Page 33
Story: Seduced By the Mafia Don
"Indeed," I snarl.
"Don't apologize," she says.
"I had no intention to."
"Oh—good. Some men might."
"I don’t care what your other men did."
"I didn't specifymy men," she replies. "But yes, that was... satisfying. A memorable way to remember each other."
"We'll meet again."
She adjusts her clothing. "But not like this."
I touch her leg again, but at the knee. I don’t want anyone else to witness her complete surrender to pleasure, her full-body tremors. My arousal rises at the mere thought.
"If you insist," I say fiercely. "But I suspect you'll miss being bad."
"Why this sudden tough act? Is this your Don routine?"
"This is who I am, Vignette, with everyone."
"I thought the nicknames were confined to miniature golf. You should probably drop them."
"I would if you didn't clearly relish them."
"Pfft. You flatter yourself." But she's lying. She can’t hide it from me. Our minds may be adversaries, but our bodies communicate with perfect clarity. "So, you don’t believe thisone-nightthing is real?"
"After kissing you, touching you, forgetting is impossible."
"You have to. This was just casual fun."
"Fine, maintain that pretense. But don't rule out more 'casual entertainment.'"
"No—rule it out."
“We'll see," I say, squeezing her leg. "But when I touch you thus, even at the knee, you quiver. Your body heats. For me,piccola pittrice."
"N-no," she stammers, convincing no one. She pushes my hand away. "If you’re not going to be straight with me, at least acknowledge when I say we've gone back to square one. Just like that." She snaps her fingers. "Now, you're just the hedge fund executive, and I'm simply the artist."
"I refuse to go back. I won't forget what your perfect body feels like. Or how you light me up. I certainly won't tonight."
She regards me with intrigue, excitement, feigning indignation. "What do you mean—tonight?"
"Care to speculate, Vignette?"
"Are you saying you'll think of me and..."
"You've already driven me to distraction."
"Have I? Not that I care..."
"Sure," I say. "I mean it. From our first encounter, I was captivated, Sienna. Completely enthralled by you. You're beautiful, unique, artistic, quirky... and profoundly sensual. Incandescently sensual."
"Incandescent?" she murmurs.
"I think you know. You like it."
"Don't apologize," she says.
"I had no intention to."
"Oh—good. Some men might."
"I don’t care what your other men did."
"I didn't specifymy men," she replies. "But yes, that was... satisfying. A memorable way to remember each other."
"We'll meet again."
She adjusts her clothing. "But not like this."
I touch her leg again, but at the knee. I don’t want anyone else to witness her complete surrender to pleasure, her full-body tremors. My arousal rises at the mere thought.
"If you insist," I say fiercely. "But I suspect you'll miss being bad."
"Why this sudden tough act? Is this your Don routine?"
"This is who I am, Vignette, with everyone."
"I thought the nicknames were confined to miniature golf. You should probably drop them."
"I would if you didn't clearly relish them."
"Pfft. You flatter yourself." But she's lying. She can’t hide it from me. Our minds may be adversaries, but our bodies communicate with perfect clarity. "So, you don’t believe thisone-nightthing is real?"
"After kissing you, touching you, forgetting is impossible."
"You have to. This was just casual fun."
"Fine, maintain that pretense. But don't rule out more 'casual entertainment.'"
"No—rule it out."
“We'll see," I say, squeezing her leg. "But when I touch you thus, even at the knee, you quiver. Your body heats. For me,piccola pittrice."
"N-no," she stammers, convincing no one. She pushes my hand away. "If you’re not going to be straight with me, at least acknowledge when I say we've gone back to square one. Just like that." She snaps her fingers. "Now, you're just the hedge fund executive, and I'm simply the artist."
"I refuse to go back. I won't forget what your perfect body feels like. Or how you light me up. I certainly won't tonight."
She regards me with intrigue, excitement, feigning indignation. "What do you mean—tonight?"
"Care to speculate, Vignette?"
"Are you saying you'll think of me and..."
"You've already driven me to distraction."
"Have I? Not that I care..."
"Sure," I say. "I mean it. From our first encounter, I was captivated, Sienna. Completely enthralled by you. You're beautiful, unique, artistic, quirky... and profoundly sensual. Incandescently sensual."
"Incandescent?" she murmurs.
"I think you know. You like it."
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