Knocked Up by the Bad Boy by Vanessa Waltz

as his palm slides between my breasts. He grabs one of my tits—just groping it roughly, sliding his thumb over my peaking nipple.
    “ Tabarnak , your tits.”
    My face burns scarlet, or I imagine that it does. Suddenly I’m reminded of the driver’s presence and I pull away from Johnny, returning my hands to my lap. His arm stretches behind my head, his fingers tickling the back of my neck. I burn at the sight of amusement on his face.
    We finally arrive at what looks like his high-rise apartment.
    “Thanks, Chris.”
    “No problem.”
    He doesn’t pay the guy. Huh.
    I take Johnny’s hand and climb out of the car as he waves goodbye. The car rolls away, and a jolt of fear suddenly hits me as he guides me toward the lobby.
    I can count on my hand how many times I’ve had sex, and never before have I had a one-night stand. I want him, but I still feel racked with nerves. He’s too gorgeous, too slick. My confidence can barely keep up with him.
    It’s too late.
    The elevator doors slide open, and I’m lulled into a false sense of security.
    “I’m starting to think that you’re not just a bar owner.”
    Johnny leans his back against the mirrored wall, grinning wickedly. “Yeah? What gave you that idea?”
    “Everyone treats you like you’re a king.”
    This time he really does laugh. It rebounds sharply in the elevator, and he pushes himself off the wall, advancing upon me like a predator. Until my breaths get short and I have a hard time focusing.
    “Maybe I am.”
    Oh God.
    “Ever think about that?”
    He’s connected. No fucking way.
    An icy feeling spreads inside my chest as he pulls me against his body roughly without giving me any time to respond.
    This is what you wanted, remember? You went to that bar because you knew Dad hated Italians, and what’s worse than an Italian?
    A Mafioso.
    It all fits—the bad-boy attitude, acting as though nothing in the world can take him down, his fucking ego, and the guys sucking up to him.
    Oh shit . Oh God.
    I’ve no idea how high up he is, but he’s a soldier, at least. He’s a made member. I’m sure of it.
    Dad would fucking kill him. And me.
    The elevator pings open and I’m half-tempted to think of some kind of excuse to bail, because this is nuts. I’m the daughter of the president of the Devils MC, and he’s in the mob. I almost want to laugh at how panicky I am right now. The other, louder part of me wants to do it anyway. It’s wrong. It’s exciting. I’ve already gone too far.
    He leads me down the hall, and still I haven’t made a move to suggest that maybe we should call this whole thing off. Save my fucking skin and his.
    Instead I let him pull me into the darkness of his apartment. Into that horribly terrifying silence that simmers with desire. It’s always the most awkward part of first dates. The whens and the hows are torturous. When should I kiss him? I could handle him if he was an ordinary man, but he’s the opposite.
    He’s a predator.
    Like a black hole, he’s the brightest thing in the universe. I could pick him out in a crowd instantly. Get too close and you’re dead. You’re gone.
    He shuts the door and locks it. The moment I hear the locks slide home, I know I’m fucked.
    Johnny’s face seems different in the darkness. There’s no levity, just a humorless look and a predatory stare. It makes my heart jump in my chest. Then he flicks on the light, illuminating a vast, gorgeous apartment.
    Ok, he’s definitely not just a bar owner.
    “Wow.”
    I turn around, impressed by how richly decorated the place is. He’s not some kind of rich frat boy. He’s got style. A blood-red abstract painting hangs near the entrance. I walk deeper inside, checking out the modern furniture. And what’s more, the whole place is pristine. I can’t see a speck of dust anywhere. It’s fucking creepy.
    No guy on earth is this clean.
    I wander around his living room and sit down on one of his couches, to see him still standing near the door,