Page 23 of Texting My Mafia Savior

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’ve got no idea how badly I want to take you someplace private, Arria. Kiss every inch of your perfect body. Make you so hot and sizzling before I bring my hard dick to your pussy, slide into your virgin slit. Just… just pleasure…” He trails off as if realizing what he's saying. “Jesus. Christ. You make me feel drunk.”

“I know the feeling,” I whisper, rubbing my legs together. His words are pushing me closer and closer to an edge I have no business being near, let alone toppling over.

“I shouldn’t be talking like this to you,” he admits.

“No, you shouldn’t. But we both like it when you do.”

I’m not helping anything. After what I learned tonight, I should be eager to back the hell off. He’s not only dangerous from a relationship and life perspective, but now, being near him isactuallydangerous. It might be easier when we’re not in the same physical space where I can’t still taste his lips or feel his phantom touch on me.

“We need to stop this, whatever it is, now,” he says sternly.

“You’re right,” I murmur.

He nods, but I can tell he isn’t happy about it. Neither am I. But I should be. I need to be strong—uncle, uncle, uncle. I’ll chant that in my head, a mantra to keep me away from him. Or…Nightmare, Nightmare, Nightmare. And my aunt, oh God, my aunt—what’s wrong with me? I just betrayed her. The same aunt who took me on photography trips before we left for the West Coast, the same aunt who always encouraged me, who bought me my first camera.

Suddenly, what we’ve just done hits me like a tidal wave—any fun drains from the moment. The intoxicated feeling leaves me numb instead. It’s not surreal anymore. It’s brutally real. So what if she’s cheating, too? That doesn’t make it okay, andhedoesn’t know that. We’ve just cheated on his wife, as far as he knows, and neither of us has even mentioned it.

“Arria?” he whispers when I cry.

I hate crying. It makes me feel weak, but I can’t help it now. He climbs into the back seat. This time, he doesn’t kiss me or touch me like before. He pulls me into an embrace instead. Being intimate with him is the whole reason for my tears, and yet I push my face against his chest. I weep as I cling to him as if he can make everything better.

“We shouldn’t have done this. What about Aunt Lucy?” I look up at him. “What about yourwife?”

He shakes his head. “We haven’t betrayed your aunt, Arria.”

“How can you say that? You justcheatedon your wife.”

“Lucia and I have never been intimate. We’ve never kissed, except once, at our wedding, and we didn’t enjoy that much at all. Our marriage isn’t what it seems.”

“What is it, then?” I ask.

“I can’t tell you.”

“I saw her with another man,” I blurt out. “At our coming home party.”

He nods,notat all surprised. “Giancarlo,” he says. “Yes, they’ve been together for five years. They’re thrilled—as much as they can be, considering our circumstances.”

“You’re not making any sense,” I snap. “So you and Aunt Lucy are married… but you’re not really? You have an open marriage?”

“No,” he replies with a sigh. “I mean—yes, in the sense that we’re not romantically obligated to each other. However, an open marriage implies that we have a marriage on some level. We don’t. It’s… complicated. I’m sorry. The less you know, the better.”

“What if I demand that you tell me more?” I say, full of anger. “This is getting ridiculous. You can’t just pick what pieces of this you share with me.”

“I know it isn’t easy…” He tries to brush the hair from my face, a romantic gesture I desperately want to let happen. But I move back and push his hand away from me.

“Don’t,” I hiss. “You didn’t arrange this elaborate plan for this. Either tell me everything or take me somewhere I can call a cab. I’m sick of this night. I’m sick of knowinghalfthe truth.”

His expression hardens. “Fine,” he says. “But just know—you haven’t betrayed your aunt. We haven’t cheated. I’ve never had a serious relationship, but if I ever do, somehow, I’d never cheat. It’s the lowest, coldest thing a person can do.”

“That’s why I was crying.” I rub my face. “It was like we were in a dream, but then it hit me. We’re not. This is reality. And we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Butwe didn’t.”

He’s wrong. I did. I told him I was a virgin when I didn’t have any reason to. By sharing: sharing a private part of myself, I thought I was avoiding breaking the affair news. But then I broke it, anyway.

“Just take me home,” I tell him.

He sighs, moving toward the door. “Fine, Arria.”

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