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S tefano could’ve asked anything of me in that moment, and I’d have said yes.

This is how I find myself the next evening waiting for him in front of Demos, for him to take me out on a date.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been out on a date. Maybe it was prom? But Tommy Bentley who took me that night literally did just that after—there’d be sex involved, he knew it, so was it really a date? I’ve never been ashamed of the fact I like sex. In my senior year of high school, this fact came with the label ‘slut’ even though I’d slept with just two boys at the time. Jenna Malone blowing the entire football team under the bleachers didn’t get that tag because she didn’t put out any hole for them to fill.

But I enjoy sex. Must be why I found being a prostitute not such a terrible thing despite being sold into sexual slavery. Don Giacomo had a lot to do with this—something in me knew he’d uphold his end of our bargain; he’d let us go once our debt was cleared. I’ve seen it happen, girls at his brothels being released back into free society. Only a few chose to leave, most taking on some other job in his organization.

I know how to please a man, how to let him best fuck me for his pleasure…yet going with a man on a date? First time, and the jitters are getting to me as I stand on the wide, clean and surprisingly free from litter curb in this part of Turin.

Doubt is assailing me. Did I choose the right attire? I had no clue what we’d be doing, so I settled on a little black dress that bares most of my upper back and my legs from mid-thigh down, the straight cut flowing around my body and not drawing attention to the fact I don’t have much of a waist given how my body tapers down from my wider-than-my-hips shoulders. Shoes are sensible three-inch wedges as I’m sure we’ll be walking along the uneven paved and cobblestone walkways to wherever he’s taking me.

I was right to think we’d be walking, because there’s Stefano turning the corner of the block on foot and not alighting from a car, strolling toward me with the gait of a man who could belong on any high fashion runway in nearby Milan. He’s got slim-cut jeans on sheathing his long legs, loafers on his feet—and thank the Lord no socks!—a well-cut pale gray shirt opened a few buttons at the top and baring the golden olive of his skin. Everything is brought together by the light blue-gray sports jacket molding to his broad and muscular rounded shoulders.

His face is a vision of male beauty, a morning stubble carrying over into this evening on his strong jaw and hollowed cheeks, the long hair swept back again from his wide forehead, and that sensual mouth pulling into a smile when he sees me from a few hundred feet away.

How did I not notice he’s got a bit of a crooked smile? One side lifts up a little more, making him look absolutely adorable.

Yet, this cute lilt can’t hide the ruthlessness I can see on his chiseled features, the power radiating from his big body. People part along his path, most without even turning to look at him, as if they can feel a force stronger than them is in the vicinity and they better steer clear.

I’m a little out of breath with all these revelations coursing inside me when he stops in front of me, a quizzical lift of his brow alerting me to the fact I’ve missed something in the past few seconds.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I…You clean up well.”

Mortified is what I am in this moment. What’s wrong with my mouth? Doesn’t it have any filter?

To my surprise, Stefano throws his head back and laughs, the same rich, gleeful laugh he bestowed onto me last night.

“You are a portrait,” he says.

“Picture,” I respond around a smile. It’s so funny to hear him butchering the English language.

He shakes his head. “Either way, you are looking bellissima . Ciao, ama .”

Ah, so that’s probably what I missed. The greeting.

“Hi, Stefano.”

He leans forward then, kisses me on the left cheek then the right. It’s almost air kisses so light it all is.

“Do you mind walking?” he asks.

“Not at all.” I point at the wedges.

“Good choice.” He chuckles.

His hand lands gently in the small of my back, and we start our way into the center of San Salvario, where Stefano’s arranged for us to have dinner at a café which serves meals on a beautiful terrace opening into the secluded interior courtyard of what looks to me like a Baroque castle. So many buildings in Torino resemble palaces, I still haven’t figured out which are actually just normal buildings.

Turns out Stefano loves to talk. Not the type who likes to hear his own voice, thankfully, and I do get to put in a line or two along the way, but I’m content letting him rattle on about this topic or that subject. It could be a bit whiplash-inducing were he not so lively and confident in himself that it ends up almost like watching a one-man-show. He also makes me laugh, and before I know it, our meal is over, and we’re stepping out onto the animated streets.

Tourist season is starting, so the crowds are already swelling. Stefano pulls me closer to him with a hand around my shoulders, and when I shiver from the slight breeze blowing in tonight, he ditches his jacket and drapes it onto my shoulders.

Ensconced in this garment still bearing his warmth, I can’t help but burrow into the soft fabric. A whiff of his cologne wraps around me. It’s citrusy with a hint of salt and a deeper, elusive note like the bitter pith of a lemon. I can’t say I find it strange that this scent reminds me so much of him—he seems and sounds so inoffensive and pleasant on the surface, but underneath it all is that layer of uncertain danger he carries so effortlessly with him, you tend to forget who he really is.

