to the bar to drop off an application after seeing a waitress vacancy posted outside the day before.

I had no idea things would spiral this badly.

Or this intensely.

Maybe I should blame myself for showing up at a bar late at night to submit an application in the first place.

But honestly, my entire day had already been a disaster.

Earlier that morning, I’d found out the apartment building I was staying in had been given notice to vacate weeks before I even moved in.

Apparently, nobody thought to mention that important detail to me.

My neighbors had barely spoken to me since I arrived, so I had no clue anything was wrong.

I was sitting in my tiny room trying to figure out how to begin searching for my father’s family when loud banging suddenly shook my door.

At first, I honestly thought the building was collapsing.

The place looked like it could fall apart any minute anyway.

Then the knocking came again.

Annoyed, I yanked the door open only to find a short, heavily bearded man glaring at me.

“You were given notice two weeks ago,” he snapped.

“You’ve got two hours to leave before your things get thrown onto the street.”

And just like that, he walked away without giving me a chance to explain.

I immediately rushed back inside and called the man who rented me the apartment.

Straight to voicemail.

Every single time.

I didn’t even have time to process the fact that I’d been scammed.

Panic hit me instantly when I checked the time.

Less than two hours.

I started scrolling desperately through my contacts looking for anyone who could help when I landed on the number of a woman I’d met briefly at the airport.

Beth.

She’d seemed kind, and at that moment, kindness was all I had left.

I called her immediately.

Hel—”

“Oh my God, Anna!” she practically shrieked into the phone.

“I thought you’d never call! Sorry I never reached out—I forgot what I saved your number as.”

Despite everything happening, I laughed softly.

“It’s good to hear from you, Beth. How have you been?”

“Good! But how are you? Have you contacted your family yet?”

I hesitated. “That’s actually why I called.”

I explained everything to her—the apartment situation, moving to New York, all of it.

And somehow, despite barely knowing me, she offered me a place to stay.

Just like that.

She told me I could use her spare room until I got back on my feet financially.

After she sent me the address, I packed my belongings and moved into her apartment in Tremont, which luckily happened to be much closer to the bar than my old place in Brooklyn.

I was still replaying the entire mess in my head when the stranger’s deep voice pulls me back to reality.

“You still haven’t answered me, angel.”

I look up immediately.

Big mistake.

The man standing in front of me practically radiates power.

His storm-gray eyes move over me slowly, intensely, and suddenly breathing feels like an impossible task.

“I—I…” I stammer.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he says quietly.

“I prefer willing company, not forced.”

That should’ve been the moment my common sense returned.

Instead, it only makes him more dangerous.

Every ounce of self-control I had disappeared the second he kissed me, and now all I can think about is how badly I want to feel that again.

Which is ridiculous.

I barely know him.

And yet, hearing him casually mention “partners” sends an irrational wave of jealousy through me.

Seriously, what is wrong with me?

“I’ll just text someone first,” I mumble weakly.

I pull out my phone and quickly text Beth.

Not coming home tonight.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Stay safe and have fun ;)

Heat floods my cheeks immediately.

I lock my phone before he can somehow read my embarrassment.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me toward his car.

And wow.

The car alone probably costs more money than I’ve seen in my entire life.

“I wanted to ask—”

Before I can finish, he gently pins me against the car and kisses me again.

Every coherent thought in my brain disappears instantly.

The kiss is intense and consuming, and before I realize it, my fingers are tangled in his hair as I kiss him back just as desperately.

His touch burns through the fabric of my clothes, sending heat rushing through every inch of my body.

I can barely breathe.

Barely think.

When his hand slowly trails higher along my thigh, my heart nearly stops.

“W-what are you doing?” I ask shakily, trying and failing to sound composed.

A deep chuckle leaves him as he rests his forehead lightly against mine.

“Trying very hard to behave myself,” he murmurs.