For Your Eyes Only

by Tia Louise

My father was a nouveau-riche dipshit who didn’t realize the truly wealthy never think about money.

A what?

“The worst part was being cross-examined about my sex life by my mother.” It takes all my self-control not to shudder. “She actually believed I did it.” Hana’s glossy lips twist into a frown, and she slides her toes into my lap. “Your mother should know Belinda is not your style.” “That would require her to actually know me.” “Like I do?” She smiles, her dark blue eyes too big for her heart-shaped face. Hana is a delicate beauty, but she’s too much like my sister to be my lover.

“I expect you to be alive when I get back.” Hopping over to where I stand, she hugs me. “You don’t have to worry about me.” I wish that were true. “Things will get better. We just have to hold on until they do.” “Famous last words.”

She’s shaking her head, and I’m not sure why I feel guilty handing over the rubber costume. I was the one assaulted. Still, if she gets fired because I got groped, I’ll feel like shit.

“I came here to pursue my dream, and all it’s gotten me is sleeping on a couch and being groped by a creeper.”

“You’re not still angry with me, are you?” My lips twist, and I haven’t decided. “You lied to me, Misha. You made me believe you were in love with me, and you wanted to marry me.” “I am in love with you, and I did want to marry you.” He pats the table. “In Santa Croce. Now we’re in America, and we can live our truth.”

As a student of the company and principal dancer, they were supposed to provide our room, board, everything we needed, and now I have nothing. Then my fairytale prince turned out to be, well, a fairy.

“So I can perform Swan Lake at his club?” I regret my words as soon as I say them. Bianca has only ever tried to help me. “Maybe if you spiced it up a little?” She gives me a wink. “Make it modern?” “Remove one feather at a time?” “Something like that. I thought you could wear something sexy and move your body. You’re very sensual when you dance. I think men would come from all over to be seduced by you.” I huff a laugh at her suggestion. “I’ve never even been with a man. I don’t know how to seduce one.” “That’s what makes you special. You have an innocent quality. I think men would pay to dream of possessing you.” “I don’t think I want to be dreamed about that way.” It makes me nervous.

Strippers don’t interest me. Their performances have the opposite effect. Instead of being enthralled by their movements, my mind drifts to the forces that have driven them to such a state. I wonder if they’re taking off their clothes to make ends meet. I wonder if it’s to save money for school or to support a dying relative. Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Once I was informed some women strip to demonstrate their power over men. I’m not sure I buy it, but as someone who grew up with a complete asshole, I can respect wanting to hit back. In fact, I support reclaiming what would be degradation and making money from it, but no matter how ecumenical I try to be, in the end, it all adds up to the same conclusion: I’m really just not into strippers.

We’ve seen absolutely nothing, and we all want to fuck her.

Who dances that well and doesn’t want to be famous? Who uses my own rules against me? This woman is playing with fire. Then I realize if I’m the one who makes the rules, I can also be the one to explore why they might be broken, and who gets to decide. I’m not in a hurry. Clearly, I need to take more time with my interests here. I’ll know who she is, and I will have a taste of this forbidden fruit.

We were all a lot tipsy, and when Bianca shared my tragic backstory, I became the house project. All the girls are determined to straighten out my fucked-up fairytale and make my dreams come true… And Glitter Girl was born. And the rest is a hypersonic history. And even though I’m not taking off my clothes, I’m sure the lust-inducing strip-tease I do would never pass Graziella’s smell test. I’m Salome, asking a horned-up King Herod for John the Baptist’s head on a platter.

“Mmm… that’s good.” Michele chuckles, sipping his tomatoey cocktail. “Only you can make drinking coffee look like a sexual experience.” My eyes blink open, and my cheeks feel hot. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that.” “A beautiful woman having a coffee orgasm?” Now my face is really red. “I wasn’t doing that!” “Sweet Gia, you’ve got to stop apologizing for being yourself.”

“I have a new job.” Jealousy tightens my throat, and I want to cry. How can he get a legitimate job when I can’t? “Meet Dickie Normous. I’m at the Palm Club every Thursday at nine. You should check out my show.” “Dickie Normous?” “Say it again.” His eyes twinkle, and I comply. “I’m not getting it.” “Good lord, Gia, did you actually grow up in a convent? It’s wordplay, a double entendre. Dick enormous.” It clicks, and a laugh hits me so hard, I cover my mouth. Then I pinch my nose when I snort. “Why is that your stage name?” “Everyone has a cheeky stage name in drag. It’s part of my persona.”

