A Good Girl's ruin(Dark Steamy stories )

CHAPTER 1

MALLORY'S POV

I sat perched on Lorenzo's lap, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass, the other resting on his forearm like an anchor. Around us, his men moved through the club like shadows with purpose — watchful, loyal and dangerous. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor and up through my spine.

I should have been paying attention to my husband.

Instead, I kept finding her.

She was sitting alone at the far end of the bar, one elbow propped against the counter, a half-empty glass between her fingers. Dark hair that fell past her shoulders. Soft mouth. The kind of quiet beauty that didn't perform itself and just existed, almost like she didn't know it was there.

She glanced over at me for the third time, then quickly looked away.

My chest did something I didn't have a name for.

I turned back to my drink and pressed my lips together. She was probably waiting for someone. She was probably straight. She was probably a dozen things that meant I should stop looking at her entirely.

She looked over again. This time she held it a beat longer before dropping her gaze back to her glass, and something low in my stomach pulled tight in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

I'd had this feeling before — quiet, shameful and was quickly buried. The feeling I'd carried since middle school like a stone in my pocket, smooth from years of turning it over and never once setting it down. The feeling I'd finally whispered to Lorenzo one night when the lights were off and I felt brave enough to say it out loud.

*I think I might like women too.*

He hadn't flinched. Hadn't pulled away. He'd pressed his lips to my temple and said, *then we'll figure that out together, doll.*

That had been three months ago and I hadn't done a thing about it since. Until tonight, until her, until those eyes that kept finding mine across a crowded bar like we already knew each other somehow.

"If you keep grinding on my thigh like this, doll, you'll ruin my suit pants."

I blinked. I hadn't even realized I'd been moving.

Heat rushed to my face. I pulled my gaze away from her and looked back at my husband with that sharp jaw, those dark eyes that missed absolutely nothing, the faint smirk that told me he'd already clocked exactly where my attention had been.

"I didn't tell you to stop, did I?" He pulled me further onto his lap, my ass pressing firmly against the throbbing bulge in his pants. He pushed some hair back off my shoulder, lips brushing the curve of my neck. "Ruin them for me. I want all my men to see how wet your pussy gets for me and only me." A pause. His voice dropped lower. "And maybe that hot woman across the bar too?"

"Sorry," I whispered, the word coming out smaller than I intended. Like an apology for more than just the grinding. "I know I shouldn't—"

"You want to know how I feel about my wife getting off on some woman at my club?" Lorenzo murmured against my ear. His hand slid to my waist and pulled my skirt up just enough, settling me directly over his bulge. The thin fabric between us felt like nothing at all. "You feel that, doll?"

I whimpered softly and sipped my drink to have something to do with my hands. "Mmhmm."

"Words."

"Yes," I said. "I feel it."

"How does it feel against that aching pussy of yours?"

"Good." I shifted against him. The pressure made my breath catch. "Really good."

Lorenzo slid his rough fingers up the inside of my thighs, pushing my skirt with them, raising goosebumps across my skin. I gripped the bar top in front of me, my nipples tightening against my bra. Across the room she was still sitting alone, one finger tracing the rim of her glass, and I wondered if she was lonely or just quiet or both.

I knew what lonely looked like. I'd worn it for years before Lorenzo.

"I should fuck you right here in front of her," he murmured, his stubble pricking the sensitive skin of my neck. "I know how you sound when you moan. Do you think I can get you loud enough that she notices us?"

"Lorenzo," I scolded, though his fingers were already moving in slow circles around my clit and the word came out breathless rather than firm.

"Hover for a second, doll."

When I lifted slightly, he reached between us and undid his zipper. Before I could think better of it, his hands found my hips and pulled me down onto him and filling me completely.

I slapped a hand over my mouth. My feet barely grazed the floor, my entire weight pressed onto him, and I had to remind myself where we were contains hundred people who would absolutely notice if I fell apart on their boss's lap.

He started moving, slow and deliberate, filling me and leaving me in turns. I squeezed around him and peeked over at her.

She was looking again.

Her eyes moved from me to Lorenzo and back, cheeks going pink. She reached for her drink and took a long sip without looking away.

"She can't stop watching you," Lorenzo said against my cheek. "Do you think she knows what's happening right now?"

I tightened around him and pressed my lips together to keep quiet. The thought of her watching sent heat spiraling through me in a way I didn't know what to do with.

