Captured By The Don

Neon There is a man staring at me from the side of the club. And he is hot. His face looks shockingly familiar but the wine and whiskey already in my system seems to dull my mind as I stare back at him, willing his eyes to look away. Regardless, he just keeps staring back, his heated gaze intensified by the darkness of his spot in the club. “Go talk to him, Neon,” my cousin, Fanny, nudges, “relieve yourselves of the torture.” “No freaking way,” I take another sip of the rich vintage white wine, “I’m not gonna jinx my wedding the night before.” “That’s exactly what you should do girl, I mean, who knows if the monster you are getting married to will let you ever have some fun?” She is right. I am getting married tomorrow so I guess this drinking party of two is meant to be my bachelorette party. My father is thrusting me headfirst into a marriage that seems almost as lost as Robinson Crusoe with a man I’ve never set eyes on before - some mafia boss called ‘The Don’ – and who knows if I’ll ever get the chance to do any other thing other than be the dutiful wife? And even though I assented to the marriage because I literally had no choice – it was either that or face being cut off from my father forever – I still wish I was not being kicked by my father into the first opportunity that presented itself. “Stop over thinking and go,” Fanny yells above the music, “this might be your last night out and it’s not every day you get ogled by someone looking like that.” It must be the shots I took earlier acting up and boosting my confidence because I don’t seem to need any more urging than that. I adjust my tight, short dress and give my cousin a fake groan, “Fine,” I yell, “you’re gonna be fine all by yourself?” She winks at me, “You’re not the only one getting ogled, Neon.” True, I can see another guy on the next table eyeing her petite form and I give her another wink. After downing my drink I make my way to the VIP section of the club where the mystery man eating me up with his eyes is seated all by himself. It’s probably no good talking to a man when I’m halfway on my way to drunkville but just a nice chat wouldn’t hurt I guess. The thought vanishes from my mind when I get to him. Like I noticed earlier, he is alone, which is weird for a club as crowded as this one which means, he definitely paid to keep it that way. His abs is visibly built and those biceps and triceps are making my insides churn with an excitement I can’t quite place. This side of the club is faced away from the music so even though I can still hear it, I can talk without having to yell. “Hello,” I remark as I get closer to mystery man, “I saw you staring.” He is partially shrouded in darkness but I can see the impressive length of his shoulder length hair and the god-like sculptures of his body. He makes an impressive “Mmm,” sound that vibrates through the room. I feel his eyes roaming my body and my heart starts making weird little jumps inside my ribcage which is weird because I don’t even know the man. “What’s your name?” he asks. His voice is a deep baritone that sends shivers down my spine. I’ve never reacted to a man at first glance before. Neither have I wanted him to f**k me seven ways over before. I’ve only ever dated one man – my ex – and we had to end it because of his cheating ass and the fact that our s****l relationship was basically nonexistent. I step closer to him, my movements incited by the amount of alcohol I've ingested in my system. “Well, most men buy me a drink first.” A short dark chuckle. Then silence. Then— “How would you like the next one hour to play out?” “What?” Another silence. Then he stands and starts walking up to me and in a few seconds I am standing in front of a man of six feet something height, towering over me in the semi-darkness with an imposing stance that makes me want to step back. “What do you want?” he drawls. I can't see the shade of his eyes but I can see his jaw twitching and the furrow of his dark brows. The question hits me with a slight wave of self-doubt. What do I want? What made me come here in the first place? What was I expecting? I answer truthfully. “I—I don’t know.” His fingers trail the length of my blonde hair, caressing the skin on my neck softly, “You have such beautiful hair,” he plays with the strands some more before saying, “Everybody knows what they want.” “Most people don’t,” I whisper. He leans down and suddenly he is close enough that I can feel the freshness of his exotic breath on my ear as he says, “Most dumb people don’t.” My knees wobble and I stifle back a moan and blurt out the first thing in my stupid brain, “I—I’m getting married tomorrow.” I see his smirk from my peripheral vision as he growls against my ear. “And?” “And I –” his fingers caress my ear lobes, “And I don’t know what I’m doing.” Another chuckle. “Tomorrow you say?” “Yes.” “Well then let’s make the most of this moment.” “What do you --?” Before I can finish the sentence, the mystery man pulls me so I am flushed against the hard muscles of his body and his mouth crashes into mine, leaving me momentarily breathless. Without consent, my body automatically starts reacting to his in a way it has never done before. My mouth moves against his, responding to his lips with a feral desire I didn’t know I possessed. His hand tugs at my hair roughly as he slips his tongue into my mouth, devouring me in that one move. I whimper against his mouth, my body squirming with need. I’ve never felt this way before, never felt this desire within my veins to be touched by a man, much less a total stranger. But the way this man’s body claims mine in that one kiss boasts more familiarity than any other person in my life. He doesn’t go gentle. His hands tugs at my hair, pulls me tighter against his and smacks my body against the wall so that I am pressed between his hard body and the hard wall and even though I always preferred my interactions to be gentle, I can't think of any other thing at this moment than this man. One hour. That’s what it took. One hour with Mr. Stranger in the VIP section of the club a night before my wedding. Just one hour and I was ruined. And I probably wouldn’t even have guessed the time flew so fast if I didn’t hear the rapt knock on the door and my body stiffened at the sound. The strange man groans. “Get the f**k out!” But I hear Fanny’s voice on the other side, “It’s me, Neon. It’s –It’s your father.” FUCK! I hurriedly pull myself away from Mr. Stranger and step away from the allure that is his body. He stares down at me with a frown and I can see the attractive features on his face a little clearer now, but I don’t have the time to study it because of the urgency in my head. “I- I’ve got to go.” I tell him, already reaching for the door. “See you soon, slut,” I hear him say in that deep baritone before I shut the door in his face. Not a chance. Great body but there’s no chance we’re ever gonna meet again. Which – as much it pains my s****l desires – is a great thing because I never want anyone else to see me like that – raw, craved, needy. Fanny is smiling mischievously when I step out, her body swaying with glee as we walk back to our spot. “I told you it was gonna be worth it. You’ve got some. . .” she gestures around her mouth with another coy smile, “A little — you’re lipstick is all smooched up, girl, it’s all over your face.” I roll my eyes at her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “f**k off Fanny.” My makeup being smudged in public is supposed to irk me out but I feel nothing close to irked at the moment. For some reason, at this point I don’t care if anyone sees me looking like s**t. “How was it,” she wiggles her brows, “was the s*x any good?” “What? We didn’t have s*x Fanny.” “You didn’t?” “No! You didn’t think I’ll have s*x with a stranger I literally just met did you?” “Well no of course not,” she stutters, but her darting eyes and her earlier question says otherwise. “What did you do then?” Fanny is a year older than me which makes her twenty-four but some times – like now – she acts relatively younger than her age. I roll my eyes, “We talked.” “Talked?” “And kissed,” and there was some touching, but I didn’t have to tell her that, “We didn’t have s*x, Fanny.” Not that I didn’t wish for it. Whoever that man is, he definitely knows how to show a girl what she is missing. And apparently, I’m missing out on A LOT. I shake the memory off my head, “What was that about my dad.” “Right. Your father. He uhh . . .called. Said you had to get home in ten minutes to meet your fiancé.”