For Angelo(68)

Her lips curved in a rueful smile at the thought.

A week had passed since the night of the party, and things between them had completely changed. It was not, however, the kind of change one would expect. Both of them knew that they had crossed a line that night, one that made Angelo hers. Even without the words, they both knew that he was hers, irrevocably.

And normally that would make a boyfriend sweeter and more affectionate—

But instead Angelo was the opposite.

Since the night of the party, Angelo had become more sadistic, and the innovative ways in which he employed his tortuous brand of pleasure seemed endless.

Yesterday, he had told her he would take her out on a date and asked that she wait for him at the restaurant. Minutes turned into an hour and when she had finally run out of the restaurant in tears, it was to find him waiting outside, beautiful, sexy, and with the wickedest grin on his lips.

And he actually had the gall to tease her, saying, “Took you long enough to get mad.”

Again and again, he teased her mercifully, deliberately goading her to anger or provoking her to have a jealous fit. He drove her mad every day, and none more so than when the party had ended and he had carried her to his bedroom. He had made love to her until dawn but when she was about to sleep, he had told her brusquely to get out of his bed.

She had blinked at him in shock.

Because I’ve had my fill of you, so get out.

She had stumbled out of his bed, tears blinding her, but just as she turned towards the door, his hand had snaked out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist—

And then he had yanked her back to bed, and as she tumbled into him, he had whispered with the most devilishly sweet smile, “I was only joking, tesoro.”

She had burst into tears after that, too. But instead of apologizing, he had only licked her tears, saying they were still the most delicious things he had ever tasted.

When she had only cried harder, he had crooned to her ear, “Tell me, my Lane. Do you want me to change? I will, for you. Just say the word.”

And even as she cried, she hadn’t hesitated. Her answer hadn’t even been no.

It had been never.

Recalling the incidents made Lane’s heart ache, but it was a good kind of ache, the same way that the pain Angelo gave her, no matter how sharp, was never too much. It was almost as if he had developed a sixth sense for knowing when he was almost at the point of breaking her heart—

And then he would stop, smile, reward her – he’d make her feel so cherished that she would find herself falling in love again.

And so went the unending cycle of her life, she thought ruefully.

Feeling guilty that she had spent too much time daydreaming about Angelo, Lane stole a look at her companion and realized that Bree was lost in her own world as well. If a girl could really have stars in her eyes, then Bree had it, an entire constellation, and all of them were shining for the man singing on stage.

Did she look at Angelo the same way?

The mere idea was embarrassing, and when her phone vibrated almost right after, her face flamed with guilt. Answering the call, she stammered, “Hello?”

She could barely hear Angelo’s reply, and she frowned. “I’m sorry, I can’t…”

Angelo said something indecipherable.

“Let me go somewhere quiet, please don’t hang up.” She tapped Bree on the shoulder, and cupping her hand over her mouth, she told Bree, “I’ll j-just go out and answer Angelo’s call, okay?”

“Want me to go with you?” Bree offered.

Lane was touched by the offer, knowing that Bree didn’t want to miss a second of Dylan’s performance. “You don’t have to w-worry about me. I got this.” She flashed Bree a thumbs up for added assurance.

“Okay, but just give me a call if you need anything. Like, anything, because I know Angelo’s going to kill me if something happens to you.”

“Okay,” Lane said, privately doubting Bree’s words. Angelo was always cool and collected. She couldn’t picture him going ballistic over anything.

The VIP section had its own private lounge and with the concert ongoing, Lane was relieved to find the luxuriously designed place nearly empty. There was only one other couple beside her, but they were too busy making out for Lane to feel nervous around them. As long as they kept kissing, Lane would be more than happy to ignore them.

Choosing the table farthest from them, she lowered herself to the couch and tried calling Angelo, but all she got was his voice mailbox. Was it because he was calling her, too or maybe he was—

A shadow fell over her, and with her gaze absently trained on the lounge’s purple carpet, the first thing Lane saw was a pair of studded Valentinos.