Page 26 of Mafia King's Forbidden Vows

He’s the kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to command a room. His stance alone does that, and that is more terrifying than anything else.

“I can never lose my virginity to a man like Elio,” the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I meditate on them for a little while, turning them over and over in my mind, then reaffirming them.

My mind betrays me as it takes me back to that night in his car when he slid his hands dangerously under my panties, circling my damp clit until it became completely flushed with moisture.

“God...I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whisper. I touch a finger to my lips, which he had suckled on mercilessly, pulling me with him into an endless depth of passion. “I don’t know why I don’t want this man around me, yet I cannot help it when he begins to circle my nipples with his torturous fingers.” I continue talking to myself.

My hand reaches subconsciously for my phone. I want to take a social media break…anything to get my mind off all this.

But nope, my chin plops on my hand as a soft gasp escapes from my lips, and I continue the conversation with myself. “What’s worse is that I actually feel safe when those hefty arms of his are around me, like no harm can befall me just because he’s there. And I can’t even tell why his voice makes me tremble. This is so damn frustrating.”

Footsteps approaching from down the hallway turn my attention to check if anyone around can hear me. I release a sigh of relief when I see that there’s no one around to listen.

“I just don’t know what it would be like to reach orgasm when Elio is inside of me. And with that size of him! I can only imagine the sheer pleasure it would elicit, something I’ve never felt with any man...”

Suddenly, laughter −coming from my phone− stops the words from spilling further from my mouth. I instinctively grab my phone and notice a call is active. And the name on the caller ID makes me gasp in disbelief. Fuck! It’s Elio. Quickly, I disconnect the call and cover my mouth in shock, overwhelmed by the unexpected contact.

Ugh! I am so furious at myself.

Aria Abruzzi, what a fuck up! Get your shit together!

Two raps at my office door cause me to clear my throat and adjust my blue-light-blocking glasses on my nose. It’s Joan, the intern supervisor.

“Hey, intern.” Her blonde hair is packed into a high ponytail and there is a small smile on her pretty, pink lips.

“The name’s Aria.” I know she knows, but where is the fun if I don’t always remind her? She chuckles as she walks into my office.

“Just thought I’d come in and see how you’re doing.”

Joan is one sweet person who I like to think of as an angel sent specifically from my mom to me.

“I’m good, thank you.”

She sweeps her gaze over my disarranged desk and clucks her tongue disapprovingly.

“No, you’re not. Your table is disorganized for the first time in forever, and you didn’t even touch your coffee.”

I give her a wavering smile, then lean back into my chair. There’s no point lying now. She already has me.

“I’m just having a little… problem.”

“You poor thing.” She walks over to caress my cheek, “It’s your dad, isn’t it? How is he doing now?”

“He’s not conscious yet, but the doctor believes he’s responding to treatment.” This is not the reason for my absentmindedness, but I just play along.

“I’m so sorry, Aria. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

I manage a small smile for her as she walks back to her office. I turn my eyes back to my table, and the real issue bugging me seizes my chest, leaving my heart racing faster than normal.

I glance at the clock and let out a shaky sigh. It’s a little past noon, and I’ve only succeeded in wasting half the day without making progress on anything.

I put the laptop aside and slide the glasses off my nose, rubbing my hands at my eyes. My brother’s case would have to hold on for a while.

There are so many answers I need, and I wouldn’t get them by sitting lazily in this air-conditioned office. I grab my jacket and slide it onto my back on my way out.

***

Mia, an investigative journalist, is one of the few friends I’ve kept since high school. She’s seated in a small café just off 10th street, a cozy place which most people wouldn’t give a second glance, and she is typing furiously on her phone, brows furrowed in concentration, mouth chewing endlessly on bubble gum.

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