“I’m done with being quiet. God made us and said we’re good. It’s us who fuck everything up and weigh each other down with our own shame and guilt. You and I are going to be loud and proud of who we are, starting today.”

I’m inexperienced, but I read romance books, and I have a vivid imagination.

“You’ve got to write him back and thank him!” Shula is breathless with excitement, bobbing up and down on her toes at my side. “Maybe he’ll ask you to dinner and you’ll fall in love and he’ll marry you like Richard Gere and Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!”

“You’re cute, you know that?” It’s like a splash of cold water in my face. “Puppies are cute.” It comes out sharper than I intend, and he course-corrects fast. “Forgive me.” He holds up a palm. “I wasn’t trying to insult you.” “No, I’m sorry. Of course you weren’t insulting me. I shouldn’t have said that.”

When he turns to take a call, I quickly save his number as Maritino or Hubby in Italian. My cheeks flush, and I tuck my phone in my pocket, grinning as I trot to catch up with him.

Tonight, I’ll get to the bottom of what’s going on with her. No more mysteries. No more secrets.

“He’s going to swallow his tongue when he sees you in this.” “Gross. I hope not.” I want his tongue right where it belongs—unless it’s where I’ve fantasized it being. Heat tickles my inner thighs as I imagine him placing his lips there, moving higher, touching my most sensitive places with his mouth. I’ve never done it, but I’ve heard stories.

“That was a very naughty look, Miss Rossi. How old are you today?” “You’re not supposed to ask a woman how old she is.” “I’m a bad boy. Haven’t you heard?” “I haven’t, but I’m starting to believe it.” “You’d better. Now tell me how old you are.” “Twenty-two.” It’s true, even though it’s not my birthday. “Hm.” His lips press together, and I can’t read his expression. “Too young or too old?” “I’d say you’re just right, although you’re too young for that dress.” “What does that mean?” I lift my chin defiantly. He leans closer, tracing his finger from my chin to the line of my jaw. The clean citrus of his cologne fills my nose, and his voice drops to a slight growl. “It’s very motivational.”

“That’s a very naughty look, Mr. Alexander.” “You have no idea.” His eyes flicker to my breasts pressing against my bodice, and I straighten in my chair.

“So no tickling? Not even a little feather on the arch of your foot?” “I can’t stand it.” Shivering, I shake my head. His expression turns naughty. “What if the person doing the tickling promised to stop whenever you said?” The tilt of his lips, the shimmer in his eyes, makes me think we’re not talking about tickling anymore. Or maybe we are, but not in the childish, chase-you-around-the-playground way. “So I take it you enjoy tickling. Does that make you a sadist?” My voice is quiet, and I’m speaking like I have experience with such things. “Do I need a safe word when we’re together?” “Most definitely.” “In that case,” I cut my eyes up to his. “I might be willing to try… with someone I trust, of course.” “Good girl.” His voice is low, and pleasure unfurls in my stomach, like I got all the answers correct on a pop quiz.

“You’ve had your bite.” He stands, holding out his hand. “You don’t want any?” I look up at him. “I have something better in mind.”

“I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so much.” She exhales a sigh, and her fingers thread in my hair. “Do it again.” With pleasure.

“What did you have in mind?” “So many things, sweet Gia.” Leaning closer, I trace my nose along the shell of her ear. “I wonder if every part of you is as delicious as your sweet mouth.”

“I’m not a virgin anymore.” His eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “You had sex? With who?” Then his brow immediately furrows. “Was he a gentleman? I’m a bit protective of who my girl sleeps with.” “I’m not your girl.” I push his shoulder. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever almost married. Now tell me what happened. Did he hurt you?” “Mm…” I take another sip, thinking. “I didn’t actually do the penetration part.” “Gia.” Dark eyes narrow at me. “If there was no penetration, you’re still a virgin.” “That’s a very male thing to say. You wouldn’t call two lesbians in a relationship virgins, would you?” He frowns, and I continue. “I read a book that said we should find a new definition for virginity, and it should be based on your first fulfilling sexual experience, but I don’t know if that’s going to catch on.” “Giana Rossi.” Michele stops walking. “Did you take a dick or not?” “Oh my God, shut up!” I grab his arm, pulling him away from the early-morning crowd now watching us curiously.

