Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U) (16 page)

My weekend in Vegas ended way too quickly. Before I knew it, I was back in school, studying my ass off.

“I can’t believe we are two weeks away from graduating. I think we need to go out and celebrate. Let’s go to Percy’s,” Jessi suggests.

I look over at my best friend and shrug my shoulders. I’ve been in some weird funk since Vegas. I’m not sure if it’s the way Caleb and I parted ways or the fact I haven’t heard from him in two months, but his absence is definitely noticed. That’s something that makes me even grumpier. I hate the guy; he’s psychotic, not to mention a crazed stalker. Jessi says he’s romantic. I think he needs to be locked away; he could become someone’s prison bitch. He’d be good at that.

“Gawd, why don’t you just call the guy and make up. This ridiculous moping thing you’re doing is exhausting. The guy is hot. Who cares if he doesn’t talk like Sean Connery. You should give him a chance.”

I take this opportunity to throw my pillow at her. She knows I have no desire to date Caleb. I hate how she’s always bringing him up. “Shut up. All I need is a distraction. Someone to make me stop thinking about him. So yes, I’d like to go to Percy’s tonight.”

“Shit yeah!” Jessi yells. “Let’s go be hoochies.”

“One cannot simply become a hoochie, there’s an art to it.”

“Whatever. Let’s just go find us some hot guys and have some fun tonight,” Jessi jokes.

“Okay, let me take a shower first.

Two hours later, Jessi and I are all dolled up. I’m wearing a leather jacket over a super cute corset and my best blue jeans—flashy ones with bedazzled pockets. Jessi is wearing jeans and a cute gray top. Anytime we go to Percy’s, we go for the casual, cute look. At the bar, it’s crowded with horny co-eds. Our usual table has a few hot guys sitting at it. I’m almost tempted to tell them to move until one with slicked-back hair speaks.

“La prima donna che dice ciao a me, sto portando a casa stasera, ragazzi.” That sexy Italian accent hit me like a ton of bricks. Being fluent in Italian, Spanish, French and Chinese, I know exactly what he said. “The first woman who says hello to me, I’m taking home.”

Like a homing device, my tits immediately gravitate in his direction, pushing my body towards him. He’s sexy as hell: deep brown eyes, slick black hair that curls around his ears, and a lean curved jaw with a slight five o’clock shadow. As I approach, his mouth pulls into a smile.

“Sei seduto al mio tavolo,” perfect Italian flows from my lips. “You are sitting at my table.” His lips curl even more.

“You speak Italian?” His accent is thick like molasses and sweet like sugar. My homing boobs are practically vibrating under my corset. Accents do wonderful things to my body—I’m quivering with lust right now. “We shall make room; I’m Lorenzo.” Lorenzo pushes the guy out of the seat next to him and pulls up a chair to the table. I sidle up next to Lorenzo; Jessi follows sitting across from me. She rolls her eyes, knowing perfectly well the only reason we sat down is because of his accent.

He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “A woman of your beauty should not be alone on a Friday night. Tell me, where is your boyfriend?”

I giggle as he places sweet, seductive kisses up my arm. His friends snicker.

“No boyfriend,” I manage to admit.

“Do you go to school here?” Jessi asks. She sounds annoyed. I don’t care if she is. This guy speaks like an Italian Stallion and I plan on riding his pony straight to the bedroom.

“No, Bella, I do not go to school.”

“Then why hang out in a college bar?”

I shoot Jessi an angry glare and she ignores me.

“Because I had a feeling a beautiful woman would walk into my life.” He kisses my hand again. I’m surprised I’m not licking him. When I was little, Max and I would always lick cookies to claim them. If Lorenzo was made out of chocolate chip cookie dough, I’d give him a tongue bath.

“Right, Everly, can we go now?”

I shake my head, my eyes penetrating Lorenzo’s gorgeous gaze. Jessi throws up her hands; I catch it through my peripheral vision.

“I see Denise at the bar; I’m out.” Jessi gets up from the table and stomps off.

“Your friend seems troubled.”

“She’s a tad ticked off at me. Nothing a little time apart can’t fix.” He catches my small hint and smiles at his friends.

“Arrivederci, ragazzi.”
See you later, boys
, he tells them. I push out of the booth and follow Lorenzo from the bar.

“Il vostro posto o la mia?”
Your place or mine?
I ask him in flawless Italian. He smiles and puts a firm hand around my waist.

“We’re going to mine.” He kisses my cheek as he leads me from the bar.

For six whole hours, Lorenzo made me forget about the unaccented pain in my ass. We didn’t have sex that night, instead, we joked and talked in Italian. We made out and there was a lot of touching, but neither of us wanted to ruin the connection we shared by jumping into the bedroom. We wanted to get to know each other and that’s exactly what we did.

For two whole weeks, Lorenzo and I spent every single second of my free time together during the day, much to Jessi’s displeasure. She told me that there was just something about him that irked her. She didn’t know what, but she didn’t like him; it had to do with his smooth Italian demeanor and even thicker accent. I told her she was crazy. There was nothing wrong with Lorenzo. Christ, he hasn’t even made a move yet. The only problem I do have is the fact he doesn’t want to hang out at night. He says he works late, and the day we met was his day off. For now, I’m happy with our lunch dates. It means more time with Lorenzo.

Before I know it, it’s graduation day. Lorenzo and I have plans for him to meet my family. Mom, Dad, and Max all flew out for my graduation. Breezy was supposed to come with them but couldn’t make it due to doctor’s appointments she couldn’t miss. I’m supposed to meet up with them later. So for now, I’m chilling on Lorenzo’s couch while he rubs my feet.

“Are you nervous about meeting my family?” I ask him.

“Sì, un po,”
Yes, a little
, he answers.