We stop in front of a building, and he glances up before his gaze comes to rest on my face. With a bent knuckle, he tips my chin up so I’m looking into his hooded eyes.

“I’m right up there,” he says softly.

A shiver racks through me. Up there, it’s his place. He’s brought me to his apartment…and I can’t think of any other reason why he’d take me home.

It’s time for him to collect. Never mind his forceful words at the club last night. We both knew where this was going. More the fool me for thinking we were simply enjoying a night as two people on a date.

I put on a smile. “Sure. Let’s go.”

Stefano takes my hand and leads me up in a creaking, old-school elevator to the fourth floor where his apartment is located. My feet are leaden all the way along, but I can’t let that happen, can’t let him see it. He’s taking a girl home to enjoy having sex with her—she can’t make it look like she’s walking down the gallows. That’s not the impression I should give in my line of work, and I have to remind myself this is work. He might not have come in and paid for my time by the hour or by the job, but taking me out to dinner and showing me a good time? That’s payment in some men’s books.

With a deep breath when the front door closes behind me, I shake off his jacket and tug him closer with a hand curled around the waistband of his jeans.

“ Cosa sta —”

His words strangle when I drop to my knees, my fingers making quick work of his belt and the metal button and zipper to find the layer of snug briefs underneath. It doesn’t deter me, and I’ve got his cock out in the next few seconds. He’s only half-hard and already looks like a mouthful, which makes my mouth water. I can’t wait for him to swell up between my lips and all along my tongue.

He smells of musk and soap, a drop of pre-cum pearling at the tip. I waste no time catching it with the tip of my tongue. Clear, clean, salty—he’s delicious. A groan rumbles out of him as I close my lips around his now-engorged head and pull him in by sucking my cheeks in. God, he’s going to be a mouthful, all right.

He’s growing inside my mouth, getting harder, longer, thicker. I’m still the one stroking all over him—he’s not pushing in or out yet. Will he be the kind of man who likes to ramp up his thrusts when he’s close to coming? Will he then force the tip of his cock down my throat and make me swallow, or will he pull out at the last second so he can spurt all over my face or my chest?

His hand is now closing in my hair, fingers digging under the tie holding my ponytail high at the back of my head. Finally!

“Kaya,” he groans. “Stop.”

Wait, did he just say… I freeze, gaze flying up to meet his. His eyes are narrowed, peering down at me with anger, almost. His nostrils are flared, and a dusting of red slashes along his taut cheekbones.

When my mouth slackens, he pulls out of me.

“What are you doing?” he bites out.

Strangely, I can’t hear any irritation in his tone. It fuels me to answer, even though a part of me whispers he could be hiding his game really well and I’ll earn myself a back-handed slap for being impertinent.

Yet, if this is what he wants… I’m not at the brothel here, where security weeds out the johns and doesn’t let any whacko with disturbed needs anywhere near us girls. I’ve been appointed to pleasure this man as he deems required, so I must withstand everything he’ll throw at me.

“This is what we came up here for, isn’t it?” I ask.

Stefano blinks at me. “ Sul serio? ”

Seriously, yes. What did he expect?

His face grows even tenser, the hard jawline tightening some more. Something inside me wants to pull away, but I can’t do it. He’s got me as frozen as I’m enthralled by the formidable man he’s morphing into right before me.

“What did I say last night, Kaya?”

I’m drawing a blank, even though I know what he means.

When silence stretches for more seconds than is comfortable, Stefano tucks himself back into his briefs. But instead of pulling up his jeans, his hands clasp around my wrists, and he’s pulling up none too gently, marching along as he does so. I’m stumbling back, coming to a stop when my back collides with the smooth surface of the front door.

“I said…” he pauses, his nose nuzzling the side of my neck and face so I have no other choice but to tilt my head up until I’m looking into his eyes when he peers at me again. “A woman always comes to me when she wants to, not the other way round.”

His hands, still wrapped around my wrists, lift my arms and press the backs of my hands firmly against the wood.

“I don’t know how to say this in English, but listen to me carefully. Voglio dire quello che dico. Do you understand?”

I can only nod at the hardness of his voice even though I grasped what he meant. Don’t misconstrue anything about me.

I won’t.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Y-yes,” I mutter.

“ Va bene. ”

My breathing is heavy as I wait for him to release me now. But Stefano seems in no rush to move, his clear hazel eyes turned dark with some swirling emotion I can’t decipher this up close.

“Has any man ever made you come, ama ?”

