I’m so fucking hot that I’m sweating through my shirt.
“Closer.”
Her knees bump against the edge of the seat between my legs. I’m not sure I’m breathing, but neither is she.
I lift my hand and pluck the little bow at the front of her panties. Then I tip my head back and meet her gaze. “You want to know if I like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Find out for yourself.”
Her gaze drops to my lap, and when she sees the outline of my hard cock, she goes very still. Her fingers twitch.
I sit back, spreading my legs further to give her better access. Seeing how far she’ll take this game.
Her desire to prove she’s not a coward wins over her nerves. She leans down, giving me a glimpse of her tits, and cups my erection.
I huff out a breath. Without breaking eye contact, she gives me two slow strokes, and something short-circuits inside my brain. I clutch the armrests, my knuckles white with effort. It’s impossible to breathe.
“You seem to like it a lot,” she says in a velvety voice. She removes her hand and steps away. It takes all of my willpower not to drag her onto my lap.
She turns around and gives me her back. My gaze drops to her ass.
“Enjoy the view,” she says over her shoulder. “That’s all you’ll ever get from me.”
CHAPTER 17
CLEO
That night, Rafaele spends a long time in the shower.
My suspicions about what he’s doing in there make my face heat, and when he comes out, I make sure I’m buried deep under my duvet on the ottoman.
I thought I’d done so well today, so why does it feel like I failed? He didn’t seem to care about all the money I spent, and somehow the day ended up with me standing in front of him in my underwear.
And touching his cock.
Fuck my life.
The worst part is that I felt an embarrassing wetness gather between my legs when I palmed his erection. He was very hard and very large.
I wait until I hear his breathing even out and then I dip my fingers inside my panties. Yep, still wet. I bite on my pillow and get myself off as quickly as I can, making sure I don’t make a single sound.
It’s a good thing Rafaele is out of the house for the next few days, coming home once I’m asleep and leaving before I wake up. I call Gem and Vale a few times to chat and use the rest of my free time to regroup.
On Friday morning, I read over my plan once again. It had seemed so well crafted initially, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t know him well enough to know which buttons to press.
I scratch out the bullet point about bankrupting him. It would take me far too long given how much money he has.
Would he care if I redecorated? It appears he barely spends any time at home. I scratch that one out too.
The dog idea is worth exploring, but I’d obviously have to be the one to take care of it, so I should think about whether I’m ready for that kind of commitment.
I wander into the bathroom to brush my teeth. There’s a Post-it note on the mirror in the bathroom.
“Pick you up at 7 pm.”
It takes me a moment to clue in. I had forgotten about the dinner. I pick up my phone and send him a text.
Where are we going tonight?
His response comes a minute later.
Il Caminetto.
Il Caminetto is one of the hottest restaurants in New York right now, and the rumor is it’s funded by mob money. But it’s all hush-hush since the owner is a big-shot movie producer, and he’s the official face of the restaurant group. If I had to guess, I’d say Rafaele is one of the investors.
Is he hoping to parade me around in front of his business partners?
Apprehension tunnels through me. I hate these dog and pony shows where daughters who are nearly of age and new wives are paraded around like some shiny trophies.
Whenever Mamma brought me to something like that, I always acted like I’d been raised by wolves. Eventually, she gave up altogether.
Maybe I should try the same tactic with Rafaele.
My phone buzzes with another message.
Wear that dress you showed me.
My cheeks heat. God, he’s such a bastard. Does he want to torture me by reminding me of what happened, or does he just get off on dictating what I wear? I’m not his fucking circus monkey.
My stomach growls, so I head to the kitchen to get a snack. No need to be hungry and angry. Sabina is sitting in the breakfast nook, doing some work.
She looks up from her notebook and rakes her gaze over me. “You went shopping. Didn’t you buy something decent to wear around the house?”
She has issues. I’m wearing a pair of booty shorts and a loose T-shirt. What’s wrong with that?