The door opens, and my heart flies to my throat when I see who’s storming out of the vehicle. Trip slams his door too hard, stalking towards us with fire in his eyes. Even angry. He’s also gorgeous as fuck (Maybe even moreso because he’s angry?) in a blue blazer over a cream-linen dress shirt. He’s wearing jeans and loafers, and the possession radiating from his face makes me shiver. His eyes level on mine, the green smoldering like fire. “Who’s this guy?” I’m ready to fall at his feet and kiss those damn loafers, but before I can say a word, Michele steps forward projecting a machismo he never shows. “Who are you?” His chest is puffed up, and my jaw drops. “Trip Alexander.” They’re standing too close, and if they fight, I swear… “Michele Santorino.” “He’s my friend.” I pull Michele’s arm so I can step between them. The men don’t break eye contact. “Your friend?” Trip studies Michele as if he’s not sure whether to believe this. “Yes, her friend.” Michele’s hand goes to my waist like it used to when we would dance. I’m momentarily comforted by the protective gesture, but it evaporates when Trip’s expression cools. “I see.” He takes a step back, passing an elegant hand over his mouth, and my heart twists painfully in my chest. I want to take his hand, thread our fingers and lead him away from here, walk out to the beach and explain. “If Gia has a problem, she comes to me,” Michele continues. “Are you a problem?” His hazel eyes land on mine, like a stab to the chest. Then a c...

Hopping in my car, I sped down Worth Avenue in the direction of the condo, when right out in broad daylight, I saw her walking hand in hand with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. What the fuck? How much do I not know about this woman? Slowing my speed, my eyes drank in her perfection. Dressed in a bright coral shorts outfit, her shapely dancer legs flexed seductively with every step. A belt cinched in the middle accentuated her narrow waist, and the top was a plunging V-neck that allowed a peep at the curve of her breast. She was so damn sexy standing at his side, smiling and laughing up at him. He smiled back at her, dimpled with straight, white teeth. He put his hands on her, and rage burned in my chest. Without thinking, I whipped my car to the shoulder and threw it into park. Red flooded my vision as I stepped out, going straight to confront them. He dared say I was the problem? That he took care of her? Where the fuck was this brigade of bodyguards when I had my face in her pussy two nights ago? Oversized, dark sunglasses made it impossible for me to read her expression, but her full lips were glossy nude and parted. She was fucking kissable with her hand on his arm and the other holding a paper cup of coffee. I hated this guy acting like he was her protector. That’s my job. My internal response shook me, and I had to fall back. I summoned my inner cool, fumbling everywhere for my poker face until I found it. What is this girl doing to me? I don’t lose control. I don’t pl...

“When you left me at the Breakers, I was afraid I’d come on too strong. I thought you were an innocent seamstress. Now I don’t know what to think.” “No one has ever touched me the way you did that night.” Her eyes flicker down. “I liked it. I liked it so much, it made me afraid, and I ran.” It’s hard for me to believe her words after all I’ve seen. “Don’t play games with me Gia.” It comes out as more of a growl. She reaches up, placing her hand on my chest, round eyes holding mine. “I don’t know how to play games like that. I want to be with you. I want to know you all the way better. I want you to know me. Is it too late? Have I spoiled everything?”

“Get on your knees.”

When I hesitate, he frowns, seeming angry. “What?” “We should get a towel—” “You think I give a shit about the sheets? They’ll wash.” “It’s not that, I…” My stomach pinches, and I don’t want to stop this. I want all of him, rough and angry and possessive. He grips my arm, turning me to face him. “What is it?” Inhaling slowly, I don’t know why it’s so difficult to say. “I’m afraid there might be blood. You see, i–it’s my first time.” Silence fills the air between us. His eyes narrow, and I pull my lip between my teeth. I know his trust is shaken, but I want to be completely honest with everything going forward. “You’re lying.” His tone is flinty, but he releases my arm. “You’re trying to run away again.” He takes a step as if he’ll leave, as if he’ll take that massive cock to the shower and deal with it alone, without me. “I’m not. I don’t want to run. I want this to be with you. I only…” I gesture to his pristine king-sized bed. “I don’t want to ruin your sheets.” Closing the space between us, he catches my upper arms in his angry hands. “Fuck the sheets. You honestly expect me to believe you’ve never slept with a man with the way you dance?” Our faces are close, and I’m breathing fast, my breasts rising and falling against his skin, the fine hairs on his chest tickling my nipples. A heartbeat throbs in my pussy, and I want his dick to soothe that ache. “Every time I danced, I thought of you. I imagined what it would be like to have your body next to mine, inside me.” My v...

