Between Lust And Principles
Angel's point of view
I slipped into a white halter-neck jumpsuit, the deep V-neck daringly showcasing my curves, the open back adding another layer of allure.
My curls cascaded down my neck, perfectly complemented by a slick of gloss and a spritz of my favorite perfume.
Stepping out of the hotel, the soft morning light highlighted my confident stride. I scanned my surroundings, and my eyes landed on my escort from yesterday. A small knot of curiosity and unease twisted in my stomach, causing my brows to furrow.
Were these free treatments a perk of the job, or was there another reason for his kind gestures?
“Good morning, Miss Caribello.” He greeted me politely, opening the door to the sleek car waiting for me.
“Good morning,” I mumbled, sliding into the back seat. He joined me, the engine roaring to life.
My gaze remained fixed on the road as I mentally prepared myself for the encounter with the man who haunted my dreams – in the most intensely erotic way imaginable.
Arriving at the familiar building, I took a deep breath before walking in.
Despite everyone being preoccupied with their own business, I could still feel lingering, lustful gazes on me—ones I chose to ignore completely.
Following the receptionist’s directions, I stepped into the elevator, only to be met with the unpleasant sight of a couple tangled in a heated makeout session. I expected them to stop when I entered, but it seemed they had no shame.
When I finally reached my destination, I let out a breath of relief, grateful to have escaped the live porn scene unfolding in the elevator. But that relief was short-lived as reality sank in—I was about to face the big boss.
I stood before the door that concealed a man who had taken up far too much space in my waking thoughts, and dreams.
Summoning my courage, I knocked on the grand door. Silence. Then, without warning, it slid open.
His office, usually cold and somewhat dark, was subtly scented with his cologne. He sat at his desk, his back to me, his posture slumped. He spun around, and the memories of my dreams crashed over me, leaving my panties damp at the mere sight of him.
He’s married, Angel. I reminded myself, but my hormones and my head refused to cooperate. He wore a white shirt, the top button undone, revealing a sturdy chest and a glimpse of a tattoo peeking from beneath his collarbone.
The thin fabric did little to conceal his masculinity. His sleeves were rolled up, showcasing strong, veiny arms – arms that often wrapped around my throat in my dreams.
Realizing I was staring, I blinked awkwardly and looked away.
“Go…go.. good morning, Mr. D’Amano,” I stammered.
“You’re late, Caramella, and tardiness is something I despise,” his deep, silvery voice, laced with dominance, resonated in my ears. The voice that haunted my dreams for the past three nights.
“I’m sorry, Mr. D’Amano, I… I got caught in traffic,” I lied, avoiding his gaze.
I felt his presence close, sensed him standing before me.
How did he do that? Then, his arm encircled my waist, making me gasp and stare at him wide-eyed.
“Mr. D’Amano….”
“You broke two rules, Caramella: being tardy and lying to me. And you know the consequences?” His face was dangerously close, the minty and citrus scent of his toothpaste filling my senses.
Why is he so close to me? Has he forgotten he’s married, or is this just part of the act? Could there be hidden cameras somewhere?
His height dwarfed mine, forcing me to crane my neck to look at him.
“I..I.. I’m sorry, Mr. D’Amano. Please, don’t fire me,” I pleaded, tears nearly spilling out.
A low, deep chuckle erupted from his lips, and I wondered if he was even real, or one of the Adonis-like gods I often imagined as my prince charming.
“I won’t fire you, tesoro, but the punishment I’ll give you will make you wish you had been.” His words echoed a phrase from my dreams.
“You’re forgiven, Angel, but Daddy still needs to teach you a lesson, hmm?”
“Mr. D’Amano, I think you forget you’re married,” I managed, breaking free from his suffocating hold.
“I’m certainly aware of my marital status, tesoro.”
“Then why are you so close to me, Mr. D’Amano? Wouldn’t your wife be angry? Isn’t this cheating?”
I turned away, needing to put distance between us. His closeness, his touch, was messing with my mind.
He was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering. My heart palpitated as I awaited his response.
“The scripts are ready. You have two months to prepare before shooting commences.” His voice was cold, distant, making me feel suddenly awful.
I loved his cockiness, his closeness, the way his touch ignited me. But he was married. I was just another actress, one of the many women he used when things weren't good with his wife, I presumed.
I found myself wanting Raúl D’Amano, knowing I couldn’t have him. And that hurt.