Bend Me, Daddy

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst and look up at the big baddie behind me. The last thing I'm expecting to see is sexy Mr. Nonchalant from earlier. His eyes run over me quickly before he looks back at the group of thugs who are looking paler by the second.

He yells something at them in Italian, and I can't help but squirm a bit at how fucking sexy it sounds. Plus, unless I'm reading this situation completely wrong, he just came to my rescue. I'm being rescued by a sexy, older Italian. I sit there, smiling like an idiot while my sexy savior rips this guy a new asshole.

I can't help but give asshat a smug grin when he darts his eyes to me. "Looks like you just lost the dick-swinging competition," I say with a laugh. I know I shouldn't, but come on. It's not like I'm ever going to be in a situation like this again. I want to enjoy it, and who knows what this fucker was planning on doing to me?

He glares at me, making me wonder if he understands English, but sexy savior yells another string of Italian at him, and the guy actually fucking cowers. While the guy tries not to piss himself, my sexy Italian squats down close to me, and I suck in a quick breath. Holy shit, he's even more gorgeous up close. Deep green eyes meet mine, and it takes all my willpower to keep my thighs together. Every instinct in my body is telling me to part my legs and invite him in, but I still have enough working brain cells left to remember that we're not alone and that I have no idea who this man is. He's got to be more than twice my age, but, fuck, do those extra years look good on him.

When he sees my scraped, bloody knees that I hadn't even noticed because I've been too busy thinking with my pussy, he clenches his jaw tightly and stands up. Before I even know what's happening, he punches asshat hard enough to knock him on his ass, then he points back at me and yells something that has them all grabbing their friend and getting the hell away from us.

I try not to stare at the broad shoulders and gorgeous profile of the man in front of me, but it's impossible to tear my eyes away. When he turns back to look at me, he catches me eye-fucking him, and I feel my face heat up in embarrassment. "Thanks," I say, keeping my eyes down and fidgeting with the bottom of my dress. I try to get up, and nearly manage it, before a sharp pain runs up my foot and I'm falling down again. Before I can hit the hard ground, a pair of strong arms lift me up like I weigh nothing, and then I'm being cradled against a hard chest and looking into the most beautiful pair of green eyes I've ever seen.

"God, you're gorgeous," I say before I can stop myself. My face heats up even more, but he just looks at me like he has no idea what I just said. "Do you speak English?"

"English? No," he says, and his thick, sexy accent has me feeling all warm and tingly. "Italiano?" he asks, raising a dark brow at me.

"No," I say, cursing my own lack of preparation.

He runs his eyes over me again, making it feel more like a caress, and when I let out a soft sigh, his lips quirk up in a slight grin. When he starts to walk us back down the road, I wrap my arms around him and tell myself that it's only so I won't fall, but I know it's bullshit. I want to feel more of his hard body, and I want to be pressed up against him as much as possible. I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in the intoxicating scent of his cologne, feeling happier than I ever have. I know this can't last long, so I'm determined to enjoy every single second of it.

Maybe I should worry about who exactly this man is, considering he just scared away an entire group of young thugs by just showing his face, and maybe I shouldn't be so quick to get into his gorgeous, red Ferrari, but I don't worry and I do get in. I mean, if he wanted to cause me harm, he could've just left me with those guys, and call me crazy, but there's just something about the way he looks at me. I feel like I can trust him, and aside from the murder alley I just carelessly walked down, my instincts have never steered me wrong. Besides, this is my vacation, the last time I'll be able to do wild and crazy things before I have to go back and decide my future. The idea of going back to America and drowning in student debt makes me want to cry, and when he sets me into his gorgeous car and leans down, hooking a finger under my chin and lifting my face up to his, I'm surprised by the worry in his eyes.

He must think I'm upset because of him or what just happened. The long string of Italian makes zero sense to me, but I catch the tone well enough, and I smile at him to let him know I'm okay. He hands me his cell phone and lifts a dark brow at me. I shake my head no. I don't have anyone to call, and I have my own phone anyway. He's probably wondering what to do with me, so I reach into my bag and grab the brochure I have in there for the hotel. I point at it and say, "That's where I'm staying. You can drop me off there if you need to."