The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(67)
My body dips into the mattress as I came down from the natural high his fingers grant me, and before I can catch my breath, Mikey withdraws his hand from between my legs and guides the head of his cock to my entrance. His hand wraps tightly around his dick as he runs the tip up and down my pussy, lubricating himself with all of me.
The last first time he pushed himself into me without protection.
The last first time I felt him deep inside of me with nothing between us.
The last first time my husband made love to me.
We had a lifetime of firsts still to come and each one of them would be the last first we ever had.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was the early eighties, Maryann and I were barely legal but that didn’t stop us from painting the town red. I had a part-time job at Rosalie’s bakery, making just enough money to spend my paycheck—that’s a lie. I never received a paycheck, those days we were paid in cash, sixty dollars stuffed in a white envelope that Rosalie scribbled my name on. It was enough cash for me to buy a brand new outfit every Friday. I would take my envelope, cross three avenues and make my way to Something Else boutique on 86th Street.
I teased my hair six inches to the sky, applied enough blue eyeshadow to my eyelids, you had no choice but to notice my almond shaped eyes. Lastly, I ripped the tags and put on my silk turquoise jumpsuit. Maryann stole her father’s car out of the garage and picked me up at exactly ten o’clock. Studio 54 was packed, the line to get inside the club wrapped around the block but Maryann grabbed my hand and walked us straight to the front of the line.
“I’m a friend of Val’s,” she told the bouncer guarding the door.
At the time, I only knew Val as one of the neighborhood guys. He, like most of the guys our age living in Bensonhurst, hung around with the old-timers, the made-men, goodfellas—you know the type of men I’m talking about. Gangsters.
I didn’t know if Val was in fact a made man or part of a family, I just knew one day he would be and I understood why Maryann had taken a liking toward him. Who didn’t find that type of man sexy? There was nothing more attractive than the unattainable bad boy who exuded charisma.
The bouncer lifted the red velvet rope and escorted us into the pulsating night club. I remember the song playing as I stepped foot onto the colorful dance floor that lit up as the patrons danced the night away, ‘How Deep Is Your Love’ by the Bee Gees. It was one of my favorites and I wanted to dance so badly but Maryann had other plans, taking my hand as she dragged me across the dance floor to the bar where Val stood. He was surrounded by a bunch of guys, some I knew and others were a mystery. A delicious mystery.
“Order us a couple of Long Island Iced Teas and I’ll be right back,” she shouted over the music.
I sat down at the bar and ordered the drinks, glancing across the bar as she worked her way into the circle and straight to Val. The bartender placed the two drinks in front of me and I waited five minutes before I pulled the little paper umbrella from the glass and lifted the straw to my lips.
I averted my eyes back to the other end of the bar and noticed Maryann and Val had disappeared from the crowd.
“Those things are lethal,” a voice said from behind me, forcing me to spin around on the bar stool and stare at the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.
The first thing I noticed was his clothes. He wasn’t dressed like the other men. His charcoal gray suit looked as if it was tailor made for him. He opted to wear a black turtleneck under the suit, no button down, collar popping shirt for the handsome stranger before me. He did however engage in the fad of gold chains. My eyes zeroed in on the crucifix dangling from the thick, gold rope chain hanging around his neck. I lifted my eyes to his face and was greeted by a smile I’d never forget.
His eyes drifted toward the two drinks that sat in front of me to the empty stool beside me.
“May I?”
“Sure,” I said, twirling back around to face the bar as he slipped onto the stool and signaled for the bartender.
He ordered a Martini, dry with extra olives as I toyed with the paper umbrella and brought my drink to my lips for another sip. The song changed, Tavares filtered the nightclub with their hit, ‘More Than a Woman’.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” He asked, casually draping an arm over the back of my stool.
“Grace,” I said, mesmerized by the way he stared so intently at me.
“Grace,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue, grinning once he decided he liked the way it sounded.
“And who are you?” I stammered, taking another sip, hoping to calm my nerves. This man had the power to undo me with a simple glance.
“Me? I’m the man who’s going to marry you one day,” he said pointedly.
I nearly spat my drink out.
“That’s pretty presumptuous don’t you think?” Or cocky depending on who you ask, I added silently.
He grinned at me as he lifted his hand and ran his index finger down my cheek.
“Watch and see, Gracie,” he promised, dropping his hand but keeping his gaze locked on me. “The name is Victor, Victor Pastore.”
It is so easy to forget those first blissful moments when you meet the person you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with. Instead, we harbor the resentment life has brought upon us and lose touch of the magic that brought two unsuspecting strangers together.