“You’ll be fine. My mom is going to love you. She has a thing for hot Italian men,” I tell him. I can tell he’s nervous, so I remove my feet from his hands and shift to his lap.

“I want you to help me celebrate my graduation a little early.” I start a trail of kisses down his neck.

He groans and I feel him harden beneath me. I purposely wore a dress with the hope he would take advantage of me. He kisses me back, aggressively, and grinds me against his shaft. It’s finally happening, I’m gonna get to ride my Italian Stallion. He grips my ass and carries me to his bedroom, a part of the house I’ve never been to. We’re kissing so hungrily I don’t even get a chance to check out his bedroom. My back hits a fur bedspread. My dark black hair spreads across the bed. He lifts up my skirt, grips my underwear and works them down my hips, leaving a series of kisses in his wake.

I close my eyes and lose myself in his touch, opening them just in time to seem him take off his shirt. A fluff of black hair spackles his chest. I’ve never been with a man who has chest hair before, but on Lorenzo it’s incredibly sexy. He takes off his pants but pulls out a condom before dropping his slacks to the floor. His briefs hit the ground and his erection bounces out to greet me.
Holy crap, my Italian Stallion is actually hung like a stallion.
He’s quick with the condom and even quicker to climb on top of me. He stalls right before entering me. Why is he stalling?

“Everything, okay?” I ask him. I wiggle my hips; tickling the head of his dick.

He looks me in the eyes, quickly glances at his bedside table, shakes his head, and takes a deep breath before plunging deep inside me.

“Oh fuck!” I scream.

“La mia bella , si sente meraviglioso,” he moans.
My beautiful you feel wonderful.

My nails dig into his back, my ankles curling around his hips. He’s so hung that I can feel him deep inside me—deeper than any man has ever been. My dress stayed on, but his mouth caresses my breasts from over the fabric, the sensation driving me wild. His hands curl into mine, our fingers intertwining. I’m moaning and screaming through each thrust. I’m so lost within our moment, that I don’t even notice the woman standing in the doorway until it’s too late.

“You son of a bitch!” The woman screams.

Lorenzo stills on top of me. He looks at the door in shock. “Bella, che non è quello che sembra.”
Beautiful, it’s not what it looks like.

“Don’t give me that Italian bullshit, you cheating scumbag.” The woman doesn’t have an accent. Her blue-gray eyes flash to me; she’s practically writhing with hatred. Her blonde hair is tied up in a bun; she’s wearing a black pencil skirt and white blouse.

Lorenzo hops off me. I’m exposed: legs wide open, my vagina glaring her down like somehow she will disappear. Glancing over at the woman, I pull down my dress, scrambling to the headboard. When I get there, I notice a picture frame: Lorenzo, this woman, and a child at the park. Mother fuck, he’s married! I just fucked a married man who has a kid.

“Who the fuck are you?” the woman asks.

“Lorenzo’s girlfriend,” I reply carefully. “Who are you?”

“I’m his damn wife. Get the fuck out of my bed, you whore.”

“You’re fucking married?” I scream.

Lorenzo shrugs as if it’s no big deal. IT’S A HUGE FUCKING DEAL!

I jump to my feet, scoop down to pick up my underwear and barely miss getting nailed by the high-heeled shoe flying past my head. I could feel the rush of air as it whipped past me and slammed against the headboard.

Ah shit, she’s chucking stilettoes.

The woman comes flying into the room, hopping on one foot as she shimmies her other heel off. I hit the ground and barrel roll out of the way as her next shoe barely misses my chest. Lorenzo, naked and still wearing our latex of shame around his dick, grabs his wife’s wrists and halts her from launching at me. Her hand comes around him and catches my shoulder; her perfect manicure digs into my skin, scratching me as I go.

“Don’t touch me, you cheating bastard. I’m gonna beat this bitch’s ass. Then I’m killing you and spitting down your damn throat.”

That’s my cue to get out while I can. I bolt out the door, stumbling to pick up my shoes, backpack, and laptop as I go. I hear her screaming after me. A vase crashes at my feet, shattering against the hardwood floor. I feel something smack the back of my head and I realize it’s a book—a romance novel of all things.
Shit, that hurt.

My adrenaline is on high. Even though I’m being hit by housewife shrapnel, I manage to get out the door and into my car just as she starts pummeling my vehicle with anything she can get her hands on. When she runs out of ammo, she grabs a wooden bat leaning up against the house and races after me, I can’t find my keys and hit the lock button just as she rounds my car.
God damn it, why does my purse have to be a key eating troll?
My tail light shatters as she connects the bat to it. I swear under my breath and dump everything I own onto the front seat.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, slut,” she screams.

She has every right to be pissed off at me. I just got caught fucking her man. I’m the lowest of the low. I’m the other woman, a person I vowed never to be. Damn me and my Accent Hussy ways. If I wasn’t so blinded by his accent, I may have noticed he had a white ring around his finger, a sure sign of his union to the blonde she-beast from hell that’s currently beating the shit out of my car. Just as she takes out my side mirror, I find my keys; my car starts on the first try, and I peel away from Lorenzo’s house, leaving a cloud of smoke in my wake. Watching through my rear view mirror, I see the shoeless wife running after me, swinging the bat over her head like some crazy cavewoman.

Three blocks away, I finally break down. How could I be this stupid? Lorenzo didn’t want to take his time with me. He was feeling guilty about being a lying, cheating, scumbag. What a dirt bag! I can’t believe I fell for his slimy Italian charm, and to think, I was two hours from introducing him to my family. Stupid bastard.

I broke my cardinal rule and I didn’t even know I was breaking it. If I wasn’t afraid for my life right now, I’d turn this car around and give him a piece of my mind. Luckily I value my life, and I’m not in the mood to find out what a stiletto feels like crammed up my asshole.