A month ago, I was enlisted at Julliard, well on my way to be the lead in Swan Lake. Now I am sitting at the edge of a bar on a stool getting drunk off whiskey and lime.
The handsome stranger eyeing me from across the room had me slightly intrigued. He had to be fresh out of high school, with his youthful face and skin-tight jeans. The all black outfit definitely suited him. But he was trouble, a group of rowdy guys and girls surrounding him, he was the life of the party.
He was one of those preppy upper-class boys, blasting their trust fund on booze and blondes. The curly-haired brunette had killer dimples and a megawatt smile. It was almost unfair that he had emerald green eyes to match - too much handsome for one person.
I had to take another sip of my whiskey to help the blood flow back to the rest of my body.
He gave me a wink and a smouldering smile, to assure me that even though there were two blondes tucked under each arm, I had held his interest.
I shook my head and smiled. He was becoming cocky at a rapid pace.
I must’ve dropped my head for one minute and when I looked up, he was on the barstool beside me. He flashed me on of those smouldering smiles again and extended his hand adorned with two stainless steel rings on his thumb and index finger.
“I’m Finn…” he said in an adorable British accent.
Those emerald green eyes were sparkling up close. I could feel myself getting lost in the deep pools of seduction.
I sucked in a deep breath and accepted his gesture, “Alex”
“At the risk of sounding corny… what’s a pretty girl like you doing alone in a place like this?”
I laugh “You’re right, that is corny”
He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Let’s cut the small-talk… wanna hook up in the restroom?”
I leaned back as a shocked laugh escaped my mouth. I wanted to object to his audacious proposal, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. After all, he was right. I did want to cut the small-talk and hook up with him in the restroom.
So I did what Alessandra Laurenti always did… I took the promiscuous path and followed him to the ladies’ room. Big shock
You’d think being kicked out of Julliard would’ve made me more cautious about my decisions regarding men. I guess not.
As he locked the stall door behind him, I tugged on his black round neck t-shirt, pulling it over his head. And of course, the British bad boy had tattoos across his chest and arms.
“Like the ink?” he grinned
I had to kiss him, or I’d die. He was delicious.
The feel of his tongue caressing mine was sheer bliss. I ran my fingers through his curly, messy locks. His hands slipped down my spine, resting on my backside to cup my ass. Man, I was glad I decided to pay that extra $100 for these pair of jeans; they shaped me in all the right places.
I felt sexy and he appreciated that, I could tell from the bulge in his skin-tight, black jeans.
“You’re one fit chick!” he muttered under his breath, so sexy.
“Fit?” he looked up into those green eyes.
He smiled; dimples carved into his blushing cheeks “It’s the British term for hot… you’re hot”
I kissed him again. Then my hands slipped down to the top button of his jeans. I was an expert in undressing pretty boys, especially the blushing kind.
My time at Julliard wasn’t cut short because of lack of talent. I was a shoo-in for the leading role in the school’s production of Swan Lake.
I have always had a problem being constricted by rules and regulations.
Julliard frowned upon tattoos, boozing and promiscuity… all things I was also a stand-out student at.
My father wasn’t too impressed that I had my scholarship revoked after an incident with the director’s son and a night out in Atlantic City. My mother on the other hand found it the perfect opportunity to show me the family tradition of becoming a maid.
She had since retired and passed on the torch to my eldest sister, Carlotta, who was all too willing to become a maid for some rich family in Belle Meade, Tennessee.
And now that I’ve blown my shot at becoming a professional ballerina, the road to Italian Maids in Belle Meade was the only future ahead of me.
Even with the limited space of the bathroom stall, Finn’s hands covered every inch of my body. He had me pinned against the wall; his bare chest pressed against mine. I was stripped down to my black, lacy underwear… another fashion choice I was proud of at that moment.
Finn was the typical pretty boy wearing designer boxers, Calvin Klein. I could picture him fronting a cover shoot for GQ; he was that good looking and a toned body to match.
His eyes lingered over the tattoo that ran down my left side, from beneath my ribs down to my thigh stopping short of my knee.
I started my tattoo addiction by getting a small butterfly on my ankle, very girly and appropriate for a ballerina too.
But once the tattoo bug bit, I couldn’t stop. Now I had the story of my life tracing down my side. There was the outline of Sicily, where I was born and lived for six years of my life. Then there was a picture of my nonna who passed away three years ago, and an angel wrapping her wings around a tombstone with the inscription “Sempre nei nostril cuori” which is Italian for “Always in our hearts”
The tattoo was adorned with other little personal items and phrases – like ballet shoes; the skyline of New York; two big roses down my side; a ballerina in a music box; my star sign – Scorpio, which explained a lot about my temperament. The inscription “Imperfection is beauty, Madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring” running down my thigh. It was my favorite Marilyn Monroe quote. And I did my best to live by those words every day.
He smiled, his eyes wandering over my naked body “I like the tattoos…”
I kissed him to shut him up, though I was in two minds because I adored his accent and the dimples that pierced his cheeks.
This boy was trouble and just the kind I liked. Breaking my train of thought again, as I felt his warm mouth enclose my now exposed breast – I gasped for air as he suckled my nipple and teased with his tongue.
I buried my hands in his crop of curly hair and lightly tugged as the strokes of his tongue deepened.
He moved his butterfly kisses tracing down my stomach and resting at the hem of my panties. He grinned as he took the lace material between his teeth.
“Like I said… you’re one fit chick”
I was shocked at the girly laugh that escaped my mouth. I could feel butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. It had to be the accent. I was convinced.
His tantalizing tongue exploring the flesh underneath the lacy panties brought my attention back inside the bathroom stall, the slow sensual dipping and retracting sending shivers down my spine.
As I arched my back taking in all of his torturous pleasure, the handsome devil that he was stopped short of my climax and pressed a kiss against the crevasse between my neck and collarbone. I let out a curse of frustration but was stopped in my tracks. I let out a gasp, as he slid his finger replacing where his tongue had been moments ago.
The circular patterns his fingers were tracing inside me had me pulsating to their rhythm.
He stopped and bent down to retrieve a silver plastic object from his jeans on the floor. Aah the expert playboy had come prepared.
In two quick seconds he had extracted the condom from the wrapper and slid it onto his erect cock.
I bit my bottom lip, taking all of him in. He wasn’t just exceptionally good-looking and an incredible kisser; he was gifted in other areas as well. Wasn’t I a lucky girl tonight?
With a crooked grin across that gorgeous face, he pinned me against the wall again, gripping my hips between his languid hands before pulling me up and resting me on his hard erection.
I gasped as he slid inside me and gripped his shoulders as he quickened the pace of his lovemaking.
I gently bit down on those broad, muscular shoulders when he pressed down harder on me – leaning into me, panting and moaning as he closed in on spilling over.
And finally, we both exploded in exquisite ecstasy.
I had a quickie before in the back of a bisexual dancer’s truck, but nothing in comparison to this.
It had to be the accent…