Page 69

Being told I’m a good girl

I’m more aware of my body tonight than usual—the way my sweater brushes against my nipples, the slight ache between my thighs that never fully subsides anymore. A constant, low-level hunger that spikes whenever I think of him.

Needing more ideas, stuff I haven’t tried, I open the internet browser, feeling suddenly bold. I search for uncommon kinks, and the results are a mix of clinical terminology and explicit descriptions. I click through, scanning, dismissing some immediately, lingering on others. Some I already have on my list. Others are new to me, terms I’ve never encountered.

There’s one that catches my interest right away. I click the link, read the definition.Somnophilia refers to a sexual interest in engaging in sexual activity with a sleeping person.

I immediately picture Enzo entering my apartment like he did when he spanked me. My heart thunders in my chest as I imagine him stalking through the darkness, finding me asleep and vulnerable.

Slickness pools between my legs, and my pussy clenches around nothing as I let out a small whimper. The fantasy is so real. I can practically see him touching me without waking me. Using me while I’m unconscious.

The thought makes me press my hand against myself through my yoga pants, a reflexive action I’m barely aware of until it’s happening. I’m soaked, shamefully aroused by the idea of being so completely at his mercy.

My finger hovers over the delete button again. This is too much, too honest. Too revealing of the dark, twisted parts of myself I’ve only begun to acknowledge. If anyone saw this list… what would they think?

What the hell am I working myself into a panic attack for? No one’s going to see. Besides, it’s healthy to have fantasies. It doesn’t mean I’ll act on it. For now, I’m content just imagining how it would work out.

I save the note, then lock my phone and let it fall to the couch beside me. The room feels different now, charged with something beyond just the lingering effects of wine and food. My whole body hums with awareness, with the weight of what I’ve just admitted to myself.

There’s a kind of surrender in naming your desires. In acknowledging the parts of yourself that society says should remain hidden.

Deciding to leave the list on my phone, I get up from the couch and pad into the bathroom. Even though it’s still early, I’m too tired to keep my eyes open. So I quickly get ready for bed. Then I stride into my bedroom where I strip out of my clothes and slide under the sheets. Just before I fall asleep, I read over my kink list one last time, and make a few changes.

Kink List!

Do I have any?

Do the below count as kinks?

Hair pulling

Spanking

Choking

Degrading names (Toy!!!)

Praise (good toy!!)

Exhibitionism (like Halloween & my interview!!)

Somnophilia

Chapter 25

Lorenzo

“Ihave to giveit to you. This is a great cigar,” Rafe grins, rolling it between his fingers like it’s a reward he earned.

I nod once, drawing the smoke into my mouth and holding it there. I don’t inhale, I just let the flavor sit before blowing it out into the night air.

Back when my dad was alive, I used to love Thanksgiving. It was a grand affair with all the trimmings, and Cy and I always had fun with my cousins. But since my father died of cancer, it’s become less about tradition and family, and more about debauchery.

That’s never bothered me until this year. I don’t want to be sucked off by one of the desperate women hoping to land herself a Russo husband. Like my heart, my dick belongs to one woman only, and she isn’t here.

“That it is,” I finally say, flicking ash off the end.

Rafe rocks back on his heels and exhales smoke into the cold Cleveland air. “So how are things going in D.C.?”