"She wants you," he murmured. "I can see it from here."

"You can't know that."

"I know everything that happens in this room." He bounced me on him slightly. "And I know that woman has been looking at you since she sat down. Not at me. *You.*"

My core tightened. I dug my fingers into the bar top and tried to breathe.

"Show her how you ride me," he said. "How desperate you really are."

"Lorenzo." My voice had no edge left in it at all.

"Don't make me ask again."

Whimpering softly, I moved my hips and kept my eyes on her, this stranger with the soft mouth and the lonely posture and the eyes that kept coming back to mine. Something ached in my chest that was separate from the pleasure entirely. A want I didn't have clean language for.

*What would I even say to her? What do you say to someone when the thing you want is something you've never let yourself have?*

"Tell me," Lorenzo said, his voice low and rough at my ear. "Tell me what you'd do with her if we brought her home tonight. Tell me what you've been thinking about."

I exhaled slowly, the words loosening something in me. "I want to touch her," I admitted, so quietly he had to lean in to hear me. "I want to know what she feels like. If she'd — if she'd want me back the way I—"

"She would."

"You don't know that."

"Mallory." He said my name the way he always did when he wanted me to stop doubting myself. "Go find out."

He drove his hips up sharply, and I bit down on my lip to catch the sound that tried to escape. His hand reached around to cup my breast, thumb dragging across my nipple, and the pressure in my core climbed fast.

"You get to cum," he murmured, "when you ask her. No sooner."

"Lorenzo," I whined.

He swept my hair back and wrapped it loosely in his fist. "Have some confidence in yourself, doll. Go ask her what we talked about the other night. She won't say no to you, I promise."

Once I swallowed my shot, I looked back at her one more time. She was still there. Still alone. Still glancing over with those careful, curious eyes that made something in me feel both terrified and certain at once.

My pussy ached with emptiness but my chest ached with something older.

Lorenzo's lips pressed to my jaw softly. "You've been waiting long enough. Go."

I stood, smoothed my dress, and walked towards her.

SOFIA'S POV

Lonely and nearly penniless, I sat at the bar at The Bratva and told myself I'd leave after this drink.

I'd been telling myself that for forty minutes.

Enzo had left thirty minutes ago in a curt "something came up" and then his back moving toward the exit, not once turning to check if I'd be okay alone in a club that smelled like money and quiet violence. I wasn't surprised. I'd stopped being surprised by Enzo a long time ago. That was probably the saddest part.

I swirled the last of my cocktail and stared at the bar top.

The thing about being left alone in a room full of people is that you become hyperaware of anyone who isn't ignoring you. Which is why I'd noticed her early — maybe an hour ago, maybe more. A woman across the bar, dark hair falling over one shoulder, a silky pink dress that clung to her like it had been made specifically for her body. She was sitting on a man's lap with the easy comfort of someone who had never once doubted she belonged exactly where she was.

I envied that. I'd always envied that.

She glanced over but I looked away fast, heat crawling up my neck. *She's not looking at you. People like that don't look at people like you.*

But then she did it again. And again. And each time our eyes came close to meeting, something low in my stomach tightened in a way I didn't let myself examine too closely. I pressed my thighs together and focused very hard on my drink.

She was with her husband. I could see the diamond on her finger from here, catching the low club light every time she reached for her glass. Large, brilliant, the kind of ring that came with a whole life attached to it.

*Stop looking.*

I flagged the bartender for one more drink — truly the last one, I meant it and had just wrapped my fingers around the fresh glass when someone slid onto the stool beside me.

"Hi."

I turned and It was her.

Up close she was even more disarming than she'd been across the room. Warm brown eyes with something soft in them that didn't match the sharp glamour of the rest of her. A mouth that curved like she was already halfway into a smile she hadn't decided to give yet. She smelled like roses and something warmer underneath.

She was looking directly at me. Not past me, not through me.

*At me.*

My brain went briefly, completely offline.

"What are you drinking?" she asked.

I checked over my shoulder, genuinely convinced she'd sat down next to the wrong person. When I looked back she was still watching me, that almost-smile a little wider now.

"I'm talking to you," she said. "What're you drinking?"

"I, um—" My face was warm. I was a grown woman. I had formed sentences before. "Amalfi Coast cocktail. Mixed with Afterglow."

"Can we get two more?" she asked the bartender.