“You’re like the player, Daniel Cleaver.” I set the wine glass aside, thinking about my carefully cultivated persona. I suppose it is similar to Hugh Grant’s character in that film. “Only on the outside.” My voice quiets. “Only for protection. When it comes to you, I’m entirely Mark Darcy. I like you just as you are.”

“Sometimes we have to let go of our expectations and see where life takes us.”

“What is wrong with you?” Bianca hisses. “Are you on drugs?” “If sex is a drug.”

It’s another week I shouldn’t be away from Manhattan, but it’s a week I wouldn’t have missed for my life.

Franco found out I was sleeping with her in the most mundane way. He came by my apartment to drop off the new building contracts and saw her in my bed. His black eyes met mine, ice cold, and for the first time since I’ve been old enough to care, I couldn’t meet his critical gaze. Fuck him. I know what I’m doing. I’m sleeping with one of our dancers. I’m crossing every line. I’m being unprofessional and undisciplined, and what happens if things don’t work out? The thought tightens my throat. I can’t let her go.

“She’s trying to get on the schedule again.” Franco lifts his hands, as if it’s beyond his control. “I think it’s a bad idea. You saw what happened the last time she danced.” Gia not dancing has made things less complicated for us. I like it that way. I don't like that she’s trying to get back on the stage without telling me. “I thought she was strictly Private Eyes now.” “Is that your excuse for sleeping with her?” His tone is challenging. An invisible hand tightens on my throat. I want to snap back with I don't need an excuse, but he’s right. I’m dipping my quill in the company ink, and it’s not a good precedent. Instead, I answer calmly. “What do you want me to do?” “I’m sorry, are you asking me what you should do now? At this point in the game?” That’s it. I’m ready to pop him in the mouth. Franco. My best manager—the guy I trust with all my south Florida businesses. I actually want to punch him like I’m some goddamn animal.

That’s when it hits me as hard as an anvil. I can’t let her go. She’s this rare treasure I’ve found here, near the ocean, like a gift from the sea. She’s mine, only mine. Everything we do is ours alone, and it’s glowing and perfect. I was her first. All I’ve ever heard is that being someone’s first makes them needy and tiresome. She’s none of those things. I can’t get enough of her body, so fresh and eager to learn, so hungry for me. She touches me with wonder, looks at me with wonder. It makes me want to protect her, never let anyone disappoint her or make her cry.

She’s something I’ve never had in my life. Being with her is a place I didn’t know to look for, because I didn’t know it existed. Who says we can’t be together? Who says this is forbidden? Fuck them.

“But I have something special planned.” Her lips are pouty, and I want to kiss her. “One last dance.” “No.” I’m shaking my head. “You’re doing the subscription side now. You don’t need it anymore.” She slides her hands to my neck, lifting her pretty eyes to meet mine. “One last time. I want to know you’re there, to know you know it’s me. I want to dance with you watching, unable to touch me. I want you there with all those men going wild, knowing it’s my last dance, and when it’s over, only you can have me.” As she speaks, her voice softens, seduction enters her tone, that little rasp, and even though we just fucked hard, my dick twitches. This beautiful, dangerous girl, jeopardizing everything. “Gia,” I groan, and she leans in closer. Rising on her toes, she traces her lips along the side of my neck. “Please let me, sir?” How the fuck can I say no to that?

