Page 8 of Sexting the Don

“Okay,” she says. “You get to bed. I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

“Not a chance.Youget to bed. You’ve had a long night.”

I know how these nights go when Jimmy storms off. He’ll go out, get wasted, show back up stinking of whatever cheap beer he’s been tossing back with his loser friends. When he comes back, there will be a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll be ready to start the fight back up, and Mom’s going to need her rest if that happens.

She opens her mouth to protest but quickly pauses.

“Thanks, sweetie. These fights with your dad … they just take it out of me.”

“I’ve been watching them for years. I get it.”

Mom comes over and wraps her slender arms around me. “Good night, baby. I’ll set my alarm so we’re both up.”

“Sounds good. Night, Mom.”

Moments later, she’s gone, and I’m left alone in the kitchen, a pile of dirty dishes waiting for me. The house is peaceful and quiet in the way it is only when Jimmy’s not around. The silence inspires me, reminds me how nice it’ll be when I finally earn enough money to get out of here when it’ll be just Mom and me.

I begin tackling the dishes, the warm water and suds filling the sink. As I scrub, my mind drifts back to Enzo Martelli. He's impossibly handsome, with a brooding look that gives him an airof mystery. His steely gray eyes and salt-and-pepper hair make him seem distinguished, and his strong, commanding presence was palpable even from across the restaurant.

I find myself blushing, my heart beating faster as I think about him. There was something about his intense gaze that fascinated me, and the memory of how he looked at me sent a thrill through my body. I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand, but thoughts of Enzo keep creeping back in.

With each dish I wash, my cheeks flush a little more. I realize that I'm daydreaming about a man who's as dangerous as he is attractive, and yet I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be closer to him.

I trudge up to bed, hoping Jimmy stays out all night. I quickly change and lie down, feeling the day's weight pressing on me.

Once more, my thoughts drift back to Enzo. But this time, my mind gets a little carried away.

I imagine just the two of us in the restaurant, those gorgeous eyes locked on me. He gazes at me with pure hunger, like a wild animal sizing up its next meal. Slowly, he closes the laptop, rising from his seat at the bar.

Back in the real world, I find myself growing wet, my pussy clenching at the fantasy. My hand begins to move, almost of its own accord, from where it rests on my belly down to the waistband of my panties.

“You’ve been staring at me all night, you know,” he says, his voice in that low, deep timbre that vibrates my whole body.

“Just making sure you’ve got everything you need.” The reply comes out with an uncertain tone as if he’s got me right where hewants me.

Without a word, Enzo strides over to me, his eyes still locked on mine. He walks like he owns the place and like he and I are the only two people in the world. When he’s near, looming over me with his towering height, he places his hands on my hips.

“I don’t have everything I need,” he replies. “Not just yet.”

With that, he leans down and kisses me.

Enzo’s lips are warm and firm, tasting faintly of his Manhattan with a hint of something sweet and intoxicating. The kiss is tender yet intense, sending a rush of electricity through me. I feel a sense of security and passion that I've never experienced before.

Back in my bed, I’m moving my hand between my thighs, ready to take the fantasy to another level.

His hands gently cradle my face, and the world around us seems to disappear as we melt into the moment. The sensation of his lips on mine fills me with a heady mix of desire and affection, making me feel alive and cherished in a way I never imagined possible.

Just as I begin to really get into touching myself, my phone pings. With a grunt of frustration, I take my hand out and grab my phone from the nightstand.

It's a text from an unknown number. My heart skips a beat. Could it be him?

I sit up, anxiety churning in my stomach. The thought of Enzo Martelli responding to my note sends a jolt of excitement through me, but I quickly temper my hopes.

He might just be telling me to get lost.

I hesitantly open my phone and read the text, my pulse quickening with each passing second.

Chapter 4

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