The Diary of Brad De Luca Read online

  Those damn arms crossed again, the motion pressing her breasts together and offering them up to him. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked at her, noting the steel in her gaze, the challenge only making her more appealing. “No boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Think it over.” He flashed a smile at her, the smile that normally weakened women’s resolve and had them ready and willing to do whatever he proposed. He turned on one heel, his brain begging for one final look at her, and left, heading back to his domain.

  She would come. Now that his brash mouth had issued the invitation, there was no alternative but to make sure she came. Brad De Luca didn’t get rejected. Especially not by a twenty-something intern who had probably never been properly fucked in her life.

  It was a horrible idea, flying an intern to Vegas. Kent Broward’s intern especially. If this came to light, when this came to light, there would be hell to pay. But that woman back there, her feisty attitude and tight body … one night with her could very well be worth the downfall.

  The aftermath, when she would turn needy and want more than sex … the constant calls, persistent emails, those would not be worth it. That would be a headache that his schedule wouldn’t have time for. He swallowed, pushing open the double doors to the East Wing, regretting the invitation with every step he took away from her.

  the city of sin

  52 hours later: Vegas

  2:45 AM. Too damn late. He collected a stack of chips and let them fall through his hand, watching them bounce and drop on the green felt.

  “Your luck has turned,” the heavyset man before him said, gathering the cards. “You should stop for the night.”

  Brad looked up, shaking his head and sliding a single black chip forward. “Another hand.”

  He reached for the glass, downing the remaining bit of bitter liquor. It was out of his norm—continuing to play when his luck had turned. But he needed to be down here and out of the suite. In the suite was she … and he didn’t know how to handle her.

  A waitress materialized at his side, setting another cold glass before him. He nodded, passing her a tip, and tapped on the table, asking for another card. He stared at his hand, trying for the hundredth time to rid his mind of her image.

  They had checked in late, heading up to the room first, the bellman putting away their bags. He had expected them to go out, for dinner or drinks, when she had come to pieces, standing in the middle of the suite, her eyes welling with tears, her mouth basically accusing him of bringing her here for sex. It was like she expected him to bend her over the sofa as soon as the door closed behind the bellman.

  He swallowed another mouthful of whisky. Her concerns were well-founded. He had assumed they would fuck, but he was in no rush. It wasn’t something that needed to happen on this trip. This trip had been intended more for … hell … he didn’t know why he had brought her here. The whole damn thing didn’t make any sense. All he knew was that look in her eyes—that fragile, terrified expression—told him he needed to be careful. Keep his distance, keep her clothed, untouched. She was not one of the women who lay on his desk and begged for a fucking. She was, apparently, fairly inexperienced. And she would take the sex as more than it was.

  Stay away. Keep his distance. An easy decision to make when he sat thirty-two floors below her, alcohol and hours of distraction between them. It might be a different story when he was in her presence again.

  He pushed the remaining chips towards the line. “All in. Last hand.”

  “Good luck,” the dealer said with a somber look.

  “Thanks. I need it.”

  His new resolution lasted long enough for him to stumble upstairs, his pockets heavy with winnings, and collapse on the bed in the extra bedroom. He woke five hours later with a headache and sheet imprints on his face. He rolled over, rubbing his face, and sat up, wincing at bright light that poured through the windows.

  Jacking off helped, his hand stroking his cock under the hot spray of the shower. He directed his thoughts to Bethany, his latest fuck, thinking about her soft breasts against his body, the slap of them when she rode him to completion. He avoided any thought of the brunette one room over, gritting his teeth as he came, the evidence of his satisfaction washed down the stone walls with the spray of water.

  He was proud of himself, of his control, his resolution fully in tact. He walked in the bedroom, wearing boxer briefs, and headed to his suitcase. He stopped, just inside the door, his eyes on her, his feet moving and carrying him to the side of the bed, his hand gently lifting the covers slightly until her face was revealed.

  Dark hair cradled a sweet face, impossibly perfect in its features, relaxed and angelic in sleep. No hint of her feisty personality shown. In sleep she looked innocent and untouched. He glanced at the clock, his desire to join her in the bed tempting.

  He shouldn’t. He should dress and leave her, putting a door or two in between them until she was awake and dressed. But he had never done what he should, the appeal of danger much more interesting. He pulled the sheet back, settling his body over hers, one knee on either side of her body, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to the open skin of her neck. He promised himself that if she stiffened, if she resisted, he would roll off. Stand up. Walk out of this suite and away from this woman.

  A moan. The woman moaned, and it was the most carnal sound he had every heard. Her body shifted beneath him, her pelvis lifting up slightly, and he lowered his body to meet it. He moved his lips to her ear, wanting to reassure her. “This isn’t about sex, I promise.”

