Page 22 of Powerful Deception

That’s why as I step foot into my apartment building and make it up to my place, I conclude that I very much want to try to insert myself into Dante Rosetti life again. At least, just one more time.

I walk into my small apartment and stand against the closed door and replay what happened in that office not even half an hour ago.

Fear was running through me.

Nerves were spewing off me like it was fresh sweat.

Everything about the man sitting in the leather chair with a glass of scotch in hand was daunting. Just being in his mere presence should have had me running out of that club and never looking back.

But then he spoke.

His words traveled through my body, and it was as if they ignited something. I knew it in that office, but I didn’t know what it was until now. His words were simple, they were words said in any typical interview yet the way his voice curled around them, burned into me in a way that I will never forget.

Like I said, it felt powerful.

And that power only grew when I stood up and his eyes took me in.

For a few seconds, I saw how he looked at my bare breast. I saw how his fingers twitched a bit as if they wanted to reach out and touch me.

I saw how his eyes went from showing indifference to showing heat and lust, telling me that he liked what he saw.

That’s what I hold onto as I make my way over to my bed. I keep the visual of his eyes on my chest in my mind and forget about taking down the man for everything he is. I’ll forget about it for a few minutes.

For a few minutes, I won’t concentrate on how much I want to destroy Dante Rosetti, and everyone like him. I won’t think about how much I want to see him burn alive. Or even coming up with a plan to do just that.

No, for a few minutes, I will picture him sitting in his chair and me doing what I walked into that office to do.

Strip for him.

I ride dress up my thigh as I sit on my mattress, slowly caressing my fingertips against my exposed skin.

Even with the lighting, his light-brown eyes captivated me.

His stare pulled me in.

And his tough exterior made me want to follow through.

I grab at the hem of my dress and pull it over my head, leaving me in the only good pair of satin panties I own. I wore them for encouragement. I leave them on.

My knee-high boots also stay on as I stand up and sway my body a bit as if I were back in that office with no music playing.

I hum as I sway and soon, still with the thought of Rosetti in my head, I begin to touch my body. First my breast and then moving my hands to my ass and giving my ass cheeks a good squeeze.

Then I move my hands to my front, and I touch myself against the delicate skin.

I slide my finger along my folds, wetness already coating my hand.

I circle my fingertips around my clit and a moan fills the small space.

My hips continue to sway, and my fingers continue to move.

As I continue to do what I am, a thought in the back of my mind creeps up, telling me that I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about this. About him.

Yet here I am.

I’m fantasizing about the man that could have possibly killed my father.

And I fantasize about him until I’m panting, my legs are shaking, and my orgasm covers my fingers.

---