"I actually don't have any more cash on me." I reached for my purse. "I should probably get going anyway—"

"Nonsense." Her hand settled lightly on my thigh and I went very still. "My husband owns the club and I was going to buy you a drink anyway."

The bartender slid two glasses across the bar. She thanked him and told him to put the rest of my drinks on her tab for the night.

"You really don't have to do that," I said.

"You've been here all night. Alone."

Something about the way she said it — not with pity, but with recognition, like she knew what that felt like from the inside — made my chest tighten.

"My date left," I admitted.

Her expression shifted. "He left you at a crowded club all by yourself. Doesn't sound like a winner."

"He's not," I said. And then, because the drinks had loosened something I usually kept bolted shut: "But he takes care of me. Sometimes."

She was quiet for a moment. The music pulsed around us. Somewhere behind me a group of men laughed loudly and I watched her not even flinch at it, completely at ease in a room that made me want to keep my back to the wall.

"Sweetheart," she said softly, leaning slightly closer. Her fingers were still on my thigh. "If he cared about you, he'd bring you home,not leave you somewhere a stranger like me could come flirt with you."

The word landed before I could deflect it,then I looked at her and the intentional way she'd said it.

"So that's what this is," I said carefully. "Flirting."

She widened her eyes slightly, like she'd surprised herself, but she didn't pull her hand away. Just held my gaze and let the word sit there between us.

"Is that too forward?" she asked.

I looked down at her hand on my knee. At my own thigh and the small distance between her fingers and the hem of my skirt. My heart was going faster than I wanted to admit.

I'd thought about this before — being wanted by a woman, what it might feel like to stop wondering and actually know. I'd gotten as far as the thought and never further. Always talked myself back from the edge before I could fall.

But she was still here. Still looking at me like she had all night to wait for my answer.

"Maybe," I said slowly, "not forward enough."

Something changed in her expression — a quiet relief, almost, underneath the warmth. Her fingers moved an inch higher on my thigh.

"Hmm?" The sound was soft. A question with no pressure attached to it.

I clutched my glass and held her gaze and felt the ache between my thighs build into something I couldn't pretend was anything other than want. Slowly, she slid her fingers further up, underneath the hem of my skirt, and I didn't stop her. I let her touch me. Let her tease me. Let myself have this one thing I'd been too afraid to reach for.

When she reached my panties, she stilled. Sucked in a quiet breath and her lips parted.

"God," she murmured, "you're wetter than I am."

The words hit me somewhere deep and I spread my legs a fraction wider,allowing her a safe passage. "Still not forward enough," I breathed.

Her pink lips curved into a slow smile and she began moving her fingers in gentle circles against my clit.

I peeked around us and everyone was occupied, then let my eyes come back to her.

"What's your name?" she whispered.

"Sofia." My voice came out smaller than I intended. "What's yours?"

"Mallory." Her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth. "Say it."

"Mallory," I repeated.

She smiled like I'd given her something. "One night," she said softly, her fingers moving with more intention now, pressure building in steady waves, "you'll be moaning it."

Pleasure rushed through me and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my expression still.

"I've wanted to talk to you all night," she said.

"But your husband—"

"Is okay with this." A pause. "He suggested it, actually."

I stared at her. "Are you serious?"

She held my gaze with nothing hidden in it. "Let me show you how serious."

She took my hand gently and drew it up under her dress, placing it over her panties. The heat coming off her was immediate and the fabric was soaked through entirely.

My core clenched hard and I forgot how to breathe for a moment.

This couldn't be real. Things like this did not happen to me. I was the girl whose date left early, the girl with the student loans and the dying succulent on her windowsill and the takeout for one.

But Mallory's eyes were on mine and her hand was warm over my hand and the evidence of how much she wanted this was right there beneath my fingers.

I drew my thumb slowly across her swollen clit.

She exhaled softly and the sound did something to me I hadn't expected. Not just arousal. Something more like power. Like being trusted with something tender.

"We have a proposition for you," she said, voice slightly unsteady now. "My husband and I."

I moved my thumb in a slow circle and watched her eyes go hazy. "What kind of proposition?"

She pressed her lips together, steadying herself. Her fingers found my clit again in response, and we sat there at the bar, hands hidden under skirts, breathing carefully inorder not to draw attention.

"One million dollars," she said, "in exchange for being our toy."