My mouth goes dry under the huskiness of his tone more than the scandalous nature of the words themselves. Add to this the way he’s looking at me, like fire is blazing in his loins and I can see this inferno all over his face right now, and I do something stupid.

“No,” I squeak.

A slow smile lifts up one corner of his lips more.

“Good. Be honest. I like this.” His hands clench and unclench around my wrists. “Would you like me to make you come?”

Only an idiot would say no to him. I’m not an idiot. “Yes.”

His gaze narrows. “No lying, Kaya. I’ll know.”

I’ll know if you fake it. It’s a skill we all know, us working girls.

“Yes.”

Without tearing his gaze from mine, he slides his knee between my legs, smoothing up, lifting my skirt in the process. My breath hitches when he makes contact with my crotch.

“How wet are you right now?” he asks with a small smile. “Let’s find out.”

His hands release my wrists to glide down my arms, along the sides of my breasts, my waist, my hips where he bunches my dress in a fist and uses his other hand to push my panties aside.

“So wet,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning my pussy and making me gasp as he kneels before me.

A keening moan pours out when he places his open mouth on my sex and starts to lick and suck. Before long, his lips have closed around my clit, and he’s fondling it with his tongue. It’s all too much for me, and I can’t stop the pleasure building and roaring through me as he sucks a little harder.

Thankfully, he pulls away when I erupt into an orgasm. I don’t think I would’ve been able to take it if he’d kept on with his assault.

“ Bellissima ,” he murmurs as he gets to his feet.

I’ve hardly recovered when he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. I’m still rather limp, so I sprawl against his wide body and wrap my legs around him when he places an arm under my ass to then carry me into his bedroom. Before putting me down, he grabs my dress and rips it off me. My panties follow suit.

I’m barely on my back when he’s already got his head back between my thighs and kissing my pussy once more.

“Stefano!” I gasp. “What are you doing?”

“You taste delicious. I can’t get enough of you.”

Here he is, the charmer back at it again. I can’t help it, I laugh.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be,” he chides.

He’s on the bed next, straddling me between his knees as he leans down and claims my mouth with his. I can taste myself on his lips, and strangely, I’m not finding it gross or even repulsive. Little by little, I melt into the mattress the deeper he kisses me, until we get to a point where all I’m tasting is him now as I stroke his tongue with my own, as I drink from his mouth.

My gasp is swallowed against his lips when I feel something against my core. Stefano is slowly caressing me, and it’s fair to say he doesn’t need to do much to coax more wetness from me as I’m already dripping in desire for him. When one long finger then another slips inside me, I arch off the bed, tearing my mouth from his.

“Stefano,” I beg.

“What?” he asks.

Damn it, and damn him—I’m starting to hate that little crooked smile. Bastard knows exactly what he is doing to me. But he’s asked me to be honest, though, so I continue in that vein.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out.

He tuts. “Needy, needy.”

“Oh, fuck you! I need your cock. In me. Now!”

“Happy to oblige.”

He must break some record or something, because it’s barely a few seconds before he pulls away from me and then he’s back, fully naked, already sheathed. And I was right—he’s got a formidable cock. I can’t see it now, but I can feel it parting my lower lips as it slowly sinks into me. And Stefano knows how to fuck. He pushes in then pulls out, eases in and out continuously so I’ll have time to adjust to his size. In the process, he’s also building a massive pressure inside me.

It takes just a few languid strokes against that sensitive spot just above my pelvic bone for my climax to erupt. I’m roaring my pleasure out when he picks up the rhythm and fucks me so hard, I’m moving along the bed with each thrust until my head is hitting the headboard. Stefano takes my hand and guides it to the top of the headboard so I can stay myself under his relentless pounding.

Back and forth he goes, harder, stronger, faster. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and I don’t even need to touch my clit to come again, my cry muffled this time as Stefano claims my mouth in a searing kiss, his groan merging with the sound as he stills and then starts throbbing inside me with his release.

We’re both panting heavily in the next few seconds as we come back to earth. Stefano rolls over onto his side—I didn’t expect him to take me along in his arms, my back landing flush against his sweat-soaked front.

“Give me a few minutes,” he murmurs in my ear.

My eyes go wide. For what? Then I feel it. He’s getting hard again in the crack of my ass.

I stifle a laugh. So this is what it’s like to really be with a man.

All this time, I’d thought I liked sex, and I really had no idea. Turns out, I like cock, and already, I’m growing addicted to Stefano’s. I remember how it looked when I pulled it out of his briefs, how it started swelling and thickening before my eyes, between my lips.

My mouth starts to water, and I’m flipping around and going onto my knees as he lays prone on the bed. My hand closes around his glorious member, and I wet my lips.

“My turn,” I say, then lower my head toward him.