6. Carlito

Chapter 6

Carlito

The city lights begin to twinkle outside the penthouse windows as the evening settles in, casting long shadows across the room. The pristine calm of my space feels deceptively steady compared to the undercurrent of tension I know tonight will bring.

The elevator chimes softly, and then the doors slide open, revealing Mia. She steps inside, looking more composed than I would have expected, given the limited time she’s had to prepare since yesterday’s tour at The Venetian. She’s dressed professionally, but there’s a spark of something less guarded in her eyes—determination, perhaps.

“Mr. Marcelli,” she greets, though her tone carries an edge of weariness.

“Carlito,” I correct, my voice firm but not unkind.

She nods slightly, her movements brisk as she sets her bag on the sleek glass coffee table and pulls out a few pages of notes. “I’ve made adjustments based on yesterday’s discussion. They’re not polished, but they’re actionable.”

The admission is unexpected. She’s usually meticulous, prepared down to the last detail. But she isn’t making excuses, and that earns my respect more than flawless execution ever could.

“Show me,” I say, gesturing toward the chair across from mine.

She hands me a slim stack of papers, her fingers brushing mine briefly. The touch is fleeting but enough to make me pause for a moment longer than necessary before I take the documents.

As I scan the pages, I note the ideas are sharp—streamlined, almost ruthless in their efficiency. They’re good. But they’re not great.

“This feels rushed,” I say, setting the papers down and leveling her with a steady gaze.

“It was,” she replies without hesitation. “But I didn’t want to present something that wasn’t relevant to the feedback you gave me yesterday. I focused on what matters.”

Her honesty is disarming. Most people would try to bluff their way through, but Mia lays her cards on the table with an almost reckless confidence.

“Fair enough,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “And if I find this inadequate?”

“Then I’ll fix it,” she says simply, meeting my gaze without flinching.

I study her for a moment, intrigued by the fire simmering just beneath her calm surface. “You seem to enjoy being tested,” I remark.

“No,” she replies, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “But I do enjoy proving people wrong.”

The corner of my mouth lifts in a slow smile. “Good. Then you’ll fit in just fine.”

For the first time tonight, her composure cracks slightly, and I catch the flicker of uncertainty in her expression. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, replaced by that resolute confidence I’ve come to expect from her.

“Let’s continue,” I say, gesturing toward the rest of her notes.

Mia adjusts in her seat, smoothing her skirt as I glance through the rest of her notes. There’s a faint hum of tension in the room, one I can’t quite ignore.

“These placement ideas for the VIPs,” I say, gesturing to one of the diagrams. “What’s the logic behind them?”

She leans forward, pointing to the layout. Her perfume lingers in the air—a soft, subtle scent that catches me off guard. “The goal is to balance visibility and access. The keynote speaker and sponsors should feel central without overshadowing the overall atmosphere. It keeps the flow dynamic.”

Her explanation is sharp and to the point, but I don’t let her off the hook easily. “Dynamic isn’t always practical. What happens when one of these sponsors wants to leave early or demands a last-minute change?”

Mia’s lips press together briefly, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. But instead of faltering, she surprises me. “Then we adapt,” she says firmly. “These aren’t rigid placements—they’re starting points. I can pivot if needed, as long as the main structure stays intact.”

Her confidence is refreshing, even if it grates against my tendency to control every variable. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“No,” she replies, meeting my gaze directly. “I’m sure of my work.”

For a moment, I don’t respond. Her words hang in the air, challenging me in a way few people ever do. There’s an intensity to her that’s impossible to ignore—a fire that makes me want to push her even further, just to see how far she’ll go before she breaks.

I set the notes down and fold my hands in my lap, leaning back slightly. “You’ve done well,” I say, though my tone remains measured. “But well isn’t good enough. Not for this event.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of frustration breaking through her polished exterior. “I’m aware of the stakes, Carlito. This gala isn’t just a reflection of your business—it’s a reflection of me.”

Her words are a sharp reminder that she has just as much riding on this as I do. And yet, there’s something else in her tone—something personal.

“Why are you really doing this?” I ask, my voice soft but insistent.

