Page 23 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
Sounds that normally blend into the white noise of city living were suddenly making me jump like a spooked cat.
Each noise made me think Lorenzo was coming through my door, and here’s the truly twisted part; I couldn’t figure out if that thought terrified me or thrilled me.
I’m still not sure.
The hot water hits my skin in the shower, and my body betrays me immediately. My mind drifts back to yesterday afternoon, Lorenzo’s hands tracing every curve of my body. The possessiveway he kissed me. The delicious stretch when he filled me completely.
Before I can stop myself, one hand slides between my legs while the other cups my breast. My back hits the cool tile wall, and I’m lost in a haze of memory and fantasy. I find my clit with practiced fingers, circling and pressing while I pinch my nipple.
“Lorenzo,” I whisper to the steam. “Husband.”
Husband.
The word sends electricity straight through my core, and I hate how much I love it. I don’t want to be married to him—it’s going to be a nightmare to untangle legally—but something primitive in me throbs at the thought of belonging to him.
Which is completely fucked up, by the way.
My orgasm crashes over me fast and hard, leaving me gasping against the tiles. But it’s not enough. It’s like having a single chip when you’re starving. Technically food, but it just makes you hungrier.
Great. Now I’m sexually ruined by a man I knew for less than twenty-four hours.
I rush through the rest of my shower and getting ready, then risk being late to grab coffee. The barista hands me my usual order, and I’m immediately reminded of Lorenzo showing up with the exact same drink.
How the hell did he know what I liked?
Just another question on the growing list of things that don’t add up about my mysterious husband.
Former husband. Soon-to-be-annulled husband. Whatever.
The real estate office feels like stepping into an alternate dimension where my Vegas weekend never happened. Same beige walls, same motivational posters about “dreams becoming reality,” same soul-crushing fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look like they’re dying of consumption.
I work here as a secretary, which means I answer phones, schedule appointments, and offer coffee to clients who look like they’d rather be anywhere else. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.
“Well, look who decided to finally join us.” Claire’s voice cuts through my post-weekend haze like nails on a chalkboard. She’s perched at her desk wearing a smug expression and that particular shade of lipstick that screams “I peaked in high school.” “I guess taking three days off last week wasn’t enough for you.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my skull. “Yeah, Claire, that’s it. I’m four minutes late because I just couldn’t get enough vacation time.”
“Hey, Mia, welcome back!”
Ron’s cheerful voice saves me from whatever toxic comeback Claire was brewing. He’s the office grandfather with his white beard, kind eyes, and probably a stash of butterscotch candies in his desk drawer.
“Thanks,” I smile at him. “I had a great time in Vegas.”
“Didn’t get too wild, did you?”
Got blackout drunk, married a mafia don, and witnessed a severed hand delivery. You know, the usual.
“Of course not,” I lie smoothly. “Unless you count losing fifty bucks at blackjack as wild.”
He chuckles, and Claire stalks off in a huff, probably to update her LinkedIn profile or practice her fake laugh in the mirror.
The morning flies by in a blur of phone calls and appointment scheduling. It’s busy enough to keep my mind off Lorenzo, which is a blessing because every quiet moment seems to invite thoughts of his hands, his mouth, his?—
Stop it, Mia.
By afternoon, the office has emptied out. Most of the realtors are at showings or open houses, leaving me alone with Ron, who’s holed up in his office working on contracts. Which means I can get away with some very non-work-related internet browsing.
I pull up information about Kilauea Volcano in Hawaii. For months, I’ve been obsessing over hiking an active volcano. The steam vents, the lava lake, the sheer insane beauty of molten rock fountaining into the sky. Jill thinks I have a death wish, and Olivia gets vertigo just looking at pictures, but I can’t help it.
