Page 94 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
A vibrator?
Long. Thick. Gold. With dual stimulation, with smaller forked fingers designed to tease a woman’s clit.
And I’ve ten minutes to insert this beast.
I step into a stall, place a heel on the toilet, wiggle and squirm until I fit it inside me. Then, wiping the sweat from my brow, I exit, wash my hands, and return to the table.
The exertion from what I’ve just been through leaves me breathless. But the hunger in Alessandro’s blue eyes makes me lightheaded. He’s like a kid at an ice-cream counter, and I’m his number one flavor. This excites him.
“Good girl.”
Pleasure washes over me, his praise a heady thing. It’s within my nature to feel this way, isn’t it? Though what does this say about me, when the man playing with my emotions has the power to light me up or snuff out my light?
“My guests are here.”
I respond to the censure in his tone with a quick nod.
Three men in expensive suits approach the table, and Alessandro stands.
“Buonasera. Stai bene, Alessandro.” The older man pulls him into a hug, and unsurprisingly, Alessandro stiffens.
“Come vanno gli affari, Carmine?”
Carmine pulls away and switches to English. “Always so quick with the business questions, Alessandro Magno.”
Alessandro offers him a chilly expression, and the other men tense. In fear—they’re afraid of him. “Magno? I’m no longer a kid, old man.”
“No disrespect, eh? I’ve known you and your brother since you were tiny bambinos.”
Alessandro gestures for me to take my seat.
I do so and release a small squeak, the vibrator pushing deeper.
“Una bella rossa, Alessandro?” Carmine exclaims. “No brunette tonight?”
I flinch.
No. No. No. I’m suddenly buried beneath an avalanche of emotion. Eyes blurry, I look anywhere but at the monster with a penchant for buxom brunettes. He has a type—obviously. Isit boredom that has him switching things up? Or his viciously twisted mind playing games with my heart?
God. I hate him.
“Are you going to introduce us?” Carmine continues, while I study the horizon. Searching for a life raft to save me from this torture.
“No.”
Not even worthy of an introduction, am I?
A waiter sets bottles of red wine on the table and fills our glasses.
“You look like you’ve fully recovered.”
Carmine’s comment draws my attention.
“Took a beating, we heard.”
Is this man insane? Or does he have a death wish? Beneath my eyelashes, I study Alessandro’s reaction. His eyebrows pinch. Otherwise, there’s no indication that danger lurks beneath the surface.
“A few taps from a sparring match. My best soldier got carried away. Nothing more worth discussing.” Alessandro sips his wine, signaling the end to further discussion.
