Page 2 of The Story of You

Costa isn’t a tall man, about Lakshan’s height, but he has the kind of energy that makes him seem tall. He’s commanding with the poise of a dancer. When he first walked into the room, I faltered just a touch. He’s got the “don’t fuck with me” air my father had. It’s a powerful weapon.

As much as I hate to admit it, because of the way my father was, it’s prepared me to deal with guys like Costa. Otherwise, he would have bulldozed right over me, and I would be under him.

All the while, Julius is quiet. I told him to be quiet. Of course, he didn’t listen, but at least he’s obeying now. I can imagine the heart attack he’s having. Will I make him repay the money? Where will he get that kind of money? More importantly, how long will I make him pay for a discretion that resulted in me paying out three hundred thousand dollars?

“We will take the three hundred. Does it come with any perks?” Costa raises a brow.

Perks. Code for, can we fuck?

I won’t share Lak—he’s mine—but from time to time we’ll take someone to bed with us. I make those decisions.

I consider it.

Come kiss me like you belong to me, butterfly.

Fuck.

“Not in the mood, Mr. Bianchi. Julius will be in touch with you about the money. Get the fuck out of my office.”

A demure smile spreads onto his handsome face. He stands and lifts his jacket from the back of the chair, folding it over his arm. His expression morphs quickly into a glare for his son who cowers beneath it. Lorenzo is a stunning dancer. He reminds me of an Italian version of Oliver, but taller with dark hair and dark eyes; deep olive skin.

Costa Bianchi is me, giving his son anything he wants—even Julius—and I have to wonder what I would do in his position. How far would I go?

Before I can fill that thought with anxiety because I’d go far, too far, Costa is cuffing his son upside the head as they walk out the door, lecturing him in Italian. My dick throbs. Discipline. Fuck I love seeing it.

Ah, so he spoils Lorenzo, but some things are not worth losing their necks over. Good.

“What did he just say to him?” I demand from Julius.

“He said the equivalent of, ‘Jesus Christ. For one man?’ And then something about he’d better not hear of him talking to me again.”

Reaching behind me to where I know Lakshan is, I thread my pointer finger through the D-ring of his collar and yank him toward the desk where I will be fucking him shortly. He lets me without a fight, not even a flinch, just graceful steps until he’s sitting on the cherry oak desktop.

“I don’t know how I’m going to pay you three hundred thousand dollars, sir,” Julius says quietly.

I hold up my hand to silence him while I appraise my husband, deciding where to feast first. “You’re not going to pay me three hundred thousand dollars. You’re going to prove to me that I’m not wasting my fucking time on you. Go home and wait for me in the gym.”

He stands, lifting the chair with him, and throws it out of the window with enough force to send it sailing clear through. There’s a loud smash-crash as the glass shatters. “Add that to my tab.”

Then he’s gone.

I liked that chair. It better have survived or I’m taking the payment out of his hide with my belt. For now, Lakshan’s body can bear my anger. I begin by kissing his lips, but he pulls away. “Lakshan, I don’t have the fortitude. You’ll have to lecture me later.”

“I have no lectures planned. I need you to answer a question or I’m going to have to … what’s that thing people do when they want to say no, but really mean no, for sex stuff?”

I refuse to answer that because he’s being obtuse. He’s the one who taught Oliver all about safe words.

“What is your question?”

“Why don’t we have an Italian silver fox coming home with us tonight?”

“Because he just tried to blackmail me.”

Lakshan laughs. “That only turns you on. Try again.”

“I don’t have the patience for this. Now, bend over like the good little whore you usually are.”

He smiles wider. “No. Red. Pineapple. Artichoke.”