Her brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This isn’t just a job to you,” I say, watching her closely. “There’s something more. What is it?”

Mia hesitates, and for a moment, I think she’s going to deflect. But then she exhales softly and says, “Because I want to prove that I can handle something this big. That I belong here.”

Her honesty catches me off guard. Most people would’ve fed me some line about ambition or loyalty, but Mia lays her vulnerabilities bare with a courage that demands respect.

“And you think this gala will do that?” I ask.

“I know it will,” she replies, her voice steady.

Her determination is maddening—and intoxicating.

“You’ve got a lot of faith in yourself,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “Let’s hope it’s not misplaced.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, her chin tilting upward slightly in defiance. “It’s not misplaced,” she says, her voice quiet but firm.

The fire in her gaze sends a jolt of something dangerous through me. For a moment, the line between professional and personal blurs into something unrecognizable, and I feel the unmistakable pull of desire—one I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.

I rise from my seat, pacing to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The lights of Las Vegas stretch endlessly, bright and unyielding, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside me.

“You’re confident,” I say, my back to her. “But confidence can only get you so far.”

Mia stands as well, and I can hear the rustle of her clothes as she moves closer. “And what about you?” she asks, her tone tinged with something I can’t quite place.

I turn to face her, and the space between us feels smaller than it should. “What about me?”

Her gaze doesn’t waver, though I can see her chest rising and falling just slightly faster. “You push people, Carlito. But you never let anyone push you. Why is that?”

Her question is unexpected, and it cuts deeper than I care to admit.

“Because I don’t have the luxury of failure,” I reply, my voice low and measured.

Her brows knit together in thought, and for the first time, I see something other than determination in her expression. Empathy.

“Neither do I,” she says softly.

The words hang between us, charged with meaning neither of us is willing to fully acknowledge.

“Mia—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“No,” she says, taking another step closer. “I know what you’re doing, Carlito. You’re testing me. Trying to see how far you can push before I break. But let me tell you something—you’re not the only one who doesn’t break easily.”

Her words are a challenge, and they ignite something primal in me. Before I can think better of it, I close the distance between us, my hand brushing against her arm. The contact is electric, sending a shiver through me that I’m certain she feels too.

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. The professional walls we’ve both worked so hard to maintain crumble in an instant, and all that’s left is the undeniable pull of something neither of us can control.

“Mia,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t pull away either.

My hand cups her cheek, my thumb brushing against her soft skin. She trembles at my touch, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I lean in, my lips hovering over hers, and whisper, "You want this, don't you?"

Mia's eyes flutter closed, and she nods, her body pressing against mine. "Yes," she breathes, her voice hoarse with desire.

I claim her mouth in a kiss, my lips moving urgently against hers. She tastes like temptation, a sweet poison I want to drink from endlessly. My hands roam over her body, mapping every curve, memorizing her softness. I feel her hands on my suit jacket, tugging at the lapels, and I help her slide it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Breaking the kiss, I trail my lips down her neck, nipping and sucking gently, eliciting a soft moan from her. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," I murmur against her skin.

"I think I have an idea," she replies, her voice breathy. Her hands find the buttons of my shirt, deftly undoing them one by one, her touch sending shivers down my spine.

I step back, letting her admire my bare chest, the muscles honed from years of discipline and control. Her eyes darken with desire, and I can see the hunger in her gaze. "You like what you see?" I ask, my voice laced with a challenge.

Mia's response is swift and bold. She takes a step forward, her hands running over my chest, her touch sending waves of pleasure through me. "I love it," she whispers, her lips brushing against my skin.

I groan, my body responding to her touch. "Then take it," I urge, my voice thick with need. "Take what you want."

She doesn't need to be told twice. Her hands move lower, unbuckling my belt with practiced ease. I hiss as she slides her hands beneath my pants, her fingers wrapping around my cock, already hard and straining against my boxers. "You're so ready for me," she purrs, her breath hot against my ear.

I bite back a curse, my body on fire. "Fuck, Mia," I growl, my hands finding her hips, pulling her closer. "You have no idea."

With a swift motion, I lift her onto the nearby couch, the surface cool against her bare legs. Her dress rides up, exposing her thighs, and I waste no time in exploring the soft skin. I kiss and nip at her inner thighs, my hands gripping her hips, holding her in place.

"Please," she begs, her back arching off the couch. "I need you, Carlito."

"You need this?" I ask, my voice gruff as I nuzzle her core through her lace panties. "You need my mouth on you?"

"Yes," she pants, her hands threading through my hair, urging me on.

I don't need to be told twice. I hook my fingers under the elastic of her panties and slide them down her legs, my mouth replacing my hands. Her taste is intoxicating, and I lap at her eagerly, my tongue flicking and probing, driving her wild. Her hips buck against my mouth, her moans filling the room.

"Carlito, I'm close," she gasps, her hands gripping the edge of the couch.

I redouble my efforts, my tongue working her clit in steady circles, my fingers plunging into her wet pussy. "Come for me, Mia," I command, my voice hoarse. "Let go."

Her orgasm hits her like a wave, her body trembling as she cries out my name. I continue to pleasure her through the climax, my tongue and fingers relentless, until she's reduced to a quivering mess, her legs weak and shaking.

I stand, my body aching with need, and she looks up at me with lust-filled eyes. "Now it's my turn," I growl, my voice laced with dominance.

Mia's eyes widen, but she doesn't resist as I guide her to the edge of the couch, positioning her on her knees. I step back, taking in the sight of her exposed body, her breasts heaving with each breath. "You're so beautiful," I whisper, my voice rough.

She bites her lip, her eyes sparkling with desire. "Please, Carlito. I need you inside me."

I let out a low growl, my control slipping. I position myself behind her, my hands gripping her hips as I guide my throbbing cock to her entrance. With one swift thrust, I bury myself deep within her, claiming her as mine.

Mia cries out, her body adjusting to my size. I give her a moment to acclimate before I begin to move, my hips snapping forward, my hands holding her firmly in place. "You feel so fucking good," I groan, my breath hot against her neck.

She moans in response, her body moving in perfect rhythm with mine. "Harder," she pleads, her voice thick with need. "Please, Carlito, harder."

I oblige, my hands tightening on her hips as I pound into her, my cock filling her over and over. Her cries fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and desire. I lean forward, my lips finding her ear, my teeth gently nipping her lobe. "You like it rough, don't you, baby?" I whisper, my voice a dangerous promise.

"Yes," she pants, her head falling back against my shoulder. "I want it all, Carlito. Everything you have to give."

Her words are like a match to dry kindling, igniting a fire within me. I thrust harder, faster, my body slamming into hers, my control slipping further with each stroke. "You want it rough? I'll show you rough," I grunt, my hands moving to her breasts, squeezing and kneading the sensitive flesh.

Mia cries out, her body trembling on the edge of another climax. "Yes, yes, yes!" she chants, her nails digging into my arms.

I feel her walls clench around me, her body tightening as she comes again, her orgasm rippling through her. I follow her over the edge, my own release building to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, I spill into her, my body shaking with the force of my climax.

We collapse onto the couch, our hearts pounding in unison. I hold her close, my hands stroking her back as we catch our breath. "Fuck, Mia," I breathe, my voice hoarse. "That was incredible."

She turns in my arms, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "It was," she agrees, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

As she stands, her body still trembling from the intensity of our encounter, I can't help but feel a sense of possessiveness. I want to keep her here, claim her as mine, but I know that's not how this works.

She straightens her dress, her movements graceful, and looks at me with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. "I should go," she says, her voice soft.

I nod, my hand reaching out to caress her cheek one last time. "Thank you, Mia."

She bites her lip, her eyes holding mine for a moment longer than necessary. "Oh, the pleasure is all mine," she whispers, her voice laced with desire.

As she walks toward the elevator, I feel the pull to stop her, to say something—anything—that makes sense of this. But I stay silent, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

When the elevator doors close behind her, the tension in my chest tightens further.

“This changes everything,” I mutter to myself, staring out at the city that suddenly feels smaller, less certain.