Beauty and the Mafia Beast

"𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔢, 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯, 𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰—𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢."

—  𝔲𝔫𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔫.

Fucking a stranger in the washroom of a hospital while my classmate’s stepfather lay dying in the ER has to be my worst sin. But let me back up a bit, because this story starts with a bang—well, not that kind of bang.

It starts with me, Camilla Dawson, sitting in the hospital lounge, tapping my foot impatiently. I hate hospitals. The odd chemical smell, the beeping machines, the constant reminder of mortality. I promised myself I’d never set a foot here again after finally being free of the regular visits. But here I am, waiting for news about Claire’s stepfather, because that's what friends do.

And maybe my presence here tonight will finally convince her that I care about her. I’ve failed to keep the act up lately.

Truth be told, I think it's better if the man kicks the bucket. He's a total dick, always making Claire's life miserable with his controlling ways and constant criticism. But family is family, and Claire is here, so I am too.

She excuses herself to go answer a call from her mom, leaving me alone in the lounge. I glance around, trying to distract myself from the morbid thoughts, my palms growing sweaty as the flashbacks keep filtering in mercilessly. 

And that's when I see him. Tall, dark, and dangerously handsome at the very first glance—like watching a love interest in a dark romance movie—leaning against the far wall. His eyes are the same colour as mine—blue, but they’re many shades darker. There’s something about his stare. It’s too intense like he’s stripping me with his gaze. 

I might be reading too much into this… maybe it’s just a stupid attempt to distract myself…. But, well. He could be Death itself, but Gods if he isn’t sexy. And if I’m the next soul he wishes to reap, I’ll gladly let him. Because at least he won’t trail behind me between corridors after classes claiming he’s fallen in love with me. 

I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. “See something you like?” I mouth, knowing full well he can't hear me from across the room. But he gets the message. His lips curl into a slow, predatory smile that makes my heart race.

He pushes off the wall and starts walking towards me, lazily, almost dragging his feet. I stand up, meeting his gaze head-on. As he gets closer, I see the dark pits of his eyes widen, the slight stubble on his jaw, the way his white shirt stretches taut across his broad shoulders.

“You always this forward?” he asks in a whisper, looking over his shoulder, seeming desperate to keep this a secret. 

I shrug, my smirk widening. “Only when I see something worth my time.”

He blinks, impressed, and then leans in, his breath hot on my ear. “And what makes you think I'm worth your time?”

I laugh under my breath. “Because you're here, aren't you? And you can't take your eyes off me.”

He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes my stomach flutter. “Touché.”

“So, what's your story?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, studying his outfit. He’s rich, is my quickest conclusion. “You here for someone special, or just lurking around hospitals for fun?”

His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment he looks lost, seeing something else entirely even though his eyes are on me. “Wouldn't you like to know?” he replies, distracted. 

I take a step closer, our bodies almost touching. Why is he distracted? Did I say something to make him lose interest? That never happens. 

“Maybe I would. Maybe I'm just curious about the mysterious stranger who can't keep his eyes off me.”

He mirrors my movement, leaning in until our breaths mingle. “Maybe you should be careful what you wish for.”

The smell of him is intoxicating, like cigarettes and bad decisions. The urge to feel those lips in me growing too strong. “And maybe you should stop talking and do something about it.”

His hand reaches up, his fingers gently brushing a strand of my pale blonde hair away from my face. The touch is soft, but it wrecks me. “Is that an invitation?”

I bite my lip. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Guess you'll have to find out.”

He smirks, his hand moving to the small of my back, pulling me closer. “I never back down from a challenge.”

“Good. Because I never lose.”

His lips brush against my ear, a low growl filling my sense. “We'll see about that.”

Before I know it, we're in the hospital washroom, the door locked behind us. His hands are on my hips, his lips buried into my neck.

He lifts me onto the counter in a single, effortless movement. His body presses into mine, knocking the breath out of me but I don’t complain.  Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

I moan, my head falling back to hit the mirror as he trails kisses down to my collarbone. His hands slip under my shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of my breasts. His mouth finds my nipple, his tongue circling, his teeth gently biting. I gasp, my body arching towards him.

What the hell am I doing? Who the hell is this man? 

The thoughts come as warnings, but the way he touches me makes them all feel stupid. Rationality has no place in a mind that’s overcome with lust.

He starts to move, his hips thrusting against mine, his body claiming me with each stroke. I feel every inch of him, his balls slapping against me with each thrust. It's messy, it's dirty, and it's the best fucking feeling in the world.

I never thought I'd ever be doing this, fucking a stranger in a hospital washroom. But I can’t say I haven’t fallen farther than this in an attempt to survive in the past, and this isn’t even about survival, about need. It’s what I want. 

Just as he's deep inside me, he says something that stops me cold. “You know, people like you always end up alone. No one cares about you, and no one ever will. You're just a waste of space.”

I go rigid. “What the hell did you just say?”

He thrusts deeper. “You’re nothing but another pathetic nobody, begging for attention. Look at you, devouring it now that you’ve finally got some.”

I've spent years feeling alone, unloved, and unseen. And here he is, a stranger, echoing my deepest fears. Anger surges through me, and before I can think, my hand connects with his cheek. The force of the slap is so hard that his head snaps to the side, and a red welt immediately appears on his skin.

“Well, well, well,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looks like someone just got a reality check. You might want to ice that, buddy. Wouldn't want your pretty face to get all puffy.”

He looks at me, surprised that I’d do something like that. But I don't stick around to find out his response. I storm out of the washroom, leaving him hard and dry, and wondering what the hell just happened.

As I walk back to the lounge, I feel absolutely strange. And satisfied. I may have just made the biggest mistake of my life, but at least I did it with style.

In the chaos that unfolds over the next few hours—Claire’s stepfather finally calling it quits, her fainting in my arms, her mother sobbing and screaming in my ears—I manage to forget about the dirty encounter with the arrogant stranger. But then as I’m about to drive Claire to our sorry excuse of a dorm, he shows up again, if only for a brief flash. He runs across the front of my parked car to the other side of the street before he’s shoved into a fully tinted long black car. The front of his shirt is dappled with crimson patches. 

I turn the car around and drive, frowning. Claire continues to cry, hiccuping now. I do my best to convince myself to forget him, and that it wasn’t blood on his shirt, but every second etches him deeper into my memory, and makes me certain he killed someone. 

The days faded into nights, months into years, and I forgot him—unaware that the stranger would soon become a far greater part of my life than I ever could have imagined.