“You make my dick so hard,” he groans in my ear. “I want to fuck you raw like an animal.” A sizzle races from my hard nipples, made harder by his fingers pinching and twisting them, to my slippery core, growing wetter with every dirty word. I’m breathless as I rock my ass against his cock. “Okay.” “You want that?” He bites the side of my ear, and his large hand covers mine holding the shower attachment. “You want me to hold you down? Fuck you mercilessly, not letting you up until I’ve spent my load inside you?” As he speaks, he returns the water jets to my clit, circling slowly. “Yes,” I gasp as the tendrils of orgasm radiate through my thighs, heat tingling in my core only his cock can soothe. “You want me to push you over the couch, face first, and spank your ass as I thrust into you again and again?” More circling of the water jets, and I rise onto my toes. “Yes… God, yes.” “What if I make you swallow my cock, then fuck your mouth like the dirty girl you are?” “Oh, God!” My orgasm crests, and he presses me against the wall, driving his iron rod roughly into my clenching depths.

“I was sent to live with my father’s sister, my aunt Graziella.” “Graziella’s a pretty name.” Puffing air through my lips, I shake my head. “Her favorite hobby was telling me how ugly I was. How my body was thick like a peasant’s, and my hair was wild like a gypsy’s. She made me so ashamed.” Tapping my finger along Trip’s jaw, I lean forward. “Then I discovered I could dance.” “Is that cunt still alive?” The smoldering rage in his tone burns my misery away. “She is, and I would love for her to meet you.” “I’m not sure I could be a gentleman to someone who hurt you like that, especially after all you lost.” Cupping his face in my hands, I lean forward to kiss his lips. “I hope you meet her one day so she can see what I’ve found.” Trip stands out of the stool in front of me, catching my waist, and pulling me off the bar. “I’m obsessed with you, Giana, and I promise I will never hurt you. I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. Always.”

“Did Franco come here?” “He did.” My voice wobbles, but I do my best to be upbeat. “He was very cryptic. He left an envelope and told me to pack all my things.” “Did you?” “I started.” Silently, he lifts the brown envelope off the table and opens it, taking out another long envelope like they used to give for airplane tickets. He lowers the parcel to the table, takes a beat, then turns to face me. “What do you have left to pack?” His eyes are level, the warmth I’m so used to seeing in them extinguished. “Oh, a few toiletries and shoes. I had just finished moving all my things into your closet.” I’m still trying to keep my voice optimistic, but I’m faltering. “Who told you to do that?” His icy tone makes me nervous. “You did?” “I never told you to unpack.” “But you told me to move in here.” “Now it’s time for you to go.” My brow furrows. “Go where?” “You’re returning to Italy. Tonight. I have your airline ticket here.” Cold filters through my veins. Panic rises in my neck. “I’m returning to Italy? Just me?” “I’m not going with you.” All the air leaves the room. “Did something happen?” “Yes.” His lips curl with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Silence falls between us, and I’m afraid to ask. “What… happened?” “I discovered you were performing without a work visa. You put my entire business at risk, every single job, all of it. I could’ve been raided, shut down permanently for hiring an illegal alien.” “But it wasn’t your fault.” Panic shivers in me. “You didn’t know.” “T...

“You knew this would end one day.” “I did?” My voice cracks. “I thought we would go to New York. I thought I would get a job there, dance with the company, pursue my dream.” “What gave you that idea?” My throat is so dry, I can’t answer. “I don’t want you.” He shakes his head, a cruel smile on his face. “It was never about you. It was the fantasy, the chase. It was about fucking Glitter Girl.” “I don’t believe that!” He turns, slamming my suitcase closed and zipping it. “Believe it.” “But…” I’m broken, a child begging. “I love you.” For the flash of a second, I think I see him yield. It’s gone so fast, I must’ve imagined it. He only growls. “Put. On. Your. Shoes.”

“Marco will drive you to the airport, and he’ll watch you board the plane.” He hands me the brown envelope. “Defy him, and I’ll have you forcibly deported.” He’s not taking me to the airport. He’s throwing me out like garbage.

“You promised you’d never hurt me.” His brow arches, and he exhales a laugh. “I’ve promised a lot of women a lot of things. Goodbye, Gia.” I collect my phone and my purse off the small table inside the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Alexander.”

The night I destroyed the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only woman I’ll ever love.

Between breaths, I drink vodka, until after what seems like a long time, my phone buzzes with a text from Marco. She’s gone. My world ends. My stupidly expensive, gilded world with all the money I was determined to make by any means necessary. What does it matter, now that it has taken everything I love?