  She giggled, her hands startling him when they touched his thighs, sliding up until they reached the cotton of his underwear and she squeezed, his muscles jumping under her touch. He lifted slightly off of her, taking her touch as permission, and ran a gentle hand down her body, trailing the lines of her bra, her skin soft and smooth beneath his fingers, her breath catching as he slid his hand lower, down the slope of her stomach, before marginally sneaking under the lace hem of her panties.

  He should stop. He should slide off of her and curl his body around hers. Turn this situation into a sweet, innocent one. But he couldn’t. For the same reason that he was lying on top of her right now. He. Couldn’t. Stay. Away.

  “If this isn’t about sex, what are you doing?” she asked softly, making a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

  He moved, shifting his body, feeling the heat of hers as their skin brushed. “It’s about proving you wrong … and pleasing you.” Three nights earlier, at the office, over pizza and sodas, she had confessed to never having experienced an orgasm. That she couldn’t. A ridiculous statement, and one that he intended to disprove.

  His fingers continued their sweep, traveling over the tiny material of her panties, running up and down her mound. She moaned and responded immediately, pulling her smooth legs free and wrapping them around his waist. She arched back, pressing her breasts into him, and he took advantage of the movement, moving his free hand underneath, firmly grabbing her delicious ass, squeezing it hard, and loving the feel of it in his hands. He had been wanting, dreaming, of this ass, of having it in his hands, bent over before him. She gasped, pushing against him, and he released her, sliding his hand up and gripping her long hair, pulling it until her eyes were staring into his.

  They caught the morning light, brown embers burning playfully, her mouth curved into a smile, her eyes dancing over his, a challenge in them. She was so different, so full of fire and fun, a combination of the two, and he couldn’t wait to see what happened when those eyes turned carnal.

  She thrust up, catching him off guard, and kissed him, her lips confident, pushing past any resistance with one playful swipe of her tongue. He groaned, letting go of all control he’d struggled to maintain, dominating with his mouth until she was flat on the bed beneath him, his arm moving from under her, his body settling atop hers, held up enough by his elbows so as not to crush her.


  The kiss was a battle, an initial testing between two warriors, their kiss matching in dips and tastes, until he swept the pieces off the map and claimed her as his own.

  He ground against her without thinking, the desire to have her overwhelming his body, his cock anxious for more, wanting the silky feel of her skin, awaiting a release, greedy for more. She froze against his mouth, and he lifted his head, their eyes locking, and he brushed against her one last time.

  Her eyes changed when his arousal made contact, taking the journey from shock to vixen, and she pushed, trying to roll him over. He shook his head, and lowered his head and his hips, reclaiming her with his mouth, his body once against tight against hers.

  She squirmed, her hands moving, sliding along the ridges of his stomach. Reaching down, feeling for him, her hands almost there when he captured them. Holding them still, he slid off of her, moving to lie beside her, one of his big hands pinning both of hers above her head.

  His eyes took a greedy and unapologetic tour of her body, his free hand leading the way. He pulled down the top of her bra, allowing her breasts to be free and exposed, pink nipples erect in the morning air. He ran his hand down and over the top of her panties, letting out a measured breath when he felt the wet silk between her legs. His grin grew, and he teased the area through the panties, running his hand back and forth, applying slight pressure on the fabric, and watching the change in her eyes. Then he slipped a finger past the fabric and inside of her.

  He had touched hundreds of women, the inside of a woman’s body as familiar as his own cock. But the feeling of her, the heat inside, wet and tight, gripping his finger with a sucking pull was unlike any else. He could feel his control ebbing, and it was everything he could do not to roll above her and pull out his cock. The feel of her on his finger … it would be heaven to be inside of her.

  “Oh my God, Julia,” he breathed. “What am I going to do with you?” It wasn’t a hypothetical question. This was bad; this was worse than the other intern, worse than Kent Broward’s wife. This girl was a poison that could ruin him. She was innocent, inexperienced, yet burned with fire, curiosity, and challenge. His body was ready for the task, pushing against the starting gate, wanting to fuck her senseless and brand her forever as his own. His mind was backing away with hands up, fear and panic gripping his chest.

  The vixen beneath him moved, catching him off guard, distracted by his inner turmoil. She ripped her hands free, her eyes flashing with a combination of lust, anger, and hunger. She tried to move, to climb on top of him, but he easily held her off, pressing down on her shoulders and straddling her with his body.

  “I want to suck your dick,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire.

  He shook his head at me. “This is about you. I want to please you.”

  “Having your dick in my mouth is what will please me!” she shot back.

  He tried to relax his breathing, tried to sound reasonable and in control. “You said you couldn’t come.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously, let’s just drop it. I’ve accepted it. You need to do the same.”

  “Do I look like a man who gives in easily?” As his mind screamed obscenities, he forced her back on the bed and moved, skimming down that delicious body until his face was at her stomach.

  “Waaa ... stop!” Her voice came out shrill and panicked, causing him to pause and look up.

  “What?”

  “What are you doing?”

  An excellent question. He should be packing his bags and getting the hell out of here. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “I … err … don’t do that.” She sounded nervous, almost anxious.

  He ran a finger under the line of her panties, begging for a chance to feel her again, his mouth wanting the taste of her on his tongue. “Don’t do that, or haven’t done that?”

  “Both.”

  “Julia. Trust me.”

  Her mouth worked, indecision in her eyes, and then she nodded.

  Brad slowly rolled down her panties, his eyes feasting on her skin as it was unveiled. A thin line of hair, cut short, leading to the lips between her legs, her knees stubbornly together, resisting when he pulled them apart. And then she was before him, her eyes large, her body open. And she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  She had come apart underneath his mouth, his muscles contracting, her voice breaking, legs trembling, sex throbbing underneath his tongue. It had happened quickly, her body tuned and ready, needy for stimulation that had never been given. He didn’t know what her ex-boyfriends had done with her, but they had never taken the time to care for her properly. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to stand when he was done, to step back, to go to the closet and dress. He ran his hand along the hard ridge of his cock, the ache in his balls surprising, given his morning shower. He stuffed it into pants and grinned, thinking of her moans, her peak, the way she had called his name when she came.

  He walked back into the room, his eyes trailing over her body, relaxed on the sheets, a lazy smile across her face. And he wondered how he would survive two more days with her. Because fucking her wasn’t an option. Not with the roller coaster his mind was on. Not with the risks that waited for them back at the firm. She rolled slightly, her naked body curving, and he felt his cock harden again.

  Two days.

  Might as well be an eternity.

  the path to hell

  Twelve hours later.

  If the devil had a name, it would be Alexis. She was pure sex, pure temptation, and could get him off within fifteen minutes. And now, he was going straight to hell.

  It was necessary. He couldn’t be around Julia any longer, not without lying her down and taking what he really wanted. He needed a release, a distraction. Something to remind him who he was and what he liked—both things Alexis knew very well.

  He hadn’t planned on seeing Alexis this trip. But Julia had challenged him, wanting to see Vegas ‘De Luca-style.’ And if a strip club experience was what she wanted, then Saffire was the place to go.

  Justification was a strong tool. He knew that, knew the path his cock was insistent on him taking. He could have brought her somewhere else—visited a girly martini bar and one of the hot clubs. But instead they were heading down the Strip, toward Saffire, his muscles tightening in anticipation. He texted Alexis, alerting her to their arrival. She would know what to do, how to distract Julia while she handled his needs. And then they could leave, his body drained, his mind free, and he could return to playing the gentleman he wasn’t.

  The car slowed, rumbling over the gravel, until it came to a stop before Saffire’s red doors.

  Hell. He had arrived. His cock awoke, thickening in his pants, and he turned to smile at Julia.

  He fucked Alexis without mercy, getting his fill, but making sure she was satisfied before pulling out. She dropped to her knees, taking him into her mouth and swallowing every bit of him, her eyes on his. Watching. Analyzing. The orgasm should have released his tension, lulled him into a calm and controlled state, but it didn’t work. He was still frustrated, on edge, her body not fulfilling him in the way that it normally did, his mind still wound tightly.

  And Alexis picked up on it. “You’ve never fucked me like that before.”

  “Sure I have.” He zipped up his pants, avoiding her critical eyes.

  “No, not that ... hungry. Is it from being around her?”

  He teased one of her nipples. “You sound a little jealous.”

  She slapped his hand away. “I don’t care about you enough to be jealous. I just don’t know why you’re wasting your time with that lily-white baby when we both know what you need. And it ain’t her.”

  Brad watched her, the line of her muscles, the length of her hair. She was exactly like most of the women he fucked. And nothing like Julia.

  Alexis was right. What he needed was a woman who knew her sexuality. Who was open and forthcoming about what she wanted and from whom she would get it. He needed a wom
an who thought nothing of sucking his cock outside a restaurant, one who was confident enough to share him with another woman. That was what he—or rather, his body—needed.

  His mind wanted something else entirely. Someone he could take to functions, wine and dine, engage in meaningful conversation with. Someone who would accept him despite his last name and the skeletons in his closet.

  The problem was that they were colliding ideals, qualities that would never be in the same woman. And neither matched Julia. Not the sexual willingness, or the life partner. She was too pure for him, too young. She would take one look at the real Brad and take off for parts unknown.

  Alexis tilted her head back and blew a ring into the dark room. “Does she know where you are right now?”

  “No. I assume you told Montana to keep her busy.” That was probably going to be a problem. He would have to tell her—deception not part of this game. How she reacted would be telling. But even if she ran—even if she went crazy and cursed him to eternity—it would be better than if he had weakened and slept with her.