Carabao Mango--It's Sweet

Aria’s POV:

I kept pushing my way through the crowd just to have a perfect view of my target, but when I finally got to the door, he was gone.

“I lost him,” I pouted while clutching my hair. My gaze moved upstairs, and I spotted him.

With a wide smile on my face, I walked up the stairs but was stopped by some men. “Do you have an invitation?” I was asked, and I frowned. Did I need one to explore the different parts of the club?

“I don’t,” I answered and almost lost my balance when one of the guards caught me.

“You are drunk. Do you want me to walk you outside?” He asked, and I scoffed and pushed his hand. How could I leave when I had just arrived?

I searched for my target with my eyes and smiled widely when I spotted him. He occupied one of the tables upstairs with some other men, but why won’t these people let me go through?

“I lied,” I blurted, and they exchanged confused looks. “That man over there…” I pointed at the man. “He invited me over.”

“He did?” they both asked in unison, and I noticed the suspicious looks on their faces, which got replaced with shocked ones. Why were they reacting this way? He was a man; wasn’t it normal for him to invite me over?

“One minute, Miss,” the guard walked to my target, leant closer to him, and whispered. His sharp gaze moved to me, and I felt my pants go wet, wondering if it was urine or something else.

I got nervous when the guard walked back to me. “Come,” he said, and now I grew more nervous. Did he ask the guard to bring me over? I had just lied abruptly and thought maybe he was going to ask them to send me away, but he didn’t.

“Uhm…I will just leave.” I grew nervous and turned to leave, but the other guard blocked my path.

“You said you were invited, so why don’t you follow him?” He questioned suspiciously, and I chuckled lightly. I shook my head before following the guard to my target’s table.

Immediately I arrived and had a closer look at him, I felt like I was caught up in a big mess and there was no escape; that was the kind of aura the man had around him. Maybe I should have stayed at home or just minded my business rather than approach this man.

The men who were discussing with him all left; now it was just us. He filled a glass with wine and shoved it to the other side of the table.

“Sit,” he ordered, and just like a robot, I quickly sat. “Drink,” he added, his voice very authoritative, and I felt like I couldn’t go against his orders, so I nodded and sipped the wine.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and I was still getting used to his voice, one that sounded so clear and sharp, despite the loud music.

“Aria Thomp…” I paused. What was I doing? First, I was about to tell him my real name, and second, did I just attempt to introduce myself as a Thompson?

“Solange…” I blurted, and he stood up, used his leg to kick away the table separating us, and I flinched, my grip on the glass of wine tightening.

“Hello, Solange.” He crouched before me, his finger trailing from my toes and stopping on my thighs.

“If I guess it right, we get it done right now and right here. If not, then we could do it your way,” he said, and I had difficulty comprehending his words. If he gets what right? And what are we getting done with?

“Your hair isn’t straightened.” He brushed his fingers through my hair, and I bit my lip. I swear a moan threatened to escape my lips.

“Your dress fits perfectly, quite expensive and unique,” he added, then leant closer. I could feel his breath fanning my neck.

Now even my heartbeat was louder than the music. His lips moved to my ear. “You smell so good,” he whispered, and I felt an icy chill run down my spine before he stared at my face.

“So pretty,” he muttered, his finger trailing from my shoulder to my hand before he took the glass of wine from me.

“Your lipstick doesn’t leave a stain,” he added while staring at the glass before he moved his lips closer to mine. I gripped the hem of my gown tightly. What was he on about? And to think all the analyses he made were correct.

“It’s Burgundy,” he muttered, and I tried so much not to lose my voice.

“What?” I questioned.

“Your underwear,” he replied, and my eyes opened wide in disbelief. That was the colour of my underwear, and I hadn’t put much thought into it before putting it on. How did he guess it right?

I didn’t have much time to process things as he smatched his lip with mine; the kiss started out passionately, and one might have mistaken him for a gentleman, but not until he sent his tongue into my mouth and his hand rubbed my thigh, finding his way into me.

Suddenly, the bulb above us was turned off, and I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I could feel his lips move to my neck… His hand pulled off my gown, and he stroked my peach as I moaned out loud.

I couldn’t stop him because I had never felt this much pleasure in my life, and I was craving for him to do more. He lifted both my legs and placed them over his shoulder, and I felt him pull off my pants with his teeth and suddenly bury his tongue into my clitoris. Then he looked up at me.

“I always thought Carabao mango was the sweetest thing in the world…” He muttered and stood up. I could see just his physique and how he undressed, lifted me, and pinned me to the wall. We were really doing it here.

“F*ck,” I kept moaning out loudly and let him work magic on my body. Was this just a f*ck*ng dream, or did s*x taste this good?