Page 19 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“Ugh!” I groan out loud and then catch my reflection in the mirror.

The glow I felt when Kyle was here yesterday has vanished, and with what happened after, I can’t even rekindle it with vivid memories of his face buried in my pussy. Because whenever I think of Kyle, a warning sign flashes in my head:He was investigating Nick’s background.

Why? If he’d discovered anything incriminating, he’d have told me, wouldn’t he? Or he’d have threatened Nick to keep his distance. So now, I can’t help wondering if he somehow knew that I was going on a date with Nick and came here to distract me.

My face floods with heat. Was yesterday just a game to him? Making the first move before Nick arrived. Filling my pussy with his cum and my head with promises to take me anywhere in the world I want to go.

I move the roses onto the floor. I can’t think straight with them winking at me in the glare of the overhead light. Then I take my tablet out of the drawer and power it up.

Into the search engine, I type the name Nicholas Morris. I’ve seen the framed certificates on the walls of Nick’s clinic, highlighting his qualifications, the years of studying that preceded his current position.Trust me. That’s what those certificates say to his clients.Your life is safe in my hands.

So, why did I feel so uneasy while I was with him yesterday evening?

Sure, the conversation flowed. Okay, so it was mostly about Nick, but there were no awkward silences bringing the date to a standstill. He spoke about his collection of handmade Venetian mirrors (from Venice), his favorite vacation (skiing in Vermont), his golf handicap (twelve). And I listened.

If I’m honest, I was grateful not to have to talk about myself. My thoughts were still spinning after the altercation between him and Kyle, so it wasn’t Nick’s unwavering ego and relentlessly charming smile that grated on my nerves. Kyle sowed the seeds of mistrust, and I bought it without questioning why.

“What am I doing?” I tilt my head backwards, close my eyes, and inhale deeply.

Turning back to the tablet, I wiggle my fingers above the keyboard. I know what I’m doing. I’m not lowering myself to Kyle’s level, I’m giving Nick the benefit of the doubt. At least that’s what I tell myself, when I ignore his professional website and dig deeper.

Thirty minutes later, I slide my tablet away from me and sit back in my seat.

Of course I didn’t find anything. What did I expect? To find his name on an old-fashioned wanted poster with a sketched caricature of his gleaming teeth and aquiline nose? WANTED, NICK MORRIS, SERIAL SMILER.

If it wasn’t for Kyle, I would never have even checked him out. I allowed Kyle’s jealousy to infect a perfectly acceptable surgeon-patient relationship, when I should’ve just let his comments wash over me.

Kyle is the first person to touch me since the accident. I’ve never even come close to wanting anyone else, but all he had to dowas look at me, whisper “Leoin” in my ear, and there I was opening my legs and pulling him inside me like my entire future depended on it. I let him in. I dropped my guard and played right into his hands where Nick is concerned.

So, why do I still feel like I’m missing something important?

I replay snippets of last night’s date in my head. Nick was a perfect gentleman. He held the door open for me, he pulled the seat out at the table and tucked it under me, he didn’t expect me to pay half the bill. He didn’t even pressure me for a kiss when he dropped me off outside my apartment.

I reflexively flinch when I get to the part where Nick tried to kiss me.

The car engine was still running. He unfastened his seatbelt, checked out his teeth in the rearview, and then leaned closer. “I’ve enjoyed tonight, Sienna.” His voice was suitably low, the perfect pitch for following up with a goodnight kiss.

“Me too,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie; it simply wasn’t the whole truth.

His face moved closer. I saw the faint shadow of stubble on his upper lip and jawline, pale freckles across his nose and the tops of his cheeks that were not visible from a distance, smelled his cologne and coffee on his breath. It made me feel nauseous.

I turned away from him, opened the passenger door and tried to climb out without unbuckling the safety belt. It pulled tight across my chest, the edge of the strap slicing into my neck, and my hand brushed his as we both tried to free me at the same time.

“We should do this again,” he said, moving back into his seat. If he realized how desperate I was to get away from him, he covered it well.

“Yes.” I was already on the sidewalk, my apartment building looming behind me. I leaned into the car, forced a smile, acted like I didn’t almost strangle myself on the passenger seat belt. “Thank you.”

In the safety of my apartment, I guzzled a glass of cold water from the tap and waited for it to cleanse me of the experience.

It didn’t.

I leaned against the counter breathing heavily and tried to regulate my pulse. He has the classic looks and charm of a Hollywood movie star from the 50s. Dark hair, high cheekbones, smoldering eyes. So, why, in the heat of the moment, had I found him so repulsive?

As if sensing where my thoughts are wandering right now, my phone vibrates with a message. I slide it out of my pocket and unlock it.

Kyle.Can we talk? It’s important.

Not even an apology for the way he behaved with Nick.

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