Red Velvet. Noelle Mack

      A few hours later, they had eaten an entire dinner but backwards: two cannolis and three espressos at De Lillo’s, followed by two bowls of the famous puttanesca at Dominick’s, salad, chewy bread, and most of a bottle of good wine. By the time the check came, Nick was sitting close enough to touch her thigh. And he did, sliding a hand up her pantyhosed flesh. Ruth was on fire with lust.

      “Want to come over to my place?” he asked at last, not innocently.

      “Yes,” replied a person that Ruth had a feeling was her.

      Nick called Sofia on his cell phone, holding it far away from his ear when she shrieked at the sound of his name, then demanded to speak to Ruth, getting the explanation out of her in record time and squealing with glee.

      “Ruthie, all I wanted to do was get you out of your stinkin’ apartment! And you manage to run into Nicky Del Bianco? Do you know how lucky you are? I mean, he is a womanizer, but who cares, right?” Five more minutes of yapping and Sofia agreed to babysit Tuff for the night. Bambino would just have to tuck his little blue head into his speckled breast and chill until Ruth got back.

      They dropped the dog off. Sofia, who’d hurriedly changed into something low-cut and tight, cooed over Tuff and cuddled him in her arms like she’d never said the dog was ugly, all for Nick’s benefit. But Ruth didn’t mind. She could hear Joe snoring in the den from where they stood. Sofia was too nice to invite them in, casting an appreciative glance at the arm Nick draped over Ruth’s shoulders. “Have fun, you two,” was all she said as she closed the door.

      It was getting late and it was suddenly a lot colder. Ruth shivered as they walked back to his car. Nick let go of her, clicked open the locks with his key, and reached into the back seat to hand her his leather jacket. An old, beat-up one that he’d probably had forever—she put it around her shoulders like it was the nicest thing she’d ever worn.

      Nick drove through the quiet streets of the neighborhood, not saying much, while Ruth digested…everything. Was he a womanizer? Well, she wanted to be womanized. Every part of her wanted to be, especially the lonesome flesh now moistening up a storm in her sheer black panties. How long had it been? She hated to think. And who had it been with? She didn’t want to remember.

      Nick’s big hand, resting idly on the gearshift knob as he drove, would soon be sliding between her legs. He turned to smile at her. Those sensual lips would soon be kissing hers. Ruth closed her eyes and trembled. Being on fire with lust was totally fucking scary—and a lot of fun.

      He turned into a driveway and parked in the garage of a new condo building. “Here we are. Ready?”

      “S-sure,” she said.

      Next thing she knew, she was in his living room, drinking something sweet and boozy and straddling his lap. With the exception of his jacket and hers, which he’d hung up, she was fully clothed. Him too.

      Nick took her glass and nuzzled her neck. “So what’s your fantasy?” he whispered.

      “You,” she whispered back.

      He stroked her back and her ass, and kissed her luxuriously. Ruth got her fingers into his dark golden hair and kissed him back, pressing herself down on his hard-on. The tight miniskirt got in the way, and she grabbed it by the hem, rolling it up so she could spread her thighs.

      “Oh, man. Make yourself comfortable,” he murmured. “What a body. How come I never saw you around the neighborhood after you graduated high school?”

      “Because I went to NYU and lived in a dorm in downtown Manhattan.”

      “Why’d you come back to the Bronx?”

      “Long story. Anyway, maybe you did see me around. I don’t usually dress like this.”

      He ran his hands over her pantyhose-clad ass and thighs. “Mmm. I love it all. The skirt. The tight top and all those tiny buttons, which I’m going to undo, one by fucking one. The red velvet high heels. When I get your clothes off, those shoes are going to stay on.”

      “Oh, these clothes”—she tried to sound blasé—“they’re not me.”

      He nibbled her ear. “Who cares? Pretend you’re working undercover.”

      “Okay,” she laughed. “Ruth Pirelli, undercover poet. I like the sound of that.”

      Nick slapped her on the butt in a friendly way. “The NYPD is looking for a few good poets.”

      “Oh, yeah? Sign me up.”

      He pulled her close into his chest and hugged her. “I was kidding. Undercover work is dangerous. And I don’t want to talk shop. We were talking about…what were we talking about?”

      “My fantasy,” she said softly.

      “Does it involve cops? Jesus, I hope so.”

      She sat up a little and began to unbutton his shirt, stroking his nipples under the fine ribbed cotton of the tank-style undershirt he wore. They were nice and dark and tight. Nick smiled sensually.

      “Yeah. One cop. Who’s been watching me.”

      He arched a brow and gave her a lazy but intrigued look. “You like to be watched, huh?” He began to undo her buttons and caressed her breasts inside the bra. “Is that a nipple ring I feel?”

      “Yeah.”

      He groaned with pleasure. “You’re full of surprises. Shy women are the wildest. So why is this cop watching you? What’d you do?”

      “I didn’t do anything. He lives in the building across from mine.”

      Nick’s eyes narrowed. “For real? I’ll have to kill him.”

      “No-oo. I’m making this up.”

      He pulled both breasts gently out of her bra, propping them on the soft edge of the cups and playing with her nipples. “Mm. That ring is unbelievably sexy. Any other identifying marks? Tattoos?”

      “I thought you didn’t want to talk shop.”

      “Sorry. Get back to your fantasy. I’ll play with your tits and you talk.”

      Ruth rubbed her overflowing breasts against his face. Nick latched onto the one with the delicate nipple ring first, putting the tip of his tongue through it and tugging gently, then licking the hard tip.

      “So I just got home from a club. You know, I went dancing with a few guys but no one I wanted to go home with, so I called it a night—”

      “A few guys? I’ll have to kill them too.” He cupped both of her breasts in his big, warm hands and looked up at her blissfully.

      “Nice to know I can turn you into a homicidal lunatic.”

      “I’m a man,” Nick said. “I guard what’s mine.”

      Make that a red-blooded Italian-American man, Ruth thought, looking down at him with admiration she couldn’t hide. A native son of the beautiful Bronx and from around, just like her.

      Knowing where he came from made her a whole hell of a lot more confident than usual. She pushed the other nipple into his mouth. “Shut up. So I’m feeling restless. Then I peek out the window and whaddya know—my cop is watching. I can’t see him clearly but I saw the curtain at his window move a little and I get a glimpse of the outline of his body.”